CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME 
 OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT 
 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
 HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 6035.O12R2 
 
 Rachel Marr, 
 
 3 1924 013 217 876 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013217876 
 
RACHEL MARR 
 
MORLEY ROBERTS M 
 
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 Rachel Marr 1.50 
 
 The Promotion 
 of the Admiral 1.50 
 
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 "THE COLOSSUS," "THE FUGITIVES," ETC. 
 
 
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 By L. C. Page & Company 
 
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 All rights reserved 
 
 Published June, 1904 
 
 Fifth Impression 
 
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 Electrotypad and Printed by C, H. Slmonds & Co. 
 
 Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 
 
BOOK I 
 
 Beyond the twin headlands that made Morna into a little 
 fishing harbour, and sheltered its narrow strip of sand, 
 the round moon hung clouded in the midnight sky. The 
 shadows of the carved headlands were obscured by a 
 tender mist of dissipated light ; the sea was shadow to the 
 shore, while on the horizon, where the moon shone 
 clearer, a silver line accentuated the lucid darkness of 
 the nearer waters of the land. In that silver showed the 
 lofty canvas of a ship drifting 'eastward on the flood 
 which inshore now began to slacken. The waters 
 lapped less insistently upon the rocks; the silence of the 
 night deepened sensibly; the whispers of the salt marsh, 
 •through which a slow stream found its way to the sea, 
 grew fainter still; the eternal music of the pinewood 
 above the little marsh ran off into the very ghost of a 
 vibrant and musical murmur among its loftiest branches. 
 It was midnight, full moon and full flood," and the warm 
 world rested. 
 
 The houses of the little village, which could hardly be 
 seen from the cove, since most lay behind a barrier of 
 rock, the shoreward buttress of the eastern headland, 
 were all asleep. Some of its few men were far out at 
 sea long-line fishing in the great sweep of the tides. 
 They would not return till the morning when they came 
 from the eastward on the ebb and met the young flood 
 and the breeze it brought with it from the west. A few 
 boats lay upon the higher sands and shingle: one was 
 moored beyond low-water mark, where it rested as quietly 
 as any rock. For two long hours Morna had been still. 
 
2 RACHEL MARR 
 
 save when one solitary and uneasy dog howled unhap- 
 pily at the moon and then dreamed again and whimpered 
 over some remembered trail in the woodlands. 
 
 Yet, though the village slept and all its little flower- 
 decked casements were darkened, and though the winds 
 rested and the gathered tides were still, in the house 
 behind the pinewood there was one who waked, one of 
 those whom the moon calls even as she calls the tides. A 
 candle glimmered in an upper room of the tall old house 
 which stood so gauntly four square to all the winds that 
 blew and then was extinguished. A minute later the 
 unlocked front door was opened quietly and a girl came 
 out into the garden, a wilderness of ancient and half- 
 wild flowers. She lifted her head to the darkened moon, 
 scented the odorous night air and then caught a big 
 damask rose at the end of a wild untrimmed branch and 
 pressed it to her face. As she let the branch swing the 
 petals of the full blossom fell in a dark shower. She 
 breathed deeply and marched forward to a side path that 
 ran into the pinewood. In its gloom she stayed again 
 and drew in the warm resinous smell with an equal aban- 
 donment to the passion of the senses. She sighed with 
 a silent and intolerable delight, and then putting her 
 hands upon the ruddy bark of a bigger pine, pressed her 
 hot cheek upon the fine clean scales of it which shone 
 almost like horn and were as cool. Then she listened as 
 though she heard voices, and she saw the round moon 
 among the branches, and went forward lightly to the 
 shingle and the sea. 
 
 Here in the midnight wood, a dim cathedral censed by 
 a thousand odours, and there by the sea purring upon the 
 shore was freedom, and an intolerable, wonderful sense 
 of it in the girl's veins made her long to break the heavy 
 silences. Her head was bare, its curls free of a con- 
 fining ribbon; her dress fell back from her neck and 
 bosom, and she walked as though she had been con- 
 fined to some gaol and now at last found freedom. Once 
 or twice she paused, turned, looked back upon the wood, 
 over which she could now see the roof of Morna House, 
 and shook her head as though, in some distaste for what 
 
RACHEL MARR 3 
 
 lay there in the darkness. Then her feet touched the 
 road above the beach : in a moment she was on the shingle 
 and then upon the lesser strip of sand. She bared her 
 feet and stepped into the water. It was the height of the 
 flood : the patient, steady sea rested at its mark of greatest 
 endeavour; the warmth it drew from the land made it 
 suave and tender. 
 
 And then the moon floated through the cloud, lipped it 
 with silver and hung double in the sky and sea; in the 
 heavens perfect and rounded, in the water gibbous, flat- 
 tened, oblate, changing. Upon the breathless, burnished 
 heave of a faint swell its reflection elongated, drew out, 
 broke, and rejoined like globules of disparted mercury. 
 For a moment it looked as if there was no sea, but only 
 a vast hollow, the double and complement of the silent 
 empyrean in which the quiet lamp above was matched by 
 an unquiet one beneath. And then the land-breeze 
 breathed and the sea-moon broke, a band of frosted silver 
 barred the tides, and the moon-wake rippled from the 
 horizon to the inshore waters still untouched by the light 
 moving air. 
 
 At the western extremity of the tiny fishing cove lay a 
 table of smoothed rock, which ran slopkig from the cliff. 
 From that ledge, under which a full pool lay even at low 
 water, the village boys often bathed. For when the 
 flood was in one might slide from its smooth surface into 
 deep water. Now she who had disturbed by her moving 
 shadow the deep and tremulous silence of the night came 
 to this rock and climbed upon it as it lay hidden by the 
 cliff above from the lamp of the moon. From where she 
 stood the mouth of the little harbour, which was shaped 
 from base to the headlands like the nippers of a crab's 
 claw, was only visible to her as a narrow line. The moon 
 shone on the eastern cliff, and touched the roots of two 
 houses just visible over the roadway, but was not now 
 reflected from the waters. What had been solitude 
 before seemed even more solitary by the addition of dark- 
 ness, by the visible reminder of a sleeping world. If any 
 place was quiet and remote, then this was as far removed 
 from stress and the tumult of humanity as any silent pool 
 
4 RACHEL MARR 
 
 in impassable woods girdled by wide moorlands in path- 
 less and remote Acadie. 
 
 The narrow lines betwixt the rocks opened on a sea 
 now sparkling like jewels. Towards the horizon rose the 
 faint and ghostly white canvas of the one ship drifted in 
 the early night towards the wide sweep of the bay. She 
 who now sat upon the rock looked up and saw it within 
 the influence of the land breeze. It moved still upon the 
 last of the flood stream, but its sails were gently full as it 
 drew off the land. There was something vague and mys- 
 -tical in the whiteness of its sails, and in the white painted 
 hull. The vessel moved as some priest might about a 
 quiet and holy task in a great deserted cathedral. It was 
 a midnight mass upon the sea. Something not alien from 
 this thought touched her as she viewed it; something 
 sweet and bitter burning through her living senses into 
 an act of worship. But when the vessel passed beyond 
 the headland, her senses burnt again for this rare and 
 fortunate liberty of a white night all her own. A pas- 
 sion born of the tender warmth of the air, and the im- 
 maculate purity of the waters, rose till her heart was a 
 full fountain that must pour over into tears or into some 
 strange act, half self-worship, half adoration of nature. 
 All suddenly, and wholly in surprise at her white self, 
 she dropped her garments on the rock, and slid fearfully 
 into the waters. She gasped a little at the fine audacity 
 of the sea which received her body and embraced it. She 
 knew, even as Eve knew, that she was naked, knew that 
 she was pure, perceived a healing mystery which was a 
 revelation, and, as she swam, there floated into her mind 
 beneath consciousness a passionate adoration of the flesh. 
 
 She made towards the entrance of the cove with clean 
 quick strokes, and by the time she opened its full breadth, 
 the urgent stimulus of the salt water had ceased to mark 
 the separation between her cooling body and the warm 
 waves. She floated rather than swam. She was sus- 
 pended inthe waters, was indeed but a soul and not a 
 body, a thinking portion of the divine nature all her own 
 because at this hour she alone perceived it. Her sense 
 of unstained solitude raised in her the unconscious intui- 
 
RA"CHEL MARR 5 
 
 tions of the solitary. For to be alone is not to be more, 
 but less, one's self ; not less, but more, humanity. 
 
 Once again as she swam the moon clouded with faint 
 filaments of mist, and the breeze failed for a while, and 
 the moonwake ran once more into a great silver disc 
 sunk in the depths of the sea. She floated, in darkness 
 and in light, in what seemed a perfect silence until she 
 turned her face to the sky and lay without motion upon 
 the water. Then there came to her ears the far off faint 
 thunder of the everlasting surf upon the Lion Ledge 
 beyond Pentowan Headland where the tides crossed, and 
 where, even in calm, heavy overfalls roared like cata- 
 racts. And over and through the rhythmic boom of the 
 Lion's breakers she heard the voice of the land, a voice 
 organic, secular, compact of the earth and its fertility, 
 breathing tree and grass and beast, and all the multitudi- 
 nous unnumbered melody of the lesser things of life. 
 For one moment an unformed sense of irritation moved 
 her to impatience. How impossible it was to be in silence. 
 But that passed and the appeal of the earth touched her, 
 and a dog barked, a dog she knew. Then clean and clear 
 and clearer still she heard the rhythmic beat of a horse's 
 hoofs upon the hard road from the eastward. 
 
 " Ah," she said, and turning she swam into the darker 
 waters under the western wall of the cove. There she 
 found a rock beneath her feet and stood, with the sea up 
 to her chin, listening to the sound which came louder and 
 then faded and leapt out again as the horse rose and 
 dipped upon the winding way. And presently she saw 
 the horse and his rider come to the pitch of the way that 
 ran steeply down to the cove. By the side of the horse 
 went a dog, a great Dane, and when she saw it she knew 
 the rider, and knew the grey horse he rode. 
 
 " It's Anthony Perran," she said, and then the horse 
 and its rider disappeared behind the houses on the wind- 
 ing hill. A moment later the great Dane ran out upon 
 the rock where she had left her garments. He put down 
 his head and sniffed, and being no more than a huge 
 puppy picked up her gown with his teeth and ran with 
 it to the road. 
 
6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Oh, Sigurd, Sigurd, you devil ! " she cried, and then 
 the man on horseback came into sight and she shrank 
 back again as Sigurd dragged her dress right out upon 
 the road. Anthony pulled up. 
 
 "What have you there, Sigurd? Put it down, you 
 scoundrel." He got off his horse. 
 
 " Let go, sir." 
 
 And Sigurd gave up his trophy. 
 
 " It's a woman's gown," said Anthony, as he shook the 
 dust from it and held it up to the moonlight. As he did 
 so the girl in the sea raged with a curious and inex- 
 plicable fury, and yet was speechless. But though she 
 choked back what she wished to say, she gasped and the 
 dog pricked his sharp ears and ran down to the verge 
 of the waters. 
 
 " It's Rachel's, by the red of it," said Anthony, and 
 then Sigurd whimpered and walked a little way into the 
 sea, going deliberately, for he did not really love the 
 water. And he sniffed the warm air, staring out into the 
 darkness. Then he barked almost joyously, and Anthony 
 Perran turned towards him. Suddenly he understood 
 and spoke. 
 
 " Is that you, Rachel ? " he asked, " and are you at 
 your strange tricks again?" 
 
 "Aye," said Rachel, "and what then? Put that 
 down and call your dog and go." 
 
 From where she stood she saw him plainly ; the moon 
 lighted his face and the shadow of the cliff cut him off 
 below the neck. He seemed but a head, for the full 
 moon was strong, the shadows deep. The grey horse, 
 with the reins loose upon the road, plucked at a bunch 
 of salt-herbage. Sigurd floundered anxiously in a 
 foot of water and whimpered at his own want of 
 courage. 
 
 " What's this craze of yours for midnight and the 
 sea ? " asked Anthony Perran. He spoke with a tinge of 
 harshness in his voice, a harshness that suited his strong 
 face rather than his youth. 
 
 " What's it to you," she returned, " if I swim to Land's 
 End?" 
 
RACHEL MARR 7 
 
 " It's in you to do it — Land's End, or any end. That's 
 what they say of you, Rachel." 
 
 He shook her dress and stared into the darkness 
 whence her voice came. 
 
 " Put that down and go." 
 
 He stepped out of the moonlight and saw her vaguely. 
 
 " You might be a white rock and seaweed," he said. 
 " But you shouldn't do it. If you were drowned now ? " 
 
 She beat the water with her hand. 
 
 " I can swim as far as any man in Morna." 
 
 " And many drown in Morna," said Anthony. " What 
 of your mother, if you were found floating? " 
 
 " She has her dead to think of now, so she says," an- 
 swered Rachel angrily. " And I'm alive. I was with 
 her all night, and so I slept all the day. Put my things 
 down and go." 
 
 He moved back into the moonlight. 
 
 " I'm going. But it's not right of you, Rachel." 
 
 " You preach again. You always preach, Mr. Perran. 
 Why isn't it right to love the sea at night if it's right to 
 love it when the sun shines ? " 
 
 " A girl should be in the house." 
 
 " You must have learnt much from your mother," said 
 Rachel. " And who's keeping me now ? " 
 
 " I'll go. If I thought your stubborn soul would do 
 anything but please itself, Rachel, I'd ask you to be wise." 
 
 "For you?" 
 
 " Well, why not ? I've known you these seven years." 
 
 And Rachel laughed. 
 
 " Not seven minutes. Would you do anything for me 
 if I asked you ? " 
 
 Anthony picked up the reins of his horse from the dust. 
 
 " Anything that I could." 
 
 " Anything that was right, as you say ? " 
 
 " Aye, anything that was right." 
 
 And Rachel laughed at him. 
 
 " Oh, what a man you are," she cried, " how mean of 
 you and little ! " 
 
 " There's such a thing as right and wrong, Rachel." 
 
 " Yes, reverend sir," she mocked, " and so my mother 
 
8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 says, and so Mary says, and so Father Brant says, and so 
 we all say. But which is which ? " 
 
 Anthony swung himself upon his horse. He took his 
 hat off. 
 
 " It's easy to know, dear. For God knows ! " 
 
 As he spoke he looked fine and lean and strong. He 
 was very fair, with a stern, half-ascetic face. 
 
 " Martha vows you should have been a priest," said the 
 girl, " and I see why. I remember one like you when 
 we were in Naples. Tipsy Steve Penrose swears you are 
 like Death on a pale horse. I heard him say it. He used 
 to preach once, didn't he ? But if I liked you, and I don't 
 to-night, I'd do anything you wanted, and I wouldn't 
 crawl about trying to find out whether it was right or 
 not, I'd do it and confess afterwards — if I had to ! " 
 
 Anthony sighed. 
 
 " You're a wild thing, Rachel, and never know what 
 you are saying. Go home, girl. Come, Sigurd ! " 
 
 He rode into the heavier shadow. But the dog lin- 
 gered, whimpering on the beach for his playfellow. For 
 Rachel called to him in a low voice, and came swimming 
 till she floated to the shallows. Then he ran in till the 
 cool water reached his flanks, and rubbed his great muzzle 
 against her white shoulder. She caught his head between 
 her hands and kissed him. 
 
 " Oh, Sigurd, you big darling. You don't want me to 
 swim at night either. But if I asked you to come with 
 me, you would, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 Sigurd floundered joyously till he heard his master 
 whistle from the top of the hill far above them. 
 
 " Go, Sigurd, go ! " said the girl, and she pushed him 
 from her. He whimpered a little unhappily, for he was 
 divided in his simple mind. But Anthony Perran whis- 
 tled again and the dog hurled himself into the darkness. 
 
 And then she rose, white and sparkling with dewy 
 waters from the sea, and the moon dipped wholly into 
 clouds behind Pentowan headland. The air of the sum- 
 mer solstice lapped her round like warmer waters, caress- 
 ing her so softly that she revolted half unconsciously 
 against any garment. But she clad herself swiftly and 
 
RACHEL MARK 9 
 
 went past the sleeping village into the path through the 
 sombre pinewood, and upward to the house. 
 
 The air within its walls seemed chill and stagnant. The 
 scent of the flowers did not penetrate its cold and heavy 
 atmosphere, nor did any natural passion of the land or 
 sea intermingle with its breath. The passages of stone 
 struck cold to the girl's warm feet: she frowned as she 
 walked quietly upstairs. Even in the dark there was 
 something penitential in the house; it seemed rather a 
 prison than the chosen dwelling-place of man. No sound 
 broke its silence ; neither wind nor sea nor any whisper 
 of the woods entered its darkness. Rachel ceased to 
 frown as she reached the first landing. But she shivered 
 a little and put her hand across her bosom as she walked 
 on tip-toe to her mother's room and after listening at the 
 door opened it and entered. 
 
 The apartment was bare and almost conventual in its 
 white lack of ornament. The only touch of colour in the 
 room was a little picture of the Madonna and her Child, 
 which hung upon the empty wall. A chair, a chest of 
 drawers, and an old travelling trunk covered with half- 
 obliterated labels which spoke dimly of Rome and Venice 
 and Perugia, and an iron bed without a rail at either end, 
 comprised the whole of the furniture. There were no 
 curtains at the window; it was hidden by a plain white 
 blind. Upon the chest of drawers there gleamed a 
 sunken nightlight. And in the bed Rachel's mother slept 
 with her face hidden in the pillow. One thin arm was 
 over her head, and in the other hand was an old ivory 
 crucifix, stained yellow by innumerable years and the 
 clasp of many penitents now mouldering to dust in some 
 silent Campo Santo where peace dwells with folded 
 wings. 
 
 The sleeper moaned a little and clutched the emblem 
 of Passion and Redemption tight; and Rachel looked at 
 her and sighed, and then with a certain fury of revolt 
 against she knew not what, she left the room and ran 
 upstairs to her own. 
 
10 RACHEL MARR 
 
 II 
 
 For all her moonlight wanderings Rachel Marr was out 
 in the early morning almost as early as the very birds. 
 The air was bright and sharp and keen, it touched her as 
 the salt waves had done the night before; the breath of 
 it was a fine stimulus : she breathed easily ; the flow of her 
 blood was sweet. The sun came up clear and shining 
 over the pines that thinned out to a mere ring towards 
 the eastward; the sea was calm and motionless, it glit- 
 tered and glowed like polished steel under the sun and 
 ran southward into deep blue by fine gradations. A 
 column of faint smoke, as straight as the trunk of a pine, 
 shot upward from the waking village ; in her own woods 
 and hedges she heard the song and chatter of many birds 
 and the cluck of ranging hens that she herself had 
 let go. 
 
 In the stream of the salt-marsh below the house a band 
 of white geese swam like a slow, majestic fleet. A mare 
 and her young foal grazed in the deep green field that 
 curved downward from the edge of the pinewood to the 
 marsh. Far across the little valley, on the browner up- 
 lands, a flock of sheep fed against the horizon, across 
 which ran the white road that Anthony Perran and Sigurd 
 had taken the night before. In the next valley lay his 
 house and farm. Here all those who tilled the earth were 
 marked out from promiscuity by the very nature of the 
 country. Each seaward valley was a world to itself, for 
 farm only joined farm on the treeless rounded uplands. 
 Humanity was nowhere thick save within the very wash 
 of the sea, at certain places sheltered by curved grey 
 headlands from the south-west winds. 
 
 And at Morna House in the early day the world seemed 
 vast by its very want of the narrowing influence of men. 
 It was easy, Rachel knew, to breathe untroubled while 
 others slept. The air of dawn knew of no obstacles to 
 romance. At night or in the dawn she could be herself, 
 and that was a passionate and unspeakable compensation 
 for the hours of prison and of deadly teaching in which 
 
RACHEL MARR ii 
 
 every human being she met choked some seedlike aspira- 
 tion within her. 
 
 She was seventeen and adored the sun and the moon 
 and the moon's sea. She was young and worshipped 
 very ancient unseen gods in the pinewoods and on the 
 steep hill sides, or among the split and weathered rocks 
 grey with hard sea mosses which the winds stirred even 
 as they stirred the purple, emerald and amethystine sea 
 beneath her. She was tall and strong, so strong that in 
 her calmest hours she suggested the very passion of 
 storm. And only when the wind and sea beat upon her 
 house did she feel that it was founded on anything but 
 sand. But even though it be builded on a rock the house 
 of man is a frail thing. 
 
 She was very beautiful, so beautiful indeed that the 
 women of the village owned it as freely as if she were a 
 creature of another race, as if she were a bright child 
 outside their human competition, beyond their childlike 
 jealousies. Their big men, handlers of boats, fishers in 
 the deep, eyed her as such do, with a dull admiration 
 which saw but little of her beauty. They knew her 
 strength of body, which was amazing, they perceived 
 something in the fine curves of her body which they had 
 learnt to admire in the build of boats running sweetly 
 through the seas. She was dark and ruddy, but her dark- 
 ness both of hair and eyes was lucid and sparkling : bronze 
 and dark gold were hidden in her hair. And the colour 
 of her health was flower-like, rosy, damask. Yet in her 
 eyes there often gleamed a sullen fire, which seemed por- 
 tentous and prophetic ; in the curves of her sweet mouth 
 there was something so complete as to appear, by an 
 elusive quality, as inexorable as the close round of life 
 and death. 
 
 " But though the mother's dying, she's her mother's 
 daughter," said old Jose, the blacksmith, " and if I know 
 aught of women, God help the man she favours/' 
 
 There was hard wisdom about the old man of the 
 village forge. He mixed old Cornwall with younger 
 England and with Spanish blood that came ashore what 
 time the Great Armada split upon a British anvil. 
 
12 RACHEL MARR 
 
 "To raise a family takes a woman like the rest of 
 women. 'Tisn't the yacht built at Plymouth that 
 catches the fish or faces the south-westers off the Long- 
 ships and the Wolf. I've a notion, bred out of seeing 
 the like, that such are the last of their tribe. Mebbe, for 
 all the body of her, and her young bosom, she'll give the 
 breast to no man's children." 
 
 Yet how she adored the fulness of the earth and the 
 ripe increase of the herds and fields. The very cackle 
 of the hens and the full murmur of their brooding; the 
 mares and their foals ; a litter of tumbling, yelping pups, 
 excited her as greatly as the sound of the sea, though to 
 a softer, more inexplicable emotion. Little children she 
 adored; those who were childless she hardly knew: she 
 rarely crossed their over-quiet thresholds: she did not 
 pity them: they did not exist. A woman of the village 
 only became a living creature when she bore life; when 
 she renewed it. A baby was a miracle to her: she shed 
 happy tears when she held one in her arms. Nothing 
 young was ugly: even callow nestlings had a warm 
 promise of a life of song as they shrieked unmusically 
 for food in some high nest to which she had climbed. 
 The earth might be the Lord's, but the fulness of it was 
 all her own. 
 
 She had never had lavished upon her any of that ma- 
 ternal passion which throbbed in her own veins. She 
 felt, with an instinctive and deep resentment, that her 
 mother had no joy in her presence, and had never known 
 any joy of her. There was always a question in her 
 mother's eyes, a question unspoken, a question unan- 
 swerable ; an accusation, it might have been almost fear. 
 She could remember no caress, not even when she 
 recalled the days long since drifted into the night of the 
 past. It had always been the same : Martha had been her 
 mother, for her real mother stood aloof with a grief 
 unspoken and unspeakable. Nothing had changed since 
 Rachel remembered anything at all. It had been the 
 same at Naples, which was now a sparkling and broken 
 memory to her: the same in high and lonely Perugia: 
 the same in a quiet Catholic canton of snowy Switzer- 
 
RACHEL MARR 13 
 
 land. Martha, the old servant of the house, had 
 mothered an alien, so it seemed, and a dull resentment 
 sometimes burnt in the girl's heart when she felt that she 
 had a mother and yet lacked a mother's love. But a 
 livelier pity for the woman who lived indoors, out of 
 the sun, with a yellow crucifix nailed to her bosom, wiped 
 out all anger and resentment when she hugged the warm 
 earth, and saw the spring return and the summer ripen 
 and the full autumn yield its fruits. 
 
 Now in this fair morning, perfect, mature, odorous 
 and warmly triumphant, she nourished no anger against 
 any living thing. She lived for the moment, ardent and 
 unchecked, like a lark singing in pellucid air above the 
 earth. She wanted nothing, her thoughts rose not to her 
 consciousness, she moved graciously among flowers and 
 saw the world through the warm atmosphere of her 
 unborn thoughts. The aspect of the landscape filled her 
 mind with distances, gave it completions, rounded her 
 soul. There was nothing wanted, nothing needed, that 
 would not come in the due order of its season; nothing 
 obtrusive, alien, bitter or provocative. The silence was 
 only the timely want of human voices ; in such hours the 
 sound of any speech, though it was but the singing drawl 
 of some fisher boy upon the beach, sent her back upon 
 herself. At night and in the morning she was one with 
 nature, one with the sea and the uplands, one with the 
 streams and the pinewoods. As the day broadened she 
 drew back, like some wild creature of the forests, and 
 viewed with more distrust the narrower aspects of the 
 little human world. Her native trust in her own in- 
 stincts, evoked at her own peculiar hours, survived in 
 an impatient hostility, easily roused though scornfully 
 placable, against a folk who trusted nothing but God, 
 interpreted for them by one whose duty was a forbidding 
 survival of the past. 
 
 But this morning was her own. She fed the fowls 
 and gathered them round her gladly. Their greed was 
 delightful and simple: they pretended to no virtue not 
 needed for the continuance of their race, and needed 
 none. If the cock sometimes yielded a grain of barley 
 
14 RACHEL MARR 
 
 to a hungry hen, he did it, she knew, because he had 
 already filled his crop. His air of general benevolence 
 was inspired by no hypocrisy, but by a fat consciousness 
 of digestion following on fed appetite. When she had 
 no more to give them, they dispersed into the woods and 
 fields. Soon some were hunting on the marsh-land: it 
 was a fine and simple world to them since they suffered 
 no pain from the haughty contempt of the sailing geese. 
 In that same field the mare and her foal grazed. Rachel 
 took the mother a handful of grain, saved from the 
 fowls, and as she fed the mare out of one of her hands, 
 the fuzzy-coated foal sucked at her fingers. He did not 
 draw away from her when she fondled his soft ears and 
 muzzle : he had known her as soon as he had known his 
 dam. 
 
 Then the day's first beauty passed as the sun rose 
 above the pines. She heard Martha call to her from the 
 garden. 
 
 "Rachel, Rachel!" 
 
 And Rachel frowned a little when she turned towards 
 the house. She shrugged her shoulders impatiently as 
 she walked up the grassy slope from the water-meadow. 
 Outside the world was always growing, renewing itself; 
 inside were stagnation and the processes of death. She 
 shuddered at times with an unconquerable distaste for 
 her mother. She revolted incredibly against the slow 
 involution of things: even Martha's wrinkles made her 
 angry. She hated the old women in the village. These 
 things, these sights of approaching death, wrinkled her 
 mind. She perceived at such moments that youth was 
 short indeed, a mere warm morning, lighted by an unrisen 
 sun, while the heat and burden of the hot day were bitter. 
 
 " Well, Martha, what is it now? " 
 
 So the day began. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The heavy atmosphere of Morna House and the gloom 
 of her who owned it, but took no delight either in the 
 
RACHEL MARR 15 
 
 woodlands that guarded it or in the changing sea, had 
 so grown into Rachel's mind that she had come to believe 
 tragedy something inherent in the nature of things. So 
 close did this sense of her environment cling to her, that 
 curiosity only grew slowly. She had never known her 
 mother aught but pale and oppressed, passionate and 
 sullen by turns, and if these things had always been, they 
 were natural, and could neither be altered nor mitigated. 
 And yet she knew, without knowing how she knew, that 
 behind her mother's visible tragedy there lay some actual 
 tragic cause. There was a story of woe in that oppressed 
 heart, and an intolerable sense of sin, as unforgiven and 
 as unforgivable as the unpardonable sin itself. Far in 
 the depths of the girl's mind she remembered even 
 stranger passions than those masked by her mother's 
 white face. Her memory ran far backward; for after 
 her fourth year there were no lapses in its power of 
 record. But even towards the end of her third year, 
 when she and her mother and Martha lived together in 
 an apartment over the Chiaja in Naples, she recalled 
 certain scenes, that now stood out to her disconnected 
 from any antecedent or consequent, like landscapes 
 viewed by one flash of lightning. 
 
 For long years now she had never seen her mother 
 clad in anything but black. She remembered her in scar- 
 let and lace ; in rose and warm gold. The pictures stayed 
 in her mind with strange vividness: at times when she 
 closed her eyes she saw her mother in her youth, and yet 
 unhappy. In that unhappiness there was something reck- 
 less, something fierce and defiant, as though the soul was 
 wretched and the body triumphant. Such unhappiness 
 was not all unhappy; that Rachel knew now. And then 
 there came a day when she saw her mother in bed. 
 When she rose again she wore black, and her colour had 
 gone from her cheeks. 
 
 Till that day her child, the little girl whose beauty was 
 so great, had been at times very much to her. But the 
 woman's affection had its phases, it was so veiled at cer- 
 tain periods that Rachel saw it not, and found herself 
 alone. Then Martha was her only companion for long 
 
i6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 solitary days : they drove out together over the Posilipo ; 
 they went to churches, to the convent on high Camaldoli, 
 to the Belvedere of San Martino over the roaring, talk-i 
 ing city. Some glimpses of these days returned to 
 Rachel : she saw the glow of Vesuvius at midnight ; the 
 blue of Capri as the sun set. 
 
 Then came the day when the mother took to her bed. 
 But from that hour onward the girl became almost hate- 
 ful in her parent's eyes. She was viewed with strange 
 hostility, sometimes even with loathing. Once she re- 
 membered that Martha took her in her arms and raged 
 at her mother in English, a language which Rachel had 
 only learnt after coming to England. And Mrs. Marr 
 had cried out in anger 
 
 " I hate her, I hate her ! " 
 
 She repeated this so often that the words sank into the 
 child's mind, even though she did not understand them. 
 Years after she heard Martha use the same phrase of a 
 village woman, and she knew what her mother had said. 
 
 " Mother hates me," she said mournfully. And then 
 her own native stubbornness and strength came to her aid. 
 
 " And I don't love her." 
 
 She saw even as a little girl how love begat love, and 
 how love unregarded died at last. 
 
 Though Mary Marr was a Catholic, for many years 
 after leaving Naples she never entered a church or con- 
 fessed to any priest. In the most devout there is often 
 the greatest strain of native disbelief, and her father had 
 been a notorious freethinker, a pain and a disgrace to 
 orthodox Morna, where good churchmen and dissenters 
 united to counteract his influence and example. The one 
 room in Morna House that remained unlocked and un- 
 used, as the old man had left it, was his library. Once 
 Rachel had slipped back a window-catch with a knife 
 and had entered its dusty precincts. She had been found 
 there by her mother and had been driven out as though 
 the books were contamination. For now and once again 
 the elder woman was a devout Catholic, even though 
 Father Brant, the priest at the great house of Caerhays, 
 above Morna Cove, thought her half insane. He knew 
 
RACHEL MARR 17 
 
 her story, even as Martha did. He prayed for the wel- 
 fare of her child. God's mercy was great. His wrath 
 did not always fall even upon the second generation. If 
 His grace could save the sinner, should it not avail for 
 the sinner's child. And Rachel believed what he taught 
 her. It seemed to her that religion made no difference 
 to her life, except that it made it harder to be just. If 
 one had to forgive everyone, how should one treat those 
 who were cruel ? 
 
 Her own passion was a living enveloping sense of 
 affection: when she was affectionate, she was most, was 
 all herself. Her disdain or hatred of the aged, which in- 
 deed marked her strongly, seemed even at its greatest 
 something alien in her mind. It was rather an indiffer- 
 ence than disdain, rather a fear than a dislike: she was 
 so young that the old were aliens of another race. They 
 loved, it might be, but their love was a cold flame : they 
 desired, but she saw their desires dwindle. It was hor- 
 rible, even if they belonged to a cold white species of 
 humanity, to see the slow and dreadful processes of 
 death at their work of placid, calm destruction. They 
 said that all came to this at last, to the disgrace of time, 
 and time's forgetting, and when Rachel heard them she 
 shivered even as she had grown cold with fear at the pic- 
 ture of hell. 
 
 And then the dawn rose and she was herself, a well- 
 spring of youth, an adorer of the warm body and the 
 insolence of the growth of youth. If people died they 
 did so because they did not wish to live. She saw them 
 cease to wish. This was a failure of the soul rather than 
 of the creature. They were weak and did not deserve 
 the strong continuance she perceived in her own passion- 
 ate delight in life. What of her mother? This illness of 
 hers was a prolonged and bitter suicide. How came it 
 that the world ceased to be sweet and how was it that 
 music died out of the winds for the ears of men? By 
 what cause, or what grave causes, came the loss of all 
 the pleasure of the eyes, the sight of the immortal sea, 
 the waving of the windy singing pines, the hushed mel- 
 ody of the whispering wheat and nodding grasses ? Who 
 
l8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 could destroy the celestial glory of Orion, the mystery of 
 the Pleiades, the song and chant of the moving heavens, 
 even if one grew deaf to the melody of birds? 
 
 And if melancholy came and overwhelmed the soul so 
 that the day lost its brightness, and the songs of birds 
 their sweetness, and the sea its glory, was there not the 
 embracing over-arching clasp of the night? Night came 
 to her like a lover, it kissed her even as the warm tides 
 did. Neither pain, nor any woe she yet imagined, nor 
 any loss, nor the destruction of any dear hope conceived 
 as vital, if any hope were vital when the senses burnt 
 clear and renewed themselves, made her foresee night 
 as anything but a period of renewal, as hours, whether in 
 sleep or waking, in which the soul spread itself in 
 strange calm and absorbed peace and strength from the 
 earth and the stars. 
 
 By what mischance, by what open denial of the powers 
 or the godlike night, came it that her mother found no 
 solace in the deep dark silence, ^nd was less rather than 
 more at each succeeding dawn? 
 
 She thought these things and thought them not; she 
 was only a girl, but was yet a creature of life with a mind 
 as active as the sea itself, as the wind, as the processes of 
 life about her. Every stimulus drew forth its response; 
 every touch of the nature-god made her give up music 
 of strange discord. Martha herself, though strange and 
 old, was not old in the way Rachel abhorred, and this 
 faithful servant of her mother was part of nature to the 
 girl, a gift of old time and a portion of the brighter world 
 even yet. Only with her was the girl what others would 
 have called natural. For with her mother she was cold 
 and strained; with the villagers she was a wild thing, 
 even when they suckled children whom she touched with 
 warm and thrilling fingers; with Anthony Perran she 
 was odd, aloof, an embodiment of ripe unripe sex, a 
 challenge and something to fear. And as for other men, 
 she ranged them among the noble or ignoble beasts. 
 
 " I was swimming last night, Martha," she said when 
 she entered the house. 
 
 "Aye, but you shouldn't," said Martha, busy at the 
 
RACHEL MARR 19 
 
 fire. She was bright-eyed, withered yet strong. " But 
 what's the use of talking to the breed of Tregilgas, 
 mother of daughter ? You are Hke your mother, Rachel, 
 and she was like hers." 
 
 Rachel frowned heavily, and when she contracted her 
 brows she looked a woman. 
 
 " Don't say I'm like mother " 
 
 " A lovely woman she was, and so will you be if you 
 don't drown yourself at midnight, or fall over the cliff," 
 said Martha with a certain cheerfulness of accent out of 
 tune with her words. " But why talk ? It's in the blood, 
 and the cliff path is for some, and the water below. I 
 remember when your mother laughed." 
 
 Rachel shook her head impatiently. 
 
 " And so do I." 
 
 " She laughed fierce when you knew her first, my 
 girl." 
 
 Martha crackled with laughter, scornful laughter, and 
 the pan over the fire crackled and spat too. 
 
 " You old witch, you croaking raven," cried Rachel, 
 " you're a devil this morning. What's in this house, 
 Martha, that makes the sun cold when it looks through 
 the windows? When you're outside you're good, and so 
 am I. But don't say I'm like mother. How is she ? " 
 
 Martha turned fish in spitting fat. 
 
 " Oh, but she's herself, and a good, good Catholic this 
 day; I'm main glad I'm what I am and can eat what I 
 like. 'Tis Friday, Rachel." 
 
 "What's she eaten?" 
 
 " Bread and water. Sit down and eat." 
 
 The girl shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Give me a plate, I'll eat outside." 
 
 " You'll be sleeping outside soon, my girl." 
 
 " I can't breathe here," cried Rachel. " I went out at 
 midnight and as I swam I saw Anthony Perran riding 
 home with Sigurd. When I can have my own way I'll 
 sleep in my wood. Give me the plate, you dear old devil 
 of a Martha." 
 
 And Martha shook her head. 
 
 "That's what your mother used to call me when I 
 
20 RACHEL MARR 
 
 was young and red as a rose. And now I'm a dried up 
 old stick, Rachel." 
 
 The girl kissed her withered cheeks. 
 
 "You old dear, I love you. What else have I to 
 love?" 
 
 But there was the outside world, and all young living 
 things, and the young gifts of God and the eternal sea 
 and the voices of the wind and strong men riding on the 
 big road of life. 
 
 " Ah, what else? You'll find him," said Martha, " and 
 then I shall be like a dead leaf to a budding tree." 
 
 And Rachel took her food outside and sat on a log by 
 the wood-pile, and heard the chatter of the birds, the 
 cluck of the hens, and the song of the morning. 
 
 Overhead her mother's window had its white blind 
 down. 
 
 IV 
 
 If Rachel spoke to her mother thrice a month it was 
 thrice too often for the woman who had borne her. She 
 sat with her sins in the shadow of the house and com- 
 muned with the ghosts of dead days and dead delights, 
 and finding joy in nothing found none in her child. 
 
 They said in the village that Mrs. Marr was mad. 
 Some of the older folk remembered her as a girl as 
 strong and bright as Rachel. 
 
 " And then she married Mr. Marr," they said. 
 
 He was a " foreigner," an Englishman, without Cor- 
 nish blood in him, a painter of the sea, a singer of songs, 
 a man of many paths and strange blasphemies, an alien 
 from their religion, a Londoner. 
 
 " And her father was the cause of it," said the village, 
 " for old Tregilgas loved to meet those who did not be- 
 lieve in God and were like himself. But he hated Marr 
 after his daughter married him." 
 
 They knew that, and more. They had heard of Marr 
 and his wife in London town. It was a strange thing 
 that Rachel had been born abroad, years after the mar- 
 
RACHEL MARK 21 
 
 riage. It was stranger still that Marr was then in Eng- 
 land. But soon after he died, and someone said in Morna 
 that Mary Marr was dressed at that time in scarlet and 
 fine linen, and rode in carriages in the Chiaja of Naples. 
 A seaman wrote this to his people. He himself had seen 
 her, so he said. And he had seen Martha with her. For 
 Martha had been her nurse and had gone to London with 
 her when she married. 
 
 Surely all these things were strange, said Morna 
 village. And years after she came back to her father's 
 house, then her own, and was a white and broken woman, 
 and a Roman Catholic. These things were stranger 
 still. Many doubted whether she had a better chance of 
 heaven than old Tregilgas, who died, they declared, 
 blaspheming God, as all atheists did who would not seek 
 salvation at the very edge of the pit. 
 
 And Martha knew all the truth about her; knew 
 about Marr, and about Rome and Naples, and the Scarlet 
 Woman of Babylon, and the sunlight and shame of 
 Naples, where there was a mountain of fire to remind 
 papists of hell. And she knew, if any knew, whether 
 Richard Marr was Rachel's father or not. But then 
 Martha was no longer a woman of Morna. She had 
 been and was not. She looked at the old women whom 
 she had known as girls as though they belonged to another 
 world. 
 
 " She's a furriner," said the curious with bitterness, 
 " she can speak Italian. And if she goes to chapel she 
 never stays to speak with us. And she lives in a house 
 with a crucifix. And she says ' Yes, Father,' and ' No, 
 Father,' to the priest up to Caerhays when he comes to 
 Morna." 
 
 Few but Martha and Rachel said very much to Father 
 Brant. The itinerant preachers passed him as though he 
 were a living infection, in the narrow days of Queen 
 Elizabeth. The village boys sometimes hooted him afar 
 off, but hid as he approached. If his religion was the 
 way to the pit, of a surety he carried the keys of it in his 
 girdle. If the man within him grieved, the priest and 
 ecclesiast smiled a little bitterly, as he went on his lonely 
 
22 RACHEL MARR 
 
 way to see the woman, smitten of God, and even yet 
 hardly repentant. But then she was smitten of God. 
 What the villagers said, he knew. She was not sane. 
 
 " Shall I not let in the sun ? " asked Martha every 
 morning. 
 
 " What have I to do with the light? " 
 
 Or what with the blue skies above the sea, or with 
 anything of life ? Before her inward eyes blazed a south- 
 ern summer, and the glare of white roads, and a glitter- 
 ing sea whereon danced white sails. She smelt the odour 
 of ripe grapes, and heard the song of the peasants as 
 they drove their oxen from the raped vineyard. And 
 yet even there went something more than the shadow of 
 herself. Her affection and her passion had all the 
 strength of a great religion. Out of passion springs 
 the desire of God: out of balked passion the pain and 
 knowledge of Him. The power of disbelief in her father 
 turned in her to belief; she believed and sinned and 
 cried for forgiveness without repentance — without the 
 desire of it. Why should God not make those happy 
 who could not repent? Was not man made in His im- 
 age ? Was not the Lover His likeness ? 
 
 " What have I to do with the light, with this light, 
 when I can turn from it and behold the desire of my 
 eyes, now as far froni me as God himself ? " 
 
 If those are mad who find no relief by the sweet alter- 
 nation of nature's functions, by the power to renew 
 affection, by the fresh growth of any sweet dead affec- 
 tion, she was mad and lived in a dead garden of the soul, 
 
 " Father, I cannot let him go with my mind. If death 
 could not do it, how can his repentance, since his repent- 
 ing seems a weakness to me ? " 
 
 " Do you grudge him peace, if he has found it in 
 working again for God ? " 
 
 She was white, and answered nothing; not a word. 
 But she answered to herself in her silence, " If I gave 
 my soul for him and gained him for a time, how can I 
 redeem what I gave, even if I would ? For I cannot and 
 do not repent." 
 
 She trod a worn path upon the white boards of her 
 
RACHEL MARR 23 
 
 room, for she rarely left it, save at night, when she wan- 
 dered in the passages of the old house. Sometimes she 
 opened her father's room, and sat among his books, and 
 heard the fierce and jovial old man declare again that if 
 God was not a good fellow he would have naught to do 
 with Him. Even as a girl such cheerful blasphemy 
 made her shiver and creep to bed, afraid that the house 
 would fall, and the fall of it would be great. In those 
 days the church she knew was the little bethel in the fold 
 of the hills at the back or Morna, and though she was 
 forbidden to enter it, she often listened to sallow men in 
 dark clothes speaking nercely of the wrath of a jealous 
 God, who delighted more, as it seemed to her, in the 
 destruction of the sinner than in his repentance. Now 
 that she knew the great God of Love, the Ark of Refuge 
 for all true faith, she still heard the sound of His thunder 
 rather than any saying from the Mercy Seat. 
 
 If only she had had no child! 
 
 She had betrayed herself and her lover in the pain that 
 might have been sweet and was not. She had cried aloud 
 for him, and had been answered by suspicion. Her anger 
 grew into madness, into delirium; and out of delirium 
 again grew suspicion of him who was suspected and 
 watched by his superiors. She betrayed herself and him 
 in confession three years later when she was ill, and was 
 betrayed by her new confessor. The father, brought 
 back to the fold, laboured among the heathen ten thou- 
 sand miles away. When she heard it, she thrust her 
 Rachel from her, and never loved her again. 
 
 A year later there came to her from abroad, from 
 somewhere in the South Americas, a small parcel ad- 
 dressed in her lover's hand. When she opened it, witji 
 fear and hope and strange trembling of her weakened 
 body, she found a crucifix in it that she knew had been 
 his. It was very old and made of ivory that had grown 
 yellow during centuries ; the Christ upon it was worn 
 and chipped and broken, but very mournful, the work 
 of a fourteenth century master of carving. But beyond 
 this crucifix there was no word, not a line. He had re- 
 nounced her, had given her back to God. 
 
24 RACHEL MARK 
 
 With this crucifix she lived ; it became part of her Kfe ; 
 it represented less the passion of Christ than the passion 
 of him who sent it. She lived believing in God with an 
 ecstacy of doubt ; her heart was full of prayer and wild 
 resentment. Only her belief in the future life restrained 
 her from awful blasphemy. It was impossible to believe 
 that her lover might not be given back to her beyond the 
 grave. She treated God as if He were placable by lip 
 service, which her passion converted into prayer that 
 begat hope. She slept with the crucifix upon her bosom, 
 
 " While he lives, I shall live! " 
 
 She awaited his sanction to die : she awaited his call to 
 the life beyond. With an infinite passion of desire for 
 redemption, she suffocated all her nature and asked for 
 no more than his spirit's recognition of her purified from 
 the flesh. 
 
 But if she had known that he had died unrepentant, 
 unregenerate, a child of the pit, she would have sought 
 her own damnation as eagerly as she sought for life 
 everlasting in Paradise. 
 
 And Rachel was her daughter, a child of her own flesh ; 
 the inheritor of her passion, and of this crucifix. From 
 her sunless room she heard the girl singing in the garden. 
 
 " God help her whom I cannot love," she cried. 
 
 V 
 
 Martha had once been sweet-voiced, but she never sang 
 in the shadow of the house. She had known her trage- 
 dies too; simple ones and straightforward as all trage- 
 dies are to the simpler natures. The complexity, the 
 fury and terror of disaster lie in the heart, not in the 
 causes. She had shed her tears and had dried them, 
 and then had taken Mary Tregilgas, before she married 
 George Marr, into her very heart. 
 
 " I nursed her," she said. She envied the woman who 
 had given Mary the breast. 
 
 As a childless woman she renewed her youth in Rachel 
 and was anxious. These two were strangely, even aw- 
 
RACHEL MARR 25 
 
 fully alike. They looked at each other without sym- 
 pathy; the girl suspected her mother was the picture 
 of herself after years yet to come : the mother ran back 
 over the years and sipped bitter dew from flowers long 
 since perished whei^i she saw the red blood in the girl's 
 round cheek. And Martha loving both, and sorrowing 
 in vain for one, feared for the other. 
 
 " If there were no men, Rachel, 'twould be a fine 
 world," she said with a half twinkle in an anxious eye. 
 
 "How silly!" cried Rachel. "Who'd do the hard 
 work?" 
 
 But Martha threw up her head. 
 
 " Who does it now ? What's fishing or ploughing but 
 games to the men? They love the foam of the sea, and 
 the smell of turned land, and the use of their hands. 
 They growl over it to make us content, my dear, but they 
 sneak away winking, saying to themselves what fools we 
 women are. Some of 'em believe they fool us, and some 
 of us are fooled, but the house and the children — ^that's 
 the work, and they know it. And the men are children, 
 my dear; you never know what fire they'll play with, 
 and the woman has to bide till the roof's aflame, often, 
 often. She knows and can't speak, for if she does they 
 bang out like a big boy when his father's dend and he 
 can't be handled, and then it's beer and talking to some 
 other woman over a fence. And they'll climb any fence 
 after a strange woman. I know them." 
 
 " But you never married, Martha," said Rachel. 
 
 Martha's face twitched; she turned away and for a 
 while was silent. 
 
 " No," she said at last, " but I might have done. And 
 I could tell you things, only I won't. Only now you're 
 growing, Rachel, and I've seen the men cast eyes upon 
 you. Keep them off, my dear, and never let any two- 
 legged thing in breeches persuade you there's no harm 
 in a kiss. Don't trust any of 'em, not one, and the one 
 you think you can, beware of him most, for it's to them 
 we give ourselves mostly, and marriage is the least of 
 two evils. Keep yourself your own till you're sure the 
 right man comes along." 
 
26 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And Rachel laughed, and yet when she spoke there 
 was an inward hidden thought at her heart. 
 
 " Oh, aye, but how do you know him, Martha ? " 
 
 She was standing in the doorway, half in sun and 
 half in shade, while Martha washed her dishes. The old 
 woman did not answer for a while. 
 
 " Well, how ? " repeated Rachel. She saw the moonlit 
 cove at midnight in her happier mind. 
 
 " I spoke foolishness," said Martha with a sigh, " but 
 we all do. There's no way of knowing, Rachel, not that 
 I know of, or that I ever heard of. You may be as sure 
 in your mind as that the sun's shining, but you are not 
 sure. For what you are now, you may not be next year. 
 And what he is next year mayn't be what he is now. 
 Oh, 'tis lucky dipping in the bag if you catch the right 
 one, and luckier if he stays so, and luckier still if you 
 don't change yourself. And its unluckier than all to stay 
 yourself always. Hold them cheap, Rachel, don't get set 
 on any man. I could tell you later of them that has, and 
 woe has lived in their house for ever." 
 
 And though the sun shone it seemed to shine less 
 brightly, and what Martha cleaned she did not see for 
 tears. 
 
 "Then what's the use of trembling?" asked Rachel. 
 
 " It's as God wills," said Martha presently, " and if 
 He is good I'll see you a happy woman yet. But go out, 
 girl, go out. Don't come talking and worrying me here 
 when you see I'm so busy." 
 
 And still the inward thought beat like a lap of a quiet 
 sea on Rachel's heart. She went down through her 
 woodland towards the village. 
 
 " When I have children of my own," she said softly ; 
 " when I have them of my own ! " 
 
 Now she loved none but Life itself, the perpetual mir- 
 acle of increase and resurgence and sweet renewal. 
 Man, who sailed the sea and ploughed the lands, and was 
 the father of little children, was hardly less than Life 
 itself in human form. And yet she remembered the cool 
 cove at midnight, and the sound of a galloping horse, 
 and Sigurd, the great Dane, and the fine strong face 
 
RACHEL MARR 27 
 
 of Anthony Perran as the light fell upon it. She lay 
 down among her pines, and breathed the scented air of 
 summer and listened to the sound of the world about 
 her. And far away the great sea beat upon the head- 
 lands. She heard the purring of the Lion as the tide 
 went past it to the westward. 
 
 It was strange to hear Martha talk so E^hout men. 
 though for that matter Rachel remembered her breaking 
 out long before in bitter abuse of them. Now it seemed 
 that the old woman's rage against them had softened 
 inta a sad and bitter knowledge, which was equally a 
 knowledge of women and of life and all human kind. 
 For some reason— a reason that Rachel could hardly 
 have penetrated to, even if. she had sought for causes in 
 her mind — this talk of Martha's came home to her and 
 made her think a little, made her wonder what it was 
 that men did, or could do, that made women so bitter. 
 
 For her own part it seemed to the warm waking ma- 
 ternity of the girl that the possession of children, the 
 gift of marriage by some abstruse miracle, would turn 
 all cause of ofifence to running water. The father would 
 be nothing, the limbs and body and the little hands of 
 the God-given would be all, an infinite satisfaction, a 
 rounded completion, a promise and compact of immor- 
 tality. Her face flushed even now at the possibility of 
 such incredible joy, her instincts flowered on her lips. 
 She touched the unborn with her very soul. She crooned 
 soft melody in her singing heart in foreseen adora- 
 tion. 
 
 She was ignorant and most innocent: she divided the 
 animals from man. There was, she had been taught, the 
 most infinite distance between them ; and the human soul, 
 that hidden flower, that inner spirit, miraculous and 
 wonder working, was, as she vaguely believed, the true 
 father of God's little children when marriage endowed a 
 passion that she only guessed at. But the wonder of the 
 flesh of babes was still a greater wonder in her own 
 rounded limbs. 
 
 As she lay on her wild couch of pine needles and 
 heard the infinite speech of her own heart, waking then to 
 
28 RACHEL MARR 
 
 realities and touching them with a fond terror, she heard 
 the speech of the wind and the trees and the tides and 
 the voices of men and women in the hidden village by 
 the sea. Some called musically and two sang by a boat. 
 A woman scolded, a cock crew ; she heard the cluck of 
 hens, the call of woodland birds, the clink of harness, 
 the roll of cartwheels. The meadow beneath her whis- 
 pered; she saw the sailing geese, a proud fleet and not 
 without a gallant admiral. They went in silence on the 
 water. Only on the land they lost their grace and raised 
 strange clamour. With cool water to their breasts, the 
 world was well. 
 
 Among the subdued chorus of the meads and woods 
 there was not a sound she did not know. The cry of any 
 insect was familiar, and the song of every bird. She 
 knew the voices of all the villagers. That was the voice 
 of Sam Burt, that the sturdy, stubborn bass of Jose the 
 blacksmith, a hard man and a heavy. But all these 
 sounds belonged by nature to the chorus of Morna. A 
 stranger's voice raised her eyes, if ever a stranger came 
 by. And presently she raised herself upon her elbow, for 
 a sound came to her ears that was not in accord with the 
 harmony of the morning. It struck her hard for a mo- 
 ment; it came as an alarm, a note of tragedy as mourn- 
 ful as the sound of a far-off storm. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked herself. And then, "Who 
 is it?" 
 
 For another woman, who was yet a girl, was sobbing 
 in the bracken at the edge of the pinewood, not many 
 yards below her. A girl, not two years older than 
 Rachel, who was yet a woman by the addition of knowl- 
 edge and the bitter-sweet proof of it that lay at her 
 heart. 
 
 " It's someone crying," said Rachel. She rose softly 
 and peered downward from her shadows. 
 
 Softly as he moved a dry branch cracked beneath her 
 feet, and she saw a frond of bracken stir. 
 
 " Who's there ? " she asked, but there was no answer. 
 Doubtless it was some child of the village in trouble, or 
 in revolt against it knew not what. And Rachel had the 
 
RACHEL MARR 29 
 
 gift of consolation, as all those have who, when bitter 
 need comes, cannot console themselves. Her heart, that 
 called for children, ached at any pain in others. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, what's the matter ? " 
 
 She sprang from her pines into the bracken, and found 
 one that was no stranger, yet one whom she had not seen 
 for months. She saw a pale and tear-stained face, and 
 knew that this was an old playfellow of hers, Mary, the 
 daughter of the blacksmith, who was, she thought till 
 then, at Plymouth, the great town of Devon. 
 
 " Oh, Mary, is it you ? " 
 
 The girl buried her face in a bundle on her knees. 
 
 " Yes, miss, it's — it's me." And she sobbed without 
 lifting her eyes. 
 
 But Rachel came down to her, wondering. 
 
 " I thought you were at Plymouth, Mary ? " 
 
 She saw the bowed back shake, but the girl said 
 nothing. And the bundle on her knees spoke for her 
 in an inarticulate and wonderful gurgle that made Rachel 
 forget this visible grief and all the outside world. 
 
 " What — what have you got there ? " she cried. 
 
 She dropped on her knees and touched the gift of 
 sorrow that Mary held in her arms. 
 
 " Oh, oh," cried Rachel in a strange soft voice that 
 carried a fine reproach in it, " it's a baby, and you're 
 crying ! " 
 
 She pushed her hands under Mary's and seized the 
 child triumphantly in quivering excitement. 
 
 " How did you get it — oh, it's so little ; how old is it, 
 Mary, and whose is it ? " 
 
 Now she had the child upon her own knees and looked 
 into its face as it stared up at the sky and at her. One 
 tiny hand grasped her little finger. Strange thrills ran 
 through her. She kissed its cheeks. 
 
 " Whose is it, and why have you got it, and what are 
 you crying about? " 
 
 She cast these questions at the feet of the girl, and then 
 made sweet and foolish noises to the baby. 
 
 Desolation and bitter knowledge answered her deso- 
 lately, " It's— it's mine! " 
 
30 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Then the mother burst into tears and cast herself upon 
 her face in the bracken and sobbed as if hat heart would 
 break. 
 
 " Yours, and you're crying ! " 
 
 It was foolish, it was incredible, monstrous. This was 
 not Rachel's child, and yet to hold it gave her such bliss 
 that she felt herself quiver with joy. 
 
 " Yours, yours ! Oh, I wish it was mine, I wish it was 
 mine ! " said Rachel with passion. " You little darling, 
 how I love you! But why didn't you tell me you were 
 married, Mary?*" 
 
 The girl started as if she had been struck, and Rachel 
 stared at her and put out her hand. 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 " Oh, miss, you'll hate me and say I'm wicked." 
 
 Rached burst in on the broken speech. 
 
 " Wicked ! what for ? You can't be wicked when God's 
 given you a little baby." 
 
 She hugged it to her own bosom. 
 
 " I'm not married at all," said Mary. She sat up sud- 
 denly and stared at Rachel with a sullen brow and a 
 quivering mouth. " I'm not married at all ; no, I'm not. 
 And father " 
 
 But Rachel looked at her in amazement. 
 
 " Mary, you are mad. You can't have a baby unless 
 you are married ! Why, everyone says that ! " 
 
 She was a child, and in her wonderment she looked 
 even younger than she was. Surely this was truth that 
 she uttered. She knew it with strange certainty. It had 
 been explained to her a hundred times when she wanted 
 babies instead of dolls. 
 
 " You must wait till you are married." That's what 
 they all said. And nothing had ever told her that this 
 was not so. It became a law of nature to her that to the 
 mystic union of spirit in marriage God gave marriage 
 gifts of children. 
 
 And here and now Mary denied this ! And even in the 
 sad drawn face of the girl-mother there came something 
 like a bitter smile. For she knew better. 
 
 '' I'm not married and 'tis mine. Give him to me." 
 
RACHEL MARR 31 
 
 But Rachel stared at her and the baby and then 
 looked round upon the woodland and the strange world. 
 
 " Is this true, quite true, Mary ? " 
 
 And Mary nodded sullenly. 
 
 " Then," said Rachel quickly, and as though she had 
 received some inspiration, " then — if you can have a baby 
 without being married, what's the good of being married 
 at all?" 
 
 And Mary's mouth looked as if she laughed. But 
 she made no sound, and threw herself down again upon 
 the grass and bracken, sobbing as if her heart would 
 break, while Rachel stroked the baby's cheeks, and con- 
 sidered this strange new thing that a child should be 
 born and be received with tears. 
 
 For she had seen the joy of the birds in their nestlings, 
 the mares in their foals, and of all living creatures in 
 those who should replace them when death claimed its 
 own at last. And even her own mother had loved her 
 at first ; for Martha said so. 
 
 As she sat thinking, stricken into silence, trying to 
 reconcile the inconceivable opposites of fresh Icnowledge 
 with what had been given her as truth, she recalled the 
 miracle on which her religion was founded. For a mo- 
 ment that seemed to help her, and then that faint light of 
 help died. Could tliere be a new miracle and Mary be 
 its handmaiden? It was impossible, for Mary had no 
 joy in the child. 
 
 And yet if this girl had no husband . A sudden 
 
 rage of impatience came into her. She pushed Mary 
 almost roughly. 
 
 " Do you mean to say he hasn't any father, Mary ? " 
 
 And Mary hid her face in her hands. 
 
 " Do you mean that ? " 
 
 And Mary sat up. 
 
 " Give me the baby, miss, I shouldn't be talking to 
 you." 
 
 Even then she smiled wanly. 
 
 " I'll give him you when you tell me. Do you mean 
 that?" 
 
 But the girl-mother looked away from her and her lips 
 
32 RACHEL MARR 
 
 trembled, remembering kisses and lies that were sweet, 
 and one warm evening on the cliff over the sea where the 
 Lion purred in the tide-way. 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't mean that," she cried in sudden 
 anguish. " I thought he loved me and was true." 
 
 Then both of them heard old Jose's voice in the village 
 below them rating Steve Penrose, who had once been a 
 local preacher, and was now a drunken reprobate. 
 
 " You preached the word of God, you drunken devil, 
 and now you're the shame of the whole country-side." 
 
 And Mary fell a-trembling. 
 
 " 'Tis my father, 'tis my father, and it's I am the 
 shame, the shame ! " 
 
 VI 
 
 " It's I am the shame ; it's I." 
 
 She breathed it mournfully with full belief, and for a 
 moment Rachel was shocked almost to tears, so great 
 seemed the girl's agony and abasement and fear. Then 
 she grew doubtful, a little disdainful, 
 
 " Oh, you are afraid of your father ? " 
 
 " He'll kill me." 
 
 " He won't — oh, you've a baby ! Would he kill that 
 too?" 
 
 The mother stretched out her arms for the forsaken 
 and the nameless, now crowing on Rachel's knees. 
 
 " Give him to me, give him to me 1 " 
 
 And Rachel surrendered him and sat closer. She put 
 her arm about Mary's shoulder, hugging her. 
 
 " Oh, you great silly, if he was mine " 
 
 She looked at him with hungry eyes ; she was a virgin 
 and her mother instincts flamed. 
 
 " If he was mine, I'd laugh. Who cares for your 
 father? I'll come with you, and go first and explain 
 it " 
 
 Again the ghost of an ironical smile rose to the 
 mother's white lips and Rachel looked at her doubt- 
 fully. 
 
RACHEL MARR 33 
 
 " He ought never to have been born," said Mary. 
 
 " God sent him," cried Rachel, and then she stared at 
 the child — " but I don't understand ! " 
 
 " Oh, but you'll understand by and by," said Mary 
 desolately, " when a man walks out with you and tells 
 you he loves you, and he's strong and you're weak and a 
 poor fool, as I was. And Steve may drink that used to 
 preach, and what of that ; for the drink is all he cares for. 
 But I held my head up and said things when I was proud, 
 and though the baby is all I love, he's no shield against 
 shame as the drink is." 
 
 Rachel walked in night, as in some woodland, un- 
 known, untrodden. This was the spot where dreamland 
 marched with a sad land of warning. The spiritual birth 
 of children had seemed as true to her as any truth of the 
 Church She never set the Virgin so far apart from 
 humanity as the interpreted creeds set her. All women 
 were the Virgin's sisters, all births as miraculous as 
 Christ's, or rather just as simple. 
 
 But here was shame with a child and weeping and fear 
 unspeakable. What could it mean but that she had 
 believed folly, had been deceived? A thousand hints of 
 nature, once as mysterious and illegible as moss-grown 
 runes on a weathered pillar, showed themselves to her in 
 a clearer script, though even yet their full meaning 
 mocked her acutest apprehensions. 
 
 As she considered, Mary looked at her strangely, being 
 overcome with the desire to banish Rachel's pity by clear 
 telling of the physical truth. Here was ignorance to 
 which the torch might be put. That lurking desire to 
 tell all things, inherent in the mind, and for ever a motive, 
 pushed Mary on in spite of shame. But the desire to tell 
 the truth seemed evil to her, and she struggled with her- 
 self for a little while. 
 
 Then Rachel caught her eye again. The girl's eyes 
 were reddish-brown, large-pupilled, lustrous, tender and 
 sorrowful. Now there danced in them a desire for frank- 
 ness, an appeal for permission to speak. 
 
 " And the baby's eyes are blue," said Rachel. 
 
 "And so are his," said Mary, holding Rachel hard 
 
34 RACHEL MARR 
 
 with her fixed eyes. "Oh, but you used to kiss me 
 sometimes, miss " 
 
 " I'll kiss you now, poor thing." 
 
 There was something in Mary's eyes that made her 
 flush. 
 
 " Look, I'll tell you," said Mary, " and then you'll not 
 kiss me again, perhaps." 
 
 She was a weak vessel, prone to confession. For some 
 she would have been evil; she had known desire before 
 passion; she had mocked young men with knowledge in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " You know nothing, Miss Rachel. And I know you 
 love babies. Take mine again." 
 
 They sat twined together, for Rachel had loved her 
 once. The baby lay on both their knees. He kicked 
 himself free of half his clothes. 
 
 " He'll be a man and do as others do," said Mary. She 
 whispered things into Rachel's ear, hints that widened, 
 half-truths that grew whole truths of the flesh, until of a 
 sudden Rachel thrust her away and stared at her with 
 fear. 
 
 " Oh," wailed Mary, " 'tis true, 'tis true, and now you 
 hate me. Give me the baby and I'll go." 
 
 And now Rachel understood. Her old beliefs fell into 
 fragments; she saw the flesh unveiled. For a moment 
 she perceived nothing but the horror of it, born of the 
 knowledge of her own strong instincts, till then a mys- 
 tery. And then, then she saw the child again, and 
 caught it up and cried over it; the very fountains of 
 physical maternity broke up in her, and she shook with 
 fear. 
 
 But whatever the path was, that path must be God's. 
 However the fruit came the orchard was God's too. She 
 sat in a dream perceiving things beyond the dream. She 
 was naked and ashamed, and she thought of Anthony 
 Perran as she had talked to him from the sea, when its 
 crystalline cool water held her, and cooled her fevered 
 thoughts. Now in a strange and dreadful bath that 
 stained her deep as blood, she perceived that he was a 
 man. The mystery of her own birth seemed still as great 
 
RACHEL MARR 35 
 
 as it had been, for here she was, warm, living, breathing, 
 fearful of life. One swift gleam of the truth of all 
 miracles comforted her. If all this was true, what was 
 greater than the miracle of the flesh? In the desire of 
 the flesh was the voice of God Himself. Through that 
 He spoke and wrought. The child made all things 
 beautiful. And yet she recalled certain words of those 
 who preached distrusting it. That was folly. 
 
 " You hate me," said Mary weakly, and in a passion 
 of tears. 
 
 " I don't," cried Rachel ; " I'll go to your father for 
 you." 
 
 But Mary clutched her dress. 
 
 She whispered — 
 
 " I'm afraid of him. Oh, but mother's dead." 
 
 " Why should you be afraid ? " 
 
 There was high courage in Rachel, courage founded 
 on fierce personal pride and the strength of those desires 
 that make and break the proud. She feared nothing but 
 death, for death was cold and had no passion, and could 
 bring forth nothing but corruption. 
 
 "He's a man and old," said Rachel. Therefore, said 
 her mind, he understands. How could any man be hard 
 upon those who had failed to hold to a human law when 
 man himself broke it? And then there was the child, 
 his daughter's child. Her overflow of maternity was 
 wonderful, and she saw all things through it. He would 
 be pitiful. For after all, what did marriage matter if the 
 miracle of birth did not need marriage? 
 
 She had lived with her mother, who had taught her 
 nothing but the aspect of despair, against which her red 
 blood revolted, and with Martha, who for the first time 
 this very day had opened her mouth about men, moved 
 thereto by seeing how the girl ripened. What the priests 
 said she accepted without complaint and without compre- 
 hension. Their words were for those who lay a-dying. 
 Something in her assured her beating heart of that. 
 
 "Come," she said, and the trembling girl went with her 
 a little way down the path. 
 
 " Go first," said Mary, " and I'll wait. Oh, I'm cold." 
 
36 RACHEL MARR 
 
 She clutched the baby to her, and in her very disdain 
 Rachel smiled at both of them. She stroked the infant's 
 cheek and went to old Jose's house. She found him in 
 the shop where he wrought horseshoes. The fire 
 sparkled and the iron was hot. 
 
 VII 
 
 An hour ago Rachel would have run to old William Jose 
 and have told her news in innocence. Had Mary been 
 cheerful she would have screamed at him joyfully — 
 
 " Oh, Mary has a baby, Mr. Jose ! " 
 
 But now, though her innocence remained, her ignor- 
 ance was mitigated, she was smirched by false shame, 
 and her native modesty, seeing things in new lights, 
 revolted. Then her courage returned, for she had the 
 courage that might go to death hand in hand with terror. 
 
 "And she's crying ! " 
 
 She went the few yards down the slope in a maze. 
 Her world was a broken kaleidoscope ; it had tumbled 
 into inharmonious fragments. She saw that a newer 
 harmony must return ; she even saw through what it 
 must come. That was the flesh ; it was the body. To 
 her ardent maternal spirit so much was sure, and not 
 unbeautiful, if — oh, if others thought so too. 
 
 But ten thousand words that had meant nothing re- 
 turned now with stings. Certain vilenesses, immodesties, ; 
 and ridiculous metaphors and similes floated at her like 
 motes in a sunbeam. Now she half understood them. 
 They were outrages. She was like one who stares at an 
 adorned Hermes pillar and has it explained brutally. 
 
 Yet the result was the same ; the baby crowed and 
 clutched the mother's finger or her bosom just the same. 
 She flushed with proleptic joy and got furious against 
 men at the same time. Who invented the terror that 
 stood in Mary's path and decked her child in robes of 
 shame ? 
 
 " Oh, if it was so bad, Mary would not have come back' 
 to him." 
 
RACHEL MARR 37 
 
 Just then, as she had seen the child so brave and fat, 
 she did not understand that the mother would have him 
 so at any price of pride. 
 
 She marched across the road to the blacksmith's shop, 
 and found old Jose at his horseshoes with a boy at the 
 bellows. 
 
 " Aye, 'tis Miss Rachel," said Jose. 
 
 He was as grey and grim as the north sea when a 
 northeaster blows; grey foam his eyebrows, grey and 
 grizzled his beard. The man was big and gaunt, and 
 though over sixty still the strongest man in the Cove. 
 He had married late, and had been widowed soon. His 
 wife left him Mary and a son, now at sea. He had, it 
 seemed, loved them both almost overmuch, till he took to 
 religion as some take to drink. 
 
 Rachel leant against the doorpost and watched the 
 sparks fly. Her heart was hot but her hands cold. She 
 trembled a little both at her errand and this old man who 
 knew so much and had lived so long. He had always 
 liked her, though she was a " papist." It was not in any 
 male heart to feel anything but pleasure before her. 
 
 " Well, missy," he said as an extra greeting as he 
 plunged the hot shoe into water. 
 
 "I want to speak to you, Mr. Jose," she said. He 
 caught the catch in her voice, the tremble of it, and 
 looked hard at her. 
 
 " Is there trouble at your house ? " 
 
 There was death there no doubt, or death coming. 
 But this trouble was life. 
 
 "No, no, it's not about me, it's about " 
 
 She looked at him appealingly and then at the boy by 
 the bellows. 
 
 "Go out, Billy," said Jose. " Shall we go over to the 
 house, miss ? " 
 
 But Rachel shook her head. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Jose, there are many things I don't under- 
 stand " 
 
 " No doubt, my dear, no doubt, for you haven't the 
 true faith." 
 
 " Is the true faith love and forgiveness and mercy ? " 
 
^ RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Aye, on God's side," said Jose. 
 
 "And on man's, Mr. Jose? " 
 
 " 'Tisn't for man to take God's place, even for 
 them." 
 
 " Nor to take God's place to condemn ? " she urged 
 aptly. He had sought to free her from Rome a score of 
 times. It pleased him to see her serious. 
 
 " Oh, no," said Jose. " But what's your trouble?" 
 
 " It isn't mine," said Rachel pitifully. She was sorry 
 for the fierce old man, seeing him as rugged as the cliffs 
 and only tender as the sea is when calm reigns on the 
 deep. " Oh, but I'm afraid to tell you." 
 
 She could not see his eyes now, for he bent his brows 
 and held his hands together. 
 
 " Is there aught in the papers about — about my Tom ? " 
 
 " No, no — it's about — oh, Mr. Jose, it's about Mary! " 
 
 Fire grew in his eyes now, as fire grew out of black 
 coals in the forge fire when the blast of driven air went 
 through it. 
 
 "What of her? She's over to Plymouth." _ 
 
 She saw apprehension and fear grow in him. 
 
 " She's at our house," said Rachel. 
 
 "And well?" 
 
 " She's very well " 
 
 " And you come with tears to tell me so ? " 
 
 There was a tragic dignity about him that scored her 
 mind deeply. Was he taking the fear of the truth into 
 him? Was it then so tragic a thing? She grew con- 
 fused, for her body swore it was not. 
 
 "Has my girl done aught that she — should not?" 
 
 She perceived the sea of his mind grow tumultuous. 
 
 " She thinks so," said Rachel, and Jose's heart beat 
 freer. 
 
 Could any speak so if it had been the worst that he had 
 feared; could any girl speak so? 
 
 " What is it, then, what is it ? " 
 
 He smiled a hard smile, and breathed heavily, as if a 
 danger had been passed, some leeward rock of shame. 
 
 "Most girls are fools, you know, begging your pardon, 
 missy, and all women take notions, so what's hers ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 39 
 
 The father's heart spoke in him, the heart unspoiled, 
 a heart that was pitiful within the law. And Rachel's 
 heart leapt within her to hear the altered voice of the 
 man, and, not knowing the law, she answered, looking 
 at him with a flutter of her eyelids (since she had learnt 
 things this hour) — 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Jose, she has the dearest little baby ! " 
 
 In her voice were many elements of human music, 
 pleasure and hope and joyous envy, even at the very 
 time she took strange knowledge into her and revolted 
 against the flesh. But this was an old man, a husband 
 and a father of children, who understood the strength 
 and weakness of the heart. He was the first man she 
 had seen since she had beheld the fruit of the orchard of 
 knowledge shining in terrible light from the underworld 
 of passion; he seemed almost awful to her, at once a 
 man and a fierce kind of animal. 
 
 But when she spoke the sun went out of the day for 
 him, and he grew as dark as the chilled forge. 
 
 " You lie ! you lie ! " he said. 
 
 He put his knotted hands upon her shoulders and 
 shook her to and fro like a reed. 
 
 " You lie, girl, you lie ! " 
 
 To her fierce pride the insult was a blow, and sudden 
 rage, rage in the throat, choked her. 
 
 " She's married, if it's true ; she's married," said old 
 Jose in a very lamentable voice, and Rachel, who looked 
 for something to strike him with, found the deadliest 
 weapon in her tongue. 
 
 " She's not, she's not ; she says she's not," she cried in 
 a rage of anger. 
 
 And the old man groaned, and hid his face behind his 
 hands. Rachel turned to pity swiftly. 
 ' " Oh, don't you love her? " 
 
 She pleaded with other music in her voice. And then 
 she sobbed, and with a strange wail of astonishment, 
 cried out — 
 
 " Oh, it's so little, and so sweet, and Mary's crying in 
 the wood ! " 
 
 But Jose thrust her aside, and marching out of the 
 
40 RACHEL MARR 
 
 forge, took the steep path to Morna House. She heard 
 him speak. 
 
 " She's only left me six months. 'Tis some man of 
 Morna." 
 
 She ran past him as he walked muttering. 
 
 vni * 
 
 For all the sun it was a dark world overhead, and Rachel 
 ran weeping, with anger in her heart and wonder. It 
 seemed natural enough for tragedy to dwell in Morna 
 House and in a dark room where a white woman sat 
 waiting for death. But here was day, and here the 
 warm summer, and a red-cheeked mother of a child. 
 Behind her trod the father of the girl; she heard him 
 come like tragedy itself. Was this the world of God, 
 then, this His pleasure in the ripe increase of His 
 worshippers? There was some strange madness in the 
 nature of things; something cruel, something bestial. 
 Her head whirled at this dark storm, so incomprehensi- 
 ble, so vague in origin, so blind, so vast. How could the 
 absence of marriage, if marriage was not needed, make 
 this difference? Whatever was said, there was the rosy 
 child, crowing amid the bracken, or clutching at the 
 round and rosy breasts of its dear mother. Whatever 
 was thought, there was the baby, the gift of God, and as 
 she now knew, the gift of the body. What did anything 
 matter but that? She turned for a moment as though 
 to ask the man behind her what his visible passion of 
 anger meant, and what Mary meant by fearing him. 
 And then she knew it was vain to ask, for she came to 
 Mary seated crying in the wood. She had turned back 
 again in terror to its warm covert and shelter. In some 
 such wood mothers of long ago had brought forth with 
 woe and unspeakable love. 
 
 " Oh, Mary, he's coming ! " 
 
 The mother whimpered — 
 
 " Is he very " 
 
 " Oh, he's mad," said Rachel ; " he's mad 1 " 
 
RACHEL MARK 41 
 
 She faced this inexplicable wrath with such feelings as 
 those who come suddenly face to face with the insane. 
 That she herself had been shocked by knowledge was 
 nothing. That was explicable ; she saw she had dreamed, 
 had been deceived by idle words, by the encouraged 
 metaphors of spirit. But this old man knew these things. 
 Was all tl^e world mad then, mad to manage itself, ordain- 
 ing ritual as to the processes of life? It seemed so at 
 that moment, and then Jose came where his daughter 
 crouched and cowered in the bracken. Rachel did not 
 think she would have cowered thus. She stood over the 
 girl and faced the father with her fists clenched, with her 
 eyes blazing. If he was so mad he might wish to kill his 
 child. 
 
 Jose's head was bare; he wore his leather apron and 
 his hands, gnarled and knotted by fifty years of labour, 
 were black as coal. His face, large-featured, fire-worn, 
 wrinkled, was now a mask of passion : it twitched oddly. 
 He was a handsome man even yet, but Rachel thought 
 him hideous as she watched his uncontrolled mind work- 
 ing in the flesh. 
 
 "A daughter o' mine, a daughter o' mine ! " he 
 said. And Mary groaned in the travail of disgrace and 
 shame. 
 
 " Show us your bastard, girl, let's look at the thing to 
 know it's true; to know that you'll not carry your head 
 high in the Cove, and that mine's to fall low before them 
 that hate me." 
 
 He spurned the weeping woman with his foot. 
 
 " Don't, don't," said Rachel. She choked and beat 
 her own bosom as a thousand passions rose up in her; 
 passions unsuspected, unknown ; passions of her ancestry, 
 lying like strange things under a stone on grass. For 
 the worser passions spring from the grave ; in their flow- 
 ering the dead may have awful satisfaction. 
 
 " Don't, don't," she said. 
 
 " Show me the young flesh of shame," cried the old 
 man. And as he stooped Rachel caught the baby from 
 under Mary's shawl and held him tb her bosom. Oh, the 
 beautiful warm darling, to think that such should be the 
 
42 RACHEL MARR 
 
 cause of tears! Now he shed some of his own, and 
 wailed, and Rachel rocked him at her beating heart in 
 this wild dream of human folly. 
 
 " Give it me," said Jose ; "let's hold it in these hands 
 and know by the feel of it that my daughter's no better 
 than those who are as a pestilence by night. When was't 
 bom, girl? Let me think how you kissed me months 
 back when some man of Morna had mouthed you before 
 me. 
 
 And Mary said nothing; she bit her lips and shook 
 like one in a fever. 
 
 " Silence, you old devil," said Rachel. 
 
 " Tell me the father's name," cried Jose ; " tell me, 
 or I'll choke it out of you." 
 
 He went upon his knees and laid hands upon the 
 shrinking girl. She cried out in fear. 
 
 "He shall marry his shame, or I'll heave him over the 
 cliff," said Jose. He shook her to and fro. The likeness 
 of humanity went out of him. 
 
 And once more, in a dark midnight of passion, with 
 strange and bitter waters to her lips, Rachel heard the 
 sound of a man riding on the road. She sprang to her 
 feet and shrieked, for she knew the sourid. 
 
 " Mr. Perran, Mr. Perran ! " 
 
 Even as she called she caught the eyes of Mary, and in 
 them was something more than mere shame and terror. 
 
 " Anthony, Anthony ! " 
 
 Her voice was keen and shrill ; it cut the very air and 
 stopped man and horse like a sudden set barripr. 
 
 " Here, here," she cried, and Anthony Perran leapt the 
 low bank, topped with tamarisk, and rode into the wood. 
 And Mary's eyes lost something that Rachel had seen 
 there. She hid her face from the world once more. 
 
 "Tell me his name," said Jose. He fumbled for her 
 throat. " I'll choke it out ; I'll have it if I kill you ! " 
 
 And as Rachel dropped the baby and fell upon her 
 knees and caught his wrists, Anthony leapt from his 
 horse and ran in upon them. He almost trod upon the 
 child, and saw it with wonder. 
 
 "What's this, Rachel?" 
 
RACHEL MARR 43 
 
 " He'll kill her, Anthony," she cried, for now Jose had 
 the girl by the throat. 
 
 "Let go," said Rachel. " Strike him, Anthony, strike 
 him!" 
 
 She spoke breathlessly, in a rage that made her words 
 hiss. She bent down and set her teeth into old Jose's 
 wrist. The man struck her back-handed and made her 
 mouth bleed, and before Anthony could do aught, Rachel 
 had his loaded riding-whip from him, and struck the 
 madman with the butt of it. He made a noise in his 
 throat, threw up his hands, and fell back into a hollow of 
 the bracken. 
 
 "You've killed him," said Anthony. 
 
 And Rachel answered whitely — 
 
 " He— he struck me ! " 
 
 Red blood dropped from her mouth. There was none 
 in her cheeks. But her eyes were dreadful to see, as 
 Anthony dragged Jose from the little hollow into which 
 he had fallen and set his head high. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Then the blood came back to Rachel's face. She 
 turned from Anthony and caught up the child. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis Mary's baby, that's it! " 
 
 And Mary sobbed again and Anthony understood. 
 
 " Is he dead? " asked Rachel. 
 
 But she had struck him upon the strong arch of his 
 skull. A like blow on the temple and he would have 
 never raged again. 
 
 " No," said Anthony, " no ; take the girl to your house, 
 Rachel." 
 
 As she dragged Mary to her feet the old man opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 And Rachel went away quickly. For she had seen 
 some things of the world, and some stranger things 
 within herself. 
 
 "You shall live with me, Mary. Let me carry the 
 child." 
 
44 RACHEL MARR 
 
 IX 
 
 A QUARTER of an hour later Anthony Perran came back 
 by the same path and found Rachel and Mary still in the 
 wood. He walked through the trees to the hedge where 
 his loosed horse was standing and led it towards them. 
 Mary had the baby in her arms and was crying ; the child 
 wailed too. Rachel was very white, but when she saw 
 Anthony she flushed a little, and to hide her face bent 
 down and picked up the whip. When she gave it back 
 to him she kept her eyes to the ground. 
 
 "Is he much hurt?" 
 
 " No," said Anthony, " not with the whip." 
 
 That which had hurt him wailed. 
 
 " I'm taking her to our house." 
 
 The man frowned a little and then bit his lip. 
 
 "Is it right?" 
 
 " You always ask that. You did — last night." 
 
 He saw the clear picture of this virgin of the waters; 
 saw the moon, the sharp rocks, heard the lap of the waves 
 on the shingle. 
 
 " It was beautiful last night " 
 
 But now here was tragedy. 
 
 " What can I do, Mr. Perran ? I've no one to ask." 
 
 They had known each other seven years and over, and 
 he understood. The woman who owned the farm he 
 worked was a dark shadow in a dark house. 
 
 " And Martha " 
 
 The dominant nature in Rachel answered almost 
 harshly. 
 
 " Oh, who's Martha? You say it's not right! " 
 
 " I didn't. I only asked if it was." 
 
 Rachel lifted' her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Perran, when I think of you I always see 
 you asking whether it's right." 
 
 She stamped on the soft, needle-covered ground. 
 
 "And she's wretched and there's the child." 
 
 She spoke with such odd passion that Anthony 
 winced. 
 
RACHEL MARR 45 
 
 " Has he done harm ? " 
 
 The child wailed again, and Rachel, stooping, took it 
 from the mother with kindly roughness. The bahy, 
 shocked into silence, nestled against her and ceased to 
 weep. 
 
 "Come up to our house, Mary. Till your father's 
 come to himself you shall stay with me. Help her, 
 Anthony." 
 
 And Anthony lifted Mary to her feet. She stared at 
 him wanly and shrank from him. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! " she said. 
 
 Those that preached, as he did, had promised her like 
 the fires of hell. She had heard him speak of the wrath 
 to come ; of the sins of the flesh that brought wrath. 
 
 And he knew, knew well, the father of her child, 
 though he knew not that he was its father. The little 
 mean nature at the bottom of Mary's heart, as it is at the 
 bottom of all hearts, chuckled with a grin, to think how 
 he might be shocked and hurt. 
 
 " If I said 'twas Jack ; oh, if I said 'twas Jack ! " 
 
 They came out of the wood, and as they left the 
 shadows, they saw Rachel enter the house. 
 
 " We'll bide here a bit," said Anthony, and Mary 
 turned her eyes away from the staring windows in sud- 
 den suUenness. But Anthony glanced at her uneasily, 
 and when he had thrown his horse's bridle over the gate- 
 post, he walked away some yards and looked down upon 
 the salt meadows. 
 
 These things happened ; but this was the first time the 
 fact had come right home to him at Morna. For his 
 own part he had tamed and bitted his lower nature, as 
 he named it with the other preachers; he had coerced 
 his very soul into order, till his instincts, still untempted, 
 seemed the slaves of his will. The Puritan in him throve 
 and rejoiced. The instincts bided their time. 
 
 " But why can't I speak to this poor soul ? " 
 
 It was his duty, but there were other instincts in him 
 than those of passion, as they burrowed their way under- 
 ground. How could he speak to a woman of these 
 things? Some older man, a man married and a father, 
 
46 RACHEL MARR 
 
 might speak. So much he could say to her. And there 
 was the child. 
 
 " Mary, is the baby baptised?" 
 
 And Mary shook her head. 
 
 " I'll speak to Mr. Oliver myself," said Anthony ; " and 
 if you have anything to tell him " 
 
 But Mary said in her heart — 
 
 " I don't wish to see 'un, I don't wish to see 'un. What 
 good's a praicher to me now, what good's he now?" 
 
 And Rachel was in the kitchen facing Martha with the 
 baby in her arms. 
 
 " What have you there, miss? " asked the old woman; 
 " is 't another baby you've been borrowin' ? I can't 
 think what's your pleasure in anybody's child. Time 
 enough to wait for your own. Whose is it now ? " 
 
 Just as Rachel an hour ago would have taken the news 
 joyfully to this child's grandfather, so would she have 
 shown it to Martha joyfully. But now she was another 
 creature. She had seen the shame of the flesh, incom- 
 prehensible and disastrous, and she was herself shamed at 
 the very remembrance of innocent talk concerning the 
 gifts of God to women. She needed time to clarify her 
 soul, to see the threads of life run clearer, to seize hold 
 of the arguments of the spirit and the body, to reconcile 
 the opposition between them of which she for the first 
 time was made plainly conscious by the acts of others, 
 even if her natural heart revolted against such division. 
 
 But this child could wait for no message of peace, even 
 if one were to be sent presently by God, or the great 
 world of things. It cried a little, and then Martha saw 
 big tears run down Rachel's face. 
 
 "What's wrong, girl, and whose is it?" 
 
 " It's Mary Jose's," said Rachel. 
 
 The natural woman answered alertly — 
 
 "Eh, what? I never heard she was married." 
 
 And Rachel soothed the baby with sweet maternal 
 noises. 
 
 " No more she is, Martha ! " 
 
 Martha stared at her and frowned. 
 
 " Then what do you bring it here for? " 
 
RACHEL MARK 47 
 
 And yet the girl to whom she spoke was the child of 
 sin, the child of an accursed passion. But Martha had 
 seen Mary Marr in her anguish, and in travail beyond the 
 pains of child-birth and knew her heart. With this new 
 proof of a woman's folly, she was on the terms of ancient 
 prejudice. It needed such excuses as a woman might 
 make for herself. 
 
 " The mother's outside, and she's coming in," said 
 Rachel. " I've brought her." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To stay — oh, Martha, come and look at him. Be 
 kind." 
 
 " I'll not look at any odd trollop's bastard," said 
 Martha ; " and where am I to be if you bring her ? And 
 what will your mother say ? " 
 
 There were danger signals burning in Rachel's cheeks. 
 
 " She'll say what she always says." 
 
 And that was : " Take your own way till God says 
 ■ no.' " She never spoke a word that was not dipped in 
 her own past, that was not coloured with her own 
 blood. 
 
 " Oh, Martha, he's crying, the poor little man." 
 
 " But what will / say ? " asked Martha. 
 
 The girl put down the baby and ran to her, and kissed 
 her cheek. 
 
 " You old dear, you'll say what you always say, and 
 that's something bitter, and you'll do as you always do, 
 and that's something sweet. And the poor girl's sad, 
 and her father nearly killed her, and he would have done 
 but for Mr. Perran and me. He had her by the throat." 
 
 " You should have let him choke her." 
 
 " I struck him with Anthony's whip." 
 
 " Must have broke it on Will Jose's skull," said 
 Martha ; " he always had the hardest skull in Morna." 
 
 " I knocked him senseless." 
 
 " God was beforehand with you, Rachel. He was a 
 wild fool and then a praying fool, and that's the fault 
 with all the breed, for there's a mad streak in every Jose. 
 And one of 'em was Mr. Perran's mother, as if the Per- 
 ran's weren't crazy enough already." 
 
48 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Her little storm was over ; for she worshipped Rachel 
 always. 
 
 " Oh, bring in your trollop," she said ; " let's see if 
 she's white or red. If she's red she'll have another; if 
 she's white maybe it'll be two." 
 
 " I'll bring her. But you take the baby." 
 
 "Not me," said Martha. "I'll not handle him, I 
 hate 'em." 
 
 She eyed the last proof of woman's folly with dis- 
 favour, and yet with a curiosity that Rachel played on, 
 though she misunderstood its deep and natural roots. 
 
 " He's very pretty, Martha. Take him — do." 
 
 " Oh — pretty," said Martha with contempt. 
 
 " And such blue eyes ! " 
 
 " Blue eyes, eh ? And Mary's a brown slut. I knew 
 she'd go wrong. Blue, you say ? " 
 
 " Oh, blue as the sea ; no, not the sea, like a forget- 
 me-not." 
 
 "She'll not forget him. Let's look at his eyes." 
 
 Martha put her hands behind her back and advanced 
 to look at the child. 
 
 " Oh, yes, he's a handsome baby. And his eyes are 
 blue. Can't you see what blue they are ? " 
 
 " Why, what blue? " asked Rachel, happy that Martha 
 showed an interest in the live young male she held out 
 to her. 
 
 " Why, Perran blue, you silly child ! " said Martha 
 with a snort. 
 
 And Rachel stared at her without comprehension of 
 the innuendo. 
 
 " Did she say the father of 't? " 
 
 But Rachel blushed scarlet and then went white. She 
 remembered one strange look in Mary's eyes as she had 
 called to Anthony in that tragic wood. 
 
 " Oh, what do you mean ? " she whispered. But 
 Martha's intuition struck right home. 
 
 " Oh, this is Johnny Perran's, the young blackguard," 
 she said to herself. " There 'tis again, what they say all 
 over the country-side, there's always a good Perran and 
 a bad one. Now John's the devil and Anthony's the 
 
RACHEL MARR 49 
 
 saint, just as their father was the saint and George Per- 
 ran is the devil. I saw Mary with him one afternoon 
 last autumn." 
 
 Then she looked up at Rachel with strange eyes. 
 
 " I'm glad you've picked the right Perran, you young 
 hussy." 
 
 But this was unendurable and Rachel's face showed it. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Don't dare to speak to me like 
 that. Take the child." 
 
 And Martha, scared a little of the girl's raging eyes, 
 did as she was told. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my little man," she said as Rachel ran out, 
 " you're a johnny Perran right enough. A fine house 
 we're in; odd dogs and kittens and old horses, and now 
 a home for little bastards, children of the moorland and 
 the moon. Ah, me, but my child died and none knew of 
 it, and I was as sad a fool as most and my man died at 
 sea. Oh, baby, baby, but your eyes are blue and tell 
 your mother's secret boldly ! " 
 
 The baby crowed and clutched the bosom of her dress. 
 
 " I'm an old fool," said Martha, " and I wonder 
 how Rachel learnt. A day ago I'd ha' sworn she thought 
 children grew out o' the parsley bed or came by pra^r 
 and fasting, or were brought by Dr. Greer or an sfllge'l 
 from the sky. My — but she was red and angry ! I'll be 
 nice to this child of the bracken, and the mother. The 
 bad Perrans always had their way with the girls, always, 
 always." 
 
 She stood at the window with the baby in her arms. 
 
 " So I might ha' looked out years ago — for him," she 
 said. " And nobody knew. Sometimes I wish they did. 
 She never says, ' Oh, but you never had a baby, Martha/ 
 but I'm stabbed where he lay at my heart." 
 
 She saw Rachel and Mary and Anthony Perran. 
 
 " If Anthony Perran married my girl, I'd be restful," 
 she said. "He's a good man, with the devil in him, but 
 the devil undermost, and if she had children they'd 
 anchor her to her home in any storm. For storms will 
 come to her, they'll come. She'll be at hand-grips with 
 her nature any hour." 
 
so RACHEL MARR 
 
 Then Anthony Perran came in to her. 
 
 " 'Tis a sad business," he said, as he stood by the fire- 
 place. 
 
 " Sadder than you think," replied Martha, with a 
 vicious snap in her voice, " But did Rachel hurt the old 
 man, Mr. Perran?" 
 
 Anthony nodded. 
 
 " But he'll get over it sooner than he gets over what's 
 in your arms." 
 
 " Who's the father of it ? " asked Martha carelessly. 
 
 " She doesn't say. Perhaps " 
 
 " The brat says," cried Martha ; " see his eyes." 
 
 Anthony looked at the child's face carelessly, 
 
 " Oh, they're blue." 
 
 He turned away. 
 
 "Where's your devil of a brother now?" asked 
 Martha. 
 
 " He's in California." 
 
 " This child's father is in California too," said Martha. 
 
 But as he flushed Mary and Rachel came in. 
 
 " See, Martha's got him," said Rachel triumphantly; 
 " don't cry, Mary, don't cry. You shall stay with us and 
 help Martha and me, sha'n't she, Martha?" 
 
 " If you and your mother say so, she'll have to," 
 grumbled Martha. 
 
 And Anthony walked out of the house, Rachel let him 
 go, for the baby was in her arms again. 
 
 X 
 
 " You'll speak to your mother about this now," said 
 Martha presently. 
 
 And Rachel shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " She'll not thank me for troubling her. And when 
 did she stop me having my way? " 
 
 There was still the latent bitterness in the girl's voice. 
 When did her mother take any interest in her, either 
 bidding her do or refrain ? The mother was a presence, 
 sad and boding, but no active heart of love in the gloom; 
 
RACHEL MARR 51 
 
 no sweet herb even in her dark closet ; no voice but the 
 voice of self-centred prayer. 
 
 And here was Life, a child, a mother who became 
 eager and jealous the moment that present fear left 
 her. 
 
 " Leave's light, maybe, but she's my mistress," said 
 Martha drily. " You or I must speak to her." 
 
 " I'll speak," cried Rachel, " but there's time enough." 
 
 " One meal for the mistress's charity, and one for mine 
 and one for yours," said Martha, " and after that there's 
 no time." 
 
 " Well, well, that's to-morrow," replied Rachel. " I'll 
 show you where you shall sleep, Mary." 
 
 The girl went wondering at such charity of thought in 
 any woman, for she knew her own little soul and would 
 have taken sides at any time with those who damned the 
 the fallen. She hugged her secret to her heart, the secret 
 that was none, her knowledge of John Perran, whom she 
 had called " sir " even after she had been his slave. " If 
 they knew 'twas Jack," she said, but she never called 
 him that. There was something in any Perran that for- 
 bade familiarity, even at the extreme of foolish passion. 
 Anthony was grave, subdued, but masterful, even in 
 prayer. John was bright intellect, keen as a sword, a son 
 of the brain and the flesh, dominant, careless, esurient, 
 and marvellously and cheerfully brutal in matters out- 
 side the law. There was not a soul but respected An- 
 thony. John many men hated ; their women smiled- at 
 him secretly. And this Mary knew. She triumphed in 
 her heart about him ; knowing nothing of him after all. 
 She held his child in her arms. He would have said, 
 "Oh, I give him to you. Didn't you want him? It 
 seemed like it, you little fool." 
 
 And he was again in Cahfornia. They knew him 
 there for a man of rising power, spoilt only by the spirit 
 of wandering. There were times when he took the short- 
 est views, for he had the health of a brave wild beast. 
 
 " If he never comes back, his child is mine," said Mary. 
 There were no other young blue eyes in Morna, it 
 seemed, save in those who had the right to them. She 
 
52 RACHEL MARR 
 
 hugged the baby and followed Rachel to a little room 
 on the top floor, as far from Mrs. Marr's as might be. 
 
 " He can cry here if he wants to," said Rachel. 
 
 " Oh, miss, he never cries." 
 
 " And don't you either," said Rachel shortly. She was 
 in an odd frame of mind, and needed to be alone to 
 lay hold of the world once more and see it round and 
 round. 
 
 " Come down to dinner at once," she said. " Does the 
 baby want any milk ? " 
 
 " Oh, miss, I've plenty," said the mother. She flushed, 
 a rosy red, and Rachel's heart beat hard. She put her 
 hand to her own heart with a strange passion that she 
 knew not was envy. Her cheeks blazed too. 
 
 " Let me kiss him," she said imploringly. 
 
 Now she wished to stay, but could not. Yet she held 
 the baby in her arms and looked down at him longingly 
 and with a bodily delight of warmth. She kissed the 
 crinkled dimpled thing, and touched his mouth with her 
 finger. He sucked at it hard. 
 
 " Oh, he's like a lamb," she murmured to herself. 
 " Lambs do that — young lambs." 
 
 She gave him back to Mary. 
 , " He's hungry," she said. 
 
 And then she went to the door swiftly. 
 
 " Martha will be kind to you," she said as she went 
 out. 
 
 " You are to be kind to her," she repeated, as she went 
 through the kitchen. 
 
 " I'll be kind enough," said Martha, grumbling ; " am 
 I not kind to all the strays you fetch me? If it's a cat 
 with kittens one day, 'tis such as this the next." 
 
 But Rachel did not hear her. 
 
 "Any day she may be the mistress," said Martha, 
 " when my poor darling goes. And she'll have nought 
 but me to look to her when her own woe comes. Such a 
 soft-hearted fool was the one upstairs. But Rachel's 
 fiercer. She makes my flesh cold at times. It will be 
 cold enough, I hope, before she sees any such ghosts as 
 walk up yonder." 
 
RACHEL MARR S3 
 
 She heard the pacing of a woman's feet overhead. 
 
 " She's out of her room and into the next," said 
 Martha. " She's waiting again." 
 
 And Rachel went to look upon the healing sea. Now 
 the day was bright and hot, for it was close on the noon ; 
 upon the surface of blue were silky smooths, ribbons of 
 currents moving with light hot airs ; the lap of the sea on 
 rock and shingle and glaring sand was at its softest; the 
 sea colour at its bravest, amethyst, sapphire, emerald, 
 and topaz where a red rock gleamed like a jewel under 
 water. But though the summer wrapped her round and 
 round, and rained its tender influences upon her, she saw 
 nothing of it with her soul, though she sat upon a point 
 of lichened rocks and stared far out to seaward. 
 
 It was as if this was her first day of life. Yet this was 
 a dream; she was in the midst of intangible things that 
 threatened; she was on a stream that ran through dens 
 and caverns; her body was a boat unsteerable, fragile, 
 delicate, gross, delightful, abhorrent. 
 
 " Lambs do that — young lambs ! " 
 
 She had known so much of old, but now things were 
 different. She had been divided, disparted, alien from 
 the mass of humanity, from womankind. Now she per- 
 ceived her own sisterhood with nursing mothers; per- 
 ceived it without a veil, without mystery, and no soft 
 use of tender imagination, such as comes to most to 
 create illusion, wove comfort about her. She had been 
 waked with a shock and found it cold morning. 
 
 She had found violence in her soul too. But no 
 shame hurt her at finding it. She had struck that fierce 
 old man fiercely, and with a certain riotous pleasure, 
 chilled into colder rage when he fell. In him at that 
 moment she struck all males that were alive. A blind 
 sense of injustice wrenched at her as she went among 
 these incomprehensible passions. They all said that 
 women were the weakest, and still they had no pity. The 
 woman within her yearned for sympathy from the father 
 that was in man; she perceived her right to it, and be- 
 lieved she saw Mary's right to it as well. 
 
 But (and here she groped at a fact like one drowning 
 
54 RACHEL MARR 
 
 in dreams) Anthony had been good, had been kind and 
 sorrowful, and strong. But both he and Jose were re- 
 ligious. It was the first moment that her naturally pagan 
 soul had thought of religion. What would Father Brant 
 say, what the true Church? She saw that her very re- 
 ligion had so far been what her other beliefs had beei^ 
 a tangled dream of form and colour. Without knowing 
 it she felt blindly that it had been all emotion. If the 
 root facts of human life had been a false growth in her, 
 what of these facts too? How could she tell what the 
 Church thought? 
 
 So her mind brooded, as she looked over the great 
 channel, and all the while her body, exalted strangely to 
 a great passion, brooded like some happier thing nesting 
 over possibilities, known by instinct once and now half- 
 apprehended by the intellect. Her sisterhood with 
 mothers made her kin to the happy beasts. Strange 
 thrills ran through her; she was delighted, afraid, 
 curious, and alarmed. The sense of degradation that was 
 over her as she had heard Mary speak faded and yet 
 returned, and faded once more. Whatever the path was 
 it was God's. That remained; it struck deep into her. 
 She held it instinctively, was a fatalist without knowing 
 it. Even her mother must be on a path of God's. 
 
 " Oh, poor mother ! " 
 
 In her mind, as she grew warmer and more at ease, 
 she nursed sweet children. She smiled at heaven, the 
 giver of all good things. But she saw no father of the 
 children yet. They still came from heaven straight when 
 she dreamed. 
 
 She went back to the house after an hour which had 
 been as long as a life and as short as any dream. 
 
 XI 
 
 That afternoon Rachel went up to her mother with her 
 nerves ashakey and for a long while she stood outside the 
 door listening rather to the sound of her own beating 
 heart than to any sign of life that came from within. In 
 
RACHEL MARR 55 
 
 the sun and even at night, upon the beach and in the mur- 
 muring depths of the pinewood, her courage was high; 
 and this fear of her mother, touched with a dreadful dis- 
 taste, was dreadful to her even after all the long years in 
 which she had endured or avoided the sad cause of it. 
 
 Now when mysteries opened to her, when she saw 
 strange implications in all ripening things, she saw equal 
 implications in the white woman of the inside room, who 
 waited, as she knew, for death. To-day for the first 
 time there came to Rachel sorne deeply felt sense that 
 the cause of this pain and woe and insanity was in some 
 way connected with herself. How she knew she could 
 not tell, but so it seemed to her, and the thought intro- 
 duced a new fear into her intercourse with her mother. 
 She had seen a child bring bitter woe that bright morn- 
 ing. She had touched a tragedy with both hands, had 
 seen fear and passion and rage rise and break into storm. 
 For her mother the storm was perhaps over. But wreck 
 strewed the shore. 
 
 What would she say of Mary and the baby? Yet it 
 was not what she would say; it was what she would 
 feel. Her mother's tongue never hurt her; but at times 
 her eyes were piercing and terrible. But most dreadful 
 of all was the blanched indifference with which she usu- 
 ally viewed all things but herself. If this was repentance 
 it seemed an outrage on the God that Rachel had con- 
 ceived ; it was a kind of sacrifice to some Moloch lest 
 worse should befall. The horror of its selfish unnatural- 
 ness never smote Rachel so hard as at this hour when 
 she left Mary's baby smiling in his mother's arms. 
 
 " I must go in," said Rachel. 
 
 But she lingered until she hated herself for cowardice. 
 Then she knocked lightly and was bidden to enter. 
 
 It was years since her mother had kissed her. Some- 
 times when the older woman slept the sleep of exhaustion 
 her daughter had touched her drawn brow with sorrow- 
 ful lips. When both were awake a subdued and impa- 
 tient hostility oppressed them. Now Mrs. Marr did not 
 turn her head as she sat at a plain wood table which had 
 neither covering nor any adornment. She was clad in black 
 
S6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 without any band of white. A book lay open before her. 
 In her lap was a bundle of old letters. Near her thin 
 right hand, as it lay upon the table, was the ancient cru- 
 cifix of yellow worn ivory. 
 
 That cross had a curious and peculiar fascination for 
 Rachel, an attraction not due to any religious feeling that 
 hung about it. Though it was very old and worn, the 
 features of the Christ were yet discernible ; an expression 
 upon them was still suggested. Whoever had wrought 
 this in ivory had been a man of strong feeling and orig- 
 inality. The Christ that had grown under his graver was 
 not the conventional figure of the Italian religious 
 school; the head did not recline upon the shoulder, the 
 attitude of the body indicated, not resignation, but rather 
 revolt ; the face was the face of one who belonged to the 
 Church Militant. To Rachel there was something rather 
 diabolic than divine in the cross ; many superstitions in 
 her had crystallised about it. And to her mother the 
 crucifix had undoubtedly become a fetich; she clung to 
 it with other thoughts than those which are said to come 
 to such sad spirits as can climb to Calvary. Only thrice 
 in her life had Rachel touched it, and on each occasion 
 it had been snatched from her with violence; with such 
 violence as made her weep and inflamed her curiosity 
 about it to a strange degree. 
 
 Even as Rachel entered the room her mother's hand 
 crept over to the cross and stayed there. 
 
 " Well, girl ! " she said in a voice which had once been 
 very beautiful. Now it was sharpened, fretted and worn, 
 as the beautiful ivory was worn. But even yet there was 
 grave music in its tones when she prayed to heaven in 
 strange and sweet and rare hours of faith. 
 
 Behind her stood Youth, and something like her 
 ancient self. This was her child, the destroyer of joy; 
 the thing sent by God to bring her back to him. The 
 sight of her child reminded her in a passion of pain of 
 the dead past — ^the past on which her very soul was 
 crucified. 
 
 This dead living creature of revolt and prayer and 
 anguish had been majestic, human, joyous. From her 
 
RACHEL MARR 57 
 
 had fallen all majesty ; humanity stayed weeping and joy 
 had fled away. In her woman's heart lived a live ember 
 of jealousy. She saw in her child something more beau- 
 tiful than herself; something strong and naturally joy- 
 ous, though the girl's joy in life was threaded darkly by 
 the pain of her who had conceived her in mortal sin. 
 
 " She is my child and his, and but for her " 
 
 She broke off and prayed. Might it not be that one 
 evil thought more would fill her measure ? She thought 
 of eternity without the spirit of her lover. 
 
 " What is it, child? " she asked more mildly. But she 
 did not turn her head. 
 
 " I want to have Mary Jose and her child in the house," 
 said Rachel unsteadily. 
 
 " Ask Martha," replied her mother ; "let her do as she 
 will, and as you will." 
 
 So soon the trial might have been over. But there 
 was stubbornness in Rachel. The mother was set on 
 heaven, if he was to be there ; or on hell — if he was there. 
 Rachel was set upon what she desired equally, and here 
 she was set upon truth that her mother should know. 
 
 " I ought to tell you that— that " 
 
 " Speak out," said her mother, still without turning her 
 head. "Am I never to have any time to my self, never 
 any peace ? What is it ? " 
 
 Rachel flushed, 
 
 " She has no husband and her father tried to kill her." 
 
 " Fool ! " said her mother. Whether that word was for 
 the father or the daughter Rachel did not know. It might 
 serve for either or for both. She knew, at any rate, that 
 it was not meant for herself. 
 
 " Poor fool ! " 
 
 Even that might serve for one or both. Even as Mrs. 
 Marr spoke she settled herself in her wooden chair and 
 sank into contemplatioB. For. one long minute Rachel 
 stood there, and then she crept to the door. In the pas- 
 sage she breathed heavily, as though she had come up 
 from the valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 " The baby can stay ! " 
 
 Her blood ran fast in her veins. There was such brave 
 
58 RACHEL MARR 
 
 life in her that her mother's state weighed on her not at 
 all when she held the child in her arms again. 
 
 •' What did your mother say ? " asked Martha. Mary 
 looked down. 
 
 " She asks what you say ? " 
 
 The old woman threw up her head. 
 
 " Oh, it's amazin' ! And what do I say ? " 
 
 Rachel rocked to and fro over the baby. 
 
 " You say what I do/' she replied carelessly. " Come, 
 Mary, let's sit in the sun." 
 
 But Martha said as they went out — 
 
 " She never sees that the end is coming upstairs. Oh, 
 my poor dear ! " 
 
 XII 
 
 The village hissed and cackled like a flock of geese on 
 dry land when it was discovered that Mary Jose had 
 come home, bringing that which God had given her with- 
 out a licence from any priest or minister of man. For 
 Morna was outwardly set upon the interpreted rigid law 
 that black-gowns howled upon Sundays. 
 
 " Increase and multiply wer for the baists, but mar- 
 riage wer for us." 
 
 They were sure of all things save the mercy of God. 
 Neither doubt nor pity touched them, and where three 
 were together no mercy was among them. Only Steve, 
 the fallen preacher, had any sympathy with those who 
 suffered, and even he was grim with satisfaction when he 
 found the village had less need of him as an example. 
 
 " Old Jose said I was the shame, and when I'm sober 
 I am, but the poor girl has put my nose out o' joint," said 
 Steve. " I'm sorry for old Jose, though. I'm that sober 
 I could preach about charity." 
 
 In such sobriety a dry wit returned to him. He spoke 
 above the heads of the village. But he had two ways of 
 thinking and two languages. 
 
 "And to think that Miss Rachel 'ed hev' Mary's 
 bastard in the house." 
 
RACHEL MARR 59 
 
 They talked ancient scandal of old Tregilgas and his 
 daughter; they hinted present slander. But they always 
 came back to one thing. 
 
 " What can 'ee expect of Papishers ? " 
 
 " Laave the poor woman be," said Steve ; " don't 'ee 
 know she's dyin' ? " 
 
 Now he spoke as the rest did, not as the preacher he 
 had once been. 
 
 " Bin dyin' these five years ! " some said scornfully ; 
 " the bed-ridden and the lazy live long." 
 
 " Aye," said Steve, " 'tis a notorious l©ng-lived village 
 this. You, Sam, got out o' bed this mornin' at eight. 
 And you did'n' fish yesterday, nor was you married yes- 
 terday neither." 
 
 " Wet your tongue," said Sam, " when you're dry 'tis 
 as rough as a file." 
 
 " Come and stand us a pint," said Steve, " and I'll tell 
 thee how I know Mrs. Marr will go to heaven or the 
 other place in a little while." 
 
 "D'yeknaw?" 
 
 " I know." 
 
 "Tell how, Steve?" 
 
 " 'Tis by ratiocination," salid Steve. " Will 'ee stan' 
 us that pint, Sam? I know what a man you are to be 
 talkin' when you should be workin', and you can come 
 back here and tell what I tell 'ee." 
 
 " Go, Sam, go and stan' 'un a pint." 
 
 And Sam did as he was bid. 
 
 " How d'ye knaw she'll die soon ? " asked Sam. 
 
 " 'Tis by fair reasonin'," said Steve, as he put his pot 
 down, " fair reasonin'. You know the nature of eternity, 
 Sam?" 
 
 " Aye," replied Sam, " 'tis well known 'tis for ever." 
 
 " And what's a year against eternity, Sam ? " 
 
 " 'Tis like a pilchard to all the pilchards in the say." 
 
 " That's a rare good sim'ly," said Steve. " I'll remem- 
 ber that if I reform and go to praichin' again. Why, the 
 man that could argue that could hev bin a praicher 
 himself." 
 
 " Hev' another pint," said Sam. 
 
6o RACHEL MARR 
 
 " I will ; now, if a year to eternity is like that, 'tis like 
 nothin'. What's one pilchard, Sarii ? " 
 
 " Not enough to eat." 
 
 " And if it's nothing, so is ten years to eternity. For 
 eternity is bigger than the biggest catch of pilchards as. 
 ever come off the coast o' Cornwall. So ten years, or 
 twenty, is nawthim', isn't it, Sam ? " 
 
 " To be sure." 
 
 " And if it's nawthin' 'tis very little, isn't it, Sam ? " 
 
 " Tp be sure," said Sam. 
 
 " Then if Mrs. Marr lives another twenty year, her'll ; 
 die in a little while, in spite of it, won't 'un, Sam? Could 
 you Stan' another pint for this proof of 't ? " 
 
 "Go to the devil," said Sam sulkily. "I knawed as 
 much meself." 
 
 " Oh, aye," said Steve, " I've often thought we all 
 knew everythin' if we could find it out. But it takes 
 talk and many pints and much sittin' i.n the sun to leam 
 that the biggest fool in Cornwall knows as much as the 
 Bishop o' Truro. That's worth the quart, Sam. You're 
 no bigger fool than a bishop, after all." 
 
 And while Sam went back to own that Steve had made 
 a fool of him, Steve sat with his back to a rock on the 
 beach and took the sun. 
 
 " 'Tis my belief that breedin's all a matter of sunlight," 
 said Steve. " And if God lights the lamp, 'tis long odds 
 (all I could drink to what I do) that the men and the 
 maids won't need lanterns to find each other. Miss 
 Rachel's main fond of children, so she is — too fond. But- 
 her mother will die, and she'll own the farms, and she'll 
 do as she likes, as any Tregilgas hereabouts does. Lord, 
 what a cackling about Mary! And some of the worst 
 cacklers I married in such a hurry that I clipped my 
 words to save 'em shame." 
 
 And as he fell asleep, old Jose was working furiously 
 at his forge. 
 
 " I'll find him. I'll find him," he said. 
 
RACHEL MARR 61 
 
 XIII 
 
 The days of the summer drifted by, and Rachel found 
 less delight in the sea-shore than in the blue eyes of 
 Mary's child. Her nature flowered strangely; a look 
 came in her own eyes as if she foresaw maternity, reached 
 not by a path of passion, but by that same path of the 
 spirit in which she had once believed. Perhaps she even 
 saw that both w;ays might be one way, if they were made 
 one. But the physical side of her grew in strength and 
 beauty ; there was something so fine about her, something 
 at once so tender and so haughty, that the men looked at 
 her again as though she were a stranger. Once a gipsy 
 stopped her on the outskirts of the village. He said 
 without insolence, but with fervour: 
 
 " You might be a queen, miss." 
 
 There was power in her, power growing, and the dark- 
 ness that came upon her spirit at times, and made her eyes 
 sullen, increased rather than diminished. For darkness 
 was revolt with her, never humbleness or true, soft 
 melancholy. 
 
 " She grows bigger than her mother was," said 
 Martha. " And she walks so proudly. There's fire in 
 her eye and in her soul. 'Tis a great spirit she has." 
 
 With many, Mary would have been a jealous creature. 
 But Rachel dominated her utterly^ as if ^e belonged to 
 another race. She followed her protector about as if she 
 had been a timid hound. She would have followed her 
 husband so if she had been married.^ Rachel per- 
 ceived her weakness, and, not knowing that there was a 
 kindred weakness in herself, she laughed. 
 
 " She'd do what any man told her if she cared for 
 him." 
 
 For a time her own heart was satisfied vicariously. 
 The growing baby was a forecast which eased her mind. 
 It was a promise of God to her. Yet she dreamed of 
 her own children often. 
 
 It was a month before she learned where the blue eyes 
 of Mary's boy came from, and the knowledge was a fear- 
 
62 RACHEL MARK 
 
 ful shock to her for days. For this month she had 
 thought little of Anthony Perran. Yet she had had a 
 childish passion for him; had been shy and timid with 
 him; had waylaid him purposely and had then hidden. 
 There was something grave and strong and tender and 
 whole-souled about Anthony. He was handsome, so 
 folks said, but that was nothing to the attraction of his 
 steady eye. And underneath him lay fire. And now 
 his brother, whom she had seen so little of, marking his 
 joyous insolence with disfavour, came back to her as the 
 giver of this child that shg adored. With him for the 
 father there could be no spiritual mystery. That she 
 knew, and a strange realism came over her when Martha 
 let out what Mary held a secret. 
 
 "His! JohnPerran's!" 
 
 She flushed a painful scarlet, and stared at Martha. 
 
 " I never meant to say. 'Tis only my guess from the 
 eyes of him." 
 
 The blood raced in Rachel: she sickened at the whole 
 world for a moment ; the flesh was made manifest to her. 
 And the undercurrent of her maiden fancy for Anthony 
 came up in her again, so that her body seemed to hurt her 
 and make her ashamed. For he had been of the spirit, 
 and was. now blood-brother to the man who laughed and 
 eyed women with eyes of knowledge, and saw them as 
 they were. His bright insolence unveiled them: they 
 stood in the market-place. 
 
 As Martha spoke she had the baby in her arms. She 
 had bathed him herself with sensuous sweet delight — ^the 
 dimples of him and the round limbs and his mottled palms 
 were an exquisite pleasure, and the senses danced in her 
 as she had dried him while he kicked and crowed. Now 
 she looked into his eyes, looked as a magician might into 
 a pool of ink, into a crystal. Their blue took another 
 colour for her : there was something more than the child 
 here. She touched the deepest truth with her shrinking 
 soul. This child was the father — was the race, and as 
 ancient. She revolted against him suddenly, and walked 
 upstairs to Mary. 
 
 " You must take care of him to-day," she said. 
 
RACHEL MARR 63 
 
 And that day she spent upon the cliff over the purring 
 Lion in the wash of the tides. Mary had led her there 
 often. And there Mary had often cried. But some- 
 times she had smiled in so strange a way that Rachel 
 hated her. 
 
 As she sat there she saw Anthony chiefly. First of 
 all men he had presented to her the strange script of the 
 enigma of the male. But in him it had been obscured 
 by other script. He was a palimpsest and almost un- 
 decipherable as to the mere characters. But John Perran, 
 now that she had the key of Hermes, was like characters 
 fresh-chiselled on stone. He was ardent, savage, humor- 
 ous, brave, brutal, and indiscriminate in affection. With- 
 out words, she saw him as he was, and saw in him desire 
 both serious and smiling. 
 
 " I hate him," she said. Something in her approved 
 him. Or was it that something not herself approved 
 that which was only his equally with all his fellows? 
 He was the father of this child. She would be a mother 
 of children. She shivered a little and clenched her 
 hands. 
 
 " I hate him." 
 
 Perhaps all women have hated men. Later in her life 
 she saw that : she even saw that all men hate all women. 
 Each is the enemy; they are divergent and diverging 
 allies. They sacrifice themselves for the race and rarely 
 forget the sacrifice. 
 
 It was only when hunger compelled her that Rachel 
 went back home. She was more at peace with herself 
 and with things as they are. But Anthony was different 
 to her. He had become a man: even his religion and 
 his gravity did not conceal the writing on the rock. 
 
 " I wonder what my father was like," she said. And 
 she dismissed the thought from her mind hastily. 
 
 " Poor, poor mother ! " 
 
 A knowledge of tragedy wrapped her round. When 
 she got home she took the child from Mary without a 
 word, and rocked him on her knee. She ate in silence, 
 and shook her head when Mary offered to take the baby 
 from her. 
 
64 RACHEL MARR 
 
 But after she had eaten Martha said to hef: 
 
 " I'm afraid your mother's very ill, Rachel." 
 
 " What is wrong now ? " asked Rachel absently. She 
 had heard the same story a hundred times. 
 
 Martha told her when Mary took the baby to bed. 
 
 " She says I'm keeping a letter from her." 
 
 " That's new," said Rachel. 
 
 " 'Tis new that I'm keeping it, but an old story that 
 she looks for it." 
 
 "But who should write to her? No one writes 
 to us." 
 
 It was Rachel's father that should write from some far 
 settlement of Patagon|||L 
 
 " Who should write ? " -She repeated. 
 
 But Martha, who knew, shook her head. 
 
 " I want to send for Dr. Greer." 
 
 " She locked her door against him last year." 
 
 " She'll lock it now." 
 
 " Send for Father Brant." 
 
 " I offered to, and she says ' No.' And she walks her 
 room and cries out " 
 
 " What does she cry out ? " 
 
 What she cried out was " Antonio." 
 
 "And she holds that crucifix. Oh, 'tis hard, even 
 now, on one as isn't a Catholic to see such." 
 
 But Rachel paid no heed to her when she spoke of 
 religion. Her own religion went no deeper than her 
 skin, but it still wrapped her up. 
 
 " What does she cry out ? " 
 
 " Oh, listen," cried Martha irritably ; " and what wiser 
 will you be ? " 
 
 " I'll go for Father Brant in the morning," said Rachel. 
 And she went upstairs and stood at her mother's door. 
 She heard the woman walking, walking, and each time 
 she turned ghe cried out in a tone of agony : 
 
 "Antonio!" 
 
 And Rachel's face darkened. In the darkness she saw 
 other undecipherable script, but she knew it was in the 
 language she had learnt some strange characters of that 
 very day. Half the night she sat upon the stairs, and still 
 
RAQHEL MARK 65 
 
 she heard her mother walking, and still she heard that 
 name. 
 
 So, perhaps, should the daughter call upon a like name 
 in days yet to be begotten by Eternity. 
 
 XIV 
 
 It was two miles, by moorland, road, and the park itself, 
 to Caerhays House. There dwelt Father Brant, doing 
 his best for an ungrateful country and for the man he 
 chaplained. In that part of the world true sons of the 
 Church were rare. His congregation was usually com- 
 posed of the family, though it sometimes included Rachel, 
 her mother, and an old sailor from the chjirch-town of 
 Morna. But, though results were few, the Father sowed 
 the seed by the wayside, and Methodists sprang up and 
 choked them. 
 
 For the last year Mrs. Marr had never entered the little 
 chapel, and Rachel's visits grew rarer. Her religion was 
 her cloak, but when her life was warm it fell a.way from 
 her, as she bathed her soul in sunlight and a vast instinct- 
 ive Pantheism. She believed what she had been taught, 
 believed it literally, but deep within her the creeds and 
 doctrines that she heard carried no more with them than 
 a moral doctrine would have done that depended upon 
 some moral value imparted to the alphabet. Her religion 
 was an algebra learnt by rote. But, nevertheless, she 
 loved Father Brant, whose brain never touched hers, 
 though his charity went hand in hand with her warm 
 affections. He was a quiet and simple man, thoughtful 
 and shallow, a lover of birds, a musician without power ; 
 he believed simply what he taught. And a great passion 
 appalled him; he had shed tears over the woman at 
 Morna, whom he trusted to Heaven as one to be dealt 
 with tenderly, since she was truly distraught. 
 
 Of Rachel he had an instinctive dread, almost a physi- 
 cal horror, even though he loved her. She was a Mortal 
 Sin in herself; her parentage was a blasphemy. Often 
 Rachel wondered at the looks he cast at her. 
 
66 RACHEL MARR 
 
 But even now, with her awakened mind, she did not 
 think of him as a man. She perceived that he was sub- 
 dued to the Church, and of it utterly. 
 
 She left Moma early, and walked eagerly on the dewy 
 grass. As she rose from the hollows and curves of the 
 land dipping by the sea, her spirit lightened; her hours 
 of vigil had not touched her strength or darkened her 
 eyes. With a sense of shame she found herself almost 
 singing when she trod the turf of the moorland. 
 
 " I'm a selfish beast," she said. She accommodated 
 herself with strange swiftness to the world of change. 
 The gentle beasts were her brothers ; she whistled to the 
 birds. Her mind bade her be dark since her mother was 
 in a darkened house; but her blood sang bright and 
 beautifully. The vein of sadness within her lay deep 
 till some miner came to lay her waste. 
 
 She met Father Brant in the avenue of the house, and 
 bade him good-morning submissively. For him alone 
 such an attitude was natural to her. 
 
 " Good-morning, my daughter." 
 
 He was a man neither old nor young, for he had never 
 known youth, and would not recognise age till he met 
 death hand in hand with it. He stooped a little. But 
 he had never stood upright. There was contemplation 
 in his eye. He had never viewed the world save through 
 himself and the glasses of the Church. He was thin, and, 
 though human, utterly without humour. His lack of 
 humour made him anxious. It was the fault of his faith 
 that he could not trust God to do without him. 
 
 " If you can, I should like you to come and see my 
 mother," said Rachel. 
 
 "How is she?" 
 
 The delight of the day was over for Rach<J'; a touch of 
 self-consciousness was upon her. 
 
 " She is very much troubled, and does not sleep, and 
 will not eat. And " 
 
 "And what, Rachel?" 
 
 She had meant to tell him that her mother called aloud 
 upon someone whose name she had never heard till then. 
 But all at once it seemed a breach of confidence, an out- 
 
RACHEL MARR 67 
 
 rage, to give up what might be her mother's secret. She 
 flushed a little and then added swiftly : 
 
 " And I'm very anxious about her." 
 
 It was a lame conclusion, as the priest knew. But he 
 did not press her. 
 
 " I'll come with you now," he said. " It is a sweet day, 
 Rachel, and the birds are singing. They sing in my 
 heart. What a bright world it might be, after all! Tell 
 me how you have been since I saw you." 
 
 They walked upon the moorland, and saw the sea shin- 
 ing in the south. The sky was soft and dappled with 
 lofty clouds. Birds sang from every tree and every ■ 
 clump of gorse flowering with early gold. Once Rachel's 
 tongue might have blossomed into childlike speech about 
 bird and beast and man, but now she was paralysed into 
 silence. There seemed at first no speech in her, though 
 she wondered what Father Brant would say about Mary. 
 
 " I — I can't talk to-day," she murmured presently. 
 
 But the priest's mind had gone away from her. He 
 repeated to himself : 
 
 So sweet, so cool, so calm, so bright. 
 
 And his own eyes brightened a little, too. Presently he 
 repeated the whole poem aloud. 
 
 " It was written by a good Catholic," he said, smiling, 
 " and most English poetry was not, you know." 
 
 She knew nothing of poetry, or very little. Books had 
 never yet been her resource. She learnt rather where 
 poets learn, and did not take the world at any sweet 
 second-hand. And yet she knew now how much she 
 had taken thus, or rather how much had been forced 
 upon her by the slow processes of social lies. 
 
 " I think I ought to tell you something," she said 
 suddenly. 
 
 " If you think you ought, I'm sure you ought," replied 
 Father Brant. " We can always be sure what is right 
 if we listen to our true selves." 
 
 She had heard so much a thousand times, and could 
 not say why the thousand-and-first time of hearing ir- 
 ritated her. 
 
68 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Oh, can wc? " she asked. There was almost a touch 
 of dryness in her speech. But the priest did not detect 
 what he did not look for. 
 
 " Always," he said simply. " But what is it you want 
 to tell me?" 
 
 She flushed again, thinking once more that a few days 
 ago she would have imparted what she had in her mind 
 with joyous innocence. 
 
 " It's — it's about Mary Jose," she said. 
 
 Though the Joses were of a truth black Protestants, 
 yet the Father knew all the village by name. Few, even 
 the most fervent against the Papacy, ever refused to 
 answer him when he saluted them. 
 
 "Ah, what of her?" 
 
 " Her father nearly killed her, and I took her into our 
 house," said Rachel. " She has a baby. And she isn't 
 married." 
 
 "Ah," said Father Brant, "but how shall violence 
 cure mortal sin ? I am glad you had pity on her." 
 
 But Rachel said to herself : " Why is it a mortal sin? " 
 
 She broke out suddenly : " Oh, isn't a baby straight 
 from God, Father?" 
 
 And the priest said: "Yes." 
 
 " Then how is it that God rewards a mortal sin by 
 sending a baby from heaven?" 
 
 " Marriage is a sacrament of the Church, and was 
 ordained by God and blessed by Christ," said the Father. 
 " It is for you, and for all of us, Rachel, to accept what 
 the Church says." 
 
 He spoke with a certain severity and with surprise. 
 And yet, why should he be surprised, since she who spoke 
 was the fruit of a deadly sin ? 
 
 And the fruit of mortal sin that Rachel knew of was 
 as bonny as could be. He had crowed and laughed upon 
 her lap that morning. His eyes were heavenly blue. 
 
 " Is she to marry the father of her child ? " asked the 
 Father presently. 
 
 But Rachel answered, almost sullenly, that she did 
 not know. She had hold of certain root facts that the 
 theologians played with. If God "knew what would hap- 
 
RACHEL MARR 69 
 
 pen how came it that the Church was severe and man 
 was bitter? She spoke not a word till they came to 
 Morna House. 
 
 XV 
 
 Anthony Perran came riding again to Morna House 
 that very morning, and reached it a few minutes before 
 Rachel and Father Brant returned. His heart was 
 heavy, for he knew Martha had spoken the truth about 
 his brother; instinct and knowledge of the man and 
 remembrance of his talk the year before told him that it 
 was so. His heart was very heavy, for he loved him. 
 
 " He's so bright," said Anthony, " and his eyes are as 
 clear as Sigurd's, as clear as any dog's, and there's not 
 even a dog's faith in him, for he believes in none. And 
 as a little lad he did what he would and bore with any 
 pain like a man. He'd sing then as he sang last year, 
 and there's no God for him, and no hell. And as for 
 me " 
 
 As for him, he loved him even now, and was very 
 sorrowful, though stern. 
 
 He called to Martha as she looked out of the kitchen- 
 window : " I want to see Mary." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Anthony, I doubt if you can. She'll not 
 come down unless Miss Rachel asks her," said Martha. 
 
 " I want to speak about her child being baptised," said 
 Anthony. 
 
 " 'Tis you have the right," said Martha. And Anthony 
 turned upon her angrily. 
 
 " What right had you to say what you did the other 
 day ? " he demanded as he dismounted by the door. 
 
 And Martha threw out her hands with a gesture learnt 
 in Italy. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I daresay 'twas wrong of me, but the child's 
 eyes spoke. And I saw Mr. John with her twice last 
 September. I knew he was after no good. And who 
 has the same blue eye but you and him? It's the blue 
 eye of the Perrans." 
 
^o RACHEL MARR 
 
 Anthony turned away and stood with his back to her. 
 
 " Has the girl said aught ? " 
 
 " She's as close as a limpet to a rock. But she's red 
 or white when a Perran is spoken of." 
 
 " And does Miss Rachel know ? " 
 
 "It slipped out'o' me," said Martha apologetically, 
 " it would out. My tongue will have its way at times, 
 Mr. Anthony. And besides that, I've a mind this long 
 while to set her against the Perrans." 
 
 She spoke with significance, and Anthony turned his 
 face away from the woodland. 
 
 " Why, woman, why? " 
 
 And Martha shook her head. 
 
 " 'Tis easy telling, sir, and you might guess." 
 
 She saved him the trouble of guessing, if there was 
 any trouble in it. 
 
 " 'Tis because I think you'll never marry a Papistj 
 Mr. Anthony. Yours is a bad mind to change, and 
 you're set on your own faith. And who can move 
 her?" 
 
 "What folly are you talking?" asked the man. 
 
 " 'Tis not folly, sir," said Martha, " and you know it, 
 and you know her. Oh, sir, she's a beauty and fond of 
 living and all living things, and at times 'tis you she 
 speaks of just as innocently as a baby, and by and by I 
 fear she might love you. For I know her nature; and 
 oh, but there's the devil in your eye, too, sir, when you 
 laugh so rarely. I'm doing her a wrong to speak, but 
 who shall speak for her, since her mother sits with death? 
 Don't get her fond of you till you can see 'tis all one 
 with a Papist and a Baptist, sir. For what's her mother 
 but a walking ghost callin' on ghosts? And I'm her 
 mother now, Mr. Perran." 
 
 Her hands shook and a tear rolled down her withered 
 cheek. 
 
 " Oh, sir, if Miss Rachel ever loves any one 'twill be 
 terrible hard upon her, for her soul will be in it, and for 
 him she'll rise up and lie down, and the day will be his, 
 and the night also; and if her love isn't fortunate, 'twill 
 be like as if her life — so strong as it is — was as the house 
 
RACHEL MARR 71 
 
 built upon sand. And if 'tis fortunate the man will have 
 a crown and be a king. So, sir, don't get her set to look 
 for you, as I sometimes fear she does. And as you know, 
 sir, 'tisn't only the bad Perran of his generation as causes 
 trouble, for your father was a good man, and 'tis well 
 known there was a woman that drowned herself at the 
 River the day he was married. Oh, that's well known." 
 
 Even as she spoke, Rachel and Father Brant came out 
 of the upper wood, and when Rachel saw Anthony stand- 
 ing there her face brightened marvellously, and some- 
 thing stirred within the man's heart that made him quiver. 
 
 "Did you see how the sun rose for her?" said Mar- 
 tha. " Oh, I saw it. May it never set in tears. 'Tis 
 liking now, but it might be more. Don't act to make it 
 so, unless you mean it, sir." 
 
 But even now it might be too late. There was some- 
 thing changed in Rachel, Martha saw. And even if the 
 change were due only to the sudden increase of fated 
 knowledge, the old woman perceived that the child she 
 had nursed had become a woman by holding another 
 child against her heart. 
 
 " I wonder if I did wrong to speak," she said as she 
 went into the house. "And Rachel, with her beauty, 
 might look high. Only she won't; she will stoop, she 
 will stoop. I'll tell her again that Mr. Anthony will 
 never marry a Catholic, never in his life. And what is 
 he but a farmer? And she will own his farm when my 
 poor darling is gone. I'll go and see her now." 
 
 And Rachel and Anthony and Father Brant spoke 
 together for a little, while Martha cried to a locked door 
 and got no answer. She came out presently, and the 
 priest went into the house with her. 
 
 " I came to see Mary," said Anthony. " Mr. Oliver 
 will baptise the child on Sunday." 
 
 She knew who the father of the child was ! That was 
 the thought in his mind, though he spoke as if his mind 
 was free. But under his calm the storm raged; for he 
 was disgraced by one without grace, whom he yet loved. 
 
 " I'll tell her," said Rachel. There was something, 
 in her voice which was new to him. She did not look 
 
72 RACHEL MARR 
 
 him straight in the face. "Yes, I'll tell her," she re- 
 peated. " Have you seen her father again ? " 
 
 " He speaks to none," said Anthony. 
 
 " Oh, it's hard to speak," said Rachel passionately;' 
 and Anthony understood her cry, for it was hard for hini, 
 for her, for the old man. Words were nothing but vague 
 signals in a blind storm; and in agony the tongue failed 
 till the heart broke. 
 
 " Oh, the world's a cruel place," said Rachel. " Why, 
 why do things matter so ? " 
 
 Her pagan heart cried out aloud in strange astonish- 
 ment; for she saw how sweet it might be to live in the 
 sun. Her religion dropped away from her in such an 
 hour; she saw human nature crucified and man himself 
 upon his own cross of no salvation. The natural path to 
 Paradise lay in trust of self. 
 
 For the man beside her, that way lay damnation; he 
 built against nature and feared it. For his God was 
 outside of life and abhorred it; He only spoke out of 
 fire or a bush of thorns. Anthony sought to live by 
 argument and theory rather than by nature, the Logos of 
 God, speaking in the green and red words of the wood- 
 land as in the heart of man. 
 
 But he did not answer her, and she spoke again sud- 
 denly : 
 
 "Why do you hate Father Brant?" 
 
 He flushed, but denied that he hated him, denied it 
 almost angrily. 
 
 " I know you do," said Rachel, " and yet I'm a 
 Catholic." 
 
 In truth she belonged to the Catholic Church of Hu- 
 manity that all Churches are arrayed against. 
 
 " I hate no man but myself, no man at all, but only 
 sins and errors," said Anthony. 
 
 She knew he was a man, a rider, a swimmer, one who 
 could sail a boat with any fisherman of Morna Cove ; and 
 that he could speak as he did seemed wonderful. Why 
 should such a man hate himself? And why should any 
 one harry his soul about the sins and errors of the world? 
 She even rebuked him. 
 
RACHEL MARR 73 
 
 "Oh, isn't that for God?" 
 
 " For God in us, too." 
 
 " So Father Brant thinks," said Rachel angrily. At 
 that moment she almost forgave John Perran. It was 
 not her business to say aught in this matter. If he were 
 cruel, so was Anthony. And yet the elder brother was 
 a man, and held her mind the more tenaciously the more 
 he seemed inexplicable. Now she understood John, but 
 Anthony strained her understanding to grasp. Till this 
 day she had been content to look upon him. She tried 
 to loose a Gordian knot with feeble fingers. Not yet 
 should passion be the sword to cut it. 
 
 Both knew they talked round his brother's deed, his 
 sin, his responsibility. Here was a pure and innocent 
 girl defending him, said Anthony. But she made no 
 defence. She simply formed no indictment. She stood 
 beside the entanglements and intricacies of the Law in 
 amazement, as all true women do. 
 
 " She does not understand ; she surrenders her soul to 
 a priest," said Anthony. He found himself without 
 words, for his own emotions were not simple. He only 
 spoke freely when God was with him, the same God that 
 Rachel knew of; when his heart flowed freely and he 
 forgot the Law in emotion born of Nature. 
 
 As they stood there the sun moved to the west, and 
 the shadow of the house fell upon them. Rachel shivered 
 and moved into the sun again. But Anthony leant 
 against the wall, thinking, and she came back into the 
 shadow. 
 
 " Oh, Anthony, I hope you're not angry with me ! I 
 wonder you like me at all, seeing I'm a Catholic." 
 
 She spoke mournfully; she apologised, almost with 
 humbleness, for the faith which was not really hers. 
 Then she smiled a little and humour played upon her 
 lips. 
 
 " You see, I can't help it." 
 
 She was very beautiful, said Anthony. He remembered 
 what Martha had said and smiled too. Her beauty was 
 something which had not touched his heart. He was 
 concerned for her soul only. 
 
74 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And then Father Brant came from the house. He went 
 straight to Rachel and drew her apart. 
 
 " Your mother will not see me, child," he said. " I 
 fear she is very ill. Send for the doctor and let me know 
 how she is. For I will come again whenever you need 
 me. 
 
 He laid his hand upon her head, and Anthony frowned. 
 
 There was a gulf set between him and her, and for him 
 Love had not yet sought to build a bridge across it. 
 
 " I'll send the doctor," he said coldly as he mounted 
 his horse again. "And tell Mary what I told you." 
 
 He rode up the same path on which Father Brant was 
 walking, and overtook him at the verge of the wood. 
 Rachel watched them from the shadow of the house. 
 She grieved in her heart for many things, and did not 
 know yet that if Anthony Per ran had smiled as he went 
 her heart would have been lighter even in heavier grief. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Anthony rode past the priest swiftly, and hardly re- 
 turned his salutation. Such as Brant were the priests of 
 an alien deity, Baal or Moloch. Prejudice deep as the 
 sea, high as the cliffs over the sea, separated him from 
 Rome. Now his love for his brother and his wrath made 
 him bitter. He rode in a strange confusion of mind, for 
 only awhile ago he had been calm and quiet, sure of himT. 
 self and his own. Now disgrace touched his name once 
 more. It had not been smirched in this generation, and 
 his uncle's doings had mostly died out of the minds of 
 men. And old Martha's words about Rachel touched 
 him sharply, awaking him to the knowledge of certain 
 depths of his own nature. He perceived that the girl 
 came near to loving him, and though the knowledge of 
 this woke no true passion in him, it woke that which 
 made him abhorrent to himself. 
 
 " She's only a girl, a child," he said ; " and then, she 
 is a Roman Catholic." 
 
 There would be a conflict about the children in such a 
 
RACHEL MARR 75 
 
 marriage. The thought of children made him set his 
 teeth hard ; a red flush burnt in his cheek. 
 
 " Then there's Winnie," he said. 
 
 She was his cousin, the daughter of his uncle, the " bad 
 Perran " of his time. Winnie, he knew, meant to marry 
 him; it had been arranged when they were children, 
 agreed on, accepted, settled even by the children them- 
 selves. There was a certain inevitability about it; in- 
 evitability that grew out of his weakness and the strength 
 that was in Winifred. She had claimed Anthony, had 
 woven herself about him by pretending his loss would 
 destroy her. And yet, technically, he was free. And he 
 had never desired her; his passions lay asleep when he 
 was with her. He called her a good influence, because 
 half of him lay drowsing when he was by her side. 
 
 The religious sense in him was strong; it was built on 
 fear of himself. Some day the evil in all men might 
 awake in him ; he saw himself as he saw his brother with 
 a self-control that might be less strong than he hoped. 
 Now, this very day, the smiling aspect of Rachel as she 
 came from the wood had pleased something in him 
 dreadfully. He saw she was beautiful, saw that she was 
 a woman, perceived that she could draw men to her. 
 
 And the other night she had been but a creature of the 
 waves, a cold nymph of the sea. Now he saw the colour 
 of her, the bronze and hidden gold of her hair, the bosom 
 rounded and delightful, the strong, clean limbs, the 
 mournful sweetness of her eyes, the almost majesty of 
 her grave and peculiar aspect, the inherited tragedy of 
 her soul. 
 
 " Oh, such a woman " he said, and broke ofif. He 
 
 could have forgiven himself a passion for her. But a 
 sudden wild desire desecrated her and himself, and he 
 was afraid. He used prayers against such lures of the 
 flesh as if they were incantations, and was astounded at 
 himself. 
 
 " The mother will die and she'll be alone ! " 
 
 The thought of it fired his blood, and burnt in his 
 cheek, and then the martyr and the saint awoke in him ; 
 the ascetic instincts of his soul renewed themselves. He 
 
76 RACHEL MARR 
 
 saw sufficient reason in desire to deny himself ; he offered 
 the flesh upon the altar, believing all flesh acceptable as a 
 burnt offering to the deity. 
 
 " I'll speak to Winnie again," he said. 
 
 There was safety in such a pale woman; he would 
 marry her as a duty, as a salvation, as a method of denial, 
 as a safeguard. So strangely his imagination burnt 
 suddenly about Rachel, for nature had him by the throat. 
 He got nature down again, and rode praying, and be- 
 came almost exultant, rejoicing in victory. 
 
 " I have my brother's nature in me," he said ; and even 
 as he said it he perceived a strange and awful beauty in 
 wild passions, in desire let go, in the growth of self, 
 the aspects of nature and sweet nudity. Meadows of 
 asphodel flowered before him ; he saw Rachel naked by 
 the margin of the sea and heard his wild heart singing. 
 That which he called his better nature cried out aloud 
 to the God he worshipped : " Is thy servant a dog, that 
 he should do this thing ? " and when he came to the open 
 road upon the upland he galloped from himself. The 
 cooler breezes that fanned him were like balm. He 
 was a victor in this sudden battle before he reached 
 the Church Town, where he left a message for the 
 doctor. 
 
 As he rode back again he saw Father Brant standing at 
 the cross-ways, whence the path led to the Great House. 
 There was no simplicity in the world for Anthony Perran 
 this morning. He could not accept this priest even as a 
 phenomenon. How was it that God allowed false 
 teachers in His world? Anguish and suffering and evil 
 seemed simple indeed, but how was it that God's crea- 
 tures, believing in creeds that were not true, believed 
 they did His work? He hated the priest, and yet pitied 
 him; hated the priest, and was sorry for the man. He 
 pulled up as Father Brant signed to him. 
 
 " I've left word for Dr. Greer," said Anthony. And 
 then he noticed that the priest was not alone. Old Steve 
 was sitting on a big stone by the hedge. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Perran," said the reprobate j: 
 " 'tis a fine day, isn't it ? Fine for all of us." 
 
RACHEL MARR y^ 
 
 He was obviously advanced in liquor and most re- 
 markably cheerful. 
 
 " It's over fine for you, you old vagabond," said 
 Anthony sternly. " If I had my way I'd have you 
 flogged." 
 
 " He certainly ought to know better," said Father 
 Brant mildly, " and I've been telling him so." 
 
 " What's the use ? " asked Anthony. 
 
 " Aye, what's the use when I know better than both 
 of you ? " nodded Steve. " For I'm so full of good liquor 
 that I know best. 'Tis a remarkable thing to meet like 
 this. Here's Father Brant, and he's a priest of Rome, 
 and here's Mr. Perran, that preaches at times (and does 
 it spirited, for I've heard him through a window while I 
 smoked on a tombstone), and here's myself that used to 
 preach to many that's under tombstones now. And 
 what's the conclusion of it, sirs, what's the conclusion ? " 
 
 He was authoritative and humorous; his grey beard 
 wagged and his eye was merry. 
 
 " The conclusion for you should be a whipping," said 
 Anthony. 
 
 " Bless your soul, sir," said Steve, " I've stopped whip- 
 ping myself. But the whip's for you, sir ; 'tis you uses it 
 on yourself. And a lot you gain. There's more of the 
 sad priest in you than in his reverence here. He doesn't 
 whip himself much, but you'll be all scars before you 
 learn wisdom and know there's as much learning in a 
 pot of ale as in a pipe of preaching. I used to cry damna- 
 tion too, and I had a fine name for a voice that can't sing 
 so much as a drinking-song now. But I found out that 
 I didn't know as much as God after all, and that seeing 
 I'd done my work and brought up two children I might 
 as well be myself as pretend different. I tell you, gen- 
 tlemen-preachers both, that 'tis better to sit in the sun 
 than the shade, and that beer's only barley converted, 
 and that neither a black coat nor a voice for hymns 
 proves God isn't wiser than men. And wisdom lies in 
 letting the world go. Oh, Lord, but here I'm preaching 
 again." 
 
 " You're an old blackguard," said Anthony. 
 
78 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " So I am," said Steve. 
 
 " And the name of God on your lips is blasphemy." 
 
 " 'Tis better to take His name in vain than to take 
 it for a conceited fool's purpose," said Steve. " D'ye 
 know, Mr. Anthony, there's times I've felt I'd rather go 
 to hell with your brother Jack than to heaven with you? 
 Jack and I have laughed together many a time as we lay 
 on the grass. I laughed because I was drunk or because 
 I was sober, and he laughed because he couldn't help it, 
 because the sun was in him and a careless heart and a 
 spice of the poor abused devil (one of God's creatures, 
 gentlemen). And all the maids smiled at him, and some 
 that wasn't. Oh, it's a queer world and I'm the wisest 
 man in Cornwall this day. And now I think I'll sleep 
 awhile, so good-bye to both of you." 
 
 And so saying, he who was wiser than any bishop, lay 
 down upon the grass and promptly slept like a child. 
 
 " It's a sad sight," said Anthony. " For once he was 
 an eloquent man and did good that he's undone since." 
 
 " Can any good be undone, Mr. Perran ? " 
 
 " God knows," said Anthony, " but he's a poor fool 
 now." 
 
 Father Brant looked at him oddly. 
 
 " Well, I'm not so sure ; the man has charity in him. 
 And he doesn't hate me as you do." 
 
 Anthony frowned. 
 
 " I do not hate you as a man " 
 
 " But only as a priest ? " 
 
 Anthony was silent. 
 
 "As the servant of the Church which has infinite 
 charity. Why should you narrow the way to heaven so 
 much, Mr. Perran ? " 
 
 " There is great authority r for narrowing it," said 
 Anthony, as he rode on. 
 
 " The path is, at any rate, as wide as God's grace," 
 cried Father Brant. " And that is wide indeed." 
 
 He stood and watched Anthony ride down the road, 
 and shook his head. Then he turned to old Steve and 
 loosened the collar of his shirt. 
 
 "Which needs most charity?" asked the Father. 
 
RACHEL MARR 79 
 
 XVII 
 
 Dr. Greer came riding to Morna about noon. He whis- 
 tled cheerfully, and said, " Ha, ha, how are you ? " to 
 Rachel in the garden. He was the cheerfullest man in 
 the countryside when John Perran left it, and was hard 
 and rugged and four-square as a hewed pillar. He and 
 the " bad Perran " were friends ; they rode and drank 
 together. And yet Greer went to church not wholly from 
 a business point of view. He held a creed which pictured 
 God as a clinical physician doing His best with an obsti- 
 nate patient and poor drugs and bad nursing. 
 
 " As for John, he's damned beyond redemption, and a 
 man who is damned and cheerful is a man without a soul 
 to trouble for," said Greer ; " he's just a fine animal. I 
 don't trouble about Perran's dog, do I? I play with 
 him." 
 
 Greer was as strong as proved steel and loved his work. 
 He went easily, as easily as a stream or a tide. No man 
 ever saw him angry. 
 
 " I pride myself on the fact that not even a fool of a 
 woman doing her best to kill what she loves best, can 
 ruffle me," said Greer. His pulse was sixty to the minute 
 and he spoke with fine deliberation. 
 
 " Well, and how's your mother now ? " he asked as 
 Rachel came to meet him. 
 
 " I've not seen her for two days, Dr. Greer," she said 
 anxiously ; " you must ask Martha." 
 
 " Don't worry," said Greer, " we'll do our best. But 
 it won't be much, my dear. Medicine won't cure 
 her." 
 
 She looked at him intently. 
 
 "What will?" 
 
 " What does — in the end ? " said Greer. He whistled 
 unconsciously as he dismounted, whistled cheerfully at 
 death. 
 
 "Well, I'll see Mistress Martha," he cried, and he 
 marched into the stone-flagged kitchen. 
 
 " How's the patient now ? " he asked. " Last time you 
 
8o RACHEL MARK 
 
 sent for me she stared me out of the room, and I did not 
 smile for an hour, I give you my word it was so." 
 
 " When did she smile? " asked Martha. She told him 
 how the woman spent her hours. " She hasn't slept 
 for days." 
 
 Greer scratched his chin and sat upon the table, 
 
 "And talks to herself?" 
 
 " She calls out." 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " For someone," said Martha. Whatever Greer 
 might suspect he knew nothing. 
 
 " Is it the same old story ? " he asked. " Oh, some 
 man." 
 
 And Martha turned away. 
 
 " I'll try to get her to see you." 
 
 "And I'll go up with you," said Greer. 
 
 When they came to the landing of the first floor 
 Martha bade him walk softly. She tapped at the door 
 and received no answer. 
 
 " Listen," she said, and Greer heard the ■ ceaseless 
 motion of bare feet upon boards and the light rustle of a 
 gown. He looked at Martha. 
 
 "Day and night?" 
 
 " Day and night — ^now," said Martha. 
 
 " Knock louder," said Greer. 
 
 And then Mrs. Marr answered. 
 
 " I need nothing," she said. " Leave me." 
 
 " Open, ma'am — oh, Mary darling, open," cried Mar- 
 tha, and the steps ceased. 
 
 " Who's with you ? " asked the woman ; her senses 
 were of morbid keenness. 
 
 "The doctor," said Martha feebly; "oh, see him, 
 see him." 
 
 " I'll see no one. Send him away." 
 
 She resumed her pacing to and fro, and Martha wrung 
 her hands. 
 
 "What shall we do?" 
 
 And Greer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I can't break into the room and examine her tongue 
 by force, can I ? " he demanded. "And a stethoscope on 
 
RACHEL MARR 8i 
 
 the door won't tell us much. It's what I said last time ; 
 she's crazy, my dear woman, clean crazy, mad. It's 
 about some man, of course." 
 
 Martha pulled him from the door. 
 
 " She'll hear you," she whispered angrily. 
 
 " Nonsense," he said and then he nodded. " Well — 
 she might; I knew one woman who said she smelt any 
 stranger in the house though she lay in an upper room. 
 She didn't live long." 
 
 As they stood by the head of the stairs they heard her 
 call out. 
 
 " What name was that ? " asked Greer. 
 
 " Antonio," said Martha shivering. 
 
 " You'd better fetch him," said Greer ; "on a guess 
 I'll prescribe Antonio — quantum suff ! Or is he dead ? " 
 
 " She said last night that he was." 
 
 "And isn't he?" 
 
 " God knows," said Martha, " but dead or alive he's 
 far away." 
 
 Greer touched her arm. There was a queer look in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " How do you know that — if he's dead ? " 
 
 Martha caught hold of him. 
 
 " She said those words last night to me ; 'twas much 
 the same she said. And she cried out that he was trying 
 to tell her something, trying dreadfully." 
 
 " I didn't mean anything," said Greer ; " and she's 
 mad, mad as a March hare. Did she say anything else ? " 
 
 Martha nodded. 
 
 " She said a deal ; and 'twas dreadful." 
 
 "Tell me!" 
 
 " I can't ; I couldn't ; 'twas blasphemy, sir, and made 
 my blood run cold." 
 
 Greer considered. 
 
 "And she's religious. Look here, my poor old girl, 
 this mistress of yours is likely to be dangerous " 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 "Tome, sir?" 
 
 " To herself," said Greer ; " I'll certify her and get Dr. 
 Pratt to come over and do it too." 
 
82 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " What's that? " asked Martha, " will it hurt? " 
 
 " She'll have to be taken care of," said Greer. 
 
 " It can't be done," cried Martha. " I'll not permit it. 
 I was her maid when she was a girl, I was with her when 
 she married, and after and after till now. She shall die 
 with me." 
 
 " Poor old girl," said Greer again, " it's damned hard 
 lines. But if she cuts her throat you'll be partly 
 responsible." 
 
 " Oh, I'd rather she did and died in my arms than go 
 elsewhere." 
 
 She cried as she spoke. 
 
 " Well, what of trained nurses ? " 
 
 " Not inside the door," said Martha fiercely, " I'm her 
 nurse." 
 
 " You are devilish obstinate," said Greer ; " but as a 
 matter of fact you're right. It's no good doing anything. 
 Here or there, now or a month hence, what does it mat- 
 ter? Nature's doing her best to put her into her coffin. 
 I'll look in every now and again when I pass by. And 
 I'll send you something to put in her drink and give her 
 a little rest." 
 
 They went downstairs again, and in the kitchen Greer 
 whistled and lighted his pipe. 
 
 " Feed her if you can," he said ; " stuff her if she'll 
 eat. I'll talk to Miss Rachel." 
 
 He found the girl among her flowers, her wilderness of 
 tangled sweet peas, sweet williams, roses, hollyhocks. 
 
 " It's fine to see you among them," said Greer, waving 
 his hand over the garden. " You give them their 
 way." 
 
 " They're happier so," said Rachel. " Did you see 
 mother?" 
 
 Greer shook his head. 
 
 " Though I'm strong, the door is mahogany." 
 
 " And can't you do anything, Dr. Greer ? " 
 
 " Little enough," said Greer ; " she wants or needs 
 what she won't take — air, sun, food, and a sense of 
 humour, and a healthy intention of doing without what 
 she can't get. That's the way to be healthy, my dear 
 
RACHEL MARR 83 
 
 young lady. Get what you can, but never, never try to 
 get what you can't. And sometimes the greatest strain 
 comes from getting what you want with difficulty. Try 
 the easy ; there's lots to be said for the poor abused prim- 
 rose path. Live as you want ; eat and drink and be merry, 
 and don't think that to-morrow you die, for you won't, 
 and it will give you a bad night. God's a great deal 
 better than some of you think; he relies on a generous 
 dietary and understands. God's not a narrow-minded 
 fool, my dear, and doesn't mind if you over-eat yourself 
 a little. That's better than starving or picking out one 
 thing and swallowing nothing else. I hope you under- 
 stand, for that's your mother's trouble." 
 
 He straddled with his legs and puflfed at his pipe. 
 
 " Give me a rose, my dear. I like to smell things. 
 Use your senses, all of 'em, and your mind, all of it, and 
 trust yourself to God. God's a good physician but not 
 a general practitioner. He'll only consult with yourself. 
 However, I'm obscure." 
 
 He went to his horse at the fence. 
 
 " We've all got to die," he said cheerfully, " and I 
 daresay your mother will live as long as some. And if 
 she doesn't she'll be happier. Send for me when you 
 want me, my dear. I'm set on being an old bachelor, for 
 I've most outrageous habits, so you won't mind if I call 
 you that." 
 
 He mounted his horse. 
 
 " I think you're kind," said Rachel. " But it seems a 
 hard world. Dr. Greer." 
 
 She spoke with sorrowful passion. 
 
 " We can make it so," replied Greer. " Go easy, don't 
 be too good or too bad. Don't expect to reach heaven 
 to-morrow or hell the day after. Take things quietly. 
 God bless you, as he did me, with a pulse that wouldn't 
 beat over sixty if the sky fell. I'm going to write an 
 article advocating the painless extinction of all pulses 
 over sixty. But I'm obscure again. Good-bye." 
 
 He rode off whistling. They called him the whistling 
 doctor for twenty miles round Mom a Church Town. He 
 whistled many into the world and many out. He was not 
 
84 RACHEL MARR 
 
 over cheerful or over gloomy at either ceremony. He 
 whistled a jig slow and the Dead March quickly. 
 
 " There's tragedy in that girl's face," he said. " She's 
 a fine creature, but her mother's mad now. And no one 
 knows the truth about her but the old woman and Brant." 
 
 He filled another pipe as his horse walked up the hill. 
 
 " It'll be a coroner's quest job," he said. 
 
 He urged his horse to a slow trot and whistled happy 
 discords. 
 
 xvni 
 
 Rachel would have fought with death to save anyone 
 she loved, but since love only lives by love, she saw her 
 mother on the dark path with no more than sorrow and 
 the uneasiness that comes to all mortals when they behold 
 mortality proved once more. To give that tortured soul 
 ease she would have done much. But only death could 
 ease it. She now saw the truth, under a veil, but still 
 the truth. She perceived in her mother's voice (had she 
 not heard her call "Antonio"?) something of infinite 
 and strained passion which made a painful echo in her 
 own heart. The likeness between mother and daughter 
 bred hostility; the child, unproved of life and yet on its 
 verge unlaunched, saw with something akin to contempt 
 the wreck upon hidden rocks. And even so she shivered, 
 perceiving in her flesh hints of possible disaster. The 
 calm sea she had once viewed, serene to far horizons, 
 embosoming the light reflections of splendid clouds, was 
 now touched by rising winds, forerunners of storms. 
 The colour that it took on was less glorious, and more 
 awful. The sky reddened and glowed with the signs 
 of a great gale still below the round of the curved ocean. 
 
 She felt infinitely alone, coldly solitary, and as she 
 knew not that safety (if safety was anywhere in the 
 storm-belt of the world's great passions) lay in solitude, 
 her nature now urged her more and more to communion 
 with all living things. 
 
 The aspect of Death urged her even more to the pursuit 
 of her fate. Death spoke to her of Life ; tokens of it were 
 
RACHEL MARR 85 
 
 brought her by a baby's delicate hands; she now feared 
 solitude for a time and deserted her pinewood for the 
 cliffs, and the village, and the farms. She went out with 
 Mary and the child no further than their own meadows, 
 for on being urged further Mary grew sullen. Boys had 
 shouted to her, she said. Some of her own sex had jeered 
 her from the road. She grew a little jealous of Rachel, 
 and said — 
 
 " Some day I might hate her. 'Tis my child, mine." 
 
 But Rachel saw nothing of that, and saved herself 
 from any present jealousy by her wandering, by her 
 absorption, by her sense of the outward world which 
 fought with herself. 
 
 " I'll go alone," she said. But she kissed the baby 
 hungrily. " He's a dear, and as fat as butter." 
 
 She went to Martha. 
 
 " Can I do anything, anything for you or mother ? " 
 
 Martha knew nothing was to be done. She opened her 
 palms — ^that southern negative was her chiefest gesture. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing, my dear." 
 
 " If you want me, send to the Headland. I'll be there." 
 
 At the back of Pentowan Headland lay Pentowan 
 Farm that Anthony worked. 
 
 " Shall you see Mr. Anthony? " 
 
 " Not likely," said Rachel. 
 
 Martha was at her kitchen table. She put her hands 
 flat on it and looked at Rachel cunningly. 
 
 " D'ye know, Rachel, I was wondering how long it 
 would be before he married that cousin of his? She's 
 growing up, she's two years ahead of you." 
 
 Rachel looked at her calmly. 
 
 " Oh, Winnie Perran. I don't think he'll marry her." 
 
 " They always say so. Why shouldn't he ? " 
 
 " She's nothing," said Rachel ; " she's a white bladder, 
 and Anthony Perran " 
 
 " Well, what's he but a farmer, on your land, too? " 
 
 Rachel shook her head without any irritation. 
 
 "Oh, mother's land— what of that? We've little 
 enough, and Mr. Perran is more than a farmer." 
 
 " Aye, he preaches," said Martha contemptuously, " and 
 
86 RACHEL MARR 
 
 hates your religion fiercely, worse than Father Brant 
 hates his by far." 
 
 " He's more than a preacher." 
 
 " Well, what more is he ? I see nought in him but a 
 grave face (though he has reason for that, seeing there's 
 John) and hatred of Catholics. I wonder he speaks to 
 you, Rachel, I fair wonder at it. Oh, yes, he'll marry 
 that Winifred; she's a Methodist, too, and will have a 
 bit of money, though not much, seeing what a man her 
 father is. Old George is a devil still. He sat drinking 
 with John a whole night before John went, so they say. 
 And they came out at eight in the morning singing about 
 a flowing bowl, and George more drunk than John. 'Tis 
 a queer family. And cousins are to marry — well, well ! " 
 
 Rachel shrugged her shoulders and went out. 
 
 " She knows what I say as well as I do," said Martha. 
 " But I hope she'll think more of it now, and less of 
 Anthony. Oh, but he is a fine chap, too, and any woman 
 might be made a fool of by the like of him. But if he 
 was to marry Rachel, I'd be easier, much easier." 
 
 Yet Rachel walked on the path to the western cliff 
 thinking nothing of marriage. Passion for life was 
 awake in her, but no desire of strong desire. Not yet 
 was she in accord with the world as she saw it. Though 
 the path was God's she feared the path her feet were on. 
 
 " She thinks I'm in love with Anthony," she said. The 
 thought was absurd and yet it warmed her heart. In the 
 darkness that overshadowed her any thought of love was 
 like a bird singing suddenly on a high branch of her pine- 
 wood. Many thoughts she gave to Anthony ; he pleased 
 her very soul. But not yet did she love him; she even 
 thought of him as the husband of Winifred Perran with 
 nothing but a little tinge of sorrow. 
 
 " Whey-Face isn't good enough for him," she said 
 mournfully. 
 
 So fine Anthony was, so strong and grave, that his 
 high merits and his nature deserved fine and grave per- 
 fection in his mating opposite. In the dark flood of 
 Rachel's mind, for ever in its sub-conscious tide like a 
 sunless river, she hungered to be even as the woman fit 
 
RACHEL MARR S/ 
 
 to stand beside him. That figure was her ideal, and, 
 without her knowing it, such an imagined aspect of full 
 womanhood inspired her heart. If ever (ah, and when!) 
 she perceived in this shadowy ideal its true likeness and 
 relation to herself she would bear strange children of 
 the spirit, while passion begot within her adorations, and 
 despairs, and all delights. 
 
 She walked upon the grass, bearing within her these 
 things conceived that shadowed her virginal face with 
 sadness, and only the wind, that played sweet music by 
 the cliffs, charmed her at last back to herself, back to the 
 sky, back from the sunless stream within her. 
 
 Then she knew that this hour had grown in all its 
 beauty out of the thought of Winifred. Her dream had 
 brought her close to the house that Anthony's cousin 
 lived in with her father, in his generation the equal of 
 the worst springing from the stock which bore evil and 
 good unhappily divided. 
 
 " She'll see me from the window. I'll go and speak to 
 her," said Rachel. She drove her thoughts away down 
 the wind, and was happy. After all the sun shone and 
 the wind piped to one who could dance in the light of 
 heaven. What did Anthony matter; and did Winnie 
 herself matter more, or even as much as Anthony's dog 
 Sigurd? The life beat in her heart; she forgot that at 
 their last meeting she and Winnie had quarrelled. 
 
 " What did we quarrel about ? " asked Rachel grandly ; 
 " it was not about God's world." 
 
 So she came to the house walking like a queen and saw 
 Winnie at her window. 
 
 " Come out," said Rachel, and even as she spoke she 
 saw that she parleyed with one who was not a girl, but 
 a woman. So deep had the new revelation of the flesh 
 sunk in her mind. 
 
 And Winifred Perran spread herself upon the window- 
 sill and looked out with flame-coloured pale eyes at her. 
 She spoke lazily; she was large, bloodless, enigmatic, 
 sexual. 
 
 " I thought we quarrelled," she yawned. Greer was 
 for ever prescribing for her. 
 
88 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Quarrelled ! About what ? " 
 
 Rachel opened her hands and flung the forgotten cause 
 of difference to the winds. 
 
 " I don't know what about," said Winnie, " but you 
 said you hated me." 
 
 Rachel laughed. 
 
 " If I did " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Come out of your house ; you're like a cat." 
 
 Winnie's eyes dilated. 
 
 " You said so ; that was it. And I scratched, didn't I ? 
 Well, I'll come out. I want to talk to you." 
 
 Rachel remembered. She had denounced her as a 
 yellow-eyed cat, a lapping, purring, rolling cat; a 
 scratching, intriguing devil; a giggling, mincing mouse- 
 trap. For when Rachel raged she had a strange vocab- 
 ulary and invented phrases, even words. 
 
 " I'll talk to her," said Winnie. If she had no phrases 
 she had an instinct for sore spots that Rachel lacked. It 
 half pleased Winnie to be called a cat. She would have 
 purred had any called her " tigress." Blood might have 
 made her one. 
 
 While she got ready, Rachel lay upon the brown turf 
 and watched some ants; she helped one with a dead 
 beetle. 
 
 " He seems to want it very badly, poor dear," said 
 Rachel. " Things would be much happier if we didn't 
 want so much, and want it so badly." 
 
 She was roused by Winnie's parasol, thrust at her 
 unceremoniously. 
 
 " I hope I didn't hurt you," said Winnie languidly ; 
 " why don't you wear stays ? And it's time you wore 
 longer dresses." 
 
 Rachel looked up sombrely. 
 
 " You don't mind if you hurt or not, Winnie. And 
 you never did." 
 
 " Take me out of the wind," said Winnie, " and don't 
 be spiteful. I have a lot to say to you." 
 
 Rachel rose and led the way towards the cliff. 
 
 " She's going to talk about poor Mary." 
 
RACHEL MARR 89 
 
 That was her thought, and her colour deepened till she 
 glowed. They came to a sheltered cleft in the high cliff. 
 About them grey mosses waved ; a narrow chimney ran 
 down to the hot edge of sand on which the sea lapped. 
 
 They sat down. 
 
 " Say what you have to," said Rachel, with her arms 
 about her knees. Though the sunlight was so splendid, 
 and though the sense of life ran within her gloriously, she 
 felt anger in her heart already. But she knew now that 
 Winnie had knowledge of old that was new to her. 
 She remembered certain enigmatic sayings produced 
 with languor and a subtle smile. 
 
 " Practically you have no mother," began Winnie, but 
 she was cut short by Rachel's laugh which turned to 
 scorn. 
 
 " Oh, you " she said. " But go on, go on ! " 
 
 And Winnie flushed palely. 
 
 " It's that Jose girl," she cried ; " 'tisn't right to have 
 her in your house, she's bad." 
 
 " Poor Mary," said Rachel, sighing. She stared Win- 
 nie in the face. " What's bad, Winnie ? " 
 
 She asked more than Winifred that ; she asked the 
 wind and sea and sky, and dropping her chin upon her 
 knees, she mused. 
 
 " Why, she is," said Winnie ; " she is, you know it." 
 
 Rachel stared at the sea. 
 
 " Do I ? Oh, it's such a little dear, Winnie. Come 
 and see him ! " 
 
 " It's the result of sin,'' said Winnie. Once more a 
 faint flush coloured her cheeks, and her eyes were curious 
 to see — there was a kind of glaze over them. Rachel 
 looked at her, and frowned, and drew away from her a 
 little. 
 
 What was this sin that Winnie and the good folks 
 talked of? Even Anthony was one of their company. 
 And yet his attitude was sweetness itself compared with 
 the malice that now spoke. 
 
 " I always hated the little beast." 
 
 " I found her crying in the pinewood," said Rachel. 
 
 " She went about with all the men." 
 
go RACHEL MARK 
 
 "And the little baby cried," said Rachel. "And 
 mother was kind." 
 
 "Oh, your mother " 
 
 She said nothing that she meant to say, for Rachel 
 looked up. 
 
 " And so was Martha." 
 
 " An old fool," said Winnie. " If you're not careful 
 no man will want to marry you, Rachel." 
 
 She sucked at her pale lips. 
 
 And Rachel went scarlet. For a moment she could 
 not speak. When she did she raged. 
 
 " You little, little thing ! " she cried ; " what a mean 
 heart you have ! Oh, but you have no heart. And men 
 are always in your mind. You used to say such things, 
 sneaking about things that I didn't know of with your 
 yellow eyes and your white lips. And because poor Mary 
 was a fool and has to pay for it, you can grin over her, 
 and say she's bad. Oh, she's not, she's not — she's no 
 worse than you ! " 
 
 In her sudden rage she caught Winnie by the arm and 
 spoke right into her face. 
 
 " She's no worse than you ! " 
 
 And Winnie went as white as sea-foam. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 But Rachel meant nothing, for she knew nothing. 
 And yet what was it that made her remember that the 
 child's eyes were Perran blue and that John Perran had 
 often drunk much at George Perran's house? She went 
 pale with the thought in her heart and then she cried : 
 
 " Forgive me, I meant nothing." 
 
 For Winnie was to marry Anthony ! She threw herself 
 down again upon the verge of the cliff, and half drifted 
 from the quietened woman at her side who stared at her 
 in doubt and anger. 
 
 And beneath them the purple tides raced; the clothed 
 rocks were red-brown with weed, outside them lay won- 
 derful bands of colour. But the far horizon was still and 
 dark with rising clouds; the sun was wonderful but the 
 wind died down. 
 
 Again Rachel spoke. 
 
RACHEL MARK 91 
 
 " Anthony thinks I did right," she said. 
 
 " How do you know what he thinks ? " asked Winnie. 
 " When we are married he will have to think as I do 
 about such things." 
 
 And Rachel knew they were to marry. She looked at 
 her curiously, with contempt, but without jealousy. 
 
 " I don't think a white thing like you could have a 
 baby," she said. 
 
 She spoke contemplatively, but Winnie gasped. 
 
 " Oh, but you are horrible ; you shouldn't speak of 
 such things." 
 
 " You've often said horrid things to me," replied 
 Rachel. " And if Anthony marries you he'll hate you. 
 He likes strong and healthy people." 
 
 Winnie sprang to her feet and deliberately tried to 
 hurt the girl who hurt her half unconsciously. For 
 Rachel was in a dream and only spoke with half her 
 mind. The rest was with God's world of grass and sea 
 and sky. 
 
 " I believe you're in love with him yourself." 
 
 That Rachel turned like any damask rose confirmed 
 her in what she meant as insult. 
 
 " That's not true," said Rachel, " that's not true." 
 
 " You're a liar," cried Winnie, " and like bad people, 
 and you're lying now. You do love him, and he's mine." 
 
 " Oh, you miserable thing," cried Rachel, getting on her 
 knees ; " go home, White-Face, or I'll roll you on the 
 grass." 
 
 She rose to her feet and shook Winnie by the shoulders. 
 She had the strength of three such women. 
 
 " You milk, I'll shake you into butter," she said. And 
 Winnie, suddenly terrified, burst into tears. 
 
 In her fear there was something pitiful and Rachel let 
 go of her. 
 
 " You poor thing, why did you make me angry? " she 
 asked, as she turned away from her whom she had made 
 afraid, and looked down upon the sea. In her attitude 
 there was strength and freedom, and even a certain 
 dignity strange in one so young. It made her look older, 
 much older. For the first time Winifred Perran saw 
 
92 RACHEL MARR 
 
 that she was really beautiful and no longer a child, and 
 what she had despised she hated. Without a word she 
 turned and went back home. Did Rachel know much? 
 Or anything? 
 
 And Rachel sat on the cliff above the roaring tide- 
 beset Lion until she grew calm and smiled. 
 
 " Poor Whey-Face," she said, " she can have her 
 Anthony if she likes." 
 
 But if Winnie could have her Anthony, Rachel re- 
 served her own. For if she was no longer a child she 
 was not yet a woman. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Many days passed and for a while Rachel's mother 
 showed less sign of insanity and strange delusion. Such 
 freedom from abnormal tension left her weaker and 
 gentler, for when she walked hand in hand with death 
 and vain desire, there was a false strength in her like the 
 strength of delirium. Now she lay for long hours upon 
 her bed, clutching the crucifix to her bosom, and beneath 
 her pillow lay the bundle of old letters. She even per- 
 mitted Greer to visit her, though she gazed at him with 
 far-ofif eyes and answered at random what he asked. 
 
 " She is dying because she does not wish to live," he 
 told Martha. " But she's as sane now as I've ever known 
 her to be, though that's saying little. Feed her, feed her. 
 I don't know why she should live, but it's our business to 
 keep folks alive. Nature grew her coffin long ago, if 
 she's to lie in seasoned wood ! " 
 
 She saw Father Brant, but remembered (so she said) 
 nothing of the strange blasphemies which had made 
 Martha shiver. She was given absolution and peace stayed 
 with her for an hour. 
 
 And so the days passed, and Rachel, grown bitterly 
 used to the tragedy of the dark house, lived her own life 
 of preparation while a life ebbed away, and a life grew. 
 Mary's baby and the animals and birds filled up her 
 hours, and left her less time for brooding in the pine- 
 
RACHEL MARR 93 
 
 wood. She went rarely into the village, for it pained 
 her that old Jose, who had been her friend, should now 
 glare angrily at her as she passed. She saw no more of 
 Winnie since they parted in anger, and though she saw 
 Anthony every day as he passed riding towards another 
 farm upon the eastern uplands, she spoke to him less 
 often. She lived very fully for the time in a vicarious 
 motherhood. The growing baby was much to her; she 
 made Mary jealous but saved herself by her dreaming. 
 The mother of the child saw dimly in her foolish little 
 mind that this child was a substitute. 
 
 " She'll be a better mother than me," said Mary. But 
 Mary longed for the cliffs and laughter under the moon. 
 
 " 'Twas little enough, and to be saddled with the boy ! " 
 she said. Nature was strong in her, and as the strain 
 went off and she found food and lodging were secure 
 and Martha's tongue none too bitter, she got back a cer- 
 tain effrontery supported by a new defensive insolence. 
 She even threatened to go into the village. 
 
 " There's lots no better, but only luckier," she said, 
 repining. But as the summer grew to its height, she 
 lived more for the day. 
 
 Yet the power of the sun that was new life to her 
 brought no strength to the mother of her protector. Mrs. 
 Marr felt the heat greatly and withered like a cut flower. 
 Nature strove within her both to live and die, and the 
 conflict wrought her up once more to insanity. Her eyes 
 glittered as her body weakened. As her body died, her 
 brain-life renewed itself in strange passion. She walked 
 again, but this time did not call out loud. 
 
 " She's getting better again for a bit," said Martha, as 
 she watched the dying lamp of life flicker in its fragile 
 earthen vessel. 
 
 " Your mother's better to-night," she told Rachel, 
 "but she's uneasy, I think, at the weather. There's 
 thunder working up, I do believe." 
 
 They said so in the village. 
 
 " There be a thunder-planet knocking about some- 
 where," said the wise men of weather, " there'll be sour 
 milk to-night, and sour beer." 
 
94 RACHEL MARR 
 
 But what a " thunder-planet " might be, none knew. 
 There was a great calm upon the land and the sea was 
 oil. Heat brooded over the earth and men's nerves were 
 relajfed. Work was a weariness ; the horses sweated as 
 they stood. And above the calm of the earth was a 
 strange turmoil of the heavens; clouds worked up from 
 the south and west and north, and thin ghost-like wisps 
 of cloud were bom in the zenith and danced a devil's 
 dance like wild shuttles weaving the sombre fabric of a 
 storm. A golden gloom lighted the hot land ; haze gath- 
 ered in the valleys, the distances grew opaque; but in 
 them were avenues that were clear. Huge ramparts of 
 storm rose out of the horizon; bastions grew in them 
 and great towers. And still no lightning flashed. Men 
 sweated and were oppressed in their minds; horses 
 ceased feeding; the cows lowed mournfully from closed 
 byres. 
 
 And the sun was very low in the west; it sank like 
 a globe of blood, shooting level rays of light through 
 hot gloom. And overhead in the zenith the moving 
 clouds closed up and opened, approached each other and 
 were thrust away. A faint blue space showed and was 
 hidden, and from open windows lamps gleamed early; 
 candles burnt in the open as in any closed room; the 
 trees moved not their lightest leaf. 
 
 The woman of the gaunt white house in the pinewood 
 felt the storm outside and welcomed it, felt the storm 
 within and feared it. For the first time for months she 
 drew up her window blind as the darkness fell and stared 
 out into the night. The wasted muscles of her frail 
 body strung themselves to a new strain; her nerves 
 thrilled like taut wires in a wind ; her eyes gleamed ; her 
 lips were cracked and dry. 
 
 " Oh, God, but I wait long," she said ; " I wait very 
 long." 
 
 Underneath her humble and imploring speech to God 
 was a mocking devil of hatred which was yet untouched 
 by any disbelief. She was split in pieces, fissured, 
 broken. Whatever she spoke with her tongue her soul 
 blasphemed. 
 
RACHEL MARR 95 
 
 "There's a God and I hate Him," said the inward 
 voice. Her lips of cracked flesh prayed aloud. 
 
 Rachel, moving uneasily in the passage outside, heard 
 her. She ran down to Martha. Mary was sitting by 
 the kitchen fire with her ,baby ; she feared the storm and 
 showed it. 
 
 " Mother's talking," whispered Rachel. 
 
 " I'll go up. But if she talks she'll not let me in." 
 
 " Go," said Rachel ; " go and try." 
 
 Outside and inside the oppression was awful. 
 
 " Why doesn't it begin ? " said Rachel. She was 
 wrought up but did not fear the storm. There was noth- 
 ing more glorious to her than thunder, and the battle and 
 shouting of the sky. The lightning made her shrink, but 
 only with the intensest pleasure that she yet knew. In 
 the glory of the wind and rain and the roar of any gale 
 there was something deeply and intimately in tune with 
 the diapason of her mind. The outward tumult gave her 
 a foretaste of strange immortal peace. Deep in her heart 
 she knew that that peace need not be sleep or death; it 
 might just as easily and as wonderfully (oh, far more 
 wonderfully!) be a great organic harmony born of the 
 very fury of speed. What difference was there between 
 silence and the rending note of close and overwhelming 
 thunder? What was the difference again betwixt dark- 
 ness felt and grasped, and the awful glow of lightning? 
 All these things were akin, but so were death and life. 
 She too prayed to the God of thunder, and her eyes glit- 
 tered with joy; even though a little part of her mind 
 dwelt upon the anguish of her that bore her. 
 
 " Begin, begin ! " she cried out as she stood at the open 
 window. 
 
 " Oh, Miss, don't, don't," said the little coward at the 
 fire. 
 
 And then heaven opened. Towards the south the 
 dark firmament was split in twain by a forked flash that 
 shot from the zenith to the sea. A blue glare lit up the 
 landscape and the pines for one great instant, and then 
 the house and very earth rocked with the blast of the 
 thunder. In that crash Mary's childlike scream was no 
 
96 RACHEL MARR 
 
 more than a farthing dip against the lightning or against 
 the sun. But Rachel clapped her hands, and shouted. 
 And then Martha came stumbling down the stairs. She 
 was as white as any ghost, and her lips trembled. She 
 ran to Rachel. 
 
 " She's locked the door against me," she said. " And 
 though I called she wouldn't answer. And she's got the 
 blind up and is at the window. She never has it up. Go 
 round outside and speak to her." 
 
 And again the lightning ripped the sky open. But not 
 a drop of rain fell yet, and Rachel ran out into the garden 
 and the darkness which was like the darkness of a sun- 
 less mine in eternal night. 
 
 The flash and roar that split the very world left a 
 heavy silence behind them, a silence deep as the sea. No 
 wind moved ; many hearts stood still, beasts trembled in 
 their stalls. For a long, long minute no other flash suc- 
 ceeded to that solitary signal gun of the heavens, and not 
 a drop of rain fell upon dry dust and herbage. And as 
 Rachel came round under her mother's window the mere 
 rustle of her feet upon the unmoved grass seemed harsh 
 and intrusive. 
 
 But when she stood under the window she heard noth- 
 ing, and at first saw nothing. As the pupils of her eyes 
 opened she discerned a dim white blot upon the dark 
 space of the open window, and she knew her mother 
 stood staring into the night. Rachel's heart failed her; 
 she sighed, and then the lightning flashed again and she 
 saw her mother standing straight up, with her hands 
 upon her bosom. And in her right hand was the old 
 crucifix. She was clad in black, and the black was dead. 
 What Rachel saw was a white face and two white 
 hands beneath and the bitter cross; body there seemed 
 none. 
 
 And Rachel, smitten with a sudden terror, cried aloud 
 before the thunder came. But when the crash of the 
 thunder was over, her mother cried out, and the girl fell 
 upon her knees, and hid her face. 
 
 " Antonio ! Antonio ! " cried the voice from above ; a 
 voice sharpened, eager, and triumphant. 
 
RACHEL MARR 97 
 
 And Rachel's heart told her this was an awful story of 
 the past which yet lived; a story of passion and vain 
 desire and sin, and happiness snatched from the reluctant 
 hands of heaven. There was perhaps some human spirit 
 in the storm speaking to the frail and broken flesh above 
 her. Her own flesh crept; superstitions got hold of her; 
 she could have screamed. But fear had her by the 
 throat; her voice died in a wail. And now the roar of 
 the rain upon the sea preluded the rain upon the land. 
 Heavy drops fell upon her bare head by ones and twos. 
 Then lightning spoke incessantly and the storm of rain, 
 heavy and perpendicular, fell upon her in a drenching 
 deluge. The lightning made ghastly patterns on the sky, 
 the thunder was no roll, but one vast rhythmic explosion ; 
 the blue glare ceased not for any perceptible interval of 
 time. 
 
 She saw her mother lift the crucifix and cast it into the 
 garden. She crawled to it, caught it up and ran back 
 into the kitchen. Something in the storm, in this action, 
 in her heart, told her that this was the casting out of God. 
 She was afraid, and trembled, and ran in upon Martha 
 to find Mary lying on the floor. 
 
 " Speak to the fool," cried Martha, but when she saw 
 Rachel streaming with the flood, she ran to her. 
 
 Then she saw the crucifix. 
 
 " How did you get that ? " 
 
 The girl laid her mouth to the old woman's ear. 
 
 "She threw it out!" 
 
 And Martha went as white as any ghost, and said 
 something that was inexplicable. 
 
 " She believes he is in hell." 
 
 Then the old woman turned and went upstairs with the 
 crucifix and beat upon the door of the locked room. 
 
 " Mary, Mary, let me in, let me in." 
 
 And Rachel crouched upon the landing listening to 
 that shrill voice in the storm. She saw the door open at 
 last and saw her mother catch Martha to her heart and 
 kiss her. 
 
 " Oh, take it back, take it back," said Martha. And 
 she who had cast it forth took it and laughed and closed 
 
98 RACHEL MARR 
 
 the door again and locked it. How she got there Rachel 
 did not know, but she found herself outside the door 
 holding Martha in her arms. 
 
 " Oh, but she took it back," said Martha, " she took it 
 back!" 
 
 She went down upon her knees and wailed through 
 the keyhole. 
 
 "Mary, Mary!" 
 
 But Mary did not answer. 
 
 " She's lighting the candles," said Martha. " One, 
 two, three ! " 
 
 " What shall we do? " said Rachel. 
 
 "Oh, what?" 
 
 Both knew that nothing could be done. What use in 
 worldly or in ghostly healing? Could either priest or 
 physician cure this soul? 
 
 " What's that ? " asked Rachel in a moment's lull of 
 the thunder. There was a sound of dragging within the 
 closed room. 
 
 " I can't see," said Martha. She kept her eye to the 
 narrow keyhole. " Oh, what's she doing? " 
 
 And presently she spoke in strange astonishment and 
 in terror. 
 
 " She's in scarlet," she said, " she's in scarlet ! Oh, 
 what years since ! " 
 
 She clutched Rachel by the arm and knew not what she 
 said. 
 
 " Last time she wore it 'twas nine months before you 
 were born, my girl." 
 
 She cried out strange things. 
 
 " And she might have been so happy ! " 
 
 But Rachel writhed up against her and thrust her 
 away. 
 
 " No, no, you mustn't," said Martha. " No, not 
 you. What do you know of my darling? Mary, 
 Mary!" 
 
 Then she fell back and caught Rachel in her arms, and 
 said the strangest thing of all. 
 
 "When did you hear her sing? Oh, the sweet voice 
 she had! She'll sing now. She always sang in scarlet 
 
RACHEL MARR 99 
 
 and so bright she looked and her pale lips were red as 
 yours, and her sunk cheeks were round as yours, and her 
 bosom was as white as new ivory. Oh, listen ! " 
 
 And then Rachel herself crouched upon the floor 
 as she heard her mother's voice after all these long 
 years. 
 
 She screamed out now. 
 
 " Oh, mother, don't, don't! " 
 
 And so the voice of the sky said, and still that strange 
 and dreadful voice sang, a voice now no longer sweet but 
 marred by anguish and despair, and the revolt of bitter 
 foolish years of hateful vain repentance. But what she 
 sang they knew not. 
 
 " I never heard it," said Martha, " never ! " 
 
 And then the storm ceased a little and her song ceased, 
 and she cried out once more — 
 
 "Antonio!" 
 
 And again Martha looked inside the room. 
 
 " She has put the candles at the head of her bed." 
 
 Then Martha said — 
 
 " Oh, and at the foot ! " 
 
 And the old woman shrieked. 
 
 " There's scarlet on her arms, scarlet ! Run, Rachel, 
 run and get someone to break in the door. Quick, 
 quick!" 
 
 And Rachel herself broke in the door with an old maul 
 that lay by the wood pile. But they came too late to save 
 her who did not wish to be saved. For she had opened 
 the veins of her arms with some sharp instrument, and 
 she died quickly, quietly, and with a white smile upon 
 her lips, a few minutes after Martha and her child came 
 to her. And on the crucifix that lay beside her there 
 was blood. 
 
 When Rachel left her, something made her pick up the 
 crucifix. She hid it in her bosom and took it to her 
 room. And there she found that the old artificer who 
 had wrought it had worked upon it with more thoughts 
 than one, for it was in two pieces and drew apart; the 
 upper part being the handle and the lower the sheath of 
 a fine steel dagger. 
 
loo RACHEL MARR 
 
 And on the blade Rachel read engraved — 
 
 " Non venio pacem mittere sed gladiutn." 
 Which being interpreted means — 
 
 " I come not to bring peace, but a sword." 
 
BOOK II 
 
 Steve Penrose, being a year older, and, according to his 
 own account, a year wiser, summed up things to Morna 
 Village in a public sermon twelve months after the great 
 storm. The fallen preacher's gown was the raggedest 
 coat on the south-west coast, and his pulpit was a flat 
 rock opposite the beer-house, and he lay down as he 
 talked. 
 
 " I lie down because I'm wise," said Steve. " If I 
 stood up, I'd fall, thanks to the noble beer with which 
 certain charitable 'SOuls have regaled me. These things 
 are the gift of God, my hearties, and if I abuse them 'tis 
 no reason for me to blame the giver. Beer gives me a 
 fair, thick and easy mind, and I flow comfortable in my 
 soul and don't get proud of my wisdom, which is notor- 
 ious from Morna to Plymouth, to say nought of the 
 dark places betwixt us and Land's End. I'm not one to 
 Stan' up stiff and defy beer. 'Tis foolishness, and leads 
 to a fall. There was our Miss Rachel's mother; she 
 drank some strong waters — waters of Marah, likely, and 
 she stood up to God and a thunderstorm, and the result 
 you know. And there's the papist priest, he's full of 
 church pride, and priestlike cuts off his nose to spite his 
 face. And there's you, you silly men, strugglin' might- 
 ily to get what God won't give you, and never will, and 
 you use his gifts of wind and rain and sea, not for what 
 they are, but for something else. And I'm wise, I am, 
 and know it, and take things as they come ; a pint, or a 
 pot, or a dry throat and horrid cold water, or a warm bed 
 
I02 RACHEL MARR 
 
 or straw, or the time when five pots or ten (which is it, 
 for I get beyond counting?) make wet moss as fine as 
 feathers in a four-poster. That's the way, my children, 
 and here's our young lady, our Miss Rachel ; she's fore- 
 doomed, as I can see, to have a fall with God, just as 
 Jacob did with the angel of God. Oh, she's fine, and 
 wonderful eyed, and has a heart for others' sorrows that 
 will be full of her own. I've heard of some as can see 
 things to come in a pool of ink; give me beer! And 
 there's Mr. Anthony Perran; oh, but he's stiff with the 
 grace of the elect of God, and whenever he sees me his 
 words are most suitable and severe, and make me laugh. 
 If he'd drink a little and let himself go a bit, there'd be 
 a fine man in him." 
 
 " 'Tisn't drink makes a fine man, so it seems," said the 
 village. 
 
 " Oh, but you are fools and nought else," cried Steve ; 
 " 'tis a wonder a man like me wastes his good time trying 
 to teach such anything. I cry in a wilderness, surely. 
 'Tis the mind and the ease of the drink that's the gift, 
 and some of us are properly drunk without it, and take 
 things easy, and see the nature of things and the value of 
 things without so much as a smell of the malt (if there's 
 any malt in Billy's beer) . 'Tis going easy and smooth, ' 
 and accepting things as they march from the workshop 
 of the Almighty that makes a man or a woman. But 
 this world (there's a world in Moma Cove) is after to- 
 morrow instead of to-day, and after dinner when it eats 
 breakfast, and yet I've patience with it; because if I 
 hadn't, I'd worry, and that I never do, except when cold 
 water goes down my throat three times in a day. For 
 all of you, the poorest and the weakest, have a full pot 
 of happiness right at your elbows if you'd take it. And 
 none of you do, my poor fools, but instead you go 
 a-brewing something that sours before you get it to your 
 lips. You're all of a piece, and I'm sorriest for the best 
 of you in Morna, and she's Miss Rachel, as I've said a 
 thousand times." 
 
 His audience thinned as the sun went down, for his 
 abused world had many things to do. Yet some (and 
 
RACHEL MARR 103 
 
 they the poorest and the wisest, it might be) stayed with 
 him in the shadows and egged him on to talk. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Rachel, she's a beauty and will marry." 
 
 " Aye, no doubt," said Steve, " but she'll want more 
 than her farms and her house, and when I see her walk, 
 she makes me shiver for all her beauty and her smiling. 
 There's something right onward about the march of her. 
 And what she wants, she'll have. As for a man, I see 
 no mate for her here, unless it be Anthony Perran, and 
 they'd be flint and steel, for fire is in her for all her soft- 
 ness to children and the beasts of the field. But Mr. 
 Preacher Anthony's to marry that yellow cat of a cousin 
 of his, and that's a match, isn't it? If I've an eye for 
 the heart of a woman, and I reckon to know a little of 
 their hearts, she's as poor a specimen for a wife as ever 
 bid for a family, and as wicked. But for the Romish 
 faith of Miss Rachel, I think he'd have wanted her. And 
 with a woman of her kind the faith wouldn't hurt if he 
 was only man enough to see that all faiths are one. But 
 that's beyond you chaps, so home you go, and I'll sleep 
 in < dry fern this warm night and consider under the stars 
 how fine and foolish a thing man is." 
 
 He had talked himself dry and staggered over to 
 Billy's. 
 
 " Couldn't I owe you for half a pint, Billy ? " he sug- 
 gested mildly. 
 
 " No," said Billy Drew, " no, you can't." 
 
 " I kept a dozen here when they were for going home," 
 urged the old preacher ; " and haven't I preached a true 
 doctrine by which you falsely profit? If jhey under- 
 stood I don't mean beer when I say beer, but a spirit 
 which you never sold and never will, they wouldn't stay 
 to listen and drink what isn't malt. Come, Billy, give 
 me that half-pint, and I'll away to my bed of fern and 
 pray for you to discover that there's something fine in 
 selling beer, something finer than you ever dreamed of." 
 
 " Drink, you old fool," said Drew. 
 _ And Steve drank and smiled, and went away rolling to 
 his upland bed of dry fern by the rocks above the sea. 
 
 " If I could only drink all the drink that was ever 
 
I04 RACHEL MARR 
 
 brewed, if I could pour it all down my gigantic throat," 
 said Steve, " I'd understand myself and a woman, and 
 the secret of the universe which at present beats me, as 
 I own." 
 
 Though he never reached his fern that night, the grass 
 was dry and the stars were clear, and the tides ran 
 musically, and God's earth and man's was sweet as any 
 draught of a celestial vintage. 
 
 II 
 
 The year that had made old Steve wiser or less wise 
 according as one looks upon the sacred or accursed brew 
 of his words, wrought due growth in Rachel Marr, but 
 no great change. The passion of her mother and the 
 storm in which she passed away self-slain illuminated 
 strange places in her soul, and yet she finally returned to 
 peace and her delight in the world in which she lived. 
 Her life was still a dream, her own passions lay 
 slumbering, and she lived chiefly with such thoughts as 
 flourished by the stainless verge of the immaculate sea or 
 in the shadowed sanctuary of her pines. Now these 
 warm woods and fertile meadows and swarth uplands 
 were her own ; sheep and cattle were hers ; and she drew 
 rent from three farms, taking money from Anthony 
 Perran. and two others who pastured their flocks and 
 tilled the soil of land that now descended to her from her 
 old pagan grandfather. Folks called her rich; young 
 men came to view her from afar. There was that about 
 her straight brows which made them timid even though 
 she was so young. The over-bold lacked courage when 
 they faced her, for, by inherited passion and her nature 
 tuned to the silences of the night, she was no such crea- 
 ture as they viewed daily among the ranks of their own 
 women. 
 
 And even yet she was a child, and those who loved her 
 in the village were half amazed, though more than proud, 
 to see how the dark aspect of her unaffected pride, which 
 
RACHEL MARK 105 
 
 was tender to them, affected stranger and the outside 
 world beyond the bounds of Morna. 
 
 " 'Tis a fair wonder how Miss Rachel affrights 'em," 
 said Sam Burt, who had paid in pints to learn that Mrs. 
 Marr was not immortal and must die. " There was that 
 young soldier officer from Plymouth " 
 
 He roared with laughter. 
 
 " Him as offered to kiss her ? " 
 
 " 'Tis him I'm laughing at," said Sam. " Oh, but he 
 was as drunk as Steve when Steve be praichin'." 
 
 " He wor sober." 
 
 " Aye, when he went. Missy just eyed him, they do say, 
 and he wor the meanest lookin' soldier oiificer for hours 
 after that ever rode out of Plymouth. There's somethin' 
 about her — there's somethin' " 
 
 He pondered for words, found none, and drank in 
 silence at the bar of their beer house. But many others 
 found no words for Rachel, and only the old reprobate of 
 a Steve touched the secret. 
 
 " She's nought but natural, you fools," said Steve. 
 " She and I be the only natural folks in Morna. 'Tis a 
 sad lookout for the pair of us." 
 
 Yet Rachel feared nothing, not even her own nature, 
 and sat in the woods as of old when there was no work 
 to be done. For the strength within her as she grew 
 demanded work, and her distaste for strangers, which old 
 Martha fostered, made her averse from taking any help. 
 The old lawyer at Liskeard who was her guardian urged 
 her to have an alien in the house. 
 
 " You are too young to live alone," he said. 
 
 " I live with Martha." 
 
 He ignored Martha. 
 
 " And, if I may say so, too beautiful, my dear young 
 lady." 
 
 She understood no danger in beauty, and feared none. 
 She saw almost clearly that any danger lay within, in 
 strength that might become rage, in weakness that might 
 yield. 
 
 He offered to find her a duenna, and she laughed. 
 
 " Martha would poison her," she said lightly. But 
 
io6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 there was then no real gaiety in her heart, and she refused 
 to entertain any stranger even when the lawyer suggested 
 mildly that he had the right to insist. Her answer he read 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " I shall be glad when you are twenty-one," he said 
 hastily. 
 
 Little as Rachel had understood her mother when she 
 lived, not an hour passed now which did not make her 
 vision clearer. The sad and tragic aspect of her who 
 had been insane seemed appalling now that death had 
 removed the ancient landmarks of the past. The girl 
 had grown up to her inheritance under a shadow. The 
 bloody passing of this domestic night which had been her 
 childhood, revealed to her much of the true meaning of 
 the tragedy which had been rendered less terrible by daily 
 usage and perpetual repetition. And Martha, growing 
 older now that the end of her duty seemed at hand, talked 
 more freely, and sowed seed hinting, where Rachel har- 
 vested strange truths after a season. 
 
 She perceived her mother stripped of the dusty gar- 
 ments of daily life. She was elemental, at hand-grips 
 with destiny, essentially tragic. She had lived, and 
 Rachel knew she had not loved the man whose name she 
 bore. The knowledge served its purpose in the educa- 
 tion of the girl's soul. If the truth that Mary Jose had 
 taught her was one that made all old childish theories im- 
 possible, and in the end made the flesh the co-equal of the 
 spirit and no less beautiful, this new light upon the 
 passions of the human heart was infinitely more fruitful 
 in the debate that raged in the girl's mind about the old 
 rules that had been taught her. They said her mother 
 was mad because she had taken her own life. 
 
 " Why should one live if one has nothing to live for?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Answering that question herself, she perceived there 
 was no sound answer. 
 
 " They call a woman mad, then, if she has nothing to 
 live for, and knows it," said Rachel. 
 
 There was no help for her in Father Brant. The poor 
 man did his best, which was to fall back upon the doo- 
 
RACHEL MARR 107 
 
 trines of the eternal Church. He delivered sounding 
 synthetic judgments to an analytic soul, which dissolved 
 them into incoherencies by a natural logic based on 
 elemental truths. She did not reason ; she saw. 
 
 She made the Father translate " non venio pacem mit- 
 tere sed gladium," and listened to his glosses on the mili- 
 tant text. But she never showed him the crucifix. None 
 knew its secret but herself, for the weapon with which 
 her mother had opened her veins had never been found. 
 
 " They all say that Christ came not to bring peace but 
 a sword, and they hate each other." 
 
 She sighed to think that Anthony hated the religion 
 which she still believed in. It made him cold to her, when 
 she desired his affection. 
 
 " He carries the sword," said Rachel sadly, and then 
 she gave up argument, and listened to Father Brant with 
 apparent docility. But the confessors to whom she 
 yielded her soul were the spirits of the woods and 
 streams, and from the sea she obtained an absolution 
 which freed her spirit. In the end her natural balance 
 returned to her, and she believed her mother was in para- 
 dise. She confessed then to the Father that she could not 
 believe in hell, and argued with him subtly. If she 
 yielded in the end, her yielding was only a grace to his 
 distress, and her acquiescence in his doctrine was the true 
 beginning of her disbelief in all he taught. Yet she still 
 trusted to a God after her own heart, even as she won- 
 dered what it was that lay within her heart to make her 
 fear. 
 
 Ill 
 
 It was more than high summer when Rachel came 
 towards the dividing ways of faith and unfaith without 
 knowing it, and sat rather at the feet of Pan of the pine- 
 woods than the priest of the church. Harvest was over; 
 the autumn mellowed leaf and fruit and brooded over the 
 land in peace. Yet peace there was not in Morna, or in 
 her heart, for many called her, and there was much 
 
io8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 labour for her hands and for her mind. Days passed 
 outworn without any gift for her; she saw the calendar 
 of time decay in unrewarded service of herself and others. 
 True reward seemed an inward gift. Her fine pleasure 
 still was solitude ; beach and woods and upland made one 
 day a splendid year. 
 
 But folks called, and her heart, never selfish though 
 aloof, helped many. And all the tragic implications of 
 life wove themselves about her. Hours that were beauti- 
 ful begat strange offspring for days to come ; out of her 
 kindness and her charity came rods for her back and 
 burdens, which seemed less unfair for her than they 
 would have done for many. For she was strong, and all 
 who knew her took advantage of her strength. Only 
 Martha, who had the best right, leaned lightly upon her. 
 Out of her desire for justice and her revolt against the 
 law which Mary Jose had broken there grew much 
 trouble, which later still threatened disaster and perhaps 
 bred it. 
 
 It was a full year and more after Mrs. Marr's death 
 and burial that old William Jose learnt something that 
 many knew. Though Mary ventured into the village, 
 being supported there by two girls whose public charac- 
 ters were stainless, for reasons that Mary could have told, 
 her father never spoke to her. She might have been a 
 stranger; an alien, a wandering gipsy, detested by the 
 adscript children of an ancient glebe. Her boy he saw 
 but saw it not, and what the child's eyes told he never 
 looked to see, though all the village now was as wise as 
 Martha or Anthony. His ignorance might have lasted 
 long, as such ignorance does, by the charity of his neigh- 
 bours, had he not quarrelled at his forge with a fool over 
 the price of a key. 
 
 " Tenpence ! " said the man, who was of the uplands 
 and was drunk; "tenpence! why, keys must be a fine 
 branch of smith's work and scarce in Morna. Here's 
 your tenpence. Make another and lock your girl up be- 
 fore John Perran comes again to England ! " 
 
 Had he not been on horseback he would not have risked 
 such words, drunk or sober, and the old blacksmith's 
 
RACHEL MARR 109 
 
 movement of rage sent the startled horse clear of his 
 hands. He stood frowning. 
 
 " What mean you about John Perran? " 
 
 But he knew even as he spoke. A thousand things 
 confirmed the man; he remembered meeting John and 
 Mary together; he recalled a look of trouble visible in 
 Anthony of late. 
 
 " Ask your daughter," said the drunken man, " and 
 ask the moon, and all the coming together of things, and 
 don't ask me." 
 
 He spurred his horse and clattered up the road and left 
 Jose rooted to the earth, where his black ash and cinder 
 melted into the ruddy dust of the road. 
 
 " 'Tis true," said Jose, " and Mr. Anthony knows it. 
 I saw it in his eye. There was trouble in his eye this year 
 back, and he looks at me sorrowfully. And his sorrow's 
 for himself too. Oh, who would have daughters and not 
 put their faces in the forge and burn their beauty out of 
 them!" 
 
 A man came by and asked for a new bolt like one he 
 carried. 
 
 "Work? I'm not working to-day," said Jose calmly. 
 "Am I here to be hammered and wrought? There's 
 such a thing as too much fire." 
 
 He locked the forge and marched bareheaded up the 
 road to Anthony's farm, and found him not. 
 
 " He's over in the big field above Morna House," said 
 one of the labourers at the homestead. 
 
 So Jose went across the upland, still bareheaded in the 
 sun. 
 
 " What do I seek, O Lord ? " he asked as he went. 
 " Do I seek repentance still ? And what is it in me seeks 
 vengeance, and will not be put down? Curse me this 
 John Perran, this betrayer of my daughter, this debaucher 
 of women, this light thief of honesty beneath the moon. 
 Bray him in a mortar, O God ! " 
 
 And all the time his God spake to him upon the uplands 
 and said, "Vengeance is mine," and he wrestled with the 
 Angel of God. 
 
 He came to the little valley above Morna and crossed 
 
110 RACHEL MARR 
 
 the dwindling stream of the lower salt meadows that here 
 were harsher sedges set between scrub on either side, and 
 came to the big field. And at the end of the field he saw 
 Anthony Perran leading his horse and walking with 
 Rachel. 
 
 " How was it, O Lord, that this was ordained, that a 
 man and a woman should come together ? " 
 
 In his passion of anger the old relics of ancient and 
 resistless passion lighted themselves in his hardened soul 
 and in his knotted and tremendous body. 
 
 " The tides move, and who shall stay them ? The fires 
 burn and the iron is melted, and who shall assuage the 
 fires? And the body burns, and evil is wrought into 
 shapes as I work a shoe. O God, give me this man for 
 my own I " 
 
 And as he came Rachel saw him. 
 
 " Oh, Anthony," she said, " here's William Jose I " 
 
 And Anthony paled a little and lifted his eyebrows, as 
 if he said : 
 
 " Well, I knew the time would come." 
 
 He spoke aloud. 
 
 " He must know at last." 
 
 And Rachel looked upon the fertile earth, while a fine 
 fire burnt in her brown cheeks. 
 
 " I'll go and meet him. Good-bye, Rachel ! " 
 
 " I'll stay here at the gate," said Rachel. " Come to me 
 afterwards. Perhaps I could speak to him now. I 
 always liked the old man, and if he struck me it was in 
 passion." 
 
 She leant upon the gate and looked into the darkened 
 woodland beyond it. 
 
 " I should hate this brother of his," she said. " Why 
 don't I?" 
 
 She remembered the bright audacious beauty of the 
 man. He was joyous and his voice was music all day 
 long. Anthony only sang in chapel, and then his voice 
 was not sweet. His figure was lithe as Anthony's, and 
 less strong perhaps, but he could outleap and outrun his 
 elder. No shadow ever lay over him; she had never 
 known him aught than cheerful, reckless, a child of the 
 
RACHEL MARR in 
 
 sun and of the hour. She marvelled to hear that he was 
 successful, as the world calls success, and yet she knew 
 that there was something in him which appealed infinitely 
 to all men, even those who made business their god, and 
 money their Almighty. 
 
 " If I were less myself I might be like him," said 
 Rachel. " And Anthony loves him even now." 
 
 She turned and saw Anthony and Jose meet. They 
 were almost beyond earshot and yet she heard Jose's voice 
 like the sound of a hammer upon the anvil. 
 
 " The old man's mad," she said, " and Anthony is 
 John's brother." 
 
 She stood alert, tense, watchful. At the sign of any 
 violence she would have run to Anthony's help. 
 
 But he needed no help and hardly spoke. 
 
 " 'Tis your brother, sir," said Jose lamentably. "They 
 say 'tis your brother John, and when 'twas said I knew it 
 for truth. For truth always comes the same way, like the 
 truth of God, whether 'tis of God or the devil there is this 
 in truth, that one sees it as at the moment of conversion, 
 and a man's heart is changed and he knows it. Oh, you 
 know, Mr. Anthony, you know it." 
 
 And Anthony Perran bowed his head. 
 
 " I fear it." 
 
 " Can aught be done ? " 
 
 " I've written to him." 
 
 And Jose smiled bitterly. 
 
 " It's in my mind you've known this for a year, and 
 you would have written when you knew and he has not 
 answered." 
 
 And Anthony did not answer either. 
 
 " He has no mind to repair his fault, sir," cried the 
 blacksmith. " I may make iron into steel, or turn fine 
 steel into rust and dissolve it in water, but no man shall 
 turn this brother of yours into anything that he is not. 
 There's men in Morna I could tell of that has bitterer 
 things against him, if they knew it, even than I. He's a 
 lover of women, and they love him and put their souls 
 under his feet. And he's a drinker of wine and wine 
 hurts him not. Surely there will come a time for him, 
 
112 RACHEL MARR 
 
 even if I do not break him upon the anvil of my heart, 
 that he will thirst for wine and find no water, and thirst 
 for a woman and find her harder even than death. God 
 send it who sits upon His throne and deals out justice 
 even to me. Say that with me, sir ! " 
 
 But Anthony shook his head and groaned. 
 
 " Oh, man, how can I ? He's my brother, and I desire 
 God's mercy for him, not God's justice, unless His justice 
 leads to mercy." 
 
 And Jose said : 
 
 " Aye, you're his brother ! Write to him and bid him 
 repent. And for my sake, if not for his own, let him not 
 return. For though I leave this in the hands of God and 
 will not stir out of my path, yet if he comes upon it and 
 finds me, it may not be well with him. Aye, even if God 
 deals out justice to me, who sinned in his youth as any 
 man may sin, write this to him, sir, write it ! " 
 
 He walked past Anthony towards the gate, since that 
 way was the nearest to Morna. He was about to pass 
 Rachel when she spoke to him. 
 
 " Mr. Jose, Mr. Jose ! " 
 
 He stopped and frowned heavily, and yet as he saw 
 her standing with her hands held out to him the frown 
 melted from his eyes, even if stayed about his mouth. 
 
 "Aye, Missy!" 
 
 So he used to call her when she had come to his forge 
 when Mary was innocent. 
 
 " I want you to forgive me for last year," she said. 
 Her voice was heavenly music and meek. 
 
 " Oh, you were good," said Jose ; " 'tweren't your sin 
 as you did what you did. 'Twas the sin of mine own, 
 and you did what you should, and if there's any to be 
 forgiven (and there are many) I'm among them." 
 
 She wished to plead for others, but the very shape of 
 the word " Mary " on her trembling lips hardened the old 
 man's face again. 
 
 " I always loved you. Missy," he said harshly, and 
 turning he went back to the village. 
 
 But tears ran down Rachel's face as she watched him, 
 and she sighed. Then Anthony came to her. 
 
RACHEL MARR 113 
 
 • ; "I never saw you weep, Rachel," he said sombrely. 
 
 " I'm not weeping," said Rachel almost angrily. But 
 she resented more the strange weakness in her which led 
 to tears, than his seeing them. " What did the old man 
 say? 
 
 Anthony rested his hands upon his horse's neck and 
 stared down the valley to the sea. 
 
 " He spoke fiercely, for he's mad, and who shall blame 
 him?" 
 
 " Did he threaten — anyone ? " 
 
 " One that deserves it. One that's across the sea." 
 
 Rachel shivered. 
 
 " Tell him not to come back." 
 
 But Anthony laughed bitterly. 
 
 " If I begged him to come he would not. But if I 
 begged him not to do anything, that he would do, if there 
 was anything of danger in it, or damnation. Always 
 from a child he was the same." 
 
 Rachel's tears fell no more. Though she could not say 
 so, her memory of John filled itself with these fresii 
 lights. There was something in him that rejoiced Her 
 heart, even though she condemned him. What she said 
 was inexplicable to Anthony. 
 
 " You speak as if you Icnew the heart of God. Are you 
 still the priest, as old Steve said ? " 
 
 And when Anthony rode away across the brown hills 
 and round the head of the valley, Rachel stood watching 
 him for a long time. In her mind there was something 
 which could not shape itself into a clearer thought. But 
 if she had wrought it into words she would have known 
 that what John lacked was what she raged against in his 
 dearer brother. 
 
 IV 
 
 As Anthony rode off across the field he desired to turn in 
 in his saddle and once more see Rachel standing by the 
 gate. And he would not ; for this was the warped nature 
 of the man, that any natural desire seemed alien from 
 
114 RACHEL MARR 
 
 God, and even the affections of the heart were only less 
 evil than the lusts of the flesh. 
 
 Things that he liked he put away from himself. This 
 was a sacrifice that found favour with the deity he wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 Now as he went his heart was warm with a pure and 
 natural joy in the sweet and commanding aspect of 
 Rachel. She was so fine, so calm, so grave, and yet so 
 joyous, and her large and noble charity of mind, sprung 
 he knew not whence, appealed to the soul that he 
 strangled. How should she weep for the old man's sor- 
 rows since she belonged to a creed that was the devil's? 
 It seemed strange and marvellous, only to be accounted 
 for by the infinite mercy of God who, according to his 
 own creed, had no mercy on the nature of man. 
 
 Things that he liked he put away from himself. The 
 power and strength and beauty of this girl he put away, 
 and riding from her woods and the shadow of them he 
 went into the fierce sun, talking with himself and God and 
 his erring brother. He prayed on horseback and could 
 have preached from.it, taking John's sin for his text. In 
 his own heart he was proud to Believe the flesh subdued. 
 Yet there were hours when he wondered if it were not 
 merely unawakened, a sleeping dragon that should pres- 
 ently be roused. Sometimes he desired temptation to 
 prove himself by, and he knew this was a lure of Satan's. 
 
 " 'Twas a cruel sin of John's ! Oh, the poor girl, and 
 the poor old man." 
 
 Mary would have looked him in the «ye with something 
 subtle in her own. On obtaining countenance and pleas- 
 ant work the shame in her outwore itself quickly, for the 
 boy was so precious and had Miss Rachel's patronage. 
 Once when Anthony met her in the salt meadow and fell 
 into a rage against John she smiled so that she seemed an 
 enigma. 
 
 " I'm not a poor girl," she said to herself. " Oh, but if 
 John was back ! " 
 
 For Anthony there was something over and beyond all 
 explanation in her face. He saw hidden passions run 
 over it, and turned away from the sinner harshly, till he 
 
RACHEL MARR 115 
 
 repented of guessing what was the truth. She regretted 
 her lover and the days gone by. 
 
 " God give me strength to deny myself always ! " said 
 Anthony. 
 
 He came nearer and nearer to an incapacity for dis- 
 tinguishing between God's desires and the devil's, both 
 being expressed in himself. There seemed no safety, 
 unless heaven spoke in clear tones, save in doing that 
 which he did not desire. He left no human margin for 
 those sweet thoughts which spring only from sweet 
 human nature. The inclination that he felt to stay with 
 Rachel after he had spoken to her of the old blacksmith 
 was a thing to be crushed and trodden on. 
 
 He went to Winifred Perran instead, because he did not 
 desire her, and because she was of no alien creed. The 
 vice of his religion grew in him like a cancer, and he 
 hugged his heavenly safety to himself, because he had as 
 yet not known the might of the flesh, which he feared. 
 And always, always, under the outward current of his 
 mind, there were strange thoughts growing, and he 
 dreamed of wild passion, sometimes waking with terrible 
 and dear lips upon his own. And not yet were they 
 Rachel's lips, but only the mouths of such women as 
 might have tortured the saintly men of old. 
 
 He would not turn back to Rachel, and yet she was 
 only a girl, he said, and it was wrong to dread her. 
 There was safety with her after all, for she was of the 
 Church of Rome, and he could not marry a Papist. 
 
 There were days when he turned back and talked to hei 
 of Winnie, while her great eyes were melancholy and she 
 wondered how she could endure to hear of that pale, 
 flame-eyed woman, whom she scorned and almost loathed 
 without knowing that her jealous heart saw uncleanness 
 in one who was not yet her rival. And sometimes 
 Anthony broke away suddenly if Rachel softened a little 
 and became quite natural when he ceased to talk of his 
 cousin. For he rejr sobered that Martha had begged 
 him not to make the girl love him. He woke one night, 
 and as he lay half unconscious, he said, "I could mahf 
 her love me," before he knew what he was saying. And 
 
ii6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 this he said was the lust of the flesh, and he tortured him- 
 self for days, avoiding Rachel if he met her. 
 
 And it was through this saying of his in the early 
 dawn that he went to Winnie and her father, old George 
 Perran, the boon companion of clear-headed John. 
 
 " You know I want to marry Winnie, uncle," he said 
 coldly, and George laughed. 
 
 " You can have her, my boy, I don't want her. As 
 I get drinking 'tis she gets drunk, as it were, and we have 
 rows at midnight when my heart is merry and I sing. 
 Oh, take her, take her ! She's been waiting this ten years 
 for you ! " 
 
 But Anthony's heart was cold then, and his finer in- 
 stincts raged against him. 
 
 " I will speak to her," he said. 
 
 " Do, old sobersides," said George thickly, " do, and 
 make her happy with a husband that's against the drink 
 and the flesh and the devil. Though for the matter of 
 that there's flesh to her and the devil, and she has a knack 
 of wanting her way that's hard on a man that must have 
 his own. But you like treading on yourself and will 
 enjoy being trodden on. If you beat her a little, nephew, 
 and make her cry, I'll never back her up." 
 
 Anthony was as black as a thunder-cloud, but held his 
 peace. 
 
 " I'll go to her now." 
 
 " Do," said George, and when he had gone the old man 
 chuckled. 
 
 " Oh, Lord, 'tis easy raising daughters, but getting rid 
 of 'em's another thing. And if my poor old girl was not so 
 bad, Winnie has been a thousand thorns to me, and I've 
 been wondering these years past that she's never run to 
 seed and made me a grandfather without leave or licence. 
 And now Anthony makes up his mind and takes her I I 
 thought my brave Johnny (oh, what a head he has, and 
 the bowls we filled and emptied) had gone astray with 
 her. Well, 'tis an odd world, and living's the strangest 
 game ever played. And as for Winnie, I'd liever part 
 with her than an old shoe, especially when the gout gets 
 hold of me hy the toe with red hot pincers as the saint got 
 
RACHEL MARR 117 
 
 the devil by the nose. Now I can sleep this after- 
 noon." 
 
 He put a red handkerchief over his face of Silenus and 
 snored in peace, before Anthony found the woman he was 
 to marry. For the lover went slowly and stayed in the 
 hall of the little house and stood silently torn by emotions 
 and cursing himself at the moment of his triumph over 
 the forces of evil within him. 
 
 This was the hour, this the moment, that he knew he 
 adored Rachel Marr. Not a shadow of a doubt stayed 
 upon his heart. She was the woman, though she was 
 so young, whom destiny had wrought out for him from 
 the old time before them. Considering in his soul the 
 perfections of her erring spirit wedded to Rome, he 
 anguished in the clear sight iie had of that lump of human 
 flesh to which he had to give himself. For if he saw 
 Rachel fairly he now saw Winnie with no less clarity of 
 astounded vision. She was amazing in her simple want 
 of worth; having no gifts she could give none; she had 
 qualities that were mere absences, and some that were 
 oflfences. She was of the flesh, and her fleshly attraction 
 failed her with Anthony most at this hour. He went to 
 her as to a sacrifice, believing he did his duty doubly; 
 once that he had allowed her to love him, once that by 
 doing so he outraged the instinct in himself that he ex- 
 cited in her. So might some saint of old, some anchorite, 
 believe he worked pleasing things in the eye of the 
 Almighty by enduring and rendering fouler the filthiest 
 rags that covered his nakedness. 
 
 And " Whey-face " with the pale eyes of flame fell into 
 his arms and found his mouth with hers. 
 
 V 
 
 It was Martha who' told Rachel first the definite news 
 that Anthony Perran was to marry his cousin. Pop- 
 ular opinion in Morna, when the village learnt of the 
 wedding to be, was acquiescent if curiously scornful. 
 Since Mrs. Marr's death a sense of warm delight in 
 
ii8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Rachel possessed Morna Cove, and no one but a fool 
 would have chosen to court Winnie rather than this proud 
 and humble beauty. Thel-e were whispers in Morna that 
 Winifred Perran was no pearl of great price, neither was 
 she, they said, as pure as any pearl. Some associated her 
 name with John Perran's, even though it had been a tale 
 of long years that she had set her heart upon the elder 
 brother. 
 
 " Aye, aye," said the old gossips, " we know what we 
 know. We have seen such things. Steve Penrose may 
 be a drunken old fool, but he's out by moonlight at times 
 over to Pentowan. He could tell things, that he could. 
 He's no fool." 
 
 But Steve wagged his unvenerable beard and said 
 nought of Winnie. 
 
 " To tell truth about God Almighty's ways with men is 
 bad enough and makes enemies of more than the preach- 
 ers," said Steve, " but to tell truth about folks is a shame, 
 and 'twould lose me many a good drink when drink is 
 scarce. And what I say in drink is nought, unless I'm 
 on general principles, for drink is powerful with them, 
 but it colours facts strangely, and to dip after a fact in 
 the drink is to shoot at a fish in water without 'lowance 
 for what Sam called the abstraction of the water." 
 
 But others spoke if he did not, and it was one of the 
 scornful who carried the news to Martha first, saying 
 things of Winifred that none knew. 
 
 " I believe nothing of it," said Martha, " and if 'twas 
 true, what is it to me ? " 
 
 When she was alone she shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Well, well, 'tis a good thing, and now Miss Rachel 
 will get him out of her head. I'm glad I spoke to him. 
 He's a fine good man, and it's a pity he's to marry that 
 girl. Oh, she's an idle slut, and what little beauty she has 
 is not to last. But when's the man to come along for my 
 girl ? If she were married I'd sing ' Now lettest Thou 
 me ' with all my heart, unless I was fool enough to live 
 till I loved her children, as is likely enough. Love makes 
 us loth to die, and heaven is hard to believe in while those 
 we love are living." 
 
RACHEL MARR 119 
 
 Rachel came in from the chickens. She wore a big 
 apron, her rounded arms were bare to the sweetly turned 
 elbow, her eyes were happy. 
 
 " Have you heard the news of Mr. Perran and his 
 cousin ? " asked Martha. 
 
 Rachel's eyes lost their happiness and grew serious. 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 " 'Tis settled they're to marry at last." 
 
 The sun was shining outside, and all the pleasant noises 
 of the morning sang together in a sweet chorus, but for 
 Rachel the sun lost its glory, and the song of the early 
 day was but harsh dissonance. The organic harmony 
 of autumn fell apart for her, and she shivered, as a 
 musician might at some untrue interval. 
 
 " Oh, but it was to be," she said. In her voice there 
 was a note of desolation. Death was to be ; there was an 
 end to summer. " I knew it long ago." 
 
 The stood together in the old dining-room of Morna 
 House that had been furnished a hundred years before. 
 The dark wood shone with faithful labour ; deep shadows 
 were on the oak panels; on an oak side-piece gleamed 
 much pewter that her grandfather had owned. Martha 
 rubbed a chair with a leather. 
 
 " Well, it's settled now," she said. And the nature in 
 the woman raised a little lamentation. " He's a fine man, 
 and it's a pity, for she's nought, and less than nought. I 
 wonder when the wedding will be." 
 
 Rachel's face twitched a little. 
 
 " I wish I didn't hate her," she said simply ; " oh, it's a 
 shame, it's a shame ! " 
 
 She understood nothing of herself as yet, but some of 
 her instincts rebelled against this match, but which of 
 them they were she knew not. 
 
 " She's a hateful thing," said Rachel. She stripped 
 off her apron and went out into her wood without a word. 
 Mary, as she passed, said: 
 
 "Will you take Johnny, Miss?" but Rachel did not 
 answer her, if a frown was not an answer. The truth is 
 she did not know what the girl had said till long minutes 
 afterwards when she leant against her favourite pine 
 
I20 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And presently she slipped to the ground and lay with 
 her face upon her hand staring down into the marsh and 
 the meadow by the stream. But beauty did not pass into 
 her from the loveliness of nature, since much loveliness 
 had passed out of nature for the time. 
 
 There came over her a sudden sense of the unreality of 
 all things which was appalling. The world dissolved 
 into a horrible series of phenomena which mocked the 
 apprehensive blinded senses. Something had interposed 
 itself between her and the warm earth, or something had 
 been withdrawn, a fine veil of spiritual joy. She per- 
 ceived things nakedly, and found their nakedness curious 
 and unreal. Anthony himself fell from his high "estate; 
 for the moment, aye, and for days, he was a mere man, 
 brother to the children of the soil, a creature of such an 
 aspect, of so many limbs. He was a catalogue of quali- 
 ties, divorced from the informing spirit, and she 
 sighed, not understanding that her own withdrawn soul 
 covered him no longer with the dyes of her imperii 
 heart. 
 
 She did not know she loved him. 
 
 For love was something that she aspired to even as she 
 panted after the glory of God in her finer hours. She 
 was not worthy of heaven, and not worthy of love. It 
 was a gift that was the co-equal of God's grace ; it came 
 direct from God. The blind passion stirring within her, 
 as the unborn child stirs, filled her with dread. She 
 imagined love so sweet that she gave no such name to her 
 own unborn passion. All her adoration of the flesh, 
 made kin to the spirit by its destiny, failed her in this hour 
 at least. 
 
 But it was a consolation now to know that she did not 
 love him. She said that under her breath. And once 
 more a wave of the essential unreality of things helped 
 her. 
 
 Even this marriage was unreal. If Anthony married 
 it would be a mere fantastic illusion of the senses. She 
 had once said, " Poor Whey-face can have her Anthony 
 if she liked ! " She would only take the unreal man ; in 
 Rachel's heart the true man lived. 
 
RACHEL MARR 121 
 
 These illusions covered her at last with a false peace, 
 and gave her back something of her own world. But 
 even by day they drifted apart like swirling fog or smoke 
 in a wind, and she suffered dumbly. At night she 
 dreamed beautiful dreams or sad ones. Some made her 
 scarlet to remember, but they were incomplete, exasper- 
 ating. It was in such dreams that she learnt to fear 
 herself, for they showed her something within her own 
 soul that she had never seen; the set strength of her 
 desires, the inherited passion that refused to let go, and 
 would refuse always. 
 
 She was unhappy till she met Anthony again, and per- 
 haps no less unhappy after, though the sight of him gave 
 her joy that she found inexplicable. For seeing that love 
 was so great a thing and not yet hers, she wondered at the 
 joy his face gave and his words increased. 
 
 They met upon the high road to the east of Morna a 
 week later, for to the east the cliffs were nearer her wood- 
 land and there was a path down to her bathing place, and 
 she had been swimming. She saw Anthony come riding, 
 and in front of him ran Sigurd. Instinct in her, and her 
 pleasure in the big dog who so often came to Morna 
 House from Pentowan, set her lips in a shrill, keen 
 whistle, and Sigurd ran swiftly to the sound that his 
 master did not hear. For Anthony rode thinking; his 
 face was set ; there was rebellion in his soul against the 
 decrees of his God. He was a sad lover. 
 
 Sigurd in this last year had grown a giant of his kind, 
 and all strangers who did not understand his nature and 
 calm tolerance feared him mightily. There was no man 
 in Cornwall, they said, could hold him in a leash when 
 Anthony whistled. But Sigurd had great doubts as to 
 which creature among mankind had the greatest claim 
 upon him. Custom held him to Pentowan Farm but love 
 sent him to Morna. When Rachel hooked her little 
 finger in his collar Anthony might whistle till his cheeks 
 cracked, and though Sigurd whined and whimpered and 
 implored her to let him do his duty, he never broke from 
 her. She held him now as he lay down in a little hollow 
 pf the bracken while Sigurd spoke to her joyfully in a 
 
122 RACHEL MARR 
 
 running pleasant whimper till he heard his master's horse 
 in the road. 
 
 Anthony saw the dog, but Rachel was behind and below 
 him. He whistled a little and Sigurd made no move. 
 
 " Come, Sigurd," said his master. And Sigurd begged 
 his pardon very sadly, but could not come, for Rachel's 
 finger lay in the brass ring of his collar. So then 
 Anthony knew and he flushed a little. 
 
 " Is that you, Rachel ? " he called, and Rachel rose from 
 the grass and the bracken, and came to the hedge leading 
 Sigurd with her. 
 
 " You're still the only one can keep him from me ! " 
 said Anthony. 
 
 " By-and-by your wife may," answered Rachel. There 
 was that in her tone which made Anthony flinch. It was 
 bad enough to see her and to know he loved her, but to 
 have earned her scorn was a bitter whip. 
 
 " So you've heard," he said. 
 
 Rachel had a sense of what would sting him. 
 
 " Martha told me. She heard it from an old gossip 
 in the village." 
 
 Her tone said: 
 
 " Why didn't you come and tell me ? But I know you 
 are ashamed of Whey-face before you are married." 
 
 And Anthony flushed again. 
 
 " It was to be," he said. " You'll come to the 
 wedding ? " 
 
 There was anguish in his heart that she could not 
 fathom as he spoke. She answered sullenly and twisted 
 the towel she carried till it knotted itself. 
 
 " Oh, how do I know ? She and I were never friends, 
 and we have hardly spoken for a year." 
 
 Whey-face had said, *' You want him yourself." Now 
 Rachel answered her, " I don't want you to have him, but 
 what I feel for him is not love." There was something 
 in her heart which made her desire to strike him. 
 
 " You must be friends now," said Anthony. 
 
 And Rachel laughed. 
 
 "Because she takes the one friend I have? 'Tis a 
 good reason, Mr. Anthony Perran 1 " 
 
RACHEL MARR 123 
 
 She bowed to him and then made a mocking courtesy. 
 
 '' Why she'll chain up Sigurd if she hears he comes to 
 Morna, and she'll chain you up too ! " 
 
 His controlled spirit and the long control of years 
 never deserted him, but as he sat his horse clouds passed 
 across his face, and his spirit was very dark. Rachel 
 saw she hurt him, but never guessed how deep she cut, or 
 what raw spots lay open to her lash. 
 
 " Your Church should teach you charity," was all that 
 Anthony said. For her faith was in his mind the whole 
 while. Only her faith had stood between him and her; 
 long years in which he had seen that he and no Catholic 
 could mate and bring up children had made him fancy 
 he thought of her as a sister. Now he could have cursed 
 the Church of Rome before her, not for any of its 
 creeds or doctrines, but for this only, that it had led him 
 into so desolate a place of desire. 
 
 " I've charity enough," said Rachel ; " and as for my 
 Church, why, you have no charity for it, and you 
 could burn Father Brant for a beacon light when some 
 prince is born, or a king is crowned. Now I have charity 
 for your Church or Chapel, and as for love — when I love 
 I shall sing and go about in scarlet instead of this black 
 stuff." 
 
 He sat mute upon his horse and viewed her as she stood 
 upon the high bank beyond the dusty hedge. Had he 
 ever seen her before? he asked himself. Now his soul 
 perceived her beauty, her dark straight brows, her eyes 
 that were like gleaming pools upon a moorland when day 
 dies in a clear and solemn splendour; the infinite loveli- 
 ness of her body, that was rounded like a carven goddess 
 of old Greece and yet as strong and lithe as a youth's. 
 Her Southern blood shone through her olive skin, which 
 was clear, and bloomed like a sunny peach. But above 
 and beyond her physical beauty glowed a wonderful fire 
 of passion that she was not conscious of. There was a 
 touch of sullen strength about her that was not of the 
 body ; a bigness of the heart, a power that now lay sleep- 
 ing. All great colours became her. She could subdue 
 scarlet and gold even as the sun subdued them. But in 
 
124 RACHEL MARR 
 
 black she was less a child of the earth, more the child of 
 her dead mother, more aloof from the sweeter spirits of 
 the common day. 
 
 His eyes sank before hers and he sighed. 
 
 " You're a strange creature, Rachel," he said presently. 
 
 Rachel smiled. 
 
 " Oh, Anthony, and so are you. I'm easy to under- 
 stand, I think, for what I want, I want, you know. And 
 I love the sea and the earth and the skj^, and all living 
 things, and flowers are just as much alive as dear old 
 Sigurd here." 
 
 She bent and brushed her cheek against the dog's great 
 head. 
 
 " But you want what you don't want. That's Puritan- 
 ism, isn't it? And if the sun makes you happy, you'll 
 away to the shadow, and 'tis an oifence to God for you to 
 smell His flowers and rejoice." 
 
 Again she smiled, not knowing how she touched the 
 heart of things for the man who wanted her and the sun, 
 now that he stood where she was not and the sun did not 
 shine. 
 
 " Do you love Sigurd, for instance ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Why, yes, in a way," said Anthony. " I'd be sorry 
 to lose him." 
 
 Rachel sniflfed contemptuously. 
 
 " I don't think you'd be what I call sorry to lose any- 
 thing, Anthony. Perhaps you don't think it right. I 
 read the other day what would have made you shiver. It 
 was that folks in chapel and church were mostly like 
 stuffed birds with glass eyes and perches." 
 
 " Not everyone in church has the live spirit of God in 
 his heart," said Anthony. 
 
 And though Rachel answered nothing, she asked her- 
 self again what was the spirit of God, and how it came 
 that each poor heart worshipped or denied its own 
 thin shadow. And Anthony said: 
 
 " I must go. Come, Sigurd ! " 
 
 And a spirit of mischief possessed Rachel. She put 
 her finger in the ring of the dog's collar. 
 
 " Call him," she said. And Anthony called and Si- 
 
RACHEL MARR 125 
 
 gurd whimpered in a low voice, but her finger Hghtly 
 crooked held him fast. 
 
 " It's your love for him against mine," said Rachel 
 mockingly. 
 
 And Anthony whistled with a certain dull anger in 
 his heart against her and against the dog. 
 
 " Come, Sigurd, come ! " 
 
 But Sigurd only pawed the ground and whimpered 
 again. 
 
 Anthony's face darkened. 
 
 " There's the devil in you after all," said Rachel ; " it 
 pleases me to see you angry, Anthony. Oh, you could 
 rage, couldn't you, and all because I love him better 
 than you? Take him home and give him to Winnie and 
 see if she can hold him. But I don't need my finger." 
 
 She cried : 
 
 " Lie down, Sigurd." 
 
 And she loosed him, and when Anthony spoke to him 
 again the poor brute crawled upon his belly towards his 
 master, and then, whimpering like a child, turned back 
 to Rachel. 
 
 And Anthony choked back something that now was 
 not anger, though she thought it such. 
 
 " No, he loves you best," he said quickly ; "and yet 
 I've fed him from a puppy, and have never laid a whip 
 to him, or used a harsh word. And no man can hold 
 him when I call, and no woman but you, and he lies out- 
 side my door at nights." 
 
 He turned his horse homeward once again. 
 
 " I give him to you," he said ; " if he loves you best 
 I've no right to him." 
 
 " Oh, no, Anthony." 
 
 " I say ' yes,' " cried Anthony. And when she loosed 
 the dog his master waved him back. And Sigurd went 
 to Rachel and put his head upon her lap, and big tears 
 ran down his face, for though he loved her better than 
 any other he was not sure in his faithful heart that this 
 was right. 
 
 But Anthony being a greater creature than his dog, 
 and standing in God's place to him, knew even then that 
 
126 RACHEL MARR 
 
 love outweighed all things, save with himself alone. 
 Himself he could torture, and please God thereby, for 
 this is the piacular sacrifice of the savage creeds. 
 
 VI 
 
 It was by the madness of the passion of self-denial that 
 Anthony gave away his dog, for the desire of self-denial 
 was crescent in him, threatening the reserves of his harm- 
 less senses, breaking down the delight of his eyes and his 
 hands. He had taken pleasure in the big dog, even as he 
 did in the horse he rode. -But Sigurd was something not 
 in essence useful; he drove neither cattle nor sheep, and 
 as for the guarding of the farm, that was nothing. His 
 strength was great and his faith strong and kind, even if 
 something in Rachel had subdued his animal heart in an 
 unsought victory. And Anthony's face twitched as he 
 rode away, leaving Sigurd whimpering on the ground by 
 his new mistress' knee. For the man knew that his soul, 
 master of him then, denied him Rachel, and without her 
 nothing was lovely, nothing desirable. In the hour when 
 she first heard of the marriage of Whey-face to him who 
 cultivated Pentowan and sowed salt upon the sweet fer- 
 tility of his own heart, Rachel's eyes had seen the world 
 without illusion and had found it barren. And Anthony, 
 for whom the world had ever seemed an earthly, godless 
 Paradise, trampled down the flowers that yet lifted their 
 heads upon the path which led to his God. The girl who 
 stood upon the verge of womanhood felt her faith waver 
 when Heaven proved unkind. But for Anthony there was 
 no such proof of God as the agony of his own soul, and 
 in his crucified heart he found Calvary. 
 
 But even yet, though he knew it not, he had not expe- 
 rienced any temptation, and only walked trembling be- 
 cause of the contending passions within him which were 
 yet held in leash. He knew that he loved Rachel, but she 
 knew not that he loved her. If she had known indeed! 
 The very thought of her possible knowledge set him 
 praying. And all the time there were evil voices that 
 
RACHEL MARR 127 
 
 cried out in him that all Churches were the same, and 
 that to the one God all prayers were acceptable. Why 
 should he not have taken Rachel and Rome ? And even as 
 these voices cried aloud he knew that it was less her re- 
 ligion than his own that had set them apart. All Churches 
 were not the same, and could not be, for any Church was 
 but the trodden path of those who were alike, and in him 
 the spirit was a spirit of denial of the body. He him- 
 self denied his own love, because he dreaded it and the 
 effects that would spring from it. He was of one order 
 of celibates, of which there are many orders. If some 
 could not serve God and Mammon, it seemed .to him 
 he could not love God and any woman. He offered 
 himself and Winifred upon the altar. 
 
 But he knew now surely that he had never known 
 how much he loved the girl Rachel until he was bound, 
 with a bond of words that was as strong as steel, to her 
 whom he verily loathed. 
 
 And he rode calmly upon his grey horse, though his 
 face was pale and set, and once he whistled for Sigurd, 
 forgetting whose the dog was. For this is true, that 
 what he thought was not thought in words, and the play 
 of his dark mind was like the whirling of a pent river in 
 sunless caves or the monstrous caiions of a mountain 
 barrier. He rode in a desert where strange and form- 
 less shadows threatened him, and at times God's guiding 
 star was very dim. Only once he put a thought in words, 
 and the sound of his words, though they were unspoken, 
 seemed like thunder. 
 
 " Oh, if she loved me ! " 
 
 He remembered with a deep pleasure which was pain, 
 words that she had spoken before her mother died, when 
 she swam at cool midnights in Morna Cove. Now this 
 senses and his memory were acute ; he saw the cliffs and 
 the moonlight, and the water lapping on the beach. But 
 he saw more than he had seen then. For though the 
 shadow was heavy he perceived her strong and delicate 
 body in the translucent wave, and a shiver ran over his 
 skin like a ripple over water, and his eyes closed in a 
 trance that lasted no longer than one quick beat of his 
 
128 RACHEL MARR 
 
 disturbed heart. And her voice was clear though fat 
 off. 
 
 " Would you do anything for me if I asked you ? " 
 
 And he had answered : 
 
 " All that I could." 
 
 Oh, God, all that God allowed him 1 
 
 " Aye, anything that was right ! " 
 
 The far-off spirit laughed. 
 
 " How mean of you, and how little I Oh, if I 
 loved you, and I don't this night, I'd do anything you 
 wanted." 
 
 And " anything you wanted " floated like a strange 
 clear echo in his heart, and he saw Rachel lift her hands 
 to her brow, and perceived the delicate, childlike, yet full 
 contours of her bosom before the vision faded. But 
 " anything you wanted, Anthony," floated after and with 
 him as he put spurs to his grey horse and rode fast, and 
 faster 'Still. 
 
 " Anything you wanted, Anthony, anything you 
 wanted ! " 
 
 vn 
 
 Now Rachel, whether she swam at midnight, as she still 
 did, or whether she walked in the full sunlight, showed 
 no longer any of the contours of a child. She ripened 
 swiftly, came to a swift Southern growth, and was a 
 woman in her body while her spirit lingered a little for- 
 lornly upon the verge of childhood's Eden, turning back- 
 ward glances of regret upon its sinless orchards. What- 
 ever she knew by teaching, by rude contact with such 
 simple children of the flesh as Mary, or by intuition, was 
 still something that concerned humanity but not herself. 
 Between man and woman and the typical child that re- 
 newed them, and the animals, she perceived there was 
 a Hkeness. But when it came to this man or that, the 
 individual differences they showed lifted them, she be- 
 lieved, from the mere tide of life. And these things in 
 herself, whether they were revolts or acquiescences, 
 
RACHEL MARR 129 
 
 prayers and appeals, or psalms sung when the sun shone, 
 made her even less than mankind as she saw it, flesh 
 and flesh only. 
 
 But still, as the world altered, swiftly or slowly, ac- 
 cording to the beating of her heart and the tide of her 
 blood, the visionary aspect of things grew more mate- 
 rial. Sometimes, and chiefly in dreams which were 
 always less spiritual than her woodland self-communihgs, 
 she saw nothing of the soul that priests would have dem- 
 onstrated to her. What she did see was her maternal 
 destiny, and its import, and in dreams she nursed sweet 
 children that vanished at waking and left her heart a 
 hollow and her arms stretched out vainly. And in these 
 dreams Anthony Perran played a greater . part ; by the 
 very materiality of them she was more satisfied with love 
 which was not passion derived from the spirit. By day- 
 light or moonlight, or in the close cool haunt of her pines, 
 her flesh was still dominated by its ancient beliefs, its 
 dread of experience, its natural coyness, its virginal re- 
 luctance. And over the flesh stood the spirit, still domi- 
 nant though yielding. And her spirit still maintained 
 the ideal aspect of Love as something great beyond all es- 
 timation, something delicate as the fine glow of early 
 dawn, something sweeter and more heavenly than any 
 other gift of God. In her dreams, dreams forecasting the 
 inexorable and exact decrees of destiny, since such 
 dreams are organically true and the well-spring of in- 
 stinct, she walked hand in hand with something that was 
 sweet but not delicate, something dear but terrible, some- 
 thing godlike but not heavenly. 
 
 She began to cease caring for other people's children. 
 In the glory of her youth's morning clouds gathered; 
 certain faint lines graved themselves upon her face; she 
 was unsatisfied with the blossoms of the spring and hun- 
 gered after fruit of which she knew not the savour. 
 Her gravity was more often suUenness ; her laughter oft- 
 times ended in tears; she carried unborn desire beneath 
 her girdle. 
 
 This was the time when Father Brant was most satis- 
 fied with her. He saw nothing but what she brought 
 
130 RACHEL MARR 
 
 him, and she brought strange fervour, and only sucK 
 doubts as priests delight to solve. 
 
 " If I dreamed that I did not believe in God, Father, 
 would it be a sin ? " 
 
 " Not a sin, my daughter, for in dreams we are not 
 ourselves, but it should be an occasion for prayer and a 
 searching of the heart, and such devotions as are spe- 
 cially appointed for the strengthening of faith." 
 
 Yet she had never dreamed that she did not believe in 
 God. She had dreamed rather that she believed in man, 
 and sought to know if any sin (or what seemed to her a 
 sin) could be committed in those hours when the spirit 
 slumbers and the flesh is all awake. She found comfort 
 in the priest's words, and now twice every Sunday she 
 went to the chapel at the Great House near Morna 
 Church Town. And those who visited at the house 
 asked who she was, and how so fine a creature belonged 
 to small people, who were not of the sea or the soil or of 
 the country. For nothing in her aspect, or her manner, 
 or her face set her down as part of the world to which 
 she belonged. And only Father Brant knew of her par- 
 entage, and now he was more cheerful about her, after 
 the manner of man, when there was most reason for 
 fear. 
 
 But just at this time when she gave reins to herself at 
 night and was doubly devout by day, Rachel did not fear 
 for herself. By night she walked with soemone who 
 . was Anthony and yet another, and by day she tasted that 
 peace which heralds a storm. And though she feared 
 such a tempest, and indeed foretold it partly, she did not 
 dread it, since religion had come back to her, even though 
 she was a different creature from what she had been be- 
 fore she heard that Anthony wasjto marry his cousin. 
 
 And this peace of hers lasted some time and might 
 indeed have lasted longer, had it not been that she met 
 Winnie Perran on the eastward cliff. For since she had 
 heard of the marriage Rachel had rarely crossed the vil- 
 lage and climbed to the western cliffs and the little val- 
 ley where George Perran lived. She avoided Winnie of 
 set purpose. 
 
RACHEL MARR 131 
 
 " I can't tell her lies," said Rachel, " and how can I 
 say I am pleased ? " 
 
 But part of Winnie's own pleasure lay in the instinct 
 that Rachel's heart inclined to Anthony. Even she per- 
 ceived that there was a natural fitness in these two for 
 each other. And Anthony was so cold a lover that at 
 times she hated him. For she knew that he was not cold 
 by nature, and she felt the truth, though she hid it from 
 herself, that he did not love her. She had won him by 
 tears, by persistence, by the slow growth in his mind of 
 the belief that a childish engagement must be binding on 
 both if one held it binding at all. And deep within her 
 she knew his dread of himself, and his admiration for 
 Rachel, and his loathing for the priesthood of Rome by 
 reason of the fanatic priest within him. Had it not been 
 for Rachel's religion this old engagement might have 
 been nought, and she knew it. But now, his word hav- 
 ing been renewed, she was as sure of him as though 
 they had been married. She sought out Rachel deliber- 
 ately, for if she had a reason for triumph, she had also 
 a reason for anger and a reason for jealousy. Anthony 
 had given away Sigurd to Rachel. When she heard of 
 this, she was furious, and but for a fear in her heart of 
 the man she was to marry, in spite of the sure hold she 
 had of him by his faith, she would have raged at him as 
 she did at Rachel when they met; And the cause of her 
 anger was with Rachel then, for Sigurd never left her 
 side when she left her garden. But when Winnie came 
 towards them, walking now without any languor since 
 jealousy spurred her, there was something hostile in her 
 approach and Sigurd growled. 
 
 " Be quiet, Sigurd," said his mistress, and as she too 
 perceived the hostility in Winifred, she stayed and let 
 the woman walk all flie way to her. 
 
 "That's my dog you have," said Winnie. She was 
 flushed with walking, but her lips were pale and set. 
 Her dress was extravagant, not wholly tasteless, but 
 richer than the country needed or her station justified. 
 There was for ever this difference between her and her 
 enemy, that she called attention to what she wore, while 
 
132 RACHEL MARK 
 
 Rachel made, not only men, but women, forget now she 
 was clothed. 
 
 "That's my dog!" 
 
 Rachel had not seen her since her engagement had 
 been made the common gossip of the village. Ignoring 
 what Whey-face said, she examined her with a cold 
 curiosity which was not meant for insolence, but looked 
 strangely like it. 
 
 " I wonder what Anthony can see in her ? " asked 
 Rachel. She asked it quite coldly. It was mid-day; she 
 was not dreaming, and something about Winnie made 
 her withdraw so much into herself that even Anthony 
 for a moment was but one of all mankind. " I wonder 
 what any man can see ? " 
 
 For she saw nothing but white lips and a face now no 
 longer flushed and two pale eyes of flame. Winnie's 
 body was large, but her soul was small, she said; there 
 was no greatness in her, nothing of the spirit. Now, 
 indeed, Rachel's curiosity turned again to contempt, and 
 Winnie saw it. 
 
 " Oh, your dog? " said Rachel, and she laughed. 
 
 "Yes, mine!" 
 
 " Did Anthony give him to you ? " 
 
 " He meant to, I know," said Winnie, " but you went 
 sneaking to him and begged for what should have been 
 mine." 
 
 Rachel flushed scarlet. 
 
 " That's a lie, Winifred Perran, and you know it. But 
 you always were a liar. What lies have you told An- 
 thony?" 
 
 " I've told him the truth — about you ! " said Winnie. 
 
 "What truth?" 
 
 Rachel's eyes blazed so that for a moment Winnie was 
 afraid to stab her. But when she hesitated and Rachel 
 laughed scornfully, her anger swallowed up all discre- 
 tion. 
 
 " I said you were sick with love for him and owned it 
 to me," she cried. 
 
 There were cousins of Rachel on her unhappy exiled 
 father's side who, on hearing such words, would have run 
 
RACHEL MARR 133 
 
 in upon Winnie and killed her. And now Rachel saw 
 things within her own heart which appalled her. She 
 stepped towards the woman who was henceforth her true 
 enemy, and as she came Winnie retreated, and her jaw 
 fell, and her limbs trembled. For Rachel was no girl in 
 that moment, but something terrible, and her mouth 
 showed her strong white teeth, and above her pupils was 
 the pure and gleaming white of her eye. Ami Winnie 
 went backward still, and then she cried out and Sigurd 
 leapt forward barking, and she fell upon the ground and 
 hid her face trembling. 
 
 And perhaps if it had not been for Sigurd Rachel 
 might have knelt beside her and taken her by the throat 
 as old Jose had taken his daughter for a less reason. 
 But Sigurd's bark broke in upon her set mind, and cold 
 and bitter contempt came back and mingled with the hot 
 flood of her anger, and she paused. 
 
 " You mean thing," said Rachel, " you mean thing ! " 
 
 Her voice was low and hoarse. There was no music 
 in her soul. The sound of her voice made Winnie quiver 
 again, for she was truly afraid for her life. 
 
 " There are some," said Rachel, " oh, and I know it, 
 who would have set Sigurd on you to tear you." 
 
 And Sigurd growled. What was wrong he knew not, 
 but this he knew, that his mistress was wroth with the 
 woman on the ground. And to do her pleasure he would 
 have given his life, or taken any life but Anthony's. 
 
 " Get up," said Rachel ; " get up and take yourself 
 away." 
 
 And Winnie rose. She shook like a leaf; upon her 
 face were smudges of powder channelled by cowardly 
 tears; her lips were whiter than powder. She walked 
 away tottering. Her anger and spite had cost her dear, 
 and might cost her dearer yet. Rachel walked behind 
 her. 
 
 _" If Sigurd will go with you, you can have him," she 
 said. But Winnie only shook her head ; now she loathed 
 the dog, and this dark creature behind her, and Anthony 
 and herself. Again and again her nature had made her 
 dare battle with Rachel, and again and again she had 
 
134 RACHEL MARR 
 
 been humiliated. Yet in this hour she could have turned 
 on Anthony himself and bid him go, if it had not been 
 that she believed not hell nor all the power of his fanati- 
 cism could keep him away from Rachel. 
 
 And they came down upon the road and to the gate 
 which led to the upper wood of Morna House. Within 
 a few yards two men worked, breaking stone, and there 
 Winnie's courage returned to her. 
 
 " Keep the dog, keep him," she said bitterly ; " but 
 what I told him was the truth, and if you've taken the 
 dog from me, I've taken Anthony away from you." 
 
 There was that in Rachel which could have made her 
 cry out : 
 
 " I could take him even now ! " 
 
 But, then, as she told herself, she did not love him. If 
 love was what she thought, so high a passion and so much 
 the gift of God, could it be kin to the pain that wrenched 
 her to conceive of his becoming the husband of so mean 
 a thing as she who claimed him now? And as even a 
 noble creature, fair to look on, gifted with charity and 
 true love and a spirit capable of all delights, is but a 
 vessel limited and human, now so great a disdain filled 
 Rachel's heart that nothing else could mingle with it. 
 Her anger, instead of abasing her, lifted her at last to 
 something that was not disdain, but a heavenly pity for 
 all who were weak or cruel or evil. 
 
 And yet at night her body cried aloud, as one cries to 
 those who will not hear : 
 
 " If I could only take him now ! " 
 
 Her spirit answered, unanswering: 
 
 " O God, make him happy I " 
 
 And that night, for the first time, the flesh cried out to 
 her that Love was not what she believed, but that it was 
 terrible as famine, and as inexorable as death, and as 
 cruel as the grave. And as she trembled and would not 
 hear it, she felt that it was the flesh that knows, since it 
 was the flesh that suffered. 
 
RACHEL MARR 135 
 
 VIII 
 
 On the inland verge of the upper wood were the oldest 
 pines and by them was a knotted scarred oak which had 
 seen even the most aged of the other trees push its way 
 through grass. For years the oak had threatened to fall 
 and indeed only Rachel had saved it from the axe, since 
 she loved it as she loved all living things. Her passion 
 was for the inner aisles of the wood, for the cool red- 
 scaled pines, since these were her church and grew more 
 and more her sanctuary, but often and often she had left 
 those shadowy depths to climb into the oak that grew 
 upon the margin of the meadow land. Though the soli- 
 tary tree stood in a little fold or dell, from its higher 
 branches she could once more view the sea, and catch 
 glimpses of a distant beach, while close at hand some 
 of Morna's chimneys sent blue smoke into the air. For 
 years she had not climbed the oak, but she loved it all 
 the same, perceiving in her mind those fancies which in 
 poet's hearts made dryads live and set them to guard 
 each sacred tree. 
 
 Now, in a quiet autumn night, or a last night of sum- 
 mer, since this year the hot season ran to the verge of 
 winter, the oak fell without any storm to cast it down. 
 Huge overgrowth of a north-west branch, and perhaps 
 its great crop of acorns, did what a thousand winds had 
 failed to do, since the younger wood of pines had grown 
 up between its age and the Atlantic blast. The end came 
 in the hours after midnight, a week after Rachel had 
 found Winnie Perran was her enemy, and had discov- 
 ered other things concerning herself which were very 
 strange, and even dreadful to think upon. And Rachel, 
 sleeping very lightly, or not sleeping at all, was roused by 
 a sound which was like a pistol shot, clear and distinct, 
 for this was the first giving way of the old oak's strained 
 sinews. As she started from her pillow, and rested upon 
 her elbow, there was a duller and more muffled crack, 
 and then the sound of powerful rending and the final 
 crash of the branches on the ground. 
 
136 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " It's the oak," said Rachel sorrowfully, for she knew 
 there was nothing else to fall, and she rose from her bed, 
 and clad very lightly, stole out into the warm darkness, 
 lamenting about the end of things. Little by little during 
 this last year the hatred or disdain or fear (could she or 
 any other say which it was?) that she had experienced 
 for the aged had melted into a softer feeling that was 
 pitiful. Her terror of the destined involution of things, 
 since such terror always besets those who have not ful- 
 filled themselves by work wrought out or by the bearing 
 or begetting of children, still remained with her, but age 
 itself seemed not so evil as she had considered it. These 
 thoughts of hers, thoughts unthought, instincts mur- 
 muring in the dark of her mind, had often extended 
 themselves to trees and plants, so that autumn, be it 
 ever so fruitful, seemed pathetic, and a full wheat-field 
 but a grave. Yet in the growth of trees and the wonder 
 of their renewal, and their might, and their crown of 
 leaves and fresh splendour even when decay worked at 
 their vitals, there was always something so defiant of 
 the laws of death, that she clave to them and was proud 
 of their courageous show of immortality. The greater 
 then was her grief wheh this brave oak at last ripened 
 to its end and fell sublimely in so serene a midnight; 
 and like a hamadryad led away by love from the shrine 
 at once herself and her charge, she came to it almost 
 weeping, and embraced its huge rough trunk, now cast 
 flatling on the burst turf of its ancient hollow. And 
 with her came Sigurd the hound. 
 
 This death was the second in her life, but as she sat in 
 the lucid night and considered her loss, it seemed to her 
 that here was greater ground for grief than when her 
 mother's spirit fled upon the storm. In such a night the 
 world is most alive, and all the pantheism latent in her 
 soul streamed about her wonderfully, filling her horizons 
 as the northern lights may fill the firmament. The oak 
 was alive, conscious, personal, and so the faint fine 
 chorus of the mournful pines asserted, for in the dark- 
 ness they were as delicately sad as cypresses by a south- 
 ern sea. And it had lived so strong, so full, so bravely 
 
RACHEL MARK 137 
 
 rooted a life that it seemed a reproach to unanchored 
 fleeting frail humanity. Now her mother was but a 
 ghost, a creature of past dream-hours, a dark spirit, a 
 mere wraith, an apparition. Here in this solid, warm 
 sap-bleeding wood was something to grasp, to hold. 
 She wept a little, and Sigurd sighed and thrust his huge 
 head into her lap, and her tears fell upon him warmly. 
 
 Oh, but to think of the swift death of man, and the 
 secure hold that other living things had upon the world. 
 She wished for an eternity of joy, an seon of life and 
 love; she was aflame and athirst with the great desire 
 of the immediate immortality which is instinct satisfied. 
 
 "Oh, but this tree lived when there was no Morna," 
 she said. She thrust herself away from the trunk with 
 her hand, and then relenting, touched its rude cortex 
 with her tender lips. 
 
 And next morning she sent to the Church Town for 
 Timothy Cragoe, who had been to America and was the 
 best axeman in the country round, to cut the old tree into 
 billets and logs and firewood, so that it might fulfil its 
 destiny. And Timothy came to Morna House bringing 
 his axe, and a maul and wedges, and he came singing and 
 light-hearted, for work with the axe was what he liked 
 best and little enough of it he found in Cornwall. 
 
 " 'Tis a rare knotty old devil of a tree, so it is, Miss," 
 said Timothy, as he dropped his bag of wedges and his 
 maul and set the axe aquiver in the wood with a light 
 one-handed swing, " 'tis a rare knotty one, but I'll take 
 it on. 'Twill be mostly firewood, Miss, for it died of old 
 age and much that looks the finest is but a shell. A tree 
 is Hke sheep, Miss, there's a time for it to die, and old 
 age don't improve 'un." 
 
 He was a fine young fellow, grey-eyed, but with an 
 olive skin, and had been married in the spring to a girl 
 that Rachel knew. 
 
 "And how is your wife, Timothy?" she asked as she 
 turned to leave him at his work. 
 
 "She's very well. Miss, and many thanks to you for 
 asking and she'll be down here at noon to bring me my 
 grub," said Timothy happily. " It's strange, Miss, how 
 
138 RACHEL MARR 
 
 I did think and think of going back to America, and now 
 I don't think of it at all." 
 
 For Rachel there was nothing beautiful oversea but 
 the lands of the South that grew dim and dimmer still 
 in her memory. 
 
 " Oh, surely, it's better here," she said. To leave 
 Morna would have broken her heart, and when she 
 looked upon her woodlands and the sea, she thought that 
 it was Morna held her. 
 
 " But the trees out west. Miss Rachel, they're fine," 
 cried Timothy ; " there's no timber in Cornwall. But for 
 Susy I'd be there now." 
 
 The woman had him tight, clasped him, and held him 
 for the time ; and in him nature spoke. 
 
 " He's very happy," said Rachel ; " Timothy loves 
 work, and he's young and he loves Susy. She's a pretty 
 little thing and he's so big and strong." 
 
 She went back to the house, and as she went she heard 
 the rhythmic blows of his keen axe upon the fallen tree. 
 
 " How quickly things change," she said. Only a few 
 hours ago she had lain under the shadows of the oak, 
 and now a creature of an hour armed with steel stood 
 upon its yet living branches and lopped its crown away. 
 Rachel moved in a dream, but the sense of the rapid pass- 
 ing of time for her and all humanity lulled her into a 
 melancholy that was not altogether bitter. If things 
 passed as swiftly as they seemed to pass at that moment, 
 what need to cry aloud for gifts that were but the solace 
 of a fleeting instant of human time ? 
 
 And yet, as she moved in that dream, thoughts which 
 lay beneath her waking consciousness thrust themselves 
 upon her mind, and gave her swift occasion for the 
 agony that she saw was vain. Even Timothy's serene 
 male sense of comfort in the possession of the woman he 
 had chosen made her ache a little and feel cold and 
 lonely. And every now and again the subdued passions 
 under her heart stirred, and threatened her with some- 
 thing that she did not understand. For though she stood 
 upon the verge of womanhood and was a woman in her 
 dreams, as all dreaming virgins are, since their virginity 
 
RACHEL MAM 139 
 
 is but individual and their passions the common gift of 
 humanity, she was not yet a woman when the sun shone 
 and the day was with her. 
 
 But her full awakening was at hand, and it came very 
 lightly and as it were without a great cause, for she was 
 ready to awake, as ready as a full bud is to open at the 
 touch of a warm wind. And when she woke she saw 
 how it came that she had known all things, but had not 
 put them together. For though a lesser creature of the 
 flesh might have builded a temple for some crownless 
 Aphrodite with them, she was not only made of flesh and 
 blood, but also of that spirit which is the gift of those 
 who are descended from such as desire more than God 
 can give them. For this desire is the Spirit, and by the 
 light of its lamp builds the soul in darkness, and the 
 temples that even in ruins mark his path towards Eter- 
 nity. And so perhaps Rachel built. 
 
 It was on the second day after the old oak felt the steel 
 that she went down through the wood again, walking 
 alone, for Sigurd had gone over to Pentowan Farm by 
 himself. This he did every few days, for he had been 
 bred there and could not divest his heart of desire for it 
 and for his old master. And Anthony never reproached 
 him, even when Sigurd went upon his belly and begged 
 for some abuse to ease his soul. 
 
 " 'Tis easy to make a dog think he's not doing right," 
 said Anthony. And yet he did not see how easy it was 
 to make a man think that. But the hour was coming 
 when Rachel might tell him as much, if she had not told 
 him so already. But the echo of her voice in his soul 
 when she said " Anything you wanted, Anthony, any- 
 think you wanted," seemed the voice of something evil 
 to him, as it tugged at his heart and made him quiver. 
 
 " What God wants," said Anthony. And what God 
 wanted he was sure he knew. 
 
 And Rachel went down through the wood to learn 
 what it was she wanted, and what nature wanted, and 
 what God wanted too. If she saw the script and found 
 it hard to read, what wonder, seeing that man finds the 
 Word of God and writes his glosses on the text and 
 
140 RACHEL MARR 
 
 makes the glosses gospel and the text a dead creature 
 of the letter? 
 
 Ah, but the day was fine, a day to read the Gospel of 
 God, a day to see how God can write fairly in the wood- 
 land and the upland, and on the wrinkled face of the 
 moving tides. The red and green Word of God was no 
 rune that day, nor anything occult. His Word was no 
 secret to the woods, or to the quiet beasts, or to the winds 
 or waters, or any of His creatures who, trusting them- 
 selves, trusted Him within them. 
 
 And Rachel, perceiving within her heart, that there 
 was much to be read in the green book of the world, 
 moved pensively in her quiet forest, hearing the sound 
 of the axe and the pleasant voices of her quiet village. 
 And something lifted the veil that the priest in man 
 draws over the pages, and she saw, very dimly at first, 
 but the next moment clearly, that nothing she could desire 
 was in itself evil. And the thought cheered her, even 
 though it was an unformed thought, until she remem- 
 bered how her affection turned towards Anthony, who 
 was the set priest of man incarnate, the priest who de- 
 mands sacrifices and finds blood from himself for the 
 Altar. Yet even this thought about Anthony was some- 
 thing inchoate, unformed. But it chilled her, and she 
 read less clearly by " the Spirit of man, the lamp of God, 
 which searcheth out the inwardness of all things." And 
 the coldness which for the moment fell upon her mind 
 translated itself into a dulness of the body, so that she 
 went towards the sunlight and lay down' under a pine at 
 the edge of the wood. And as it was noon the sound of 
 the axe had ceased, and Susy Cragoe came down from 
 the Church Town with her husband's dinner. And Tim- 
 othy called to her joyfully. There was a sense of sat- 
 isfied labour about him, and the sweat upon his brow and 
 limbs was pleasant, so that no thought of the great 
 woods of the west came to him. For the axe was keen 
 and the old oak had an easy splitting grain, and Corn- 
 wall was a fine country, and his heart was easy and for 
 him Susy was very fair and very desirable, and his 
 thought was that she should bear him a child. 
 
RACHEL MARR 141 
 
 And Rachel saw them come together and saw Timothy 
 lift her up and taste her rosy mouth, so that his little wife 
 laughed when he let her laugh. And Rachel would have 
 gone away then but that they came and sat close by the 
 stump of the old tree where the pines made a pleasant 
 shade and the turf was clean and clear. If she moved 
 they might discern her, and for a moment she meant to 
 call out to them. But she did not, and they sat down, 
 and Susy opened the dinner that she had brought and 
 watched her man eat. Sometimes she put a morsel in 
 his mouth and he bit her finger lightly, so that Susy made 
 little squeaks and pretended to be much hurt. And of 
 course Timothy knew better, and laughed as he drank 
 beer from his can. And as Rachel lay, moving quietly 
 backward, she heard their voices, and the Cornish 
 speech of Susy contrasted prettily with the talk of her 
 man who had a little tinge of the west on his tongue. 
 And it seemed to Rachel that they were children of the 
 wood and of the field, and cousins to the happy beasts 
 and birds. But presently their talk ceased for a while 
 and though she could not see them Rachel knew that 
 Susy was held close in her man's arms, happy in her little 
 Paradise. And then she heard Timothy say: 
 
 " 'Tis full time, Susy, you told me you were going to 
 give me a child of my own, my girl." 
 
 And what Susy said, if she said aught, Rachel did not 
 hear, for she went scarlet and was blind for a moment, 
 and then she turned away and crept quickly through the 
 wood for a little and then ran to the other side of the 
 wood. There she sat down, and still her cheeks were 
 scarlet and her eyes strange and full of tears and shame 
 and knowledge. And the tears she had shed often, and 
 the shame had sometimes come at dawn, and the knowl- 
 edge had been hers from all eternity ; but now she knew 
 what she knew, and was aware that all knowledge was 
 sweet to love, and that shame was the pure gift of the 
 virgin on the path of God. For in one hour, in one mo- 
 ment, she had become a woman, and she found her 
 womanhood a burden, but as sweet a burden as a :child 
 at the full .ripe breast. 
 
142 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Not yet came the bitterness, though it was near at 
 hand; so great a gift of knowledge was like attainment; 
 in the moment of triumph she knew she loved Anthony, 
 and in that love all anger and hatred and malice and 
 fear were swallowed up. She forgot her enemy, forgot 
 all other women, and for a little while was happy. 
 
 And she heard Sigurd bark in the garden. Although 
 she did not call, he presently found her and came gallop- 
 ing joyfully. The dog knew he had a message to her 
 from his old master, for Anthony had picked a rose in 
 his garden and thrust its stem in the buckle of the dog's 
 collar. 
 
 " Why not, why not ? " he asked. " If she loved 
 me " 
 
 But of course she did not, and he was bound hand 
 and foot for ever! 
 
 And Rachel took the rose and put it in her bosom, and 
 then burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 " I love him, I love him," she said. And even yet 
 bitterness was not hers, for love that was of the flesh and 
 the spirit, which are truly one, seemed so strange and 
 awful and wonderful a promise of God that no evil could 
 canker the blood-red glory of such a heavenly flower. 
 
 IX 
 
 They talked wonderfully about their Miss Rachel in the 
 village, and talked not a little sadly, even gloomily. That 
 they loved her was certain, for she was even kinder now 
 than she had ever been, and less given to the children 
 than to those whose faces bore the marks of conflict. In 
 her heart the adoration of youth was yet urgent; and a 
 child was a portent and a wonder, but as shadows fell 
 across her soul and she dreaded strife, there was a fine 
 foreseeing sympathy in her for those who had fought 
 and won and fought and lost. How the rumour came 
 into being none could say, but now Morna Cove, speak- 
 ing upon doorsteps and by boats upon the beach, touched 
 not altogether with unsure fingers on things that were 
 
iRACHEL MARR 143 
 
 yet almost a secret to Rachel's self. Perhaps the strength 
 of passion within her cried aloud out of her controlled 
 silence so that many heard. And they talked of Anthony 
 too, and then of both together, and the swifter minds 
 among them invented such notions as should fit this and 
 that, hitting thereby on the truth. 
 
 " 'Tis a melancholy lover this Mr. Anthony surely," 
 said the Cove ; " and as for Miss Winnie, she's no better 
 than she should be. We know it, and Steve, he do know 
 it, for all he's as close as an oyster. And as for Mr. 
 Anthony loving her, 'tis folly sure, for there's that in his 
 eye when we see him with her that isn't in a lover's. 'Tis 
 she loves him, and she's what she is, and if Steve would 
 but speak, he could tell." 
 
 " 'Tis a pity he didn't go courting with Miss Rachel, 
 isn't it ? " said the women on the doorsteps. " They'd 
 hev bin a pretty pair; oh, a handsome couple surely. 
 And there's sorrow in her eye, and they do say that she 
 and that Perran girl (d'ye think it true she's such a trol- 
 lop as Steve winking and saying nought makes out?) 
 had very high words one day about that outlandish for- 
 eign dog Mr. Anthony gave Miss Rachel." 
 
 They said " ah " and " oh " and " surelie " and nodded 
 sagely. 
 
 " "Tis all the wicked religion as Miss Rachel holds 
 by as 'as done it," said the women. " But for the Pope 
 and her holdin' on to him, Mr. Anthony would have mar- 
 ried her. And small blame to him seeing that he's set 
 on preaching himself, and a preacher can't do as others 
 might. And the priest up at Caerhays would be agin' 
 it, no doubt. He'll be for making a nun of her, shuttin' 
 the poor_ thing up between walls. Oh, well, and if , he 
 does, mebbe 'twould be better, for the handling of men 
 and the rearing of chillern is tryin' work, and well we 
 know it. But 'tis a sure thing Miss Rachel loves the 
 ground he walks on, and as for him, if there was any 
 telling aught about a Perran, 'tis the same with him." 
 
 And so the village perceived the truth, and talked of it 
 at sea while fishing, and in their little gardens and on 
 their doorsteps before Rachel knew and before Anthony 
 
144 RACHEL MARR 
 
 was certain. And the savour of the truth was pleasant to 
 their lips, even before the bitter cup was at the lips of 
 those who were to drink. Only Steve Penrose knew 
 how bitter the cup must be, for he knew much of Rachel, 
 and of her mother, and of her mother's father, old Tre- 
 gilgas. He went up to Morna House when Rachel was 
 not there, and in spite of Martha's tongue, persisted 
 in talking and in proffering advice. 
 
 " You're a scandalous magnatum to the village," said 
 Martha, " that's what you are, a scandalous magnatum, 
 and don't come hunting here for a drink, because we've 
 none in the house, and I wouldn't give it if we had. You 
 stagger off down to the village, Steve; the less I see of 
 you the more I like you, and you know it." 
 
 But Steve sat down outside her kitchen window on a 
 bench and leant his arm upon the window sill. 
 
 " Well, if I know it, my dear woman, 'tis because 
 you've told me so. But it's just the other way about with 
 me, for I like you amazingly because you love Miss 
 Rachel and I'm going to stay." 
 
 " Keep your drunken tongue off my young lady," said 
 Martha. -But she spoke with less asperity, 
 
 " Sad to say," retorted Steve, " I'm as sober as a salted 
 pilchard this morning, and I've got a tongue like unto 
 the tongue of Dives, and yet I'm full of fear and charity 
 and have the dregs' of wisdom about me. 'Tis only the 
 dregs I own, for if I was a full hogshead of it, I'd be 
 minding my own business in a sunny corner, and I'm 
 up here to mind yours, Mrs. Martha." 
 
 And Martha put her arms akimbo and stared at him. 
 
 " If you know me, Steve Penrose, that sounds like 
 no wisdom I ever heard of." 
 
 But Steve nodded and pulled at his beard. 
 
 " Oh, aye, I know you, and you're stubborn. But for 
 all that you love your young lady and would help her to 
 your own blood, to say nothing of mine, if you wanted to 
 spill it. Now wouldn't you ? " 
 
 Martha's hard eyes softened. 
 
 "Well, you old fool, what of it?" 
 
 Steve rose and put his dirty hands upon the sill. 
 
RACHEL MARR 145 
 
 " I am an old fool, and I own it. And yet I'll say little. 
 You know that Mr. Anthony and his cousin are to 
 marry?" 
 
 " Of course I know ! " 
 
 Steve hesitated. 
 
 " I wish fervently I was very drunk," he said at last, 
 sighing, " for then I'd interfere good or leave it. Send 
 your Miss Rachel to London or anywhere away out of 
 Morna for a year, Mrs- Martha, because she's p-oing to 
 take this wedding hard, seeing that she loves Mr. An- 
 thony, and she hates that daughter of George Perran's 
 as if she was poison, as she is. Send her away, do ! " 
 
 He turned -and ambled ojBf a pace or two and then 
 came back. 
 
 " Think it over, Mrs. Martha ; I know the blood, and 
 though I don't know what you know about her mother, 
 didn't I know old Tregilgas better? Aye, many's the 
 time I've sat in there with him, and 'twas him that lent 
 me books and helped me to wisdom and a ragged jacket, 
 and a reputation that's equal to his. He was no atheist 
 any more than I am, but he was a terrible man for hav- 
 ing his way. And it's in the blood. Send her out of 
 this, Mrs. Martha." 
 
 He said no more and marched away to the village and 
 sat upon a warm rock, considering the nature of things, 
 as he was wont to say. And the nature of things was 
 quite tolerable, said Steve. It was the nature of man 
 that was wonderful and hard and cruel, and so much 
 Martha knew, for Steve's words had left her wordless, 
 since they served mightily to bring her face to face with 
 the truth that she knew and yet would not know. 
 
 " Oh, but I'm getting old," she moaned, " old and 
 tired, and weakness increases in me, and the day's too 
 long and the night's too short. And I faced it out with 
 the mother, with my poor Mary in the churchyard, and 
 saw her go through it, and stood by her when she died. 
 Oh, I saw her in scarlet before Rachel was bom, and 
 then in black, and again in scarlet with running scarlet 
 on her arms. And now Rachel's blood runs scarlet, and 
 I foresee mourning for her and for me. A month ago 
 
146 RACHEL MARR 
 
 she was a girl, though something warned me she was 
 soon to be one no more, and this very morning when I 
 saw her look upon little Johnny 'twas with a woman's 
 eye; and oh, her look was sad, and when I caught her 
 look she flushed hard then soft, and then went white, 
 and was once more a rose among women. And now 
 she's in the pines with her womanhood in her heart, and 
 love of that man there too." 
 
 She fell into a chair and mourned bitterly. 
 
 " And old drunken Steve knows it ! Oh, he has a 
 bleared eye, but 'tisn't for nought he claims wisdom. 
 And what he said was true. There's that in the children 
 of old Tregilgas which makes me quiver. There's much 
 I've wanted in my life and some I took that I shouldn't, 
 but if I'd had a drop of his blood in me I'd have been 
 shameless, for I'm little and not over well-favoured, and 
 the strength to take things against the law sits ill on such 
 as me. But Mary was grand, oh, she was, even in her 
 sin ; and as for Rachel, I'm afraid. For what her mother 
 is, she is also — aye, and more. And speaking to her would 
 be vainer than vanity." 
 
 She cursed Anthony in words, and yet she liked him 
 strangely. Now she knew even better than she knew 
 before, that he would have been like a rock for Rachel, 
 a strong tower of defence. 
 
 " 'Tis her religion, that's it. And little she thinks of 
 it, and if he spoke, he could have it beaten down. Oh, 
 if I'd but told him so, and set him upon saving her ! " 
 
 And yet it might have been in vain. 
 
 " They say he gave his word as a boy to Winifred Per- 
 ran, and what Mr. Anthony gives, he gives for ever. 
 But I'll speak to her if I can, and to the Father, 
 maybe." 
 
 "That day Martha raged in the house, seeing that 
 Rachel stayed in the pinewood, and Mary Jose cried an- 
 grily to herself over the milk in the dairy. 
 
 " 'Tis she would turn the milk sour," said Mary ; " and 
 what's got her, I wonder, that she rages so. 'Tis all very 
 well being here, but I'd most as soon be back at father's. 
 And but for the boy I'd go to service again. Here there's 
 
RACHEL MARR 147 
 
 none to marry me, and John he's set abroad and I'll never 
 see Pentowan Headland with him again." 
 
 Still she held to him in her mind, and such love as she 
 had for the father of her child kept her straight in act, 
 though sometimes those who would not have wedded her 
 invited her to walk where the golden gorse and the high 
 bracken grew. She had her little dreams and her little 
 passions, and no new dream mocked her. 
 
 And that whole livelong day Rachel spent in the inner 
 sanctuary of her pinewood, near the spot where she had 
 first found Mary weeping. Sometimes tears rolled down 
 her cheeks, now tears that were not really sad, for she 
 was in a dream that kept her wholly within herself. She 
 took no note of any outside influence, though all the in- 
 fluences of shadow and bird-song and chequered dan- 
 cing sunlight and the murmuring breeze, which bore the 
 burden of Nature's hymn, melted into her soul. And she 
 who had seen the visible world fall apart and be no more 
 than shattered fragments, now beheld it made organic 
 and harmonious once more. For the hour (that was an 
 eternity) the aisles of her holy wood were enchanted, be- 
 yond its secluded confines she saw bright air — its avenues 
 overarched romance, and every opening of the woodland 
 revealed beauty and immortal love. This was her pas- 
 sionate and heavenly self, body and spirit, one and indi- 
 visible, spread abroad in the very flood and river of life, 
 like colour in an opening rose. 
 
 This was peace, the ancient peace of human expecta- 
 tion, self-deluded, happy, melancholy. Her vision, which 
 was ecstasy when the soul turned inward on itself, saw 
 nothing sorrowful even in renunciation. The sense of 
 time being numb within her, all things took their colour 
 from eternity, and as she was lapped within the senses, 
 and secluded from the appeal of their hungry brood, she 
 put time and the senses under her feet. That apprehen- 
 sion of fine continued unity which gives mankind belief 
 in immortality, whether the soul experiences or misses it, 
 made her godlike and immortal. Loving neither with 
 her body nor with her soul and spirit, but with them 
 wedded and welded into one, she achieved the possession 
 
148 RACHEL MARR 
 
 of the spirit that she loved, and her body itself was as 
 something dissipated in the vestal flame she tended. 
 
 For such joy as now whelmed her soul other virgins 
 have striven, and have set their feet in flame. For such 
 peace as hers hermits of rocky cells in Libyan deserts, or 
 saints upon pillars of fallen temples, or nuns within cold 
 walls, have given away the worthless world. By sacri- 
 fice or by full acceptance comes ecstacy. These virgins 
 of the rocks, theopathetic and mystic, choose one path, 
 and achieving unity by the destruction of the body, lift 
 themselves to the level of their spirit, and yet are less 
 godlike than those who bury neither talents nor the flesh, 
 but believing the god that is themselves, achieve the, God 
 that is all things. 
 
 But by renunciation heaven itself is easier. The ascetic 
 travels light, having renounced God's burden to carry 
 nothing but his atrophied spirit, and shall not his reward 
 be meaner than that of those who wrought themselves 
 out fully, trusting all things and themselves, by which 
 truly they know God? The way of ascetics is a solitary 
 path, none needs the other. For themselves they seek 
 salvation, and if the weak fall they leave them. 
 
 There was an infinite and immortal capacity for joy in 
 Rachel, and this path was not hers. Her great hour in 
 the passion of the woodland gave her a foretaste of im- 
 mortality, of Nirvana itself. Yet such an hour was a 
 dream, and the struggle was yet to be. To renounce was 
 to be overcome, and her heart perceived that God knev^ 
 better than the preachers, and the body better than the 
 spirit, unless both went hand in hand. And it is 
 through the heart that God speaks, since there is unity 
 and there only. 
 
 But unity again comes by the wedding of human 
 hearts. Unless Anthony found true salvation, how 
 should she find it? For beyond the bright blue air lay 
 heavy clouds; under the archways of romance rode 
 strange portents; even in the organic harmony of her 
 dream were dissonances that threatened. 
 
RACHEL MARR 149 
 
 X 
 
 Her splendid and secluded day passed like a dream; it 
 went as swift as running water and was as clear. When 
 the evening light was golden on the white homes of 
 Morna Rachel left her woodland and went to the house. 
 She said nothing to Martha, but the old woman mar- 
 velled at the peacefulness of the girl's face. There was 
 no time at which she did not fear for Rachel and pray 
 to God concerning her, since she was her mother's 
 daughter. But now the peace that shone in Rachel, 
 which even for the girl who felt it was like the peace of 
 God that passeth all understanding, shone upon Martha 
 likewise, and it seemed to her that there was no more 
 danger for the time, and that Rachel held her own soul, 
 being glad within and mistress of her passions. For Mar- 
 tha knew that these passions were a marvellous heritage 
 for her, and a danger, and the sight of Rachel's shining 
 face and peaceful brooding eyes made the old woman 
 rejoice in spite of what old Steve had said. 
 
 And when Rachel passed Martha in her kitchen, she 
 laid her hand upon the old woman's head for a moment. 
 But she said nothing, and Martha only answered in her 
 heart, though tears rolled down her cheeks when she 
 was alone. 
 
 At the evening meal which Rachel took in the kitchen 
 with Martha and Mary and the little boy, she hardly 
 spoke. But after a long time of neglect she took Johnny 
 on her lap and was very sweet to him. And after the 
 meal she walked out into her garden with Sigurd, and 
 leaning against the fence saw the last faint after-glow 
 fade in the star-shining sky. And once or twice as she 
 leant over into the lucid darkness, a tear fell slowly, for 
 she believed that she accepted destiny, and her peace 
 she took for a final gift of God. 
 
 As the moon rose she went down into her woodland 
 again and found the shadows comforting; for they 
 lapped her in the warm ileece of darkness, and she lay 
 down upon the brown bed of pine needles and fell into 
 
159 RACHEL MARR 
 
 a great mood of heavenly pity for all things that lived, 
 and for those things which by the common creed had no 
 life. In this hour the trees lived abundantly, and the 
 tides had voices, and the rocks gushed forth in springs of 
 living thoughts for her, and the earth had the thoughts 
 that were flowers and fruit. The stars sang together in 
 harmony audible to her soul, and when the moon rose 
 over the curve of the eastern grassy headland, it was no 
 apparition, or abstraction of the astronomers, but some- 
 thing near, gifted, powerful, and most magically alive. 
 And yet all things were magical, and yet again nothing 
 was magical, or nothing at least was more wonderful 
 than she who felt the wonder and stood peacefully in 
 reverence before miracles. 
 
 While the moon was low it peered under the foliage of 
 her pines, and strode in a ghostly fashion among the 
 aisles of her odorous sweet natural church. Every 
 glimpse of light was like a spirit; she was haunted by 
 quiet ghosts of moonlight. And then the moon itself 
 swung out, a lightly flattened oblate sphere of silver 
 touched with shadows, and burned bright silver before 
 her. It was a mighty lamp; it was a grand goblet from 
 which spirits, angels, high archangels took the sacra- 
 ment. It poured wine of silver, as she knew, upon the 
 unseen sea, whose tides murmured like a hive that shall 
 soon sleep. 
 
 Beside her the great Dane lay resting ; his muzzle upon 
 the hem of her garment. At times she stroked his head ; 
 the warmth of his smooth hide kept her still upon the 
 earth. 
 
 Presently the moon swung into the higher heavens and 
 its lower limb starred itself under a heavy pine's foliage 
 and died out. As Rachel's mind worked inwardly and 
 only now and again looked out upon the objective world 
 with wide wakened consciousness, it seemed to her that 
 the moon moved with alternate rest and motion, in an 
 irregular strange rhythm. Now it had swiftly disap- 
 peared; the light was on the green roof of her church, 
 the shadows grew more profound, and yet the more lucid 
 because they were profound. And the darkness was not 
 
RACHEL MARR 151 
 
 darkness, but fine pervading light, suth a light as there 
 might be in deep caves under the verge of the sea. The 
 light and darkness mingled opened the pupils of her eyes, 
 and as they opened her veins opened freely, and still a 
 greater peace than she had known came upon her. And 
 in that peace she fell asleep, and the life that was in her, 
 and about her, and her freed desires came together and 
 begot a strange dream. 
 
 And in her dream there was a curious order, and one 
 imagination begat another. As her thoughts had been 
 vague, formless, and only not void in that the spirit gave 
 them spiritual reality, so now she dreamed first of happy 
 ghosts, such as might haunt warm woodlands in the night 
 of a fruitful autumn. And such ghosts as might have 
 been sad for her if she had dreamed waking were now 
 calm as her own heart, and not melancholy or distressed 
 or wearied. Among them she saw her mother, not now 
 in black or more terrible scarlet, but in something woven 
 of moonlight and darkness. Her eyes were grave but 
 tender, and she loved her child as she had not loved her 
 in life. And when the sleeping maiden felt her mother's 
 lips she smiled and stirred a little. And after her mother 
 came people she had forgotten — children of the South, 
 of Naples, and her childhood. And then the wood be- 
 came alive with the more fantastic heritage of dreams of 
 men, and of the happier childlike race. She saw fine 
 pixies of the wood, and such creatures as dance in fairy 
 rings, making the grass grow green. And little gnomes, 
 fruit of the hollow fertile earth, played a goblin market 
 close at hand and not one but smiled upon her. This 
 was the hour for hamadryads and nymphs of streams, 
 and such as goblins, gnomes, and pixies, and her wood- 
 land rang with their laughter, light as the sound of wind 
 in hare-bells. 
 
 But as these creatures of her dream appeared more 
 mortal, more material than the ghosts, now they passed 
 and the pine avenues were deserted, and something in her 
 brain mourning their departure, which left her colder, 
 renewed the ancient faint weeping of Mary, and the light 
 cry of her child. And this thought, fertile in her dear 
 
152 RACHEL MARR 
 
 heart, had strange offspring, and she saw a little naked 
 child, pink and rosy, at her feet. Then her nerves thrilled 
 and her very bosom moved and light fine pains went 
 through her virgin body, and she perceived that she was 
 no longer a virgin, but one of those who had followed the 
 path of the flesh which was also the path of God. And 
 the miracle of the flesh was no less than a miracle of the 
 spirit, and the naked child was a promise of God fulfilled. 
 So she leant forward in her dream and gathered the smil- 
 ing infant to her naked bosom, and she foretasted the 
 happier joys of maternity in which mother and child are 
 yet one. And even in her dream she fell asleep and slept 
 for strange years, so that when the dream of sleep that 
 was within a dream ended, she perceived other children 
 that were hers, and one was at her bosom and one at her 
 knee, and one played silently in the pinewood and was 
 happy as her own full soul. And she knew the father 
 of her children, and as it seemed to her he was close at 
 hand smiling. And his strong grave face was clear to 
 her as the faces of her children, and her soul was as full 
 as the warm and fertile earth. 
 
 And as she dreamed Sigurd still lay with his head upon 
 the hem of her garment, for all the world was still and it 
 grew late. And presently to his acute hearing there 
 came a sound that he seemed to know, though it was far 
 off and very faint. He lifted his head and listened, and 
 breathed a little quicker, and then was sure. He rose 
 and looked down upon his mistress and touched her 
 hand. And then going lightly he ran towards the verge 
 of the wood and leapt upon the bank over against the 
 road, knowing that Anthony came riding late from his 
 eastern farm. 
 
 Now the moon's censer swung high in the heavens, 
 and faint clouds moved across the sky in a lofty wind 
 that stooped not to earth. A faint green colour tinged 
 the thin clouds about the moon, making a halo, and her 
 light was softened and the world in its quietness was 
 unreal, since full and very quiet beauty is so rare a thing. 
 The white road gleamed very softly, and the pine 
 shadows were soft. It was a night for happy lovers, 
 
RACHEL MARR 153 
 
 and Rachel was happy. But Anthony rode in unhap- 
 piness which he mistook for God's peace, thanking God 
 for it, since the hollowness of his heart seemed due to 
 his sacrifice of it to Heaven. By night God appeared 
 closer to him, enabling him to live the life of the soul 
 regardless of the starved heart and the flesh. And yet 
 these awakened and cried out and he cried peace where 
 no peace was. And he rode praying, and came where 
 .Sigurd 'lay in wait for him, for the dog hungered for 
 the voice of his old master, and the familiar whiteness of 
 llic horse, and for the old kennel, even though he loved 
 Rachel best. So Sigurd ran out upon the road arid 
 gambolled, a,nd leapt, making excuses for himself with 
 all the inarticulate obsequiousness of the hound who 
 knows somehow th't he has failed in his duty. But 
 something (perhaps God) told him that his happiness 
 was bound up in the happiness of Rachel and Anthony, 
 and if they were one he would achieve it. And now he 
 did his best, acting through his instinct, for being only a 
 dog and not a man he could trust it. He made his 
 obeisance to Anthony, and when his old master pulled 
 up, he stood upon his hind legs and put his fore-paws on 
 Anthony's thigh and the saddle and licked the man's 
 hand. And he made little noises which showed how 
 pleased he was, and he tried to tell Anthony that Rachel 
 was at hand sleeping in the nigh wood. 
 
 " Old fellow, old fellow," said Anthony, " and so 
 you've left me and are a little sorry." 
 
 He stroked Sigurd's head, and Sigurd dropped again 
 upon the road and ran to the bank and looked back. 
 What he said was, " Come, my master, my mistress is 
 here," but Anthony did not at first understand and rode 
 slowly on with his head low upon his breast. For he 
 knew his heart was at Morna House, and he never passed 
 it now without a struggle, renewing unspeakable grief. 
 
 And Sigurd came after him and whimpered. Again 
 he leapt upon the bank, and stayed there for a moment, 
 and when he saw Anthony pull up once more he barked, 
 and his voice was glad. 
 
 " What is it, Sigurd ? " said Anthony. And when he 
 
154 RACHEL MARK 
 
 dismounted and came to the side of the road, Sigurd 
 showed his pleasure wildly, but in silence, and led the 
 way into the wood again. And anxiety took hold of 
 Anthony, and he wondered if anything had befallen 
 Rachel, and he held to this anxiety as an excuse for see- 
 ing her, if indeed he was to see her. And since she 
 knew nothing of his love and did not love him, what 
 matter if he saw her in a woodland late at night, even 
 though old Martha had said, " Don't get her set to look 
 for you, as I fear she does " ? There was no danger for 
 him now, and as he said so the man deep within him 
 cursed his own soul. But he tied his horse to a pine 
 sapling and followed Sigurd into the heart of the wood 
 and the shadows thereof. 
 
 And Sigurd was very happy, since his parted world 
 should be together for a time. So, running on ahead, he 
 came again to Rachel, and lay down at her feet, and 
 Anthony found her. 
 
 XI 
 
 Rachels slumber was deep, for in her dream all 
 thoughts came together for good, and body and soul and 
 spirit, being satisfied even in a vision, brought her peace 
 profound and unutterable. The influences of her fair 
 imaginings, since they were beautiful and seemly, 
 mingled in harmony with the odour of the pine wood 
 and the veiled light of heaven's moon and stars, and the 
 rhythm of the far-off sentinel tides. Passion awakened 
 and now sleeping gave her living gifts as they had 
 brought her lover to her bosom. Earth was lovely and 
 so was heaven ; heaven had the fairer, warmer gifts of 
 earth that barren doctrine denied to a barren paradise; 
 she lay on heavenly earth and breathed air that might 
 have breathed over Eden. 
 
 And, the man she loved came through the shadows into 
 deeper darkness, and stood near her bare-headed, for his 
 heart was as reverent as his soul, even though he tor- 
 tured it, and as his eyes opened to the heaviness of the 
 
RACHEL MARR 155 
 
 shadows, and he perceived her sweet body on the same 
 earth 'he trod, a fine faint intuition, that he crushed even 
 as it rose in his natural mind, told him the body might 
 be spirit after all. 
 
 As he stood and watchfd in natural unnatural shame, 
 the nature within him bade him kneel and worship' her 
 with thought and act. Fire lay beneath him, and he 
 knew it; his heart cried aloud for her, and his ascetic 
 soul denied itself and the body. Sharp pains got hold 
 of him, and slow hot tears ran down his cheeks. He 
 perceived that all other claims were trials, were repug- 
 nant, and in this hour horrible. The God within him 
 and the kingdom of heaven in nature assured him of 
 these things, and he flinched and wavered, trusting the 
 word of others who were dead to life, rather than the 
 living word of God written upon his red heart. He 
 clenched his hands and bit his lips and suffered the tor- 
 tures of hell as he strove for heaven by denyi-ng it. 
 
 In that quiet wood where nature, which is the radiant 
 body of the universal spirit, had attuned itself to fine and 
 delicate and tremendous harmony, cuch a tortured dis- 
 sonance must break the music. Rachel's body was like 
 a silent harp that breathes low mingled melodies above 
 and below the hearing of the common world. To 
 breathe any discord smites_ such harmony asunder, and 
 her answering soul fell into dream anguish of loss and 
 deprivation. Even the simpler soul of her dog was 
 moved in his instincts and he lifted his head and moaned. 
 And in her sleep Rachel too moaned a little, and then she 
 woke and called out " Anthony." But she called this 
 name to the lover of her dream, and it was the man in 
 the shadows who answered her. 
 
 " Rachel ! " 
 
 If his soul had answered hers, swift as a tuning-fork 
 to pick up swift tones on the imparting musical air, he 
 would have leapt to her and have caught her in his 
 strong arms and given her instant sweet compensation. 
 He himself, by entering into her woodland and into her 
 dream, had robbed her of her sweetest dream. He who 
 was an embodied discord that he thought sweet to God, 
 
rS6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 had indeed slain these children; he had widowed her 
 and broken her heart, and now he only cried out 
 " Rachel " to her when she wanted all the gifts that he 
 asked God's help to waste. 
 
 But Rachel woke even as he answered her, and she 
 trembled strangely. Not religion, nor any teaching, nor 
 her virginal coyness could have saved her if he had taken 
 her head in his hands and kissed her parted lips. The 
 other woman for the moment was as nought ; she was less 
 than a dream. The children who had vanished now cried 
 aloud to her as if they were souls that sought the garb 
 of flesh. She was his to take and his to spare, and as he 
 held back from her, a strange rage that shocked her swept 
 through her thoughts. For one instant she hated him, 
 and then she controlled herself and got upon her knees 
 and said: 
 
 " Oh, Anthony ! why are you here ? " 
 
 And in a choked voice, that to him was like the voice of 
 some other man, he told her how Sigurd had brought him 
 from the road. His mind working for ever with religious 
 thoughts, set him wondering whether Sigurd was not a 
 creature of the devil sent to lead him into temptation. 
 For a dog was of the beasts, and the instincts that he 
 called lower, and that were lower since he had trampled 
 them into the mire, were also beastlike, he said. And still 
 he held back and his hands were clenched, since he 
 yearned for her mouth and bosom. 
 
 But Rachel, being on her knees, clutched Sigurd by the 
 neck, and her checked instincts poured themselves out 
 upon the poor glad beast, who had done his part for her 
 and for the man who would not be saved. She fondled 
 Sigurd and kissed his great head, so that he lifted one 
 forepaw and put it on her shoulder. And he whined joy- 
 fully, since her affection was a gift that even a dog's heart 
 might thank life for. 
 
 Yet as she was checked and cooled, mourning in her 
 heart for what she had seen in vision, Anthony, whose 
 instincts told him vaguely what she had in mind, cooled 
 too. His hands unclenched ; his passions yielded to his 
 will, as he believed, when truly they yielded to the colder 
 
RACHEL MARR 157 
 
 influence emanating from the wakened woman who stood 
 before him. And now, instead of the passions which had 
 shaken him furiously there came a calm of milder en- 
 chantment, and his inner mind contented itself with the 
 knowledge, that had the whole man wished it, Rachel 
 would have been his then. And Anthony kept these 
 thoughts under, since they were evil to him, but never- 
 theless the knowledge of this truth was a secret, un- 
 looked-at satisfaction, though he mourned to think it 
 should be, and spoke to himself of the old Adam. 
 
 And now Rachel stood up and by her side was Sigurd, 
 and she thanked God that the high moon above the matted 
 pine branches could not show the blood in her face. 
 Now indeed that tide ebbed, and her voice had no more 
 the strange broken tones which mark the agitation of the 
 passionate body, and are as keen an incitement to the pur- 
 suer as love veiled in darkness. 
 
 " It was Sigurd brought you ! " she said. 
 
 " It was Sigurd," answered Anthony. And now his 
 tone were broken too, for the sudden stresses within him 
 had tried his heart-strings. But Rachel's voice became 
 musical again. Her vision faded from her, and leaving 
 her melancholy, left her sweet. It was sweet to be with 
 him here in this enchanted woodland, since the night and 
 the unseen moon and the grey diffused glory of the 
 moon and the aisles and avenues of the scented pines 
 made the earth like the spirit world. As the tide of blood 
 and passion retreated in her and she found herself less 
 the creature of circumstance, her body grew lighter, she 
 was conscious of its claims no more, an(^ all her calmer 
 joy in her love for this man renewed itself. And so her 
 soul walked with his, and between them walked Sigurd, 
 and in her bosom was the crucifix instead of the warm 
 heart of a dream. 
 
 Her calm spirit and the grandeur which in calmness 
 returned to her played upon Anthony and soothed him, 
 so that a great shame for his desire of her came over him, 
 even though he had strangled it as something evil. And 
 as the shame passed away, something of her ominous 
 spiritual calm influenced him, so that for the first time 
 
158 RACHEL MARK 
 
 his knowledge that he loved her was a blessing rather 
 than a curse. Here in this solitary hour in the quiet 
 wood the world drifted from him and with it all labour 
 and the tilling of the land and the renewal and death of 
 the harvest, and even the sight and voice of the woman 
 he was to marry. Here, here was heaven, and his body 
 cried it aloud and his spirit for once bade not the body be 
 silent. For still his soul hugged renunciation to its 
 withered heart and esteemed itself pleasing to the Most 
 High. 
 
 He spoke in a dream and she answered in dreams. 
 
 " How strange to be here ! " 
 
 " Is anything strange, Anthony ? " 
 
 " The wood that I know so well is another wood and 
 the grey moonlight is a veil." 
 
 He saw beauty everywhere but in the red lieart of man. 
 
 " I fell asleep early and dreamed " 
 
 Her cheek flushed graciously, but he saw it not. 
 
 " What did you dream? " 
 
 She did not answer, and he struggled against the sense 
 of dream that oppressed him once more. How could his 
 soul yield to beauty? 
 
 " Do you remember how Sigurd found you swimming 
 that night so long ago ? " 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " And you bade me go, Rachel, and cried out upon 
 me." 
 
 " I said foolish things, and said you were a priest in 
 your heart. I remember that." 
 
 He sacrificed dear desires each moment. 
 
 " It's late for you to be here." 
 
 " It's not midnight by the moon," she answered, " and 
 I have slept there all night, oh, often, often, when the 
 summer was here." 
 
 Now autumn came and harvest was over. He 
 gathered tares and dock and darnel and rusted wheat 
 for the altars of God. He brought his mutilated soul to 
 the foot of the throne and yet holy men of old declared 
 that the victim of the sacrifice should be without blemish. 
 
 " Don't you feel God nearer you by night ? " she cried 
 
RACHEL MARR IS9 
 
 softly. And he answered " aye " as softly, and yet he 
 sighed, for the mellow voice of her played upon the 
 stretched fibres of his senses, and even in the calm of his 
 renunciation he felt his brain swim. 
 
 And now Rachel knew that she offered him much, for 
 the tide rose in her again. 
 
 " God is in all things and in us," she said. In a tone 
 of triumph she said, " Oh, even in me ! " 
 
 In this hour she knew it, felt it, heard it, saw it. For all 
 the creeds and faiths and doctrines she touched the truth. 
 God was truly in her, and in her spirit and by the accept- 
 ance of her flesh this was the holiest marvel of all. 
 
 They stood upon the verge of the wood whence they 
 saw the tall white house. In a lower window shone the 
 lamp that Martha always left when Rachel went wander- 
 ing at night. The moonlight made the gaunt dwelling 
 almost magical, and the yellow lamplight was warm. 
 This was her home, and at the thought of her and home 
 Anthony quivered. 
 
 " So this is my home ! " said Rachel, and in her voice 
 grew a fire of temptation, and a thousand subtle har- 
 monies that were twined enticements, and reproaches and 
 appeals that she knew not of. For what called to him 
 was the desire of the deep nature in her, the ancient ma- 
 ternity of those who had brought her forth, and the 
 reflected passions of her sires. And yet she knew them, 
 and a reckless joy filled her, and a sense of her own 
 beauty and the rounded magic of her limbs, and her white 
 bosom, so that she was filled with a passion for her own 
 incompleted loveliness, and for a moment she trusted it, 
 and smiled wonderfully. 
 
 And she stepped backward from Anthony, leaving him 
 in the shadow of the wood, so that her feet touched her 
 smooth turf. He stood and stared at her, and his heart 
 was a flame. 
 
 She stayed where the moonlight fell upon her, and she 
 was clad in white save for the red scarf about her neck, 
 so that she gleamed white against the shadowed side of 
 the house. She was very tall, and now her bosom 
 came near to its ultimate perfection, and the curves of 
 
i6o RACHEL MARR 
 
 her body were such as a sculptor of ancient Greece might 
 have carved in a dream, choosing her for the youthful 
 queen of heaven. There was no breath of wind, but the 
 moon, as if rejoicing in a daughter of her own earth, cast 
 aside her filmy veil and shone in glory down upon her. 
 Her head was uncovered, and the brown bronze of her 
 hair shone in the moon-glow and overlapped in gracious 
 curves the broad high forehead. Her brows were 
 straight and fine, and her eyes most wonderful, and her 
 mouth a little sad, as if she knew that which she knew 
 not, and her neck was a pillar of living ivorj'. 
 
 And she looked straight into the shadow, and with a 
 fine gesture raised her strong hand over her eyes as if 
 to see the man of the dark wood clearer, and Anthony 
 shook like a reed in a running stream. 
 
 And she turned about in the moonlight, and then she 
 threw her hands into the air and the scarlet scarf slipped 
 from her neck, and Anthony saw her bosom where it was 
 bare, since in her dream she had bared it, and waking did 
 not know it. 
 
 And he ran forward to her and cried : 
 
 " Rachel ! " 
 
 And even as he cried out the ivory crucifix slipped 
 from the deep fold of her bosom and fell upon the red 
 scarf lying on the grass. And she bowed her head, 
 waiting. 
 
 But Anthony's God, who abhorred graven images and 
 the carved wonders of the body and the miracle of the 
 flesh that He created, had set a sword between them. 
 And when Rachel lifted her head she heard him running 
 furiously in the shadows of the wood. 
 
BOOK III 
 
 The summer lasted long that year, over-long for the 
 ploughing, since no rain fell before late October and the 
 fields were as hard as iron till a great south-westerly 
 storm shook the very earth and turned hot stubble into 
 mud. But though there was no autumn, or a short one, 
 since summer almost joined hands with winter, the loss 
 was not felt overmuch by Morna, which drew its sus- 
 tenance from the fields of ocean. 
 
 " What one loses another gains," said fishing Morna 
 cheerfully. For Morna gained; the seas were calm, the 
 days upon the water were wonderful, the nights lucid 
 and fruitful to such as used the long line in the great 
 Channel. 
 
 "Some plough the land and some the sea," said Steve 
 Penrose, " and thus it was ordained to keep the world 
 going. For it is a strange world, and it takes all sorts to 
 make it. And if farmers cannot plough, it often happens 
 that fishermen can't put to sea. And I do notice then 
 they say fishermen are an idle lot. Thus 'tis hard to see 
 what other folks see. But the man that fishes is wise in 
 two elements and the plougher is wise only in one, and 
 those are wisest who see most. For the soil alone and 
 the plough do stiffen a man worse than rheumatics, and 
 worse than drink and a wet bed of fern." 
 
 But as the night comes when no man can work, so the 
 day came when none at Morna could put to sea. And the 
 night before that dawn the summer died gloriously in all 
 wonderful colours, in purple and living gold and fine 
 faint green that looked like delicate seas in eternity be- 
 
 161 
 
i62 RACHEL MARK 
 
 beyond the sea. Overhead to the very zenith a great 
 blood pall, as of fine wool soaked in terrible dyes, glared 
 upon the ruddy earth, and the sea itself was living crim- 
 son flecked with fire. The sun went down in the south- 
 west barred at the last with black clouds, and the delicate 
 colours of its glory changed to something that touched 
 instinct and knowledge alike with fear. A crowd of 
 Morna's men gathered upon the grassy headland, drawn 
 there by knowledge and instinct. 
 
 "Aye, 'tis wonderful," they said, " and out of that 
 smother of reds and yellows will come wind. 'Twas 
 very fine colour a while ago, and soft as if it meant no 
 more than rain. But now the red is purplish (there's 
 such colours in dying fish) and the softness is gone out 
 of it. 'Tis hard and oily. Oh, but there's a power of 
 wind in the west this night and a gale's brewing under the 
 sun. To-morrow there'll be a high dawn and fierce 
 colour to the sunrise. Let's go down and draw the boats 
 up, right upon the road." 
 
 In the hot murk of the dead evening they sweated till 
 their boats were safe, even if it happened that the wind 
 came in from the east of south. And those who farmed 
 foresaw rain, or hoped for it, and praised God with a 
 sense of a grudge in their hearts that rain was so late. 
 
 " There be some that do allege that God's no farmer if 
 He send a drought," said Steve. " And it's a good fisher- 
 man who is dutiful to heaven when pilchards are scarce. 
 'Twas Miss Rachel's grandfather said that. 'Tisn't mine, 
 good or bad. But Mr. Tregilgas would say that God 
 didn't drive a watering-cart or herd pilchards for a living. 
 There's sense in that if you would but see it. There are 
 times I see it myself as plain as that there are sad fools in 
 Morna and a bigger fool at Pentowan Farm and that the 
 summer's ended this wild night." 
 
 It was yet but a wild night to be, for wind there was 
 not. Heavy silence rested on the land; a heavy sullen 
 wash of sea broke that dead peace at irregular intervals. 
 Overhead the sky moved from the south-east, marshaUing 
 clouds steadily. And at last the colour fled from the 
 zenith, leaving nothing but a dull purple after-glow in the 
 
RACHEL MARR 163 
 
 east. Where the sun had been was no light ; the sea was 
 lead-coloured and almost motionless save where it lapped 
 the outlying rocks beneath the dark cliffs. The sea-birds 
 cried harshly ; they took short and agitated flights to sea- 
 ward and came shrieking inland. They feared some- 
 thing and cried aloud that they feared. But mankind 
 gathered together and spoke in low voices, talking of 
 other things than wind and sea and storm. They leant 
 against the serried beaks of their boats edging upon the 
 white ribbon of road. 
 
 " So the wedding is for to-morrow, eh ? " 
 
 " That's so. 'Twill be a wet one." 
 
 " If John Perran had been here 'twould have been 
 wetter. He was the lad to drink " 
 
 "And to keep things going. Oh, surely he was." 
 
 The wives of some of them came out of their cottages 
 and joined the talk; one of them was Sam Burt's wife. 
 He had taken a woman to him since old Penrose had 
 fooled him over the death of Mrs. Marr. 
 
 "There are some," said Tryphena Burt, " that will go 
 to the wedding that won't wish well to the bride." 
 
 " Must be Steve Penrose you mean. 'Tis well known 
 he has no love for her." 
 
 Tryphena shook her head. 
 
 " I mean no drunken old Steve " 
 
 They called aloud to Steve, who stood prating two 
 boats off. 
 
 " Steve, here's Sam's wife misc»lHng you " 
 
 " Let her be," said Steve. " Perhaps Sam's choice 
 was limited by his being a fool and the woman know- 
 ing it." 
 
 She called him an old devil and he laughed. 
 
 " My lass, call me what you like, but remember you're 
 a stranger here yet. And what's it to you if some of us 
 don't love Mrs. Perran that's to be? " 
 
 " They say Miss Rachel loves him," said Tryphena. 
 
 Steve raged at her instantly. 
 Sam's not beaten you yet," he cried, " but if I know 
 him he will if you set your tongue about Miss Rachel. 
 You don't know her and we do, and if Sam don't beat you 
 
i64 RACHEL MARR 
 
 there's women in this village that will duck you in the 
 sea if you say aught against her." 
 
 The old man was fierce and Tryphena quailed, for she 
 was new to Morna. 
 
 " I was saying nothin', Steve Penrose " 
 
 " Then say it no more," roared Steve savagely, and 
 Sam's wife fled into her house and wept because she was 
 a stranger in Morna and knew it. And an old woman 
 went to her door and spoke to her in such wise that she 
 wept again. For the old woman said: 
 
 " You light-tongued fool, what are you in Morna that 
 you should speak of those you do speak of? For if you 
 were in sorrow there's one surely that would hear of it 
 and comfort you ; and that's not only God, you fool, but 
 one of God's creatures. And if you bear children and 
 they are sick she would help you. And there's those here 
 whose children have died in her arms. And if she had 
 sorrow in her heart would you make a mock of it, you ? " 
 
 The old woman poured scorn upon her so that Sam 
 found her still weeping. And when he heard what she 
 wept about he frowned heavily and she wept again. For 
 now there was no soul in Morna that did not love Rachel. 
 They loved her none the less because they knew how 
 things were with her. And that they knew it at all was 
 the deed of Winifred Perran who on the morrow was to 
 marry Anthony. 
 
 " 'Tis an Unhappy match," said Steve, " and there will 
 be sorrow in it, oh, much woe in it. For though I say 
 nothing about the bride, I don't conceal that I hate her, 
 and think as little of her as a man may of a woman, 
 having certain knowledge of her ways which makes my 
 heart sore for a well-meaning fool like Mr. Anthony. 
 The last time that a great feeling of charity in Morna 
 made me all gloriously drunk within I had it in my 
 enlarged mind to go up and talk seriously to him upon 
 the subject of pale women with yellow eyes, and if I had 
 not fallen by the way there's no knowing but what I 
 might have achieved my object and have been beaten 
 black and blue, which is lamentable to think of." 
 
 His hearers roared cheerfully. 
 
RACHEL MARR 165 
 
 *■ If we make you drunk again, Steve, will you go and 
 do it now? We'll see you don't fall this time." 
 
 But Steve shook his towsled head. 
 
 "With the marriage set for to-morrow 'tis too late, 
 even though I proved to him that she was a harlot out 01 
 Babylon. And as I said, I don't cry out anything against 
 her when I'm sober. All I hope is that when this storm 
 breaks there'll be lightning with it, and that the lightning 
 of the storm will avoid poor harmless fools like me and 
 Mr. Anthony and Miss Rachel (whose pardon I humbly 
 beg for mentioning myself with her) and choose out 
 Winifred Perran and burn her to a cinder like the wrath 
 of God." 
 
 He spoke with energy and such strange bitterness that 
 the others drew back from him. 
 
 " Steve, 'tis blasphemy to speak like that and little like 
 you. What have you against her ? " 
 
 Then the sea to the south moaned and a blast of wind 
 roared over the sea, the fore-runner of the storm. 
 
 " I have against her what I have against her," said 
 Steve. 
 
 But in his heart he knew that why he hated her was 
 because she hated Rachel. 
 
 "And if I hate her, I, whose charity towards myself 
 and others is as capacious as thirst itself, it stands to 
 reason I have a reason," he cried with laughter which 
 was bitterer than any tears. "But what does it matter? 
 These things are in the hand of God, and all we can do is 
 nothing. To handle such a soul as God has put into 
 Anthony Perran is to try to forge steel with one's hot 
 breath. And as for other souls I can think of to-night — 
 oh, 'tis to think of the storm that's coming over the sea 
 this very hour." 
 
 He left the men in a knot by the boats and went into 
 the darkness under the cliflf. 
 
 " I've daughters doing well and sometimes thinking of 
 me sadly," he said with lamentation, " and if one of them 
 died 'twould set me going with an excuse for begging 
 drink and with a pot or two I'd be cheered up and the 
 men would be laughing when I said things. But what's 
 
i66 RACHEL MARR 
 
 my daughters to me in their comfort with their good men 
 and their little minds to Rachel Marr whose mother I 
 knew and the father of her mother? I'm broken and 
 worthless, and with nothing but a mind that sees too far 
 to do aught, but if I were the King I'd throw my crown 
 into the sea to make Miss Rachel happy. Why is it? 
 why is it ? " 
 
 And as he spoke another bitter squall roared over the 
 cliffs and the sound of it was like deep organic music, and 
 the sea awoke and with it the land. And all living things 
 prayed for rain; the dry earth gaped. 
 
 " Give me to drink, O God ! " said Steve ; " give me to 
 drink, and give the earth to drink. And give this dear 
 child whom I love so, what she desires, even though it be 
 death, or that which goes before it." 
 
 He knelt upon the rock that Rachel had so often used 
 at midnight, and prayed with passion to the very spirit 
 of the storm. 
 
 And even while he prayed Rachel herself with her dog 
 passed unseen behind him, and went out to the great 
 headland that fronted the rising gale. 
 
 II 
 
 Since Rachel and Anthony had spoken to each other in 
 the midnight heart of her wood two months had passed, 
 and for her they had the length of unnumbered years. 
 During all that time any speech that they held together 
 was as nought, as a dead leaf to a live tree. Although 
 they spoke there was enduring silence between them. If 
 agony that underlay words could speak it spoke in An- 
 thony, and Rachel answered nothing, for she kept her 
 heart secret in her own anguish. For within her was the 
 biting fire of shame conscious-unconscious and yet living, 
 which drove outward and scorched her very flesh. 
 
 Always and forever she remembered the strange delight 
 and passion of the dream from which he had awakened 
 her. But such delight was agony, enduring, and implac- 
 able. She recalled the sweet ghosts of those that were 
 
RACHEL MARR 167 
 
 at once spirit and flesh, and the bodily pledge of the 
 bountiful grace of God, with such shade as sudden and 
 mad shamelessness might bring to a virgin soul. This 
 was the point, the rankling arrow-head of dishonour, that 
 she had given herself in her dream to the spirit of him 
 who loved and yet repulsed her. That he loved her she 
 knew, it was bitten deep into her, engraved upon her 
 heart; every instinct swore to it and brought deep cor- 
 roboration. But that in the intense hour of silence, in 
 the wood's warm heart, and on its moon-litten verge, she 
 had offered her pure body once again, she hardly knew. 
 All that she had done as she stood before him then might 
 be capable of swift explanation; she had indeed done 
 nothing; what acted and what spoke was the very fra- 
 grance of an instinct that had only wakened when she 
 slept. But when he turned and ran instead of kneeling, 
 as he might have done, to show in what anguish of spirit 
 he renounced her, then her soul was living shame. Her 
 dream and waking were one. It seemed as if he had 
 taken her, made her his, and had then failed in every duty 
 save his word to a creature of a day alien from the moon- 
 light in which she stood shaking. And even if he failed 
 to such a woman what was that to one great-hearted? 
 How could it be anything to the true passion of a true 
 man? 
 
 In this hour of her rejection the motions of her mind, 
 continued from the happy ecstacy of her vision, had been 
 such that she forgot all things but herself and him. His 
 religion and hers were as nothing; she never knew that 
 the crucifix that fell from her warm bosom was the last 
 word of fate for him as true instinct fought with false in 
 his natural unnatural heart. On seeing it he fled to 
 his own Calvary and crucified his soul and body, while 
 she stood in shamed solitude, dry-lipped, aghast, 
 unweeping. 
 
 The dark wood, both by day and night, became for a 
 time abhorrent to her, and this bitter destruction of her 
 love for it was a loss that reacted upon her in a thousand 
 ways. It was alive ; she loved live things the less ; it was 
 a haunt of sweet magic; it became the haunt of evil 
 
I68 RACHEL MARR 
 
 thought ; it was the scene of her own growth ; it showed 
 her that she had no sweet growth within her. She de- 
 serted its warm and wonderful precincts for the verge 
 of the barren and tremendous sea. 
 
 And as she quitted the woods and green pastures and 
 the lanes, and wandered no more for a time on the 
 ploughed and fruitful uplands, her soul was less tender. 
 She deserted the sweet humanity within her, and was less 
 gracious, less beautiful even to those she loved. Thus it 
 was that Morna village knew she suffered, even before 
 pale triumphing Winifred set it about with joy that the 
 girl burnt with a hopeless passion for a man who did not 
 love her. 
 
 But no one told her this. The one who suffered for it 
 was Martha. 
 
 " Oh, the pale devil," said the old woman ; " to say such 
 things of my girl! 'May God requite her, and burn up 
 her heart, if heart she has, and make her body barren and 
 her bosom wither and the fruit of her body death ! " 
 
 She cursed her in her prayers, since she knew that what 
 Winnie said was not false. For Rachel was no longer a 
 girl, but a woman, and looked years beyond her age, and 
 her eyes were like deep pools hidden in the depths of 
 anguished woods ; and her words were few and she Uved 
 within herself. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis her mother again," said Martha, " and every 
 day she's liker Mary, my own dear dead Mary." 
 
 She rocked herself to and fro in despair that looked 
 forward to despair even darker yet. For she understood 
 Rachel better than Rachel did, since she had clues to the 
 girl's nature that none held but herself and the priest at 
 Caerhays. And him Rachel avoided, confessing only 
 once in three months and being then so fierce and sullen 
 that Father Brant feared to press her for any truth. The 
 old man prayed for her, and wrestled with the blind and 
 deaf heavens for her soul. There were those about her 
 who perceived she had a destiny beyond the common fate 
 of the children of man. And yet all she knew was that 
 she suffered and was shamed. For these were months of 
 drought in the land and there was drought in her heart, 
 
RACHEL MARR 169 
 
 and it is only when rain falls or tears come at last that 
 the soul of living things is aware of the death that walked 
 by day and night. 
 
 She desired love with an immortal passion and sat by 
 the barren sea. 
 
 And now at last the fierce and royal summer yielded up 
 its crown to death and died in storm, and the land was 
 beaten and the cliffs shook, and the rain fell with a roar 
 that half-quelled the thunder of the wind. And that night 
 Rachel and her dog Sigurd spent in a hollow cave of the 
 high cliff beneath Pentowan Headland. Though Sigurd 
 trembled to hear the turmoil of the driven sea, the passion 
 of the elements brought something to his mistress that 
 was liker peace than aught she had known since the 
 dreamrnight of her deserted pinewoods. 
 
 Yet amid all the thunder and the shouting of the cap- 
 tains of the tempest in the battle and the anguish of the 
 land and sea, there was this thought that was the burden 
 of its music — 
 
 " To-morrow — to-morrow I shall have lost him for 
 ever ! " 
 
 These words she never spoke, and yet she heard them 
 plainly. The roar of the wind as it beat against the cliff 
 and shot howling upwards was like a mere background 
 of silence for the words that her brain spoke. Even as 
 she stared out into the smother of the seas, being in such 
 a hollow spot that the wind pressure made a calm about 
 her, and beheld the pale racing foam like ten thousand 
 deaths upon ten thousand pale horses of the sea, she heard 
 her own words still repeated. 
 
 " To-morrow — and for ever ! " 
 
 The stress that lay upon her was such that the storm 
 gave her broken peace, even before it reached its clam- 
 orous height. The shriek of the wind and the boom of 
 the driven tumbling seas beneath her feet, while some pale 
 ghosts of sea birds screamed like banshees on the wailing 
 blast, dragged her out of herself before midnight. She 
 hugged warm Sigurd to her heart, for he was but a beast 
 and the tempest shook him so that he whined in fear and 
 begged her to go home. To the good dog this was 
 
170 RACHEL MARR 
 
 strangest folly, and it was indeed Sigurd's dog-like fear 
 of the elements and the white blind pit of rage beneath 
 him that sent her homeward soon after midnight. Her 
 contracted heart and sympathy centred upon Sigurd in 
 that hour. H she had loved him less what was left? And 
 yet loving the poor dog, who sat trembling at her feet in 
 the cave and sometimes howled at the hostile pack of the 
 hunting winds, saved her and brought her back to hu- 
 manity. She knelt beside him and rubbed his ears and 
 kissed him, and said : 
 
 " He gave you to me, Sigurd — God make him happy ! "' 
 
 And yet she knew, knew in her soul, in the deep sanc- 
 tuary of her abiding love, and in those whispering places 
 of the secret heart of man where instincts move, that 
 neither God, nor man, nor woman, nor any human 
 nepenthe should give him any peace. 
 
 " God give him " 
 
 What God would not ! 
 
 The storm that raged that night upon those iron coasts 
 beat great ships to flinders upon anvils, and hammered 
 iron ships to pieces, and drowned a thousand who go 
 down to the sea in ships. But none that went down into 
 raging waters and yet escaped came out of so great a 
 storm as she who sat by the white pit of the passions that 
 were her inheritance, and yet prayed to God, praying in 
 her prayer that she might yet believe in Him, and that the 
 man she loved might be His care for ever. 
 
 It was long past midnight when she reached home with 
 Sigurd, who led the way for her over the open headland. 
 For now the centre of the storm had passed inland to the 
 north-east, and the wind came roaring with rain from the 
 north-west, and in it she was blind. But she knew that 
 this was now Anthony's wedding day, and in her mind 
 she saw his face. And he smiled upon her as though he 
 would smile no more. 
 
 And Rachel found Martha sitting in the shaking house 
 waiting for her. But the old woman did not reproach her 
 for her folly in staying out in the storm. She helped her 
 to undress in silence and took away her soaked garments, 
 kissing her when she went. 
 
RACHEL MARR 171 
 
 " Do you think I'm mad ? " said Rachel as she lay back 
 upon her pillow ; " do you think I'm mad to have been 
 out on such a night ? " 
 
 And the rain and wind beat upon the house, and tears 
 rained from Martha's eyes. She stood by the door and 
 answered with a strange fierceness which was joy of 
 remembered passion: 
 
 " Oh, I've spent a night upon the cliffs myself, Rachel, 
 and I've been mad, too, little as you may think it ! " 
 
 Perhaps it might be that all women had their passion in 
 the garden of barren desire. 
 
 " Oh, and she is old," said Rachel, staring at the door 
 which closed and left her in darkness. " What has she 
 suffered ? I don't believe in a God ; I don't ! " 
 
 And then she flung herself from her bed upon the floor 
 and prayed to the God she did not believe in. And after- 
 wards she slept for an hour, and then lay very quietly 
 waiting for the dawn. The storm still howled, though its 
 great strength was overpast. But still the rain was a 
 flood. 
 
 And the dawn came out of the east like a little starved 
 child. 
 
 Ill 
 
 That wedding-day was a great triumph for two folks in 
 Morna, though it was the palest that lived its sad life in a 
 few grey hours. Flame-eyed Winnie was not now so pale 
 of fire, but took a sparkle into her, and colour grew upon 
 her cheeks and with it energy. To be wedded to Anthony 
 Perran, the finest-looking man that rode between the hills 
 and the sea, one who could deal with all men strongly and 
 make the worst farm in the country yield reluctant corn 
 and gold, was the chief end of her desire. But though 
 her desire was on the man she kissed, finding a wicked 
 pleasure in his concealed reluctance, her hate was on 
 Rachel, and to triumph over her was delightful, sapid, 
 lasting. Her intuitions were not at fault; she knew that 
 Rachel's and Anthony's souls were one twined passion. 
 
172 RACHEL MARR 
 
 This she read in Anthony's set face that he governed as he 
 governed his bleeding heart, but could not wholly subdue. 
 She played on him with an itching hatred that, yoked with 
 her desire of him, ploughed his very heart. It ploughed 
 her own too, for under her triumph lay failure. She 
 would have his name and not his heart ; his hand but not 
 his passion, nor any true sweet thought of his. Some- 
 times that hurt her; she desired everything. To have 
 him under her hand so that she could torture him, and 
 please him and make him shout with natural laughter 
 and joy would have given her something of what she 
 wanted. And yet it would have lacked the intenser 
 savour of her chief passion, which was to make things 
 suffer, or to have the power to make them suffer. She 
 was vain, weak, revengeful, cruel, and of a truth loved 
 nothing so well as her old father, who this day triumphed 
 with her and yet hated her. 
 
 The night that was her wedding-eve, the night of the 
 fierce gale, old George Perran spent in a wicked roar- 
 ing debauch, to which he invited Winnie with ugly 
 chuckles. 
 
 " Come and drink a little, my timid, quaking bride," 
 said Silenus ; " drink and keep up your chaste and timid 
 heart, my duck. What will you drink — shall it be rum or 
 brandy, or what the poets call nepenthe, to make you 
 forget things ? Ho, ho, but we don't forget ! " 
 
 He sat in his big chair with his legs stretched out upon 
 a stool. By his side was a whiskey bottle ; on the hearth 
 a kettle; in his heart inextinguishable laughter. But 
 Winnie sat with him and raged. 
 
 " What do you mean, father ? No, I'll not drink." 
 
 " Oh, the little pretty," said Silenus ; " and won't it 
 drink with its old dad that I know it loves? Well, 
 human nature is the strangest blend of devil's brew that 
 God ever bottled, and 'tis different from other liquors, for 
 the older it gets the worse it is. And as for me, I had a 
 notion to spend this night drinking to your old flames 
 that you never told me of, Winnie. Why, what a sweet, 
 deceitful cat you are, and your eyes are like a cat's, my 
 child, and have you claws too ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 173 
 
 "Oh, yes, I've claws too," said Winnie. She thought 
 of Rachel and smiled. 
 
 "Let's drink to the bridegroom's brother," said her 
 father ; " let's drink to John Perran, who is the bonniest 
 boy with the girls who ever climbed orchard walls or 
 whistled up to windows. Will you drink to him ? " 
 
 And Winnie looked at him like a devil. 
 
 " No, I won't," she said fiercely. 
 
 " Then I will for you," said Silenus, " oh, but 'tis a 
 strange game this being alive. And loving is even 
 stranger, and though I was a sad dog in my youth, 
 Johnny is the equal of what I was, and I will drink to 
 you, Johnny, my boy, and to moonlight and the girls, and 
 to Winnie who marries your sad brother in the morning ! " 
 
 He drank and lay back and shouted with laughter. 
 
 " Ha, ha, for my girl Winnie to marry Anthony ! 'Tis 
 within the degrees, my girl, within the prohibitions of 
 the law ! " 
 
 Winnie clutched at a glass and poured herself out some 
 spirit. 
 
 "You're a liar, father, and you know it," she said 
 savagely. 
 
 And George Perran rolled in his chair. 
 
 " Here's my daughter calls me a liar, and yet what 
 I do know! Winnie, my duckling and green peas, my 
 youthful innocence, sweet candour clad in white, don't 
 forget that if you've enemies that there's one Steve Pen- 
 rose is very wise about you. I know that." 
 
 But so did Winnie. 
 
 " He loves Rachel and hates you," said Perran. " It's 
 a sad habit that of drinking early and sleeping out in fern 
 on Pentowan Headland. For there's this in getting drunk 
 early as Steve does, that a man wakes up early and gets 
 up all athirst and may spy white rabbits in the fern. 
 Look out for Steve, my dear, dear daughter, my pet 
 rabbit, look out." 
 
 " If he says aught against me I'll kill him," cried 
 Winnie. But she winced all the same at fresh truth. 
 
 " 'Tis forbidden by the law for a woman to kill anyone 
 but her husband," said Silenus; "but that's permitted 
 
174 RACHEL MARR 
 
 under the rose lest worse may befall. So go to bed, my 
 sweet, and may you have such dreams as befit the occa- 
 sion, and I'll stay here and consider how I'm going to get 
 on all alone in future in the matter of drink. Good-night, 
 my sweet poppet, good-night." 
 
 And Winnie went to bed ere the storm outside had 
 reached its height, and her wicked old father, who had the 
 strength of ten and no virtue but an astounding and 
 universal charity become a vice, sat drinking and talking 
 to himself for hours. 
 
 " Well, well," said the old man as he wallowed in his 
 liquor, " well, well, but it's a queer world and we're a sad 
 lot and half the Perrans are as bad as they can be and half 
 are fools. If I hadn't taken to drink I might have worked 
 too hard at foolishness to see that nought matters, and if 
 Winnie has her way she'll die by-and-by, and so shall we 
 all. 'Tis all one, 'tis all one. When she's gone I'll have 
 old Steve Penrose up here to drink with me. He loved 
 Johnny and so do I, and Steve has a philosophic mind, 
 and we'll drink and have a free discussion as to why we 
 worry to be good or bad. Here's to the bride and bride- 
 groom, and the wedding I shan't attend, and long life to 
 everyone, especially to myself. And here's to the storm 
 outside that only" fools are out in." 
 
 He staggered up to bed at three and stood outside 
 Winnie's bedroom, laughing silently. 
 
 " I'm damn glad to be rid of her," said old Perran ; 
 " she's no child of my wife's, and yet she bore her. She's 
 all mine own, and to get rid of her is to get rid of that 
 which will do no man any good. Oh, but she's a sly and 
 wicked piece, and I wish that poor devil joy of her! " 
 
 He knew Anthony could have married Rachel. 
 
 "Oh, but that's a woman," said Perran, "that's a 
 woman. God bless the poor girl. I could have loved 
 Rachel, so I could." 
 
 He wiped away a drunken tear and rolled to his room. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine wedding-morning," said the father of the 
 bride. " Who's for wedding white rabbits of the 
 bracken ? " 
 
RACHEL MARK 175 
 
 IV 
 
 When the grey morning broke and the starved light of 
 day crept out of the east, the wind which had destroyed 
 the summer died down and the rain renewed itself in 
 flood. Every fold of the hills held a raging torrent; 
 brown streams spread fans of turbid water in the grey 
 green sea of storm; the roads themselves were water- 
 courses and the uplands expanses of mud that steamed. 
 In low Morna many houses were flooded, for the big 
 stream of the little valley spread itself at high water far 
 across the flats and grey geese cried in triumph under the 
 very verge of the woods. And still though the winds 
 ceased, or only moaned in flying squalls, the rain de- 
 scended and beat upon the world so that the drinking 
 grass was made bare of soil, and some trees that the gale 
 had spared had their foundations sucked from under 
 them, and tumbled headlong. But after the hot summer 
 and the drought which had burnt the very earth, and 
 made strong trees bow their weary branches, the gift of 
 water was so fair and fine a thing that every heart in the 
 country rejoiced and the gaped earth grew fat again. 
 For here was the very promise of the next spring of the 
 year, and the ploughmen cleaned the shares of their 
 ploughs and many forges were heated to point and temper 
 them. For this was the true seed-time, since it made 
 seed-time certain and the hearts of men of the soil happy 
 in their work, which prepared for the fruit of the earth. 
 For when the rain falls upon the land this is the marriage 
 of heaven and earth for the service of man, who is himself 
 the child of rain and the thirsty soil. 
 
 And this was the marriage day of Anthony Perran and 
 Winifred his cousin, who in marrying him changed 
 neither her name nor her nature. There was a smile upon 
 her face as she woke and saw the day, but there was none 
 upon Anthony's, for he did not wake. He sat in darkness 
 the whole night through, and the only pleasure that 
 touched his heart was the great sound of the rain which 
 was good. For he had pity of the burnt fields and the 
 
176 RACHEL MAKK 
 
 thin beasts, and the breaking of the season eased his heart 
 3, Httle even when no ease came nigh him. For there were 
 pow hours or swift moments when he doubted God, and 
 saw things with such eyes as Rachel saw them. And 
 then he said again that evil was evil, and yet he knew not 
 which was good or evil now that a duty stood before him 
 and his pledged word drew him on reluctantly to do a 
 thing that his gorge rose against. 
 
 For he perceived that he loved Rachel Marr with an 
 exceeding love, and his lips ached for her, and his dream- 
 ing hands clutched her dreaming, and the very muscles 
 of his strong arms said to him, " Where is our beloved ? " 
 And he felt even as Cain might have felt when God spoke 
 to him concerning Abel ; for here Cain was his fierce 
 soul's pride and Abel was the dear nature within him that 
 was more pleasing to heaven than any creed. 
 
 And these things showed themselves to him as he sat in 
 darkness. But his nature he struck down at the altar, and 
 he said that this murder was pleasing to God. So he 
 sought to bury his slain heart, and to hide it so that none 
 should see it. He prayed much and found no answer, 
 and therefore clung to the conditions of life that he had 
 set up in the desert. And he mourned all the time and 
 rebelled in his pride. For he saw Rachel, deep to her 
 neck in translucent water, and he heard her voice. He 
 saw her sleeping, in the heart of her fragrant wood, fra- 
 grance within fragrance. He beheld her in the margin 
 of the wood over against her own white house, and saw 
 her lifted arms and her bosom, and his heart stirred in 
 his breast like a child crying for its fellow. And these 
 things he said were the promptings of the flesh and the 
 devil as plain as that the crucifix blessed again by the 
 dear contact of her flesh was the sign of Rome. And 
 Rome was a Babylon, and there was an equal sister of 
 Babylon to be taken to his heart this day. 
 
 " If it might be that this cup should pass from my 
 lips: O God " 
 
 There are many gardens in Gethsemane and many 
 agonies. 
 
 In this deep passion of his that divided him he found 
 
RACHEL MAKK 177 
 
 his mind speaking clear and cold, proffering wise and 
 vain advice. For in anguish there is always such a cup 
 of water offered, though man can seldom drink. He 
 heard his brain declare the nature of his bride and her 
 true wickedness which his own lips could have told him, 
 and he saw how she hated Rachel rather than loved him, 
 and he knew he would loathe her. For though she wor- 
 shipped with her lips within the same walls as himself, 
 he knew her heart was barren, and her soul was barren, 
 and if it might only be that her body was barren too it 
 would be a thing to thank God for. And yet within some 
 swift hours they would be within four prison walls, and 
 she would make him say he loved her. 
 
 " If it might be that this cup " 
 
 The cup of shame was offered to Rachel : that he knew. 
 For he had loved her and now adored her, and he per- 
 ceived her love for him was something mighty and ter- 
 rible, and his heart told him that there was no such thing 
 as solitary love, but that love was the molten passion of 
 two, and that years ago in his own heart he had spoken 
 to hers, saying, " Oh, heart of gold, I love you." In 
 wild self-accusation he said that he had created his very 
 love that he would not satisfy. And now the dawn came, 
 the little starved child of the east, and he was cold. He 
 set his mind to think upon the rain and the ploughing of 
 the uplands and on the salt grasses of the meadows and 
 the gifts of God to man, and his face was like the set face 
 of death as he thanked God. And at last he rose and 
 looked out of his window and he called out aloud to his 
 own heart " Fool," and again " Fool." And therewith 
 he set about preparing for his wedding and the keeping 
 of his word to the devil of pride and self and the breaking 
 of it to God and nature and Rachel, the finest creature 
 of breathing nature that breathed that hour. 
 
 And no man or woman in his house knew that he was 
 anything but grave. For there was this in Anthony, that 
 he held to a pride of self-control that had never been 
 broken. It was his pride, and yet he gave the control of 
 himself to one instinct only, and destroying the rest if 
 they could be destroyed, he yet called himself a man. 
 
178 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And that day there was no man so good to look upon in 
 Morna or all the country round as Anthony Perran. But 
 when he came to the chapel on the winding road between 
 the village and the Church Town on the upland there 
 were eyes upon him that saw deeply. For word had gone 
 round about him, and a sense of great tragedy settled 
 down upon those who saw him, though now he smiled 
 greeting them all. 
 
 But still the rain fell in floods, and the roads were so 
 difficult that few came to the wedding save some cousins 
 of the bride and bridegroom. And Rachel did not come, 
 though Winnie had sent her a smiling invitation. For 
 Winnie knew that whether the girl came or not, here was 
 occasion for triumph and Rachel's hurt, and she said to 
 Anthony very smoothly that she hoped to see her, even 
 though they had sometimes quarrelled. But Anthony 
 said nothing to Winnie, and all he said to Rachel a week 
 before the wedding was " do not come." For they spoke 
 little, not even with their eyes ; they could not face each 
 other, for there was great shame in their hearts. 
 
 In such a day of rain there was much idleness save 
 among those whose houses were flooded, so it happened 
 that the fishermen and all the idle ploughmen strayed to 
 the chapel. The fishermen stood in their oilskins and 
 sou'westers and glistered in the downpour, and three big 
 ploughmen were there with heavy sacks upon their 
 shoulders, and with them was Timothy Cragoe, who had 
 come down with his axe to cut up trees that the storm had 
 rooted from the soil. He bore the axe upon his shoulder 
 and looked happy, for Susy Cragoe stayed a deal in the 
 house just then, and was wondering what she should call 
 her child when it was born. With him stood old Steve 
 Penrose, for he seemed to foresee beer in the matter, even 
 if his heart was sore that day. He looked at Anthony 
 Perran very hard and saw deep, and Anthony stared past 
 and over him, and nodded to two or three girls of the 
 village who had ventured there through all the downpour 
 and stood with their skirts above their heads. With them 
 was the old grey woman who had rebuked Try- 
 phena Burt and made her weep. Being old and fond of 
 
RACHEL MARR 179 
 
 Rachel she saw as much as Steve and her heart was 
 * sore. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine man," said Timothy ; " a fine cut of a man. 
 He should be able to swing the axe." 
 
 " There's no such man with horses hereabouts," cried a 
 ploughman. 
 
 " Then he's no judge of mares," muttered Steve. 
 
 " Oh, but he's a pale, sad lover," said a girl. 
 
 " 'Tis nervousness, Carry." 
 
 " They say a man has no need to be nervous with Miss 
 Perran," Carry tittered. And the girls put their heads 
 together giggling. 
 
 "Here she comes." 
 
 And Winnie came driving with her cousins. 
 
 " Oh, but she's jaunty," said Steve, " and has more 
 colour. Faugh ! the thing of moonlight ! " 
 
 " How did she catch him, girls, when our Miss Rachel 
 walks about Morna ? " 
 
 " 'Twas witchcraft likely ; some spell." 
 
 " Craft of the body," said the old grey woman. 
 
 " There's a witch in every woman," cried an old man 
 by her. " Oh, 'tis so. I mind years agone " 
 
 " She's proud of him. Look ! 'Tis a take in a net ; 
 he might be a boat-load of pilchards and she's a fisher- 
 man. He's her catch." 
 
 " Not her first, by one at least," said Steve to himself. 
 "Oh, the day!" 
 
 " What's Steve muttering? " asked the girls. " 'Tis a 
 pity he won't speak out. He says half-things that makes 
 one swear." 
 
 Steve growled. 
 
 " One thing I'll tell you. Her father'U be glad to get 
 shut of her. Oh, he'll be drunk this day ! " 
 
 He went apart. 
 
 " If Johnny Perran had been here he'd have never let 
 this happen. He's a devil, but a man, and I've no courage 
 but when I'm drunk, and then I've no legs. Who's got 
 everything in this world ? " 
 
 With such a chorus Anthony married his cousin, and 
 came out in the day again with Winnie triumphant. But 
 
i8o RACHEL MARR 
 
 even she felt the strange heart that was in her husband 
 and there was poison in the cup. 
 
 " I didn't see Rachel, did you, darling ? " she asked, 
 and waited for an answer. 
 
 " No," said Anthony. 
 
 " Poor girl, I'm sorry for her." 
 
 She felt his arm quiver. If she drank poison other lips 
 should drink it. 
 
 They saw Rachel after all, since she had courage and 
 pride beyond the common heritage. Go to the wedding 
 she would not, since she knew Winnie's cruel heart; but 
 to avoid them utterly was to give her equal pleasure, so 
 she went out and waited at the top of the hill by which 
 they must pass to go back to her father's house. Old 
 Steve had seen her standing and went up the hill to her, 
 staying a little distance from her. The poor old unven- 
 erable wreck was wet and cold, but for her his heart was 
 warm. 
 
 " She's steel and fire and flesh and blood. She's all 
 pure gold and a princess," said Steve. " 'Tis a woman 
 now and a woman in ten thousand, and if I could be born 
 again and love such a creature with the warm heart of 
 my youth, I'd be a man all my days. There's no such 
 heart in all England as hers, and her body's as fair as life. 
 I could kiss her feet." 
 
 They heard a feeble, half-hearted cheer at the chapel, 
 and they saw the carriage coming slowly up the gutted 
 and stony road. Rachel moved forward to the edge of the 
 high bank and Steve, red-eyed but with hot intent in him, 
 got down into the road. He looked up at Rachel and saw 
 she kept her colour. 
 
 " What a brave lass 1 And she loves him as fire loves 
 the wind." 
 
 And Winnie smiled at Rachel, but Rachel never looked 
 at her at all. There might have been no one in the car- 
 riage but the man. 
 
 " God bless you, Anthony," she cried out with sudden 
 fervour born of a moment's self-abnegation that left her 
 soft. " God bless you ! " 
 
 He was very calm now. For all things were over, he 
 
RACHEL MARR i8i 
 
 said, and this was the end. Nature lay dead within him, 
 and the struggle had finished. 
 
 " God, be merciful to me now ! " his soul cried ; " for 
 this is the burnt offering of my red heart." 
 
 Together with his own he offered Rachel's heart to 
 God. But as he prayed his eye took hers and she held 
 him for a moment. There was agony within him, and she 
 saw it, and she triumphed in the very moment of her 
 defeat, and something sang within her, so that her face 
 softened and the grandeur of her great heart showed 
 itself, and she was almost something more than human. 
 
 But Winnie's face was like the face of death, even as 
 she smiled. For she understood that if the man was hers, 
 it was as a body of death. And she heard Steve run 
 alongside the carriage and turned her head to him. 
 
 Then Steve spoke to the bride in a low voice. And 
 Winnie went even whiter still, so that she was once more 
 " Whey-face," and she struck him on the mouth with the 
 back of her hand. His mouth bled, but he stood with a 
 taunt upon his face and they went away. 
 
 And Rachel, who did not understand, stood there for a 
 long while looking down on Steve. 
 
 " Steve, Steve, what did you say ? " 
 
 " I told the beast some truth," said Steve, " but who'd 
 have thought she had so heavy a hand ? " 
 
 He spat blood upon the road and laughed. 
 
 " But I fetched blood, too. Miss Rachel. I said, ' Take 
 him, you thing, but you can't keep him.' And I said 
 something else. Oh, she's a bonny bride, and there's 
 white fear will bed with her this nig|it." 
 ^^ And as Rachel went back to Morna House she heard 
 " but you can't keep him, you can't keep him " ringing 
 in her ears. But why the words stayed with her she did 
 not know, nor could she tell what was in the mind of him 
 who spake them. 
 
l82 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Martha had seen Rachel get ready to go out through the 
 pouring rain to the chapel, and had mourned in her heart, 
 being sore with thinking about the girl and her mother. 
 
 " Rain, rain ! " she said bitterly, as she looked out upon 
 the low grey sky ; " there's tears coming for all of us but 
 Rachel, and she's like her mother that never cried but 
 when she was happy and it was seldom God's will she 
 should be. And my girl, the darling, loves that fool 
 that's marrying this hour to a bundle of evil, if ever evil 
 hid beneath petticoats. Oh, 'tis the very choice of evil, 
 while my dear walks alone that's sweet and good. She's 
 great and fine." 
 
 She went about her work in bitterness, for she was in 
 a boding hour, and there was no help for man or woman 
 in strength or effort or in God. She had prayed to An- 
 thony not to make Rachel love him, and by then the harm 
 was done. 
 
 " And now I know," said Martha to herself, " that 
 what's in her heart will never be torn out of it, and though 
 she's yet a child in years and barely twenty, there's a 
 woman's heart in her, and her mother's heart; and I've 
 a bonny, bonny time before me ! " 
 
 But when Rachel came in by the back way and hung 
 her cloak in the stone passage that led to the dairy, 
 Martha put on a cloak of cheerfulness. 
 
 " Did you see 'em, dear ? " 
 
 Rachel eyed her calmly, but was in a dream. 
 
 " I saw them." 
 
 " The sun didn't shine on them, Rachel." 
 
 " It doesn't always shine." 
 
 Martha nodded. 
 
 " If the old saying was true there'd be little happiness 
 in marriage in this country. But the sun shall shine for 
 you, darling. Oh, if I could only see you married, 
 Rachel, then would I say ' Now lettest Thou me.' " 
 
 There were tears in Martha's eyes and voice, but none 
 in Rachel's. 
 
RACHEL MARR 183 
 
 " I don't suppose I shall ever marry," said Rachel, and 
 she went into the house. 
 
 " And I was nearly saying that if she had a child ! " 
 said Martha, throwing up her hands, " and I knowing 
 that her heart's set on children. Oh, but I'm a fool, a 
 fool, and any woman's a fool, and what is there in one 
 man or another that our hearts should ache for blue eyes 
 or brown ? God help us all ; but He never helped Rachel's 
 mother." 
 
 And by this time it appeared to Rachel that she neither 
 needed nor desired God's help. For she was in a cold 
 mood, which seemed final and self-sufficing, and in it her 
 desires were bloodless, and her thoughts moved slow. 
 She stood by the window in the old parlour, and stared 
 out upon the steaming valley across which lay Pentowan 
 Farm, and yet her eyes never told her heart that that was 
 the home of her heart. She moved at last and found her- 
 self dusting the old room mechanically, just for some- 
 thing to do, and she went very slowly, often stopping, as 
 it seemed, to think, but when she asked herself what she 
 had been thinking she did not know. She was aware that' 
 Winnie was Anthony's wife, and that Anthony did not 
 love the woman he had wedded. 
 
 " He loves me," said Rachel. " I wonder why he did 
 not want to marry me." But even this question did not 
 stir her stricken emotions. To-day and to-morrow were 
 like an empty nest, cast down by winds. Her tmotions 
 were numbed and frozen. 
 
 " I suppose it was my religion," she said. And then a 
 spark came into her quietly burning eye. " My religion 
 — oh, as if that mattered. I would have changed it if he 
 asked me." 
 
 That was what one part of her mind said, and yet with 
 her tongue she prayed very coldly to the Holy Virgin, 
 and said familiar words which trickled from her memory 
 as if something was broken in her. 
 
 " Yes, I would have changed it ; quite easily." 
 
 She sat down in the window seat and took from her 
 
 bosom the old ivory crucifix which had drunk her 
 
 , mother's blood, and she drew out its fine steel blade, read- 
 
i84 RACHEL MARK 
 
 ing once more, " Non venio pacem mittere sed gladium.'' 
 She fell into a reverie. 
 
 " That's what Christ said. There's a sword between 
 him and me now, between me and Anthony. And my 
 heart is dead to-day, and they say I'm young. I'm not 
 young. I wish I could think of anything else. ' I come 
 not to bring peace but a sword.' I don't love anything; 
 not Anthony, or Martha, or Mary, or her boy. I've not 
 spoken to him for days. Oh, I am cut oflE." 
 
 She put back the blade and hid the crucifix once more 
 in her bosom. 
 
 " I do not love God," she said, and that which would 
 have seemed a blasphemy yesterday made her smile. 
 " There are so many who do not believe there is a God. 
 They say Steve doesn't now, and grandfather didn't 
 either. I've not been in his room since mother died." 
 
 She left the parlour and went to the door of the room 
 in which old Tregilgas used to sit and smoke and read 
 and rage and laugh. Steve had often spoken to her of 
 him. She tried the door and found it locked as usual, 
 and called to Mary for the key. 
 
 " 'Tis in a fine muck surely, my darling," cried Martha, 
 who heard her, " and you'll get as black as coal in it. 
 Shall we have it cleaned ? Your mother would never let 
 me touch it; she said things, sad things, of old Mr. 
 Tregilgas, though he was a fine man too, and loved her." 
 
 " Never mind about cleaning it," said Rachel. And 
 then Mary brought the key and opened the door. 
 
 " Your mother always dreaded the books," said Martha, 
 who peered in at the door as if she expected to see the 
 ghost of old Tregilgas, or the devil himself. " They say 
 it was the books which made your grandfather an atheist 
 and full of high arguments which made believers tremble. 
 I remember your mother as a girl, before she took to 
 another religion than that she was brought up in, used 
 to laugh about the ministers who came to convert him, 
 for she said Mr. Tregilgas used to end up with, ' 'Tis you 
 are the atheist, sir ; get out of my house.' Ah, there was 
 much talk about your grandfather when I was a girl ! " 
 
 She turned to Mary. 
 
RACHEL MARR 185 
 
 " Don't stand there as if the devil hid in a cobweb, 
 Mary. Get a wet duster and do something." 
 
 But Rachel shook her head and shut the door upon 
 them, and Martha looked at Mary sadly, until it seemed 
 to her that Mary dared to understand something of 
 Rachel's heart, and then the old woman raged at her. 
 
 " Go on, girl, go on and do things. Isn't there aught 
 to be done in rainy weather, or do you hold the creed of 
 the lazy, ' More rain more rest ' ? There's mud in the 
 house, and shall I always do the cooking? If there's any 
 hell for cooks 'twill be a kitchen, and I'm getting old and 
 hate fires. And there's that Johnny of yours howling in 
 some mischief. In mischief you found him and in mis- 
 chief you'll lose him, if I see truly." 
 
 And Rachel sat down upon an old chair over-spun with 
 webs, and for the first time in her life was face to face 
 with other things than nature, the wind, and rain, and 
 storm and sunlight. For something in her heart and in 
 her blood, which was the same stream that ran through 
 the great heart of the old man who was father to her 
 mother, made her desire to disbelieve in the things she 
 had always held as sacred. 
 
 " Why should I love God ? " she asked. Anthony was 
 with his wife. She pressed a hard crucifix against her 
 bosom. Her own nature seemed abhorrent to her, and 
 there was no help in the music of the rain on drinking 
 grass and leaves, or in the wild song of the wind chorus, 
 or in the passion of sunlight in ancient woods. Here in 
 these books was solace, so she had heard; men in grief 
 came to them and straightway their folly was wisdom, 
 and the voices of the dead reassured them and gave them 
 consolation and odorous spices out of holy graves. She 
 looked upon the books with her eyes, and with the eyes 
 of her heart read the gospel of the living and dead fl^gh. 
 
 The room in which she sat was square and lofty; 
 shelves hid the walls on three sides of it, and on the books 
 was the dust of years. She saw scared spiders run from 
 them in the gloom, for the day outside was dark and the 
 windows were darkened with webs and dust. There were 
 ancient folios and quartos piled upon the floor ; on a deal 
 
i86 RACHEL MARR 
 
 table in the middle of the room were books and an ojd 
 brass candlestick. A chair stood at the table; it seemed 
 to her that it might not have been moved since the day her 
 grandfather died. The old armchair in which he had 
 been found dead and at peace was still drawn to the fire- 
 place with its red-rusty grate. The atmosphere was cold 
 and heavy and yet dry; its odour was strange. For of 
 books Rachel knew nothing. 
 
 She had always been a child of the open air ; a creature 
 of the woods and the sea-shore, delighting in the thunder 
 of the surf and the natural sounds of the living growing 
 world. Nothing artificial touched her; her very rehgion 
 given her by her mother was for Rachel something bom 
 of music and colour. It lived in her still because it had 
 been born in churches of Italy ; its sensuous delights were 
 wonderful. And then it had been a religion of the 
 Mother and the Child. Her own virginal maternity was 
 so warm and tender that the Virgin was her mother, see- 
 ing that her own mother had not loved her, and the Child, 
 though holy, was no more holy than such children as she 
 had held to her bosom in the vision of the wood. Life 
 and religion and happiness for her were one; and now 
 life stayed its course in an unhappy winter; happiness 
 died in storm and religion seemed a vain thing. The 
 Virgin Mother's eyes were turned away; the Child was 
 even as the children that were dead. A fierce intolerable 
 aching was the first thing that wakened her from the cold 
 reverie in which she had been plunged since the grey 
 dawn of this morning of bitter loss. 
 
 " I shall tell Father Brant I believe in nothing," she 
 said. Nature spoke ten thousand times more loudly in 
 her than any instilled doctrine. All doctrines of the sun 
 were good in sunlight; the delights of God's day were 
 sweet in daylight; but deep within her heart's book she 
 read that human interpretation might fail to read God's 
 word aright. 
 
 " Perhaps there is a God, but not theirs," she said. Her 
 mother's father believed what others did not ; what others 
 believed he scoffed at. Poor old Steve was said to be as 
 bad an atheist as Tregilgas himself, and yet the old drunk- 
 
RACHEL MARR 187 
 
 ard had strange wisdom and was kind and loved her, as 
 she knew. She said that she would speak to Steve about 
 her grandfather. And then once more words were 
 spoken in her brain that shook her — " Take him, but you 
 can't keep him." She put no interpretation upon these 
 words, but something within her hoped that it was true. 
 She turned over the volumes upon the table idly and 
 stared at the walls with blind unseeing eyes. What she 
 saw was beyond them, Pentowan Farm and the old ram- 
 bling house upon the hill, and rooms that Winnie now was 
 mistress of. Her brow contracted. She saw too much, 
 understood too much. And yet she smiled, for she knew 
 that Anthony did not love the woman she hated. 
 
 There were books of history before her, and old 
 volumes of strange travel and great folios of architecture 
 with worm-eaten binding and pages. Some of the books 
 were in Greek, for her mother's father had been some- 
 thing of a scholar. There were others in Latin, and some 
 in French. Of Latin she knew a few words, as every 
 Catholic must ; of French she knew nothing. She looked 
 for Italian, which she had once talked so well, but found 
 none. As she walked round the room and read the titles 
 she regretted that she knew so little, that she had never 
 been taught anything. She was uneducated, she said. 
 And yet she could read the skies, having learned them 
 from the fishermen ; she knew the message of the winds ; 
 she had observed the gifts of the sea and the pleasant 
 profitable land which comforted its children with fruits. 
 The hearts of women were half open to her, and the dear 
 hearts of children were a stretched scroll for her eyes. 
 And in her own heart she had seen things that were ter- 
 rible and dear, as terrible as love and as dear as love's 
 return; and in it were half decipherable messages from 
 the God of Nature, and in her caves strange priestesses 
 chanted messages, true and obscure and prophetic. Books 
 were nothing to her; it was only when her heart closed 
 that she thought of them. In winter men lived in houses ; 
 the shut heart searched out the hearts of the dead. 
 
 All this was dead wisdom ; her live soul declared it as 
 her fingers touched the words of the dead. There was 
 
i88 RACHEL MARR 
 
 more wisdom in the words of the spring, and the high 
 sun of summer, and the fruitful hours of autumn than in 
 any poet, if the heart was its own interpreter and needed 
 no prophet to disclose the present future. But now she 
 was of the cold company of the dead for a time, and no 
 natural chant appealed to her. She shut her ears to the 
 earth's harmony, for she had ceased to be a part of its 
 music. She stayed with the dust of thought, which 
 declares itself true wisdom, and having lost touch with 
 the sunlight, she made a tent of darkness in the wilds. 
 For long hours she remained among the books of the 
 dead, and heard those, who being dead, yet speak. 
 
 And when the bridal night of him whom she loved had 
 come at last, she lighted a candle in the old brass candle- 
 stick and read about dead emperors and their passing 
 glories, their battles, their triumphs, and their spilt blood. 
 She heard the tramp of the dead and the sound of muffled 
 drums and the thunder and the shouting afar off. And 
 queens walked by her side, no more queenly than she who 
 read of them while she thought of the funeral of her own 
 desires. They lived and loved and had their happy day, 
 their dreadful year. Through and under all these was the 
 voice as of one who said, " To what end is this sorrow? 
 Surely men create their own woes and deny themselves 
 peace." As she read grass grew upon the quiet graves of 
 the unquiet, and their foolish children struggled for 
 honour by the edge of the pit. 
 
 And this was the wedding-night of him she loved. 
 Her flesh crept upon her bones, and she was as old as 
 some of those who, being dead, yet spoke to her. But 
 neither the sense of vanity, nor the sight of vain passion 
 and the vain lust of glory, could beat down the nest of her 
 young desires clamouring upon the tree of life. It was 
 in the dusk of midnight, when the candle flared in its 
 socket, that she agonised. And then Martha came in to 
 her, coming from her bed, and clad in white stood by her 
 side. 
 
 " Go to bed, Rachel, go to bed," she cried. " 'Tis dark 
 and cold." 
 
 Rachel turned and stared at her without understanding. 
 
RACHEL MARR 189 
 
 This was a voice from a strange world. And then 
 Martha cried out : 
 
 " Don't look at me with those eyes, child ! " 
 
 Rachel woke from her dream and took Martha's hand. 
 
 " How good you are to me, my old Martha. What is 
 wrong with my eyes ? " 
 
 "Oh, but this hour they are your mother's," wailed 
 Martha. 
 
 " Had mother beautiful bright eyes before I was 
 born?" asked the daughter. 
 
 " They were like stars," said Martha. 
 
 " Why was it she never loved me ? " 
 
 " Her heart was full of grief." 
 
 Rachel shivered a little. But she was not cold. 
 
 " Who gave her the crucifix, Martha ? " 
 
 " It was one who loved her, a friend, a friend." 
 
 " It was a strange gift between friends. Did it divide 
 them?" 
 
 But Martha shook her head. 
 
 " What do I know ? 'Tis time for you to be in bed, 
 Rachel." 
 
 " You're a mother to me, Martha dear," said Rachel, 
 stroking Martha's grey head. " I never knew my mother, 
 did I?" 
 
 " You never knew her, not till now. 'Tis her eyes you 
 have and her heart." 
 
 " And I've her crucifix against my heart," said Rachel. 
 " There's a power of division in it, Martha. What is it 
 in religions that they are like knives ? " 
 
 " They should be love, child." 
 
 " They may be hate, Martha. Do you think I'm a girl 
 now, dear ? " 
 
 Martha went down upon her knees and laid her 
 withered face upon the girl's knees, and she shook with 
 difficult tears. 
 
 " Oh, my heart of gold, my dear and bonnie daughter, 
 weep with me; you're a woman and the most beautiful 
 — there's no such tall beauty with eyes and a heart like 
 yours." 
 
 But no tears came to Rachel's eyes. 
 
I90 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Give up things, my darling," said Martha ; " there's 
 better to be got than any can lose. Give up — oh, I talk 
 vainly." 
 
 Then had she not given up, thought Rachel. Was this 
 old woman a dreadful prophetess of evil, one who saw 
 deeply into hearts and unborn days ? Martha felt Rachel 
 shake, and looked up at her and saw that her eyes were 
 like brooding fire fixed upon space beyond the dark books 
 of the dead wall. 
 
 " Give up ! " said Rachel, and the words bit deep and 
 ran like a sharp sword to her very marrow. And she 
 heard Steve's words again, " you can't keep him." What 
 did Steve know and had he, too, a gift of eyes which sav/ 
 beneath the flesh, and a gift of speech that made things 
 come to be ? 
 
 "What did any Tregilgas ever give up?" asked 
 Martha of herself. She said " Rachel ! " suddenly, and 
 Rachel did not hear her. And Martha shook violently 
 as with ague and fell back from the girl who still did not 
 see or hear her, and there was terror in the old woman's 
 face. She rose to her feet and took Rachel's head upon 
 her bosom. 
 
 " Don't, don't, don't look Uke my dead Mary ! " 
 
 Her voice rose to a thin scream, and Rachel started vio- 
 lently out of a dark vision. 
 
 "What is it, Martha?" 
 
 But the old woman trembled. 
 
 " Come to bed, come to bed, it's midnight — ^you're 
 cold." 
 
 " I'm not cold. But, Martha " 
 
 " Yes, child." 
 
 " I understand mother now ! " 
 
 Rachel felt Martha's heart beat in her very hands. 
 
 " You mustn't understand her, Rachel. There's nought 
 to understand — she was troubled, that's all." 
 
 But Rachel paid no attention to what she said. 
 
 " I can understand her heart. It's the same heart in 
 me, Martha. Was she not troubled before I was born ? " 
 
 She held Martha's eyes with her own and the old 
 woman quavered. 
 
RACHEL MARR 191 
 
 " You make me old, Rachel, and I'm cold and it's mid- 
 night. Hear the rain in the trees. There's the wind 
 again. Come to bed." 
 
 " Was she troubled before I was born ? " repeated 
 Rachel. 
 
 "What's this you ask? What do I know, girl? Oh, 
 the wind in the trees — the house quakes and it's past mid- 
 night." 
 
 She shook Rachel's shoulder. 
 
 "Let's talk to-morrow. I'll be your mother, Rachel. 
 If I could only manage things rightly. Oh, my beautiful 
 heart of gold." 
 
 Once more Rachel asked her the question and took her 
 by the wrists and stared at her. 
 
 " Yes, yes, it's true," cried Martha, " it's true, it's true." 
 
 And Rachel smiled with a faint bitterness like that 
 which sometimes heralds death, and foretells it for 
 watchers. 
 
 " You go to bed, Martha. It's you that are cold." 
 
 " No, no, I'll sit with you. 'Tis flannel I have on, thick 
 flannel, dear. I'm not cold, but it's long past mid- 
 night. 
 
 Rachel took her to the door and kissed her brow and 
 held her to her heart. 
 
 "Do not be afraid for me. What's wrong, Martha. 
 Am I a child?" 
 
 What fear was there for children? The fear was for 
 women. But Rachel was strong and dominant, and she 
 sent Martha away. And the old woman lay awake weep- 
 ing. Rachel never shed a tear, though she waited for the 
 dawn before she left the room of the books of the dead. 
 
 And when at last she went up to her own room, some- 
 thing in her imagination that made her heart sick thrust 
 her from the bed, so that she took a pillow and some 
 blankets and lay down upon the floor. 
 
 She said : 
 
 " Do I give up aught ? " 
 
 And though she answered nothing to her question she 
 cried out in strained lamentation : 
 
 " My mother's spirit is in me, in my heart ! " 
 
192 RACHEL MARR 
 
 She heard the rain drip and the wail of the wind until 
 the day broke, and then she fell asleep. 
 
 And at Pentowan Farm Anthony rose at the earliest 
 sign of dawn and went out among his beasts. 
 
 VI 
 
 What Martha prayed for that night and many days and 
 nights thereafter was that Rachel should break down and 
 come to her and say the sorrow that was in her heart. 
 
 " There's grace in confession, and I know it," said 
 Martha, " although I hate priests for some reason that's 
 in me. I never told anyone my troubles and they stay 
 till they are told ; that's the nature of them. But though 
 I pray that Rachel may speak to me or even to Father 
 Brant, I know she will not. It takes torture to make her 
 breed cry out. Mary was mad before she spoke, and then 
 she died." 
 
 But Rachel, though she was proud, was not so proud as 
 the old woman believed. There were hours when a direct 
 question might have opened her heart. The passion that 
 was in it seemed nothing to be truly ashamed of ; it was 
 great and human. Pride there was in Rachel and her 
 race, but no false pride, no littleness, no true shame for 
 things natural and gracious, the gift of God. And though 
 God's gift of love turned the fire and flame and burnt her 
 to ashes, it was still strength within her, and her pride 
 bade her cover its ravages only from those who could not 
 understand and did not love her. Martha she knew had 
 a mother's heart for her, and there were times at mid- 
 night when the girl, who was a girl no longer, could have 
 told her all the truth in the darkness. 
 
 But she smiled on the world and once more worked in 
 her house and looked after the animals, and went down 
 into the village to help those that the winter harmed. For 
 that winter was one of ceaseless wind and sorm, and the 
 harvest of the sea was scanty, and it took men out of their 
 warm homes and destroyed them. There was much 
 mourning on the coast, and women were made widows 
 
RACHEL MARR 193 
 
 and children orphans. And Rachel had pity on the lonely 
 and the fatherless, so that many rose up and called her 
 blessed. Yet she lived a life that was solitary, and stayed 
 with books rather than with humanity. For there was a 
 drug within their pages which was a solace. She saw the 
 red pages of the history of man and in her greater hours 
 perceived the littleness of the grief of any single heart. 
 And then again she saw that any heart was the history of 
 all life, and its grief was the grief of all the ages. 
 
 The influence of her books was strong and they 
 brought out things in her that were an astonishment, and 
 she drew from them much that her mother's father had 
 drawn, since she was truly his grand-daughter. The old 
 man was ever present in his library, and she found a 
 thousand passages marked in the books he had loved, and 
 every mark was like a word from him saying, " Read this, 
 and find out, my daughter, why I marked it." And first 
 the message left for her was one of vanity, as though the 
 dead man cried out that there was nothing but vanity 
 under the sun, and afterwards it came to her that this was 
 not the truth and not what he said, and something greater 
 grew up for her in the soil of living books. For though 
 the dead spoke in them, she saw that they were yet alive 
 and put upon them a garment' of immortality. And she 
 sat over them at midnight, finding out that he who was 
 her teacher saw the universe as one, and that there was 110 
 distinction to be drawn between the fertile earth and its 
 children, and that matter existed not and that spirit was a 
 delusion, and that the one thing that lived and rejoiced 
 was a stream of energy that came out of eternity and 
 clothed itself in a thousand shapes, rolling like coloured 
 fire through the vaults of space. This energy was in the 
 fire of the sun and the glory of the stars, in the floods of 
 ocean and the streams of rivers ;. in the windy heights of 
 heaven and the depths of fire below^the earth; in the 
 secret heart of any seed and in the fertile nature of the 
 hearts of men. For the man who taught her said that 
 God was but the Word of Man grasping at the highest 
 thought of unity within him, and she perceived that the 
 doctrine of growing man enlarged as his soul grew, and 
 
194 RACHEL MARR 
 
 his soul was the fine apprehension in him which, using the 
 intellect as a forge, and the fires of thought as the fire of 
 the forge, welded one conception to another. And for 
 man necessity was his nature and his freedom, and free- 
 dom grew as necessity at last became stronger, so that the 
 heart of man rejoiced in what he had to do, l^pojy jjng 1^. 
 forc e withi n w^s God. "^.^ji^^JSSSJtlBZWPfffftSXiA-^y ^yi^ A^ 
 put gis cord^ and ir Yevir^ smote pure har mony onmS^ XD 
 q j the sense s, time "wouiyTo^^j^gB^jlL.-'v^ttl^ 
 
 AnTi out of this Rachel drew comfort, for she was no 
 longer ashamed. But there were those who would have 
 said she drew evil from it, since she was made not less but 
 more the child of the strong energies which flowered 
 within her. Her intellect grew rapidly, like a flower in a 
 forcing house, but her strength was so great and her 
 nature so abundant that her heart was not starved. And 
 she came to love the old man who had given her the 
 books, and with them something that was strength that 
 as yet had not been hers. She desired to know more 
 about him and spoke about him often to Martha. 
 
 " The old man was too much for me to understand," 
 said Martha, " and I feared him. Often he chucked me 
 under the chin, and then I was but a scared village girl 
 and his eyes were fire. He had eyebrows like thatch, and 
 they said he was an atheist. Boys hooted him. I mind 
 they broke his windows once after a preacher preached 
 against him. But there was none who seemed to under- 
 stand him but that old drunken Steve. 'Twas before he 
 took to drink, though, for your grandfather was sober. 
 If you want to know aught about him, ask Steve 
 Penrose." 
 
 And the next time that Steve came round upon a beg- 
 ging errand, as he often did, seeing that he was often like 
 to starve but for charity, Martha sent him to the window 
 of t:he library. 
 
 " Miss Rachel wants to speak to you, you old reprobate. 
 Tap at her window. 'Tis often you've knocked at it ; 'tis 
 old Mr. Tregilgas' room." 
 
 Steve blinked and nodded. 
 
RACHEL MARR 195 
 
 "Drunk or sober, I remember him. 'Twas him that 
 made me and destroyed me. He poured new wine in old 
 bottles when he made a philosopher of me, Mrs. Martha, 
 that he did. And I'm a bursten bottle and I've only the 
 dregs of wisdom in me. I'll see Miss Rachel." 
 
 And for a long hour the ill-matched pair talked. 
 Rachel sat in the window-seat and Steve squatted on the 
 st^s outside. 
 
 "i^B^j^grandfather, Miss Rachel, oh, he was a man! 
 TherFsi'OTook of you in him. He had your look of pride 
 and s^jfength and there was fire in him. Why, what do 
 you th^nk? I went to him to convert him (think of that, 
 oh, Lord!) and he converted me! Oh, yes, but he was 
 a man. I can see him now in his chair, big and savage 
 and fine as a big windy day, Missy ; broad his brows were, 
 and his hair, even when he was old, was like night over 
 the sea, and his voice was grumbling thunder. 'Tis said 
 he had his way mostly with men or women. But children 
 loved him, though men feared him." 
 
 The man pondered, and then his eyes brightened. 
 
 " I'm an old fool, I know, Miss Rachel, but I loved 
 him, though the wisdom he taught me was too much for 
 my strength. I see now that there's wisdom which 
 bursts a man. I took to drink to have the courage to be 
 wise. Not but what I've had much satisfaction in my 
 mind from wisdom and the big thoughts of God he 
 roared at me when I went to show him that God was very 
 little and had foolish thoughts about wickedness and 
 gOj^ess, begging your pardon if I hurt you by being 
 spoken about him and what he taught." 
 i^ou don't hurt me," said Rachel. " What did he 
 
 of God, Steve?" 
 5od save us if I rightly know," said Steve, tugging 
 |fe beard. " I could tell you if I was more or less the 
 _^§e or the better for drink. But now I'm f uzzy-witted. 
 AM can tell you is that he said a H^thing s were God, and 
 thd^ God spoke through and in every' heart, ^ancTthat ffie 
 cliches sold second-hand deities as if tHey were brazen 
 irn^Ses. I do remember one day when I said something 
 aboat atheism that he roared. ' Atheist, atheist, quotha ! 
 
196 RACHEL MARR 
 
 I an atheist ? Oh, Lord, that's in all things ! These tin- 
 god worshippers and I! God's in me struggling; I see 
 Him outside beaming, hear Him rejoicing, doing His 
 best.' And then he shouted, loud as any Methody, ' Oh, 
 the energy out of Darkness ! Oh, the big Light whereof 
 we are sparks ! God forges us on His anvil ; we are God 
 and hammer and iron and anvil ! ' There was great 
 meaning in him and he loved all living things as much as 
 you do. 'Tis a bitter thing I've the grace not to come 
 nigh you when I'm full of liquor, for then I could tell 
 you things and preach about him. Ah ! but I could ! " 
 
 She sent him away with a shilling and he preached 
 about old Tregilgas in the village beer-house. 
 
 " Miss Rachel's his true grand-daughter," said Steve. 
 " Oh, the beauty and the heart of her ! " 
 
 And indeed her beauty for a time became even greater 
 than it had been, for by the struggle within her she was 
 spiritualised even if she grew a little wan. But she had 
 strength at the back of all her struggles, whatever might 
 seem victory to her in the end, and though she saw little 
 of the sun she drew power from the very winds. And 
 day by day through all that winter she went like one in a 
 dream, being utterly unsure of herself. Her feet were 
 upon slippery places, and in the room of the books old 
 assurances departed, and the warmth that had been in 
 religion died out, so that she was often very cold, going 
 like one naked in a strong wind. For this was in her 
 nature, seeing that her mother had given up salvatisn at 
 the last, choosing rather to walk in hell with her beloved 
 than to be alone in heaven. And part of the strength of 
 her grandfather was in her, and his analytic mind, so that 
 the very touch of its solvent made things fall apart for 
 her. Heaven stood far aloof, and its thronged courts 
 were as a fading picture, and the saints were troubled, 
 and the Virgin's self was but a woman weeping, and 
 Christ was but one of the prophets, and man was a 
 creature of destiny. At this very crisis of her fate it hap- 
 pened that Father Brant fell ill, and was sent away to the 
 South, and though she saw him and confessed to him 
 before he went, she did so doubting and never told her 
 
RACHEL MARK 197 
 
 heart, being sorry for the old man and very loath to hurt 
 him. The priest who replaced him for the winter she 
 refused to see, and when Father Brant wrote to her she 
 did not answer. 
 
 " What do I believe ? " she asked. In her dreams she 
 believed in Anthony, and often spoke with him, and if 
 there is any truth in the thought that mind can speak to 
 mind, they suffered together in sleep that divided them, 
 though they seldom spoke with their lips. But often and 
 often she met him, and seeing strange things in his eyes, 
 wondered whether he knew and remembered in his heart 
 things she had dreamed. 
 
 Not yet had she achieved in her heart, so as to put it 
 into words, the thought that in truth and justice and in 
 the nature of things, according to the gospel of nature, 
 he was hers and hers only. But the unspoken thought, 
 which ran in her like hot flame, was often with her, and 
 at night she believed it. Nevertheless there was much 
 between them now, a great barrier, and she had no more 
 visions of any magic wood. And sometimes by day it 
 seemed to her that death itself might be sweet, and then 
 once more her great heart and the strength of her limbs, 
 and her infinite capacity for the love of children and the 
 warm earth made such thoughts terrible and cold and 
 lonely. In death she would no longer draw the same 
 sweet breath of the winds that he drew in, nor would she 
 see the stars, or the wide dome of heaven, or the drifting 
 clouds, nor would she suffer upon the earth he trod. 
 
 Once she came upon a book which hurt her so that she 
 cried out, for in it was the song of one who was barren, 
 and hated the earth because it was fruitful and failed not. 
 The graves she loved, for in them nought quickened ; and 
 in her heart she always thought of the child and the sweet 
 laughter he would bring. For then the nests and the 
 huts would call her sister. Strange agonies and sharp 
 pains shot through Rachel as she read, and with tears 
 she called the childless one her sister, and her arms and 
 bosom ached. 
 
 And yet again she came upon a very strange book, 
 which she could not understand, and she closed many 
 
198 RACHEL MARR 
 
 pages quickly. But upon one page she found the saying, 
 " Fay ce que voudras," " Do that which pleaseth you." 
 And among the company who held this legend for a rule 
 she read were all noble knights and great ladies who did 
 as pleased them and were happy and good according to 
 the unspoiled heart and law of nature. And when she 
 pondered this in her mind she seemed to see that there 
 was no desire within her which was not good and sweet 
 and simple. Only it happened that there were also men 
 who wrote, " Do that which thou dost not wish," and out 
 of this she perceived could come nothing but unnatural 
 disaster and distrust of God, who wrote His word rather 
 in the heart of man than in the creeds men built. 
 
 And so the days passed, and the storms of winter, and 
 once more spring came and found her pale, but still 
 strong. And the spring was the time of growth, even as 
 the autumn was the season for the plough. Much that 
 had been sowed came to the surface in the spring, and she 
 believed, as the trees budded and the grass renewed itself, 
 that even yet Anthony was hers, and hers only. A hun- 
 dred dreams gave her assurance of this, and the sight of 
 Anthony doubled the assurance of her dreams, and she 
 cared nothing for the doctrines of her youth, seeing that 
 they were like a house founded upon sand. 
 
 And then she was told that in the summer Winifred 
 Perran was to become a mother. Her heart grew cold, 
 for she knew if a child was born that Anthony was lost 
 to her for ever. Only then did she know that her heart 
 had never held him as one divided from her utterly. 
 
 VII 
 
 It was in the days which followed that Martha first began 
 to fear that she understood how things stood with Rachel. 
 
 " God help us," said the old woman, " if this is true. 
 God help us and help me." 
 
 She mourned in secret, and wrung her hands, and then 
 prayed to Heaven. 
 
 " 'Tis a natural folly in us to pray," she said bitterly; 
 
RACHEL MARR 199 
 
 " prayer is but vain hope in the heart of man, God forgive 
 me for saying so, for what has prayer done for me, and 
 what did it do for my Mary ? " 
 
 And then in her very soul she was bitter against 
 Anthony. She could have struck him, and indeed she 
 did strike him harder than any man could have done, and 
 said things to him in passion that she repented of, for if 
 Rachel had known she had said them, forgiveness would 
 have been past praying for. 
 
 She met Anthony on the road to the Church Town not 
 a week after Rachel had found herself wondering if she 
 had indeed given him up. He was riding his grey horse, 
 and his face was pale and his look was an inward look. 
 When Martha called to him he started and stared at her a 
 full moment before he knew her worn and wrinkled 
 face. 
 
 "You, Martha; what is it?" 
 
 He checked his horse. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, Mr. Anthony, and but a 
 minute ago I said I would not speak when I saw you 
 come riding, and now I must, for my heart is full and like 
 to break." 
 
 He alighted from his horse and stood facing her, so 
 that she saw him full and noted the strong face that was 
 his, and his blue eyes which even yet shone, though there 
 was sorrow in them like a shadow. And she nodded to 
 herself, saying that this was a man for whom women 
 were fools and abased themselves, and the woman within 
 her abased herself a little, and then she was angry with 
 him over and above the bitterness of her soul. And 
 Anthony quivered and knew that Rachel was in her mind 
 and he stood still, waiting. 
 
 " What did I say to you years ago, Mr. Anthony, about 
 one who is very dear to me? I told you what you were 
 doing, and perhaps you didn't know your own heart then, 
 but I knew hers, as I fear to know it now, and I said that 
 the sun rose when you came and set when you went away. 
 And now you've married a certain one, about whom I'll 
 say nothing, for, thank God, I know little and want to 
 know less of her, and yet I fear you planted what you 
 
200 RACHEL MARK 
 
 will not reap, and if you were out of the country or dead, 
 for my own part I'd be happier." 
 
 Tears ran down her withered cheeks, but Anthony 
 clenched his hands and looked down upon the road. 
 
 " I'm a fool to speak, a wicked fool, and if she knew it 
 she would hate me, but for a long time my heart's been 
 full, and speak to her I can't, and if I say ' Let us leave 
 Morna,' as I have done, she says naught. But her face 
 is enough, and I know her heart." 
 
 Anthony heard himself speak, but his voice was strange 
 to his own ears. 
 
 " You — you know her heart — what's in it, Martha, 
 what's in it?" 
 
 There was passion in the strained accents of his voice, 
 and it shook the old woman into rage, for she saw for the 
 first time what was in his. She cried out in lamentable 
 astonishment : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Anthony — oh, sir, you loved her ! " 
 
 And he said : 
 
 " I loved her." 
 
 In his heart he cried out, " I love her." 
 
 And there was that in Martha which almost made her 
 strike him. 
 
 " You cruel fool ! " she said. 
 
 She stood nodding at him, and muttering to herself. 
 
 " Oh, God, here's evil and strange things, and what's 
 wrong in it ? For I know that if love's in his heart, 'twill 
 be wind to the hot fire in hers, and her nature's dreadful." 
 
 She turned again upon the man. He was as white 
 as white paper, and yet upon his face there was strange 
 and awful script. 
 
 " You means she loves me — yet ? " 
 
 What voice was that which asked such a thing? 
 
 " God forbid, if He forbids aught," prayed Martha, but 
 what she denied with words her accents confirmed. 
 
 And then she said: 
 
 " What stood between you, then, that you did this other 
 thing?" 
 
 Seeing that the hated woman of the eyes of flame stood 
 between them now, it seemed to him that nothing had 
 
RACHEL MARR 201 
 
 stood between them, and his very heart was torn. His 
 soul bled inwardly. 
 
 " Was it any lack of love? " 
 
 " Not in me," said Anthony. 
 
 "Or in her?" 
 
 He knew better ; his very body bore witness to it. 
 
 "Don't torture me, Martha," said the wretched man. 
 " It was that which could not be changed." 
 
 Martha laughed even as the tears ran down her face. 
 
 " And this is a man, oh, and a fine man, and he let the 
 thoughts of a girl on things the world's in division about 
 keep him from his love. 'Twas a carved crucifix, then, 
 that stood betwixt you! Oh, you fool, and my heart's 
 hot to hurt you, take this thought home and live with it, 
 that her heart's a woman's, and that her religion was no 
 more to her that it is to most of us women, something to 
 hold till the man comes, as a child plays with dolls till 
 nature gives her a babe to suckle. Rachel would have 
 worshipped idols with you an you had asked her. I know 
 her heart, I know her heart." 
 
 He could have said nothing if she had spoken blas- 
 phemy, and indeed what she spoke was blasphemy to that 
 which he called his soul. And yet, being stricken and 
 divided, his body said this was true doctrine, and as 
 fixed as the stars in heaven. He staggered as he stood, 
 and a passion of pity waged war with a passion of anger 
 in the old woman's heart. 
 
 " You men, you men ! " she cried, and they looked at 
 each other strangely, so that that which was in their minds 
 came near to silent speech. But when she spoke, she 
 uttered something very bitter, coming upon it in her mind, 
 as one might clutch a knife in a struggle in the dark. 
 
 " You hate your wife," she said. 
 
 And his lips moved, but he said nothing. Then there 
 rose a sudden flame in Martha's eyes, and what that flame 
 meant neither of them knew to the utmost. But as he 
 went away there was a strange seed planted in his heart, 
 and Martha said : 
 
 " Oh, but I'm a wicked woman ! " 
 
 She ran after Anthony, and called to him, saying : 
 
202 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Forgive me, Mr. Anthony, but this thing is like death 
 working at my heart ! " 
 
 She clutched his hand and wept. But though death 
 worked at his heart he never shed a tear. 
 
 VIII 
 
 At the end of the month of April news came to Morna 
 that set more than one heart beating. And some were 
 glad and some afraid, and Steve Penrose laughed uproar- 
 iously, seeing prospect of much liquor and wild converse. 
 It was indeed old Steve who brought the news to the vil- 
 lage, for he had been at the Church Town and there came 
 across the whistling doctor, who stopped him in the street. 
 
 " Well, you remarkable old scoundrel," said Greer, 
 " and how's your health ? " 
 
 He stood straddle-legs, and looked as strong as a stone 
 bollard on a quay. As he asked his question he whistled 
 an added interrogation. 
 
 " Many thanks, doctor, but I'm remarkable in my 
 health," replied Steve ; " my thirst is prodigious, and I 
 have the capacity of a cask. As it happens, owing to bad 
 times at Morna, and the selfishness of man, I'm suffering 
 from over-much sobriety, which I own has a tendency 
 to make me gloomy. But nevertheless, I keep going and 
 the summer's coming on, so that presently I shall desert 
 barns and sleep in the open, which is food, if not drink, 
 to me. The coroner won't sit upon me, yet, sir, and 
 though I doubt not you'll tell him I died of drink, you'll 
 as like as not lie, knowing 'twas- the want of it slew me." 
 
 " What would you do if I was ass enough to give you 
 sixpence ? " asked Dr. Greer. 
 
 " Make it a shilling and I'll tell you," said Steve ; " and 
 to show you my trust in your fine sense of charity I'll 
 even tell you beforehand. I will drink the lot and get 
 two-pennyworth of credit besides." 
 
 Greer laughed and gave him his shilling. 
 
 " And how are things at Morna ? " 
 
 " Sadly healthy," said Steve, " as of course you know, 
 
RAcHeL MaM i63 
 
 and as it happens there are few of the women likely to 
 need you, though they do say you'll be wanted at Pen- 
 towan Farm by-and-by. I wish you'd tell me your natu- 
 ral grave opinion of the lady that Mr. Anthony Perran 
 has taken to his bosom, for I'm sure it would do me as 
 much good as beer." 
 
 "You don't like her, Steve?" 
 
 " On my soul, I don't," said Steve, " and for that I've 
 a thousand reasons. One of them is my instinct, and when 
 my instinct gets up and warns me, I open my eyes, for it's 
 natural reason in me. And then there are facts about 
 which I don't speak. That is acquired wisdom ; for the 
 speaking of truth, when there are ash plants about and 
 fierce husbands who hate truth, is sadly unprofitable. 
 And there's another thing that on her wedding-day she 
 smote me on the mouth with the back of her hand because 
 I ran alongside her carriage, and, when Mr. Anthony was 
 looking at other things, told her something she knew. If 
 this good shilling that was yours and now is mine wasn't 
 burning my hand and shrieking to hide its shame in the 
 till of the Blue Anchor, I might have time to confide in 
 you what I said. However, there's a time for all things. 
 Have you any news for me, sir ? For news leads to treat- 
 ing, and I fetch and carry news when I can ! " 
 
 Greer shook his head. 
 
 " Not that I know of, Steve ; nothing that will make 
 Moma charitable, except that John Perran's back from 
 abroad and may be down here any day." 
 
 Old Steve laughed. 
 
 " That's news for me. John Perran is the boy ! Oh, 
 what talks we had! He understands me, and I under- 
 stand him, sir. Mrs. Anthony's father will love to hear 
 that, if others don't. I'll have my beer, and away down to 
 Moma." 
 
 But the doctor spoke again. 
 
 " What was it you said to Mrs. Anthony, Steve ? " 
 
 Steve grinned delightedly, and wagged his beard. 
 
 "All I did was to speak to her about him we've just 
 spoken of." 
 
 And Greer whistled. 
 
204 RACHEL MARR 
 
 "You know too much, Steve. There are sticks that 
 will beat your back yet. How's Miss Rachel ? " 
 
 Steve's face softened and he sighed a little. 
 
 " She's heavenly, sir, and a great woman of heart, and 
 she's sad in her mind. There's a cloud upon her, and I'd 
 give up drink to make her happy, if so little a thing would 
 do it. I never see her now but I think of her poor mother. 
 Mankind is full of tragedy, sir, and as for women, well — 
 well " 
 
 He went away murmuring and Greer shook his head. 
 
 " What does he know of her ? There are fools in the 
 world, and if I were twenty years younger I might be one 
 of them. She's the finest woman I've ever seen, and 
 should be the mother of children. But if I've any skill 
 in judging she's of those who reach for the stars." 
 
 There are some, and he knew it, who extinguish the 
 very lamp of life to see a falling star in the obscure of 
 heaven. He sighed a little, nodded, and went about his 
 business. 
 
 " We are all fools," said Greer. 
 
 And no doubt one of the chiefest was Steve, who drank 
 up his shilling, and then went back to Moma full of joy 
 that John Perran was returning. 
 
 " Oh, he's the man," said Steve, " full of the joy of 
 things, he is, and he can sing and drink and wrestle and 
 sail a boat as finely as Mr. Anthony. But poor Mr. An- 
 thony picked a fallen apple in the orchard surely, and as 
 like as not John knows nought of it. Somehow, I don't 
 think he'll laugh. That's not what he laughs at, for if 
 Mrs. Anthony had been a natural creature and good of 
 her kind, she would never have married his brother. 
 That's sure. But if he comes across this now, and things 
 should come out (oh, but they might, Steve Penrose!) 
 who knows but that Mr. Anthony might throw her off. 
 But I fear not ; he's a sad fool and makes a God for him- 
 self out of his own strength, so that he can do nothing 
 without his own permission that he makes overhard to 
 get. 'Tis a sad and merry mixture, and I'm thinking 
 that there's not a soul in Morna that knows it all like wise 
 old Steve. That's me, gentlemen all, that's me, and the 
 
RACHEL MARK 205 
 
 knowledge of it makes me wicked, and if I could take 
 Mrs. Anthony by the white neck and drop her overcliff 
 I'd thank the sea for playing muck-heap and main-drain. 
 Oh, poor Miss Rachel! "Twould have been better for 
 her to set her heart upon John Perran. A man may kiss 
 a girl or two by moonlight and not be much the worse 
 for it, but when he's like Mr. Anthony, who follows finger- 
 posts even if the road goes where I'd like to put his wife, 
 there's little good to be got out of him. There are times 
 I would have preached against John, and now I'm preach- 
 ing against Anthony, his brother." 
 
 He ambled on down hill and presently came in sight of 
 Morna's chimney-smoke among spring's green trees. He 
 paused and looked down where the hidden village lay. 
 He slapped his thigh. 
 
 " And to think I near forgot how, in the mixed kettle of 
 broth that brews on fire, there's the fierce heart of old 
 Jose simmering. He's never been the same man since his 
 daughter went into arithmetic and got so far in natural 
 learning as to make twice one into two. He'll be heating 
 a bar of iron and making John's skiill into an anvil. Like 
 as not John never knows that there's another brave boy 
 of his about Morna without his name. I'll have to go 
 straight to Miss Rachel ; she's the only soul in the village 
 that can handle such iron as Jose. But for her he'd have 
 wrung Mary's neck for her. Now he'll murder John for 
 sure, beat him into red pulp and make prayers as he walks 
 away looking for law. I'm for seeing Miss Rachel right 
 off. Things are getting thick hereabouts, Steve, so they 
 are." 
 
 He went to Rachel's house by the upper path, and 
 found her in the garden, working hard. He stood at the 
 fence and looked at her for a minute before she lifted her 
 head and saw him. 
 
 " You've a power over plants, Miss Rachel, that only 
 a good nature has. It's been in my head a long time that 
 there are eyes which scorch blossoms," said Steve. 
 
 " Well, what do you want ? " she asked shortly. She 
 was always a little stern with him, and yet not too stem, 
 for she knew he loved her in his heart. 
 
2o6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " I've brought news," he nodded, " and it may be big 
 news, and it might be black news, and there's no knowing 
 if it mightn't be red news, as red as spilt blood, Miss 
 Rachel." 
 
 She rose from her knees and dropped her gardening 
 gloves upon the moist earth. 
 
 " What news is it, Steve ? " she asked more kindly, for 
 she saw that he had not come begging, though he might 
 not go without. 
 
 " 'Tisn't far from having something to do with some 
 that live in Morna House." 
 
 She did not think of herself. 
 
 "Is it about Martha?" 
 
 " No, 'tis of a young mother with a child whose eyes 
 are a known blue," said Steve. " And to beat no more 
 about the bush, 'tis of the father of the blue eyes, Miss 
 Rachel. John Perran's coming to Morna again at last." 
 
 Rachel stopped and looked at him with far-oflE eyes. It 
 was long, long since she had seen the brother of Anthony, 
 and since then she had learnt so much and dug so deep 
 into the heart of the world and her own. The very men- 
 tion of his name took her by the hair and drew her back- 
 ward into the dark wood where she had found Mary and 
 his child to whom she had given a home. 
 
 " What is it to me, Steve ? " 
 
 She spoke very softly, though the words were hard. 
 
 " I wouldn't presume to say it was aught to do with 
 you. Miss, but if Mary Jose has no mother, she has a 
 father, and he's a man some might fear, if they had cause. 
 As a young man he was a man of his hands, and stem, 
 and now he's a man of a hammer and very old and fierce. 
 And there's none but you in Morna that might make him 
 do this or that, if it were but to yield a hair's-breadth. 
 All in Morna say that, and if I know any man's heart by 
 his eyes, and I have a deep gift that way, he's sworn on 
 fire and red iron to break John Perran and beat him to 
 powder." 
 
 And this Rachel knew was the truth. For even yet the 
 old man had never spoken to his daughter ; he passed her 
 in the village as if she were some gipsy of the fields. 
 
RACHEL MARR 207 
 
 " I will speak to him," said Rachel. " Thank you, 
 Steve, for coming to tell me." 
 
 And she went back to the plants that she had one time 
 loved so and now tended as if they were such flowers as 
 might lie upon a grave. 
 
 " What has John Perran to do with me ? " she asked as 
 she dug at the deep earth. 
 
 And perhaps the deep earth might have answered her, 
 speaking in red flowers and white. 
 
 " What has Anthony's brother to do with me ? " 
 
 For as she dug it almost seemed to her that she had 
 done with Anthony. And yet presently hot tears fell 
 upon the opened earth, and it may be that she planted 
 more than she knew. For neither the earth nor the 
 human heart can know its children. 
 
 IX 
 
 There was always work to do, and Rachel did hers even 
 now, though she spent half the day and half the night in 
 the ghostly company of books. Anthony, it might be, 
 was as one dead and buried, and still life had to be lived. 
 Work hid certain things growing in the dark garden of 
 her heart, where bitter herbs rather than sweet scented 
 the secret air. The marriage of Anthony was even as 
 death, and still thoughts grew in her hourly that she 
 trampled on, but could not subdue. Something other 
 than herself spoke within her and gave her desires unholy 
 comfort, so that when she was but half awake she some- 
 times waked herself by bitter laughter. And now they 
 said that Winnie was like to have a child some day. If 
 one were bom she knew that there would be more than 
 death between her and Anthony. This was a new life, 
 and she hated the unborn with jealous hatred, that for a 
 time made her hate more children than one. 
 
 And now John Perran was coming back, and his return 
 might mean tragedy. His child was, they said, the 
 mother's shame, and the shame of the mother lay upon the 
 old man of the forge like a dark shadow, while John him- 
 
2o8 RACHEL MARK 
 
 self was no doubt what he had been, strong and bright 
 and careless of any law. Though it was so long since 
 Rachel had seen him, she saw him now and heard his 
 voice. He was Anthony without Anthony's fierce soul; 
 he was a man of the sun and air, a lover of women, one 
 that children loved, a conqueror of animals, an arbiter 
 among men; he went among men laughing, while girls' 
 hearts beat at the sound of his voice and many women 
 sighed. 
 
 " It might be red news, as red as spilt blood," said 
 Steve. And Rachel went down into the village with 
 Sigurd at her heels to seek old Jose. She found him alone 
 at the forge, and when he saw her coming he stood up 
 straight with a long iron rod in his hand. He always 
 loved her ; he had told her so and it was true. She went 
 to the point with him, for he was a straight man and loved 
 the directness of speech which came natural to her. Yet 
 now she was cunning. 
 
 " Would you do anything for me, Mr. Jose ? " 
 
 She leant against the dark door-post of his forge and 
 smiled upon him. 
 
 " Oh, Missy, there are few men who would not do any- 
 thing you asked them," said Jose; "and though I'm 
 old, I'm a man, and anything but one thing I'll do for 
 you." 
 
 Not once but twice a year she had sought his pardon 
 for Mary. Now a brighter smile leapt into her face, and 
 Jose's brows drew together suddenly, for he had a quick 
 mind concerning things near his thought. 
 
 " She's not asking that I should forgive Mary," he said ; 
 " she's not asking that this day." 
 
 And yet when he had said that he would do anything 
 but one thing for her, he had meant then that he would 
 not forgive Mary. 
 
 ^^ " There's another thought in her," he cried to himself; 
 " oh, but there's another thought in her, for why should 
 she smile when she knew what was in my heart? " 
 
 And Rachel smiled because he was to do anything but 
 one thing for her. It was fair to catch the old man in his 
 own words, since to get his promise to lay aside vengeance 
 
RACHEL MAKK 209 
 
 was a good deed. But even as she spoke she doubted what 
 was in his mind and her smile faded. 
 
 " Then will you forgive Mary ? " she asked. 
 
 And Rachel saw a strange and bitter agitation grow up 
 in the old man. He murmured and tried to speak and 
 could not, for he knew he had been trapped and could not 
 resent it since she was so good and was ready to do her 
 best for all the world. He went towards the light so that 
 she turned and he could see her face. 
 
 " What's in your mind ? " he said. 
 
 In his own mind there was still the desire not to forgive 
 his daughter. But there was a greater desire still, and he 
 knew that Rachel knew it and touched it in his heart. 
 
 " Oh," said Rachel, putting out her hand, " there's love 
 in my heart for you and your daughter and sorrow for 
 you both." 
 
 "And fear?" asked Jose quickly; "is there fear in 
 your heart?" 
 
 In her face he saw fine apprehension and his eyes 
 shone and he called out suddenly: 
 
 " This is not that which I will not do for you. Bring 
 Mary and I'll forgive her ! " 
 
 In his knotted hands he bent the iron rod nearly double. 
 He nodded. 
 
 " I'll forgive her." 
 
 He went back into the forge and Rachel followed him. 
 
 She caught him by the arm. 
 
 " I thought better of you, Mr. Jose," she said as she 
 made him face her. " This is not done for me, but that 
 you may get the best of me." 
 
 " I love you. Missy," said Jose, " but I can hate too. 
 I know your heart, but you've come here to-day to catch 
 me with words and make me promise that which I cannot 
 promise. There are things as plain to me as fire in dark- 
 ness, and now I know that John Perran is coming back to 
 Morna." 
 
 He dropped the bent rod and took up the hammer and 
 holding it near the head smote it on the anvil. 
 
 " And if he is " 
 
 "Let him keep out of my path," said Jose fiercely," 
 
210 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " where I walk let him not come. There is much strength 
 in me to keep God's commandments and I will not pursue 
 him. But there is also weakness in me, and if I see him, 
 or if I know that he speaks aught to my girl except con- 
 cerning marriage, I will grind him to powder." 
 
 " And with this heart you forgive your daughter," said 
 Rachel ; " you forgive her to cheat me, and to keep the 
 most wicked desire of your heart." 
 
 But the old man shook his head. 
 
 " There are those to whom God speaks," he cried, " and 
 there are some He makes instruments of His justice. 
 And if any man prays, even for God's vengeance, and 
 finds comfort and the wicked under his hand, it is the 
 answer of God." 
 
 And Rachel turned away from him. 
 
 " I cannot tell Mary you forgive her," she said, and 
 tears ran down her cheeks. And Jose dropped his ham- 
 mer and ran after her. 
 
 " Oh, Missy, Missy, ask me nothing," he cried, " for 
 my heart has been hot in the fire and has been tempered 
 in tears and blood. But you I love, for you are a great 
 and dear woman, and there's no Perran but what I hate 
 for through" them sorrow comes no less to you than to 
 me, no less than to me." 
 
 But though this was the first time that Rachel knew 
 that her heart was as a show in the market-place, she 
 made no sign, and gave the old man her hand and went 
 away sorrowfully. 
 
 For the hand of fate was heavy upon many in Moma, 
 and Rachel knew it. She sent down to the village for old 
 Steve and told him to warn John Perran when he came. 
 And Steve shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " He may have as many faults as there are meshes to 
 a net," said Steve, " but being afraid of aught Uving isn't 
 in John Perran." 
 
RACHEL MARR 211 
 
 X 
 
 The news spread quick in the village and the country 
 roundabout that Anthony's brother was coming back for 
 a while, and it was soon known that if he came his days 
 in the land might be few. For Steve talked of William 
 Jose, and men looked upon the old blacksmith fearfully 
 as one who had murder in his heart. And two preachers 
 spoke with him, and got nothing for their pains, for upon 
 this subject the old man's heart was as hard as the nether 
 millstone or as the anvil that he worked at in stubborn 
 anger while they spoke. 
 
 But there were yet many days before John came to 
 Morna, and other things grew up in the harvest of 
 rumours, and one was that which might have been looked 
 for, and indeed was looked for. Folks said in whispers 
 that Anthony Perran and his wife were for ever at odds, 
 and that the man was more than unhappy. And soon 
 what they whispered was said openly, and Mary Jose 
 brought the news to Rachel, since the carrying of news 
 is so pleasant a thing that few tongues find the misfor- 
 tunes of others a burden. And Rachel forgot the very 
 existence of John Perran and of old Jose, and of all other 
 living creatures than the one she loved and the one she 
 hated; and now, being unable to pray except dumbly to 
 deaf gods, she stood in the fire and was herself a flame. 
 For any action was impossible, and she saw no way of 
 help, not yet being driven this way or that. But for many 
 nights she did not sleep, and once more she sat up among 
 the books trying in vain to read. 
 
 And once she waked herself from a half-dream at mid- 
 night in the book room by calling out " Anthony ! " She 
 knew what she had called out and her flesh crept upon 
 her bones and the hair of her head was stirred. For it 
 seemed to her that Anthony was in the very room with 
 her. She ran to the door and looked into the passage, 
 and then went down the passage quietly but with clenched 
 hands to the old parlour. It seemed to her as she walked 
 that Anthony was before her, and that not only his spirit 
 
212 RACHEL MARR 
 
 was there, but the ghosts of her old grandfather and of 
 her mother whom passion had slain. She opened the 
 outer door and went into the garden and looked out 
 across her moon-lit valley to Pentowan Farm upon the 
 hill, and her heart bled for the folly of the strong man of 
 God who was the fool of his beliefs. 
 
 " I've hated you, Anthony," she said ; " I've hated you, 
 often, and now is it true that you are so wretched?" 
 
 If any yearning can send a messenger some true angel 
 must have left her soul as she spoke. 
 
 " It's true what old Steve said once," she cried to her- 
 self, " that if anyone can be wholly wicked it is a woman. 
 And Winnie is cold and cruel, and a Uar and a coward. 
 I've seen her hurt living things, and his living heart is in 
 her hand." 
 
 She heard Sigurd stirring in his kennel and walked 
 round the house to where he lay. As he heard her com- 
 ing and knew her step, he gave a low joyful bark, greet- 
 ing her pleasantly. She stroked his great head and fon- 
 dled his pricked ears. 
 
 " You hate her too, don't you, Sigurd ? " 
 
 Now she hated Winnie and let herself hate. The dog 
 leapt up and put his big paws upon her shoulders, and his 
 love eased her heart a little. 
 
 " If one could only love always, Sigurd," she said to 
 him. But love was often terrible, and its child was death, 
 or shame. Suddenly she remembered that she stood 
 close to the spot where she had offered her very heart to 
 Anthony in a half-dream by the verge of the wood, and a 
 fire burnt in her face. She moved until she stood there 
 once again, and she moaned so that Sigurd whimpered 
 sadly. For she knew that she had changed, and was no 
 longer what she had been, for it seemed to her to believe 
 in God was good, and now she believed in nothing. She 
 stayed quietly, and once more in her set mind she heard 
 Anthony running furiously in the dark wood, and she 
 could have cried out aloud at his folly and her own shame. 
 And her soul still cried: 
 
 " Take me, Anthony ! " 
 
 For she was as a ghost walking in a woodland, and he 
 
RACHEL MARR 213 
 
 was a spirit in the wood, while Winnie was a white 
 woman of the flesh, luxurious and horrible. 
 
 Now in the mystery of the night and the clouds of the 
 moon and the deep wet shadows of the wood thoughts 
 grew in her swift as mushrooms of the moon and the fruit 
 of fairy circles ; and she saw things in strange lights ; per- 
 ceiving herself even as another creature. Here the word 
 of God was no human word; it was formulated in no 
 alphabet; she had rights that the day denied. And sud- 
 denly all horror of herself died within her; she became 
 light of spirit, and it seemed to her that Anthony fled no 
 more from her, but came running to the refuge of her 
 heart. She cried out in her soul : 
 
 " Anthony ! Anthony ! " 
 
 And she bowed her head, and faintness came over her, 
 which was sweet. 
 
 " I could believe in God," she said. Ancient creeds 
 lived in her again. Her ancestors worshipped in groves ; 
 she oflfered sweet sacrifices for her forgotten fathers that 
 had been fertile dust these million years. 
 
 " God of the woodland, and the sea, and the moon, and 
 the hearts of women, give me my lover ! " 
 
 She knelt upon wet turf and offered salt oblation of 
 poured tears ; she murmured voiceless incantations ; gods 
 grew in the woodland, and nature blessed her ; the mov- 
 ing air was like the breath of God. She heard the low 
 voices of strange sibyls ; she consulted dark women in 
 hidden mephitic caves, and went back into the cave of her 
 books like one walking in her sleep. 
 
 And there a strange chance brought food for her 
 desires, if indeed it was chance and not the working of 
 her inward mind. For she went like a dreamer to a shelf 
 and plucked down a book which was a history of ancient 
 Rome, and she opened it at a page which told the story 
 of the strange woman who came to Tarquinius Superbus, 
 the King, and offered him nine books to buy. And when 
 the King refused the stranger smiled and went away and 
 burnt three books of the nine, and coming back offered 
 the remaining six at the very price that she had asked foi 
 the nine. At this Tarquinius laughed and she went away 
 
214 RACHEL MARR 
 
 and burnt another three books, and once more returning 
 asked no less a price for the three that were left. And 
 the King, being struck by the strangeness of this, spoke 
 with his augurs, and they bade him buy the three, for 
 these were the Books of the Sibyl and contained great 
 secrets. 
 
 And as Rachel read the mere words of the book, her 
 own dark mind interpreted the story according to the 
 mystic passions within her heart. She herself was the 
 Cumaean Sibyl, and the books were the books of her soul 
 and body, and the King was Anthony, who had no laugh- 
 ter in his mind. This thing had happened strange long 
 ages ago, and she perceived the passions of ages within 
 her, believing in that hour in re-incarnations and all the 
 imaginations of mortal man. And she rose suddenly 
 from her book and stood up and lost sight of her dark 
 room and perceived Herself and the King by a magic 
 wood, and there was none other alive in the deep world 
 save strange priests and augurs and flamens and those 
 who consulted the torn hearts of men in sacrificial fires. 
 Then once more her flesh moved and her hair was stirred, 
 and it seemed to her that warm lips were laid upon hers, 
 so that she could not cry out. But her heart said : 
 
 " I offered him the nine books, and the three books of 
 his God are ashes within me ! " 
 
 She lay with her head upon the table and in the wildest 
 passions of her nature conceived a purpose which lay 
 close to her heart. 
 
 After this she avoided neither Anthony nor his wife, 
 for she knew there were other books to bum if the fire 
 was needed. And the very next day she met Winnie face 
 to face. 
 
 XI 
 
 Such thoughts as lived in the dark garden of Rachel's 
 heart grew best at midnight, even though they were not 
 wholly alien from her soul. As a child she knew that 
 bitter herbs grew with sweet herbs, and now she saw 
 
RACHEL MARR 215 
 
 that hyssop lived where fragrant basil and marjoram died 
 of drought; and she had always loved the hours about 
 midnight, for in them there was peace which in the day 
 no solitude afforded. Now that she had no peace, night 
 yet gave her gifts which resembled it, for there was rest 
 in yielding to the storm of passion within her. In the 
 day she was strained and not herself; she showed signs 
 that she did not sleep well ; there were moments when she 
 almost lost grip of herself, as she thought that Anthony 
 suffered and yet was strong. There was one hour in 
 which she believed it would be possible for her to kill 
 Winnie, for she saw deep within her soul such weapons 
 as women might use ; such indeed as many must have 
 used who were her dead forerunners. And then she 
 shook, not with terror of the law or terror of death, but 
 with the knowledge of what the, price of such deliverance 
 would mean to the man who loved her. It would be 
 better to kill Anthony himself. In the dark such a 
 thought had dreadful power of growth. It returned to 
 her as perpetually as suicide to one who builds vain hope 
 against despair. 
 
 But now this darkest hour passed. She said to herself 
 and to Anthony, " Stay till the dawn ; there is another 
 way." 
 
 And she remembered, what she remembered so often, 
 that she had said as she swam in the Cove at midnight, 
 " I would do anything you wanted, Anthony ; anything 
 you wanted." Now she was ready, since he suffered, 
 for any sacrifice if so she could release him. God 
 hindered her not, since there was no God; and her will 
 was bound to Anthony's service and the bitter passions 
 of her love. She had consulted the Cumsean, and had 
 read in her dark books; she went in a great dream, 
 accepting destiny. 
 
 And that day destiny worked for her since it gave her 
 peculiar courage and set her face to face with Anthony 
 and afterwards with his wife. She was standing in the 
 high road with Sigurd about noon, when the dog barked 
 and ran eastward and came back presently with his old 
 master, who was riding the white horse that Rachel knew 
 
2i6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 so well. She stayed till he came up and then she smiled 
 at him without speaking. And for a little whUe he could 
 not speak, though he looked at her steadily, for he mar- 
 velled at her beauty and the deep changes in it, and at 
 his own folly and the ways of God with man. 
 
 " Are things well with you, Rachel ? " 
 
 She said they were well, and she saw that he suffered, 
 for his voice was strange. 
 
 " And is it well with you, Anthony ? " 
 
 But he could not lie. His face twitched painfully. 
 
 " Why should one expect that on earth ? " he asked 
 with forced lightness. And yet it might have been. She 
 said that to herself, and a fury of hopeless helpless anger 
 rose in her. What she said aloud cut him like a whip. 
 
 " It will be well in heaven, since there is neither mar- 
 riage nor giving in marriage there." 
 
 His pale face flushed. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. And she did not 
 answer, but kept her eyes upon him and wondered what 
 was in his heart, since she knew he loved her and knew 
 he hated his wife. And he was so fine, she said, so good, 
 so strong. How came it that there was this weakness in 
 him both of act and endurance — what led him, what 
 drove ? 
 
 As for him he suffered without showing it, as he 
 believed, and a terror of Rachel came up in him. His 
 mind was quick and tender, not yet dulled by suffering, 
 and it seemed to touch her mind and learn of it, so that 
 he perceived something new in her which had come since 
 they last met. Neither pain nor labour nor the anxious 
 thoughts of those who deal with the seasons and the earth 
 could blunt him, and he saw that she was awakened, 
 aggressive, and had some purpose in hand like a sword. 
 And in his hand the sword of the Lord was sharp, but it 
 shook, and he was not sure of defence. Though she was 
 worn and of a spiritual strength such as he had not seen 
 in her, she represented the body rather than the soul, the 
 flesh rather than the spirit. But this was the flesh that 
 drew. There was that which made his heart sick ; and it 
 was fertile. ' 
 
RACHEL MARR 217 
 
 He knew she was speaking to him with Winifred in her 
 mind. And while there was sorrow in her that might 
 bring tears, there was contempt which was a scorching 
 flame. He spoke at last in desperation. 
 
 " Have you heard that John is coming back? " 
 
 " I have heard it." 
 
 " He comes to-morrow." 
 
 " Tell him that William Jose will kill him," said Rachel, 
 " unless he means to marry Mary." 
 
 She spoke quite calmly. In the living presence of 
 tragedy a threatened tragedy was nothing. 
 
 " He'll not marry her," said Anthony. " I asked him 
 not to return, but he does what he will." 
 
 " There are many who do," said Rachel. " We all 
 do, Anthony, even if we think we do as your God 
 wUs." 
 
 " My God — ^is He not yours ? " 
 
 The fanatic in him woke and his eyes gleamed. 
 
 " I am not even a Catholic any more," she said, and 
 saying that she turned and leapt upon the bank which 
 separated the road from her woodland acres. Sigurd 
 followed her quietly, as if he had forgotten his old master, 
 and they went away together leaving Anthony in the 
 road. Knowing that he suffered she made him suffer 
 more. 
 
 There came back to him words of fire, as it were written 
 upon a dark cloud, and they were the bitter words of 
 Martha. He heard her say, " he let the thoughts of a girl 
 on things the world's in division about keep him from his 
 love. 'Twas a carved crucifix that stood between you ! 
 Take this thought home and live with it, that her heart's 
 a woman's, and that her religion was no more to her than 
 something to hold till the man comes, as a child plays with 
 dolls till nature gives her a babe to suckle. Rachel would 
 have worshipped idols with you ! " 
 
 If Martha had stabbed and hurt him Rachel used a 
 blade which made him bleed inwardly. He prayed as he 
 rode, and all the time there was a faint physical sickness 
 upon him, and it seemed that God was far off, and that 
 heaven was only to be reached through hell. His prayer 
 
2i8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 was wordless anguish ; it was the prayer of the suffering 
 brain and body rather than any appeal of the soul. And 
 that part of him which was not subdued, that part which 
 was the mate of his own brother, that wild nature which 
 flourished in those whom men of religion called " the bad 
 Perrans," refused to pray at the altar of any God. 
 
 Yet still he held himself close and rode soberly upon the 
 high road, knowing that nought could be done, and that 
 if he was a slave by his marriage and h;s word, he was 
 doubly a slave to the unborn child. And it was not till 
 hours had passed and much labour had dulled his nerves 
 that he thought upon Rachel's heart of flame, and per- 
 ceived that he stood in peril of his soul. 
 
 And before he thought of this certain other things 
 befell, and Rachel met Winnie by the little wooden bridge 
 which crossed the stream and made a path between Pen- 
 towan and the Church Town. Her heart was bitter, so 
 bitter that she was glad to feel what Anthony must' have 
 suflFered when he knew that religion stood between them 
 no longer. But she herself suffered, for she met that 
 which did stand between them, and there was that about 
 Winifred which made her heart sick. For though she 
 looked much older and as if she were not happy, yet even 
 in her lack of happiness there was a sense of satisfaction 
 which was something more than herself. She came upon 
 Rachel suddenly, for Rachel was sitting on the western 
 bank of the stream at noon, while Sigurd amused his 
 hunting nature by muzzling after rabbits in the fern 
 nearer Morna House. But when he saw someone with 
 Rachel he came back to her fast. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, Rachel," said Winnie, and Rachel turned 
 and stared at her. Sigurd bounded upon the bridge, and 
 when he knew it was Winnie he growled softly and turn- 
 ing to Rachel put his slate-grey head against her cheek. 
 She threw her arm over his neck and considered 
 Anthony's wife for a moment before she spoke. 
 
 For it was the first time they had seen each other close 
 since the day that Winnie made more trouble than she 
 reckoned upon with Rachel. What she said then was 
 clear in her enemy's mind, for now Rachel knew they 
 
RACHEL MARR 219 
 
 were enemies. " I said you were sick with love for him 
 and owned it to me." There was truth in this, and a He, 
 and perhaps much had come out of both. And now 
 Winnie came softly with her softest face and saluted her. 
 Rachel remembered that their quarrel was about the dog, 
 who now kept growling in a low monotone of anger, for 
 there was virtue in Sigurd and he knew his enemies. 
 What had Winnie said? " Keep the dog, keep him. 
 You've taken him from me, but I've taken Anthony from 
 you ! " Oh, yes, that was true ! 
 
 " Yes, it's I," said Rachel at last, as she took her eyes 
 from the woman's face and stroked Sigurd's head. 
 
 " I was coming to see you. Make that brute stop 
 growling." 
 
 " Be quiet, Sigurd. Lie down." 
 
 And Sigurd lay down obediently, but he still made little 
 noises in his throat, and Rachel in her mind called him a 
 wise dog. 
 
 " Why were you coming to see me ? " she asked. 
 
 Winnie said in her heart, " I came to see if you 
 suffered, and I came to make you suffer if I could, for 
 I know Anthony loves you, and I say things to him daily 
 which make him bleed." 
 
 But she said aloud : 
 
 " I came to make friends, for I knew why you would 
 not come to my wedding. I didn't mind then, because I 
 was so happy, Rachel, but after one has been married for 
 months even if a woman loves her husband as I do, and 
 is loved as Anthony loves me, she thinks of her old 
 friends." 
 
 " Was I ever your friend ? " asked Rachel. 
 
 She looked Winnie fairly in the face with clear eyes in 
 which contempt lurked. She stripped the woman's soul 
 of her mask, and left her naked. 
 
 " Oh, then you can't forgive ! " said Winnie. " It was 
 not my fault." 
 
 Rachel nodded, and knew what she meant, and held up 
 her head, knowing that if Winnie chose to stab she must 
 endure. 
 
 " I understand you," she said ; " is it not enough to say 
 
220 RACHEL MARR 
 
 I understand you ? You were coming to my house ; don't 
 come ; you will not be welcome." 
 
 There was a quality in her voice which roused Sigurd. 
 He lifted his head and growled so fiercely that Winnie 
 flinched. 
 
 " Keep that beast quiet," she said angrily, " and don't 
 think that I or mine wish to enter your house. We know 
 you too well ; and all Moma knows you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Morna knows me," cried Rachel, laughing. 
 " Morna knows me, and there are those in Morna who 
 know others ! " 
 
 She rose to her feet and faced Winnie. 
 
 " Have you anything to say that you think could hurt 
 me ? If you have, say it 1 " 
 
 She stood high above Winnie and grew fierce. And 
 her enemy was willing to wound her, and was yet afraid, 
 and then could not restrain herself. 
 
 " Don't make yourself the talk of the country by wait- 
 ing in the road to see my husband," she said. She bent 
 forward and whispered, " Don't give him and me chances 
 to laugh at you in bed of nights." 
 
 But Rachel neither went pale nor red, since she had 
 prepared herself. She bent her head a little and looked 
 at Winnie with eyes which seemed to see beyond her. 
 What she saw was Anthony and his suffering. She 
 spoke as if she were in a dream. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said suddenly, " you are Anthony Per- 
 ran's wife." 
 
 There was the making of a bitter taunt in this, and a 
 quick apprehension of jealousy woke in the woman who 
 sought to find the sting in it. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she cried angrily. 
 
 Rachel bent and patted Sigurd as he licked her hand, 
 and she said swiftly : 
 
 " What was it Steve Penrose said to you on your mar- 
 riage morning that made you strike the old man on the 
 mouth?" 
 
 And Winnie fell back from her, going white as ashes. 
 She tried to speak and at first could not. At last she 
 screamed thinly : 
 
KACJtlJiL iVlAKK 221 
 
 "Did he tell you what he said ? He's a liar ! Anthony 
 will beat beat him like a dog ! " 
 
 "Have you told Anthony?" asked Rachel. What 
 Steve had said she knew not. And yet there were 
 thoughts in her mind as to what he had said, for where 
 much seed is sown some will grow. 
 
 But Winnie stammered furiously and was afraid, for 
 nothing had been spoken against her openly. She dared 
 not ask Rachel again if she knew what Steve had said, 
 and she was sorry that she had tried to hurt anyone who 
 held a weapon in her hand. 
 
 " I know your heart," said Rachel, when the other 
 answered nothing. And rage flowered in her and she 
 cried out, " I know your heart and that you came here 
 this day to hurt me if you could. There's never been a 
 time when you did not hate me, and now, for reasons I 
 could tell you, you hate me worse than ever." 
 
 " What — what reasons ? " asked Winnie. " 'Tisn't 
 true." 
 
 "Oh, it's true as that poison kills," said Rachel pas- 
 sionately. " For what you said on the cliffs that day 
 when I had it in my heart to kill you, if you had not been 
 too mean a thing to kill, I don't forgive you and never 
 shall." 
 
 And Winnie's lower lip quivered. 
 
 " What will you do against me ? " 
 
 And Rachel shook like a reed in running water so that 
 Winnie's heart beat again. 
 
 " What can you do ? " 
 
 And Rachel said to herself that perhaps she might save 
 Anthony from her even yet. 
 
 " Reckon all that done which I can do," she said. And 
 great tears rolled down her cheeks. At the sight of the 
 hot tears Winnie laughed. 
 
 " What I said that day was true," she cried trium- 
 phantly, " and you can keep the dog. 'Tis for Anthony 
 you're crying." She pressed closer to Rachel and her 
 rage grew like a rising storm. 
 
 " If he loved you (and he laughs o' nights) you 
 couldn't take him. Marriage is a sacred thing to 
 
222 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Anthony ; 'tis part of religion, and his religion is in his 
 blood. And there's that which is part of me, and of him, 
 that will bind him to me faster than death binds two in a 
 grave. And that's the new life I carry, that which will 
 never be yours." 
 
 She screamed her words at Rachel and stabbed at her 
 with her finger. And now Rachel was as colourless as a 
 grey sea, and her eyes had a deathly inward look as of 
 one who sees things that are hidden. A voice that was 
 not her own spoke with strange assurance, and she 
 listened to herself wondering what she would say. 
 
 " It may never be born," she cried. She clutched at 
 the hidden crucifix over her heart, since it seemed to move 
 there as though the blade thirsted, and calling to Sigurd 
 she walked away with her head down. And Winnie 
 shivered a little since she was always afraid of Rachel, 
 but plucked up a wicked heart and called after her : 
 
 " We'll laugh, at you to-night, you sick of love ; we'll 
 laugh at you to-night." 
 
 XII 
 
 Now in her dark grove Rachel consulted strange oracles, 
 and heard the voices of Sibyls and the rustling of those 
 leaves of strange script which lie deep within each human 
 heart. Her mother was dead, and had never loved her 
 while she lived, but now there were hours in which it 
 seemed that a voiceless sighing spirit of maternal love 
 strove with her. And with the sighing of her mother's 
 soul there mingled the wail of her own uncreated vision 
 of the woodland. For days, long days and nights, after 
 she had spoken with Anthony and his wife, with God's 
 man and with a succubus, she was played upon by ten 
 thousand impulses which were of earth and heaven, of 
 the soul and body, of the flesh and spirit ; Life called to 
 her and showed her sweet imaginations in Elysian fields; 
 her body spoke and her soul and the dying beliefs which 
 had been dear to her. Death urged that he was sweet 
 and that the grave only gave rest and obUvion. For 
 
RACHEL MARR 223 
 
 oblivion was peace — ^the very peace of God. Her life 
 was tormented and no clear purpose sprang up in her out 
 of the undergrowth of the mixed passions and desires of 
 her heart, and yet underneath she knew a clear purpose 
 ran like a hidden stream. This was certain, and other 
 things declared to her that it was predetermined and the 
 work of destiny. Her dreams gave her assurance of it, 
 and in them she was less troubled. Not even a clearer 
 vision which came to her of her mother's life gave her 
 any pause, for in her thoughts she now became more her 
 mother's child. Even in the day and in her daily life 
 stray folks brought her help without knowing it, and 
 those she knew said things which added fire to fire and 
 fuel of fire. The whispering rumours about Anthony 
 and his wife ceased to be whispers. The servants of 
 Pentowan sent out tales of her, for not even her desire 
 to make Rachel believe that love dwelt at Pentowan could 
 restrain her. 
 
 " The mistress at Pentowan has a bitter tongxie," they 
 reported. Morna laid heads together and said things. 
 
 " And here's John Perran coming back." 
 
 Whether Steve had spoken plainly or no was uncertain, 
 but now Morna spoke with some plainness, and spoke 
 loudly. 
 
 "And she married his brother: oh, 'tis a devil of a 
 woman! And she says things about Miss Rachel, 
 she!" 
 
 Martha heard what she said, and in her rage told 
 Rachel the rumours about Winnie and John. And 
 Rachel knew they were true, for Steve must have said 
 this to the bride on her wedding day. She went sick of 
 heart to hear it put into words. 
 
 " Don't say it, Martha ! " 
 
 " If words were poison," said Martha, " my tongue 
 should make her shriek. Ah, there are loathly wicked 
 hearts that beat in the bodies of folk ! " 
 
 She ran to Rachel and put the girl's head against her 
 withered bosom. 
 
 " Oh, my pretty, oh, my heart," she said, " if you would 
 but leave Morna ! " 
 
224 RACHEL MARR 
 
 It would be to leave Anthony. Rachel said no word, 
 but went to her books and sat without reading. What 
 had she meant when she said to Winnie, " Reckon all that 
 done which I can do " ? In the hidden stream of fate her 
 purpose ran darkling. She knew what it was and would 
 not know it. 
 
 " What shall I be ? " she asked, and she answered : 
 
 " What does it matter if he be saved ? " 
 
 If he suffered for a time she would be like a fire to bum 
 up his vain regrets. His religion seemed but a madness 
 to her. If he lived and loved he would know that God 
 was good, though not the God he now prayed to trample 
 on his heart. 
 
 Her purpose grew clearer ; the stream threatened to be 
 a flood. As she sat musing Martha brought her some- 
 thing to eat, and Rachel never knew she had been in the 
 room till she found cold food at her elbow an hour later. 
 She ate what was given her, for she desired strength. 
 
 " All that I can do," she repeated to herself. 
 
 And an hour afterwards she said very soberly: 
 
 " Anthony is mine, by nature." 
 
 Then she smiled and was quite cpld and calm even 
 when Martha came in and said that Father Brant desired 
 to see her. 
 
 " He looks sadly," said Martha. 
 
 " And I shall hurt the poor old man," thought Rachel. 
 She pulled her grandfather's big armchair forward, and 
 when the priest entered the room she led him to it and 
 stood before him quietly till he got his breath. 
 
 " I trust you are better. Father." 
 
 " I get old," said Father Brant, "but it is well with 
 me." 
 
 She saw that he had aged, but there was peace in his 
 face that she envied for a moment. Then she knew that 
 this was the peace of death which passes the understand- 
 ing of the living and her red blood revolted against it. 
 He looked at her in silence and she met his eyes calmly. 
 
 " It seems to me that there is a great change in you, 
 my daughter." 
 
 " Perhaps it is that I am a child no longer," replied 
 
RACHEL MARR 225 
 
 Rachel. There was bitter-sweet in her voice, and the old 
 man did not wonder at it, for he knew her nature and her 
 inheritance, and was aware that beauty such as hers was 
 no less a gift of sorrow than exceeding strength. 
 
 "You must have much to tell me," he said presently. 
 "You have not confessed since I saw you. Why was 
 that?" 
 
 Her weakness was the reason and her great strength 
 was also the reason. A veil hid her soul from him ; she 
 grew hard. Of old she would have clasped her hands 
 before her like a little child, but now she clasped them 
 behind her. 
 
 "You said there was a great change in me, Father. 
 That was true." 
 
 " What is it ? Kneel down and tell me, my daughter." 
 
 The priest within him spoke with authority, and Rachel 
 made a motion as if to obey. 
 
 " I cannot," she said in a low voice, " I cannot." 
 
 This was pride or fear, he said, for he knew the little 
 hearts of humanity like his own little books. 
 
 " Is there anything that you have done, or anything in 
 your heart that your fear to tell me ? " 
 
 Her heart was a great book, and in its pages a greater 
 man might have read her fear to hurt him. 
 
 " I have done nothing." 
 
 Yet she looked at the serried ranks of hostile books and 
 his eyes followed hers. 
 
 " I have read many books that you would have for- 
 bidden." 
 
 " Whose books are these ? " he asked. 
 
 She told him they had been her grandfather's. 
 
 " Of a certainty his books are not for you," he said. 
 For he knew what Morna said of old Tregilgas. 
 
 "You read them knowing I should forbid them to 
 you?" 
 
 " I read them knowing that," said Rachel. But she 
 had read many books, those of the flesh and of the spirit 
 and of the spirit of the woods, and those of red-leaved 
 passion and pure desire. And she knew that many books 
 lied, for the heart of man is only desperately wicked so 
 
226 RACHEL MARK 
 
 long as he fears it and lives by barren argument and 
 theory. 
 
 " That was wrong," said the priest, " but the heart of 
 faith can get no harm." 
 
 He looked at her and she knew his simple heart of faith. 
 But she cried to herself, " What faith have I, and why 
 should I believe one man rather than another, rather than 
 myself?" 
 
 For deep within her was a well-spring of faith in the 
 sweet nature of man, and true commandments were 
 written in her heart. But she was young and had no 
 gift of speech, and words came not at her desire, so that 
 she said simply: 
 
 " I have no faith." 
 
 There was a long silence. It lasted so long that she 
 turned to him in fear. 
 
 " How can a child like you say this ? " he cried. 
 " What madness has hold of you ? " 
 
 Even as he spoke he knew she was no child, but a grown 
 woman, subject to a woman's passions, and in her brow 
 there was power, and in her eyes fire and sullen flame. 
 And she knew that this was a man in whom passion was 
 a dead root, for children were forbidden him and the 
 warm life of living things. The mightier if not the 
 greater half of humanity was for him a thing to learn by 
 difficult report. Had not he and his fellows made strange 
 sins ? She remembered what he had said of foolish Mary 
 Jose. 
 
 " I am not mad," she said with a sudden access of pas- 
 sion. " It seems to me I never was so sane ; I see things 
 differently — ^no, I always saw them so." 
 
 She knew that her religion had been a coloured 
 veil. 
 
 " I always saw them so," she repeated. " You your- 
 self set me thinking when you said it was a mortal sin for 
 Mary to have a child. And when I asked you how it 
 was that God rewarded a mortal sin by sending a baby 
 from heaven, you spoke to me of the Church and what it 
 said." 
 
 And the priest groaned in his heart, for this girl was 
 
KACtLiLL, iVii\J\.I^ 227 
 
 herself the child of mortal sin, and the fruit of shame. 
 Her very parentage was a blasphemy and the sins of her 
 parents were a foundation of rebellion in her. He was 
 getting an old man and weak, and his heart failed him 
 at the sight of her stubbornness, at the sound of her 
 voice. 
 
 "Do you deny God's Church her authority that she 
 gives me ? " he asked feebly. " Is your faith in God and 
 the Church become so little ? " 
 
 His voice was as the pipe of a little forlorn child in a 
 great wind. What was the Church he spoke of to the 
 passion and pain of the great world ? Here in this very 
 room the mighty spirit of a great old man was still 
 dominant ; without words or any power of expression she 
 felt the living power of an unknown God in all things 
 and all nature and all spirit, but most of all in the hearts 
 of man that were God and witnessed to Him. Who 
 should impute sin: who should offer salvation? 
 
 " There's that within me which says these thoughts are 
 nothing," she cried, answering herself. 
 
 " Kneel down and pray with me," said the Father. 
 
 But Rachel said : 
 
 " I will not, I will not. Why should I pray while all 
 that I am God made ? " 
 
 Her nascent faith, her green and growing religion, was 
 anathema to him. When he tried to speak she went up 
 to him close and spoke passionately, repeating what she 
 had said. She laid her hand upon the old yellow cruci- 
 fix which was on the table and his eye followed her 
 hand. 
 
 "And this is the cross on which Christ suffered," he 
 said. 
 
 A rage of revolt rose within her. 
 
 " It made my mother suffer," she cried, choking ; " it is 
 what killed her." 
 
 This was her thought of the religion, not of the sharp 
 steel within the ivory. No one knew but she and Martha 
 what had killed Mary Marr. And Father Brant 
 trembled. 
 
 "What do you know of your mother?" he asked; 
 
228 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " and why do you say the emblem of Christ's passion 
 killed her?" 
 
 For he knew the dead woman's heart, and what had 
 sent her to death. 
 
 " She cast this out into the garden the night she died," 
 said Rachel. 
 
 And the priest who had risen sat down again, and 
 stared at her. 
 
 " What is it you say, girl ? " 
 
 Rachel threw up both her arms passionately, holding 
 the crucifix in her right hand. 
 
 " I ran out and got it and gave it back to her I " 
 
 She choked a little, and then spoke in a strange low 
 voice. 
 
 "Oh, twice it killed her!" 
 
 She drew out the blade and held it up. She had 
 polished the fine Steel till it shone. 
 
 " What thing of evil is this ? " asked the priest. 
 
 And Rachel answered : 
 
 " It is written upon it. Read ! " 
 
 He took the blade from her and, holding it with a 
 shaking hand, read the inscription. 
 
 " No good man wrought this," he said, " and though 
 Christ brought a sword it was to slay evil." 
 
 " Then has He slain it ? " she cried in bitter passion, 
 " has he slain it ? Oh, but I'm a child no more." 
 
 She took the dagger and sheathed it, and put the cru- 
 cifix into her bosom. And a great light came into her 
 eyes, light that was assured knowledge and pity for the 
 priest and the man dead within him. 
 
 " After what I've told you, you think my mother is in 
 hell this hour," she cried suddenly. 
 
 And Father Brant said : 
 
 " God forbid that she should be ! " 
 
 And Rachel laughed aloud. 
 
 " But you believe it, you believe it ! " 
 
 She pressed upon him passionately and put her hands 
 upon his shoulders, standing over him with gleaming 
 eyes. 
 
 "You believe it!" 
 
RACHEL MARR 229 
 
 His lips trembled, for now he was an old man and 
 weak, and she was strong. 
 
 " Because she loved over-much ! " cried Rachel. "Oh, 
 I believe better of God than that; better of God than 
 that!" 
 
 Then she turned suddenly and left him and ran upstairs 
 to the darkened room which had been her mother's. She 
 knelt by the couch on which the dead woman had found 
 God's eternal peace, and she stayed till it grew dark. 
 There Martha came to her. She went downstars with 
 the old woman very soberly, for within her now was one 
 clear purpose. She was very sweet to Mary Jose and 
 her litde boy, and she sat through the evening with 
 Martha, holding her withered hand in her own. 
 
 XIII 
 
 The next morning when Rachel came down, first of all 
 her household, and unbolted the back door to go out to 
 loose and feed Sigurd and the chickens, she found old 
 Steve Penrose fast asleep, coiled upon the seat of the 
 porch. She stood for a minute and the motion of her 
 heart was to pity the old man, but she restrained it, for 
 what need was there ? 
 
 " He's not unhappy," she said, " and he has done his 
 work and had his way, and now he talks. And as for 
 drink, it seems to come by way of his philosophy. But he 
 beats no one, and he hates what I hate, and Sigurd never 
 barked at him." 
 
 She loosed the dog and he leapt about her. 
 
 " Is this the way you protect me, Sigurd ? " she asked 
 as she showed him Steve upon the seat. " Remember 
 you are all I have." 
 
 Sigurd nosed Steve hghtly and turned to Rachel as if 
 he said, " We know him, mistress ; there's no harm in 
 him." 
 
 Then Steve woke and presently discovered where he 
 was and rolled off the bench and yawned apologies to 
 Rachel. 
 
230 RACHEL MARK 
 
 " I didn't sleep here without leave, Miss," he said as he 
 rubbed his blood-shot eyes and shook out his tangled 
 mane. " I got good leave from your steward Sigurd 
 when I came at midnight He half invited me to share 
 his kennel, knowing what a straw-lover I am, but I was 
 loth to discommode him and found this place. It is hard, 
 but then the way of a transgressor is hard, and I don't 
 complain except when bitter drought strikes me." 
 
 " You shall have some cofifee soon," said Rachel as she 
 let the fowls run. 
 
 " Coffee's a comfortable creature," Steve replied yawn- 
 ing, " and in the beginning of the day I know no better 
 friend. If it would stay six in the morning all day I 
 should be sober again and as like as not go to work 
 preaching or fishing. But what's worrying me at this 
 moment is to discover in the thick darkness of my mind 
 what it was I came here for. My memory is like a torn 
 net, Miss Rachel, and fish can sail through it contempt- 
 uous till its cobbled up with drink. As you observe, I'm 
 mixed and stagger. Now what was it? On my word, I 
 know it had something to do with psalms. That's as 
 clear as fog to me." 
 
 He rubbed his chin with his fist. 
 
 " Oh, aye, to be sure. 'Tis in the matter of old Jose, 
 Miss Rachel. Did you persuade him to cut down the 
 crop that's been growing in him? For if not there's 
 bitter beer brewing, since last night John Perran came 
 to Morna." 
 
 Rachel shook her head. 
 
 " I did my best, but he was quick to see what I came to 
 ask him." 
 
 She told Steve what had happened and the old man 
 laughed. 
 
 " William Jose was never a fool, except by way of re- 
 ligion and the belief that his own flesh and blood was not 
 like other men's daughters," he said, " and he's no doubt 
 proud that he got the best of you. And that's bad, for 
 he's proud at any time and this thing has been a running 
 sore in him. I passed his house at ten o'clock last night. 
 Miss Rachel, and being in a very bright state of mind 
 
RACHEL MARR 231 
 
 and swift in my intellect, owing to timely irrigation of 
 my fruitful wits, I stood outside his window and heard 
 him speaking within." 
 
 " Who was with him ? " asked Rachel. 
 
 " 'Twas his own dark spirit, Miss Rachel dear, and the 
 dark spirit of David when David took pen and wrote 
 curses against his enemies. He was reading psalms in a 
 loud voice ; and to be sure it wasn't the hundredth psalm 
 he read. He made no joyful noise unto the Lord, but if I 
 remember rightly 'twas the fifty-fifth or thereabouts, for 
 he roared out, ' But Thou, O Lord, shall bring them down 
 into the pit of destruction; bloody and deceitful men 
 shall not live out half their days.' He gave me the 
 shivers when I peeped in and saw his wrought-iron face 
 like a mask in a forge fire. I said, ' I'll away to Miss 
 Rachel,' and here I came and found the house asleep." 
 
 Rachel listened to his talk and scattered grain to the 
 fowls who crowded about her in a clamorous ring. 
 
 " Where is John Perran now ? " 
 
 Old Steve looked so odd that she added : 
 
 "What is the matter with you ? " 
 
 " I'm all right," said Steve, " seeing that by-and-by in 
 your good time I shall get some coffee. But where do 
 you think Mr. John is ? " 
 
 " Pentowan." 
 
 " Not he," said Steve ; " he's with old George Perran. 
 And a wet and windy night I'll lay they had ! " 
 
 He sighed to think of it. 
 
 " He never knew that Mr. Anthony was married till 
 yesterday," he added. " And it's said that when he knew 
 he cursed in the most prodigious manner. 'Tis why he's 
 not at Pentowan. And why he cursed many can guess, 
 but only I and one she can tell." 
 
 But perhaps Rachel knew. 
 
 " There's one she in this neighbourhood that's the 
 wickedest cat that ever mewed. Miss Rachel, would 
 you think it a liberty if I mentioned her name ? " 
 
 But Rachel hardly heard what he said. 
 
 " Come in and I'll give you your coffee." 
 
 " 'Tisn't often queens make coffee for a beggar-man," 
 
232 RACHEL MARR 
 
 said Steve. " If I could only brew happiness for Miss 
 Rachel I'd call myself King of my tribe." 
 
 When he had finished his breakfast Martha and Mary 
 came down. It was then barely six o'clolck. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mrs. Martha ; good-morning, Mary," 
 said Steve. " Here's long life to you both, and early 
 rising helps." 
 
 Mary looked at him with nervous eyes, for she had 
 slept little that night. She slipped up to him when she 
 got a chance. 
 
 " Did Mr. John come last night ? " she asked tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Aye," said Steve, " but don't reckon on him, my dear. 
 'Tis the wildest hawk that flies." 
 
 " What brought you here so early, you old vagabond? " 
 asked Martha. " 'Tis a fine thing for the likes of you 
 to have our young lady lighting fires and making 
 coffee." 
 
 " I'm a newspapef," said Steve ; " I carry news and 
 sell it." 
 
 " And make it. Now, then, Mary, don't stand there 
 gaping like a fool at a fair." 
 
 She drove her out. 
 
 " Wild Johnny Perran came back last night," said 
 Steve. " Keep your eye on Mary, Mrs. Martha ; blue- 
 eyes is a devil surely, and all flesh is weak." 
 
 But Rachel called to him from the yard. He took a 
 last drink of coffee and ambled out to her. 
 
 " Go to George Perran's and tell Mr. John what you 
 know," she said. " You can say I tried to get William 
 Jose to promise that he would do no folly and that I 
 found the old man too hard to deal with. He must look 
 out for himself." 
 
 Steve nodded. 
 
 " I'll do it. 'Tis a sad world, the silliest world. Miss 
 Rachel, and yet I think it's not wickedness that makes our 
 world a mark of folly among all the stars of heaven. If 
 there was but a fool's island for fools we wise folks might 
 have our ways and never be the worse for it. If you'll 
 excuse my mentioning it. Miss Rachel, I've a very great 
 
RACHEL MARR 233 
 
 affection for you, and I'm glad to see you looking 
 better." 
 
 That she looked better Rachel knew. Her spirit was 
 calmer since she had surrendered, and some of her colour 
 had returned. 
 
 "Thank you, Steve," she answered. She offered him 
 her hand, but Steve looked at his own and shook his head. 
 
 " I'll borrow some soap and give it a scrub, Miss, and 
 when I can do aught for you I'll come up and remind you 
 that you wished to shake hands with the old vagabond." 
 
 There were tears in his eyes as he went away. 
 
 " She's the greatest, finest, and most beautiful woman 
 betwixt sea and sea," he swore, " and if I were a gaudy 
 bishop with a cathedral and a palace I'd offer her the one 
 and thank God for her in the other. I wish Johnny 
 Perran would cut Mrs. Anthony's wicked white throat, 
 and cut it deep." 
 
 In Rachel's heart were checked thoughts which rose 
 and clamoured to be heard. 
 
 "John's being here may make a change," something 
 cried within her. 
 
 She went back to the house, and for once found 
 Martha idle. She kissed the old woman's cheek. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Martha ? " 
 
 "This news of Steve, my darling," said Martha. 
 " Mary knows. She's in a wild tremble, and makes sad 
 work with your crockery. I believe the poor fool thinks 
 he'll marry her." 
 
 " He won't," said Rachel. 
 
 " He may be wicked, but he's not a fool like his 
 brother," said Martha angrily. " And as to being wicked, 
 well, it's a big word, and what's a man to do when a 
 woman who loves him over-well lets him know it. Men 
 are men and fire's fire and flax is flax." 
 
 She spoke without any deeper thought in her mind, but 
 Rachel whitened a little. 
 
 " Is the knowledge of a woman's love so much ? " she 
 asked with a pretence of lightness. 
 
 " It's flame," said Martha, " it's flame, if his heart's 
 empty." 
 
234 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Now indeed other thoughts came to her, and she looked 
 at Rachel from under her eyebrows. 
 
 " You think I know nought of men, but I do," she 
 said suddenly. " Some day I'll tell you." 
 
 Rachel stroked her cheek. 
 
 " Tell me now, dear." 
 
 But Martha shook her head. 
 
 " Can one tell anything in the morning? One's heart 
 is shut in the morning and only thoughts come up. I 
 think a lot of you, child, evetj when it's dawn. What was 
 it Steve came to say besides that of John Perran ? " 
 
 " He heard William Jose reading psalms against him 
 last night." 
 
 Martha threw up her hands. 
 
 " John should never have come back and old Jose 
 should be shut up. There'll be murder done in Morna ! " 
 
 " I've sent Steve to warn him," said Rachel. She went 
 away to her room of books and opened the shutters and 
 let in the light of day. 
 
 " Has there been murder done ? " asked Martha, " or 
 is her heart still alive? There's something in her this 
 day or two that I've not seen before. And I said to 
 her, ' Oh, it's flame if a man's heart is empty, it's 
 flame ! ' " 
 
 She went about her work, and Rachel went about hers. 
 They all had breakfast together in the great kitchen and 
 Mary brought down her boy clothed in his best. There 
 was scarlet in her cheeks and her hands shook, and she 
 met no one's eye. They took their meal in silence. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Steve Penrose went by way of the village to George 
 Perran's house, for the field path was wet with rain, and 
 he wished to pass the time of day with William Jose so 
 that he could have as much to tell as possible. 
 
 " Old George drinks early," said Steve, " and it's likely 
 that John has a thirst on him this morning, if I'm judge 
 of men. So there will be drink going and the more my 
 
RACHEL MARR 235 
 
 tongue can tell the more call I shall have to ease a dry 
 throat. For two hours after dawn a man may drink 
 coffee, but after seven it's as poor a thing as ditch-water, 
 and the very thought of it makes me sick. Good-morn- 
 ing to you, Mr. Jose." 
 
 He laid his shoulder against the door-post of the forge 
 and looked in while the old blacksmith lighted his fire. 
 But he got no answer. 
 
 " May I warm my hands at your fire ? " asked Steve, 
 being nothing abashed. 
 
 "Thrust your hand in it," said Jose fiercely, "there's 
 other fires lighted for you and your companions." 
 
 His face was white and drawn, and his eyes were like 
 pits of hot coal. 
 
 " Why, sir, you scare me," said Steve, " for there's a 
 dry fire in me and the threat of hot without is most horrid 
 and unnatural. However, I'll warm me, for the morn- 
 ing's damp and there's more rain in this wind, if I'm a 
 judge of wet. I heard you singing psalms last night, Mr. 
 Jose, as I went past." 
 
 " You lie — I sang nothing," said Jose. 
 
 " Well, then, you chanted them," said Steve. " Have 
 you heard the news that one has come to Moma who has 
 more need to be scared of fire than a harmless old devil 
 like me?" 
 
 " If you see the man tell him to keep out of my sight, 
 if he has not come to make reparation," cried the black- 
 smith, " for I know what you mean and he was a friend 
 of yours." 
 
 Steve shook his towsled head. 
 
 " He's too much of a gentleman to be that, but I own 
 I've drunk with him at times when he condescended to 
 take notice that I was as dry as August ! " he said. " But 
 I'll tell him, I'll tell him." 
 
 He winked at the world at large as he went away. 
 
 " As I told Miss Rachel it's a silly world. I'd send our 
 blacksmith to forge shoes for asses in Fool's Island. 
 What could John do when the girls chased him ? Cut off 
 his pretty nose, eh? I wonder what's in Mrs. Anthony's 
 mind just now. She's in velvet, and no man but me 
 
236 RACHEL MARR 
 
 speaks above his breath about her. But Mary's the white 
 flower to her splotched carcase ! " 
 
 He came to George Perran's and found it breakfast 
 time. He sent the girl in to say that he wanted to speak 
 to Mr. John Perran, and John himself came out upon 
 the step. 
 
 " 'Tis the same man," said Steve to himself, " oh, 'tis 
 the same man. Years fall oflf him, and he's like his 
 brother dipped in sunlight and full of red wine that 
 glows." 
 
 There was a wonderful resemblance between the two 
 brothers and an unlikeness to the full as wonderful. 
 When Anthony smiled it was as though men's eyes fell on 
 a rare gold flower in a wood. But John was a garden. 
 He glowed like a warm blossom and had the colour of a 
 maid who loved the sun. His eyes were fountains of 
 light, blue as the sea and as variable. And yet there was 
 a steadfastness in him which was the steadfastness of the 
 sea and of nature's self. He followed himself, loved his 
 own nature and the sun, saw no God in heaven, for he was 
 full of joy. He was less than Anthony, and more. There 
 was no division in him, no dualism split his laughing 
 mind. There was folly in the world, but no sin; there 
 was crime, but no wickedness ; there was death, but death 
 was nothing in the splendour of life. As a creature of the 
 earth he was admirable, swift-witted, yet without the 
 intellect which looks before and after. He sang like a 
 bird ; his speaking voice was the mellowest that ever said 
 " I love you, my pretty maid." No excess touched him ; 
 he was young and strong and agile. Men loved him and 
 so did women, children ran after him with joyous 
 laughter. 
 
 " Oh, my poor old Steve, it is you ? " he cried. " I 
 knew you'd be on my trail as soon as I struck Moma. 
 Come in and have something with me and George Perran. 
 I see you want it. Drinking time comes before earliest 
 milking time with you, Steve." 
 
 There was pleasure in his eyes at the sight of the de- 
 bauched Democritus of Morna. Steve climbed up the 
 steps with outstretched hands, not timid or abashed. 
 
RACHEL MARR 237 
 
 " Oh, sir, 'tis fine to see you. There's no man under 
 heaven like you to find brothers in such as me. When I 
 see you I've enough pride in me to give away. You and 
 the sun are friends to me." 
 
 John slapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 " Come in. Old George is still at breakfast and I've 
 put him into the sweetest morning temper he's had since 
 I went. He'll not curse you as he was apt to if he 
 saw you before noon. Come along in and tell us the 
 news." 
 
 In the passage Steve caught him by the sleeve. When 
 John turned the old man looked him in the eye. 
 
 " 'Twas a strange marriage, Mr. John," he said signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " I thought I knew some rotten hearts right through ! " 
 cried John, " but I've a deal to learn, it seems. Was 
 there much talk, Steve ? " 
 
 " There were whispers that fairly hissed," said Steve, 
 "but drunk or sober (and now soberness is apt to em- 
 bitter me) I never let out what I knew." 
 
 " It's a pity you weren't bitterly sober then," said 
 John. " However, all's ill that ends ill, and fools must 
 be fools." 
 
 They went into the breakfast room and found George 
 Perran still at the table. 
 
 " Well, what's brought you here, Steve ? " he asked ; 
 " it's surely not hunger ? " 
 
 Steve shook his head. 
 
 " Why, no, sir, hunger may drive me at times, but it's 
 thirst leads me. And as a matter of fact I came here 
 neither for hunger nor thirst, but on a matter of unright- 
 eousness and the command of Miss Rachel." 
 
 " What was it ? Have some coffee, man," said old 
 George. 
 
 " Miss Rachel made me three cups of it bright and 
 early, sir, and I can't touch it after eight o'clock, owing 
 to some weakness in me," replied Steve with a cunning 
 air of sadness. 
 
 George nodded to John Perran, who laughed and mixed 
 Steve a Gargantuan drink of whiskey. 
 
238 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Fill up and tell us what Miss Rachel sent you for," 
 he said. So Steve drank hugely and sighed. 
 
 " Coifee's a good creature and can be made warm," he 
 cried, " but the soul of heat lies in malt. 'Twas for you 
 I came, sir." 
 
 "Forme?" 
 
 " For you, Mr. John. And I gather Miss Rachel wants 
 you to put on armour and a helmet, as men's skulls are 
 thin and apt to crack." 
 
 He looked significantly at John, who stared at him 
 wondering. 
 
 " 'Tis in the matter of William Jose, sir. For seem- 
 ingly he resents certain passages which occurred betwixt 
 you and Mary Jose, which led to results, Mr. John." 
 
 "What did I tell you, John?" asked George. "It 
 appears you can't leave honest men's daughters alone." ^ 
 
 He laughed a fierce unpleasant laugh, and going to the 
 side table mixed himself some liquor. 
 
 " Oh, that's it," said John, " that's it. What does he 
 want?" 
 
 " I stayed at his forge this morning," said Steve, " and 
 he plainly declared that hell was waiting for you and me, 
 sir. Unless you married her " 
 
 John walked up to the window anS) drummed on the 
 pane. 
 
 " He was reading psalms against you last night," said 
 Steve, " and when a dark-skinned, sileirt man like Jose, 
 who has crushed the devil in him for years, let's the devil 
 come back in God's service and reads what David wrote 
 when he thought of his enemies (of whom he seems to 
 have had a suspicious number, sir), I think with Miss 
 Rachel that it's time to look out." 
 
 Here and now in such a case sin would have bulked 
 in Anthony so large as to block out God's sky. In the 
 matter of sin not so much as a midge obscured the sun 
 for his brother. These were the ways of women and the 
 foolish hearts of men, and by nature's light he walked 
 serenely, deeming it incredible folly for the world to com- 
 plain of nature and of passion's red script. What for 
 Rachel was the natural path of God, for the happy spirit 
 
RACHEL MARK 239 
 
 of this light heart was the natural path of man. He 
 accused no one and accepted no rebuke; life was work 
 and play and strife, and energy which accomplished itself 
 truly in the replenishing of the world. If any sadness 
 struck him in this state of nature, this high and magnifi- 
 cent paganism, it was born of the thought of all the joy 
 folks missed and lost and put aside. For him Anthony 
 was the very incarnation of foolishness, and religion as 
 it grew within the man was such a cypress grove as no 
 child of the sun ever willingly walked in. Under his 
 influence this daughter of the forge had been as sweet a 
 pagan as any in far islands of the southern seas. She 
 had neither wept nor reproached him; he had left her 
 laughing, she left him with a smile. Even now he felt 
 that she would sing to see him and would forget her tears. 
 But fierce old Jose, a seared Puritan, a child of a creed 
 that was the offspring of Calvinism, shouted psalms 
 against him. It was folly, incredible folly, to fight 
 against nature. 
 
 " I'll see the old man and the girl," said John. 
 
 " Oh, take care, sir," cried Steve. " There's no fear in 
 you and no understanding of the madness of religion as it 
 grows in such hearts. Your brother, Mr. Anthony, was 
 always a sealed book to you." 
 
 " I never cared to read such," said John. "And as for 
 fear, why, he fears who fears death. And no one fears 
 death who feels he lives." 
 
 Old Steve slapped his hand upon his thigh. 
 
 " It's astounding how much fine wisdom of different 
 kinds grows in the gardens of the great Perran family," 
 he cried out ; " that's a great saying of yours, Mr. John, 
 and it takes a man like me to understand it. To fear 
 death is to be half dead. But there's the other side to it, 
 after all. Even rehgion and madness that fear not death 
 may well shout that they are immortal." 
 
 "What they fear is life," said old Silenus. He had 
 been drinking steadily while the others talked. " They 
 dread not the devil, but themselves. How's Miss Rachel 
 Marr, Steve?" 
 
 " Day by day she is more beautiful, sir. But she's sad 
 
240 RACHEL MARK 
 
 and paler than she was. She's taken to books and has me 
 up at Morna House to talk about her grandfather. I tell 
 her things of his bigness, and repeat his sayings, and she 
 sits smiling and understands. She has a great heart and 
 a mind, too. 'Twas a good deed in her to take in Mary, 
 Mr. John, and someone besides Mary." 
 
 " I know, I know," said John. " I'll go and see her. 
 Will she be hard on me about this, Steve ? " 
 
 " Do I know her heart, sir ? Why no, sir, I'll liever 
 say I could read Greek. But there's such gentleness in 
 her, and such pity for fools, and such a visible aspect in 
 her of knowledge of her own heart, that I lay she'll treat 
 you as if it was no other business of hers but to get you 
 out of Morna and away without Jose mistaking your skull 
 for his anvil." 
 
 " What's the boy like? " asked John. 
 
 " Like his dad," replied Steve, " with the same devilish 
 blue eye and a mind to have his own way. He's as healthy 
 as a young cockerel. But are you warned, sir, are you 
 warned ? " 
 
 " Oh, tut ! " said John. He filled up Steve's glass again 
 and straightway forgot any warning, and talked like a 
 mountain stream in flood, while Silenus grew red and 
 wallowed laughing. 
 
 " Go back to Miss Rachel and thank her for me," said 
 John, " and if you hear anyone asking as to whether I'm 
 thinking of marriage, say I'm a Mormon now and have 
 forty wives in Utah." 
 
 He sent Steve away singing. 
 
 And Silenus asked hoarsely with a mocking chuckle: 
 
 " Is it only forty, my boy, is it only forty ? 'Tis a brave 
 man that has daughters ; he's the man with valour." 
 
 XV 
 
 By this time the .spring was in all men's blood and all 
 women's, and the west winds roared of the waking year, 
 so that folks were querulous and anxious and eager, as 
 they have been in the waking season of the earth since 
 
RACHEL MARK 241 
 
 the beginning of time. For in spring the bodies of men 
 are like their barns and garners, full of the dust of a dead 
 harvest, and there is need of renewal. Those who fished 
 repaired their storm-beaten and weathered boats, and the 
 ploughs were put by, and there was the rest which comes 
 for a little while before the arduous work of the sun. 
 Such an hour's rest is like the peace which preludes a 
 storm, and it was such a peace which came to Rachel. 
 Her heart had been ploughed and seeded and the harrow 
 had gone over it, and the grain germinated within her 
 bosom, and she knew what some would say of the har- 
 vest for which she looked. And this year, for the first 
 time in her life, she seemed no longer young. She went 
 about her work soberly, and even Martha, whose eyes 
 were on her always, was sometimes lulled into forgetful- 
 ness of her darling's trouble and she believed that An- 
 thony was no more than a dream to the girl. 
 
 " She thinks of us all," said Martha, " and thinks for 
 us all, and she bides less in the book-room and once more 
 the sky is a help to her. It seems to me, too, that this 
 papist religion is nought to her now, though she always 
 carries that crucifix." 
 
 A day later Martha saw that she had guessed truly, for 
 Rachel refused herself to Father Brant when the old man 
 walked down from Caerhays. He went away very sor- 
 rowfully, not knowing that Rachel knelt by her bed weep- 
 ing because she had hurt him. That night she wrote to 
 him, and though she yielded nothing, it seemed to him 
 that the spirit of God was upon her and for a moment 
 there was a glow within him of that human charity which 
 perceives that the root of all religions is one root only. 
 If he had known her heart and the seeds it bore, he would 
 have said she was mad, and that God's grace was won- 
 derful and not less than the growing charity of any poor 
 priest. So. he prayed for her, and by prayer was com- 
 forted, since he knew she carried an inheritance which 
 any soul might find grievous and heavy. 
 
 And Rachel put the religion of creeds away from her, 
 and did what work came to her hands. For she was 
 waiting and was ready to wait long. But things moved 
 
242 RACHEL MARR 
 
 faster than she knew, and seeds sown long ago bore fruit 
 before there was any harvest in her. If Anthony was all 
 the world to her, his brother counted for something in the 
 working out of her fate, and so did Mary and Mary's 
 father, to whom she had been kind and even over-kind. 
 It was the third day after she had sent warning to John 
 that he came to see her, and the first sight of him after 
 more than three years was a strange shock to her. He 
 came riding by the upper road, and met her at her north- 
 ward gate. It was a beautiful day of spring, and the 
 damp air was warm as her own breath and as sweet. The 
 cry of lambs was on the wind, and the grass was bright 
 and the trees hung upon the slopes of her valley like a 
 mist of green. The wind shepherded his flocks of dappled 
 clouds, and the sea was full of deep colours and upon it 
 ran dark purple shadows sweeping off the ploughed up- 
 lands where grew the tenderer mist of promised harvest. 
 The world was a wonder of dewy wetness, for the rain 
 had fallen half the night, and the. sense of growth was in 
 the mould and the breath of the scented earth. Birds 
 rejoiced and the sky was a heavenly paradise and every 
 tree a home, while the pigeons cooed in dripping woods. 
 And Rachel perceived the glory of the day, but it was 
 such a glory as must pass, and sometimes her brow was 
 troubled. For within her worked hidden passions which 
 were like the passions of the later year. 
 
 She lifted her bowed head and saw John come riding. 
 She saw him and saw not him, but Anthony, saw him as 
 a bridegroom coming home; saw him as she wished to 
 see him, smiling, human, happy. For this was John 
 Perran's chief grace, that he was happy. So rare a thing 
 was this that it seemed to give him the right to eveiy 
 heart's forgiveness. Folks said that he was kind to all 
 that lived, save to women. And all the women in their 
 hearts said that he was kind to them; there was no 
 woman bitter against him on account of her own folly, 
 seeing that the magic in his voice was not truly evil and 
 that the passions of the song he sang might have been 
 lovely if it had not been ordained by the creeds of man 
 that they should be evil. He was blamed and straight- 
 
RACHEL MARR 243 
 
 way forgiven, for something showed many tortured hearts 
 that there was no evil in him, even though it seemed that 
 there was according to creeds graven on stone. 
 Rachel's heart cried out: 
 " If Anthony had but been like him ! " 
 She straightway forgot Mary in the house, and smiled 
 upon the man. He sprang from his horse, and leaving 
 it, ran to her beaming. 
 " Oh, Rachel, I was coming to see you ! 
 Now the difference between him and the man she loved 
 was the difference between sunshine and shadow. Was it 
 possible, if men had souls, that there were some whose 
 souls went up to paradise before they died, leaving them 
 disdainful of the earth, longing for heaven ? If that were 
 so, then John's soul was yet within him, and the bright 
 earth was his and the fulness of it, and heaven was where 
 his soul burned in a clear flame. 
 Now she remembered Mary and forgave her. 
 " Poor Mary," she said. But she held out her hand to 
 Mary's lost lover, and only then knew that she forgave 
 herself for the mad thoughts of dearer Anthony. 
 " You're grown up, Rachel ! " 
 
 She had been a girl when he left Morna, a splendid 
 promise. Here was a great and dark fulfilment, full of 
 sweetness and sadness and majesty. As he spoke his 
 heart leapt with pleasure, for he knew beauty when he 
 saw it. And yet as the knowledge of beauty may be a 
 grievous burden to man, his heart was troubled, and it 
 seemed to him for the first time in his life that sorrow 
 might yet come to him from a woman. 
 
 " Oh, how splendid you are ! Let me look at you," he 
 cried. And there was such a frank and pleasant ardour 
 in his eyes that her beauty was a pleasure to her again, 
 though it was only for a little while. And then John said 
 a strange thing : 
 
 " I'm a great fool, Rachel, but there are bigger fools 
 than I." 
 
 She knew by this saying that someone had spoken 
 about her and Anthony to him. Her heart beat for the 
 world to see ! Old Jose had said as much as that. She 
 
244 RACHEL MARR 
 
 drew back within herself, and John saw that she did so, 
 and having that touch of a woman in him which makes a 
 man both dangerous and cruel to women, he was swift to 
 hurt her no more. 
 
 " There have been changes in Morna since I went," 
 he said in a tone that implied she would mind no 
 changes. 
 
 " A death or two, a marriage or two, and the world is 
 older," said Rachel steadily. 
 
 There had been one birth at least which concerned him. 
 That was in both their minds. She saw the thought in 
 his eyes and wondered what he could or would say, if he 
 said anything. 
 
 " Do you think I'm the devil himself ? " he asked ; " and 
 do I deserve killing ? " 
 
 Near at hand the young lambs cried, and the busy nest- 
 ing birds were gay; there were children's voices in the 
 village and a child's voice nearer still. The earth 
 grew. 
 
 " I judge no one," said Rachel. " But unless you have 
 one thought in you it is not wise to be here." 
 
 There was a touch of almost boyish shame in John for 
 his misdeeds, but deep within his shame was anger, seeing 
 the past folly made him unfit before her. That she judged 
 none, might be true in words, but it could not be true in 
 her heart. 
 
 " My brother is a madman," said John to himself. 
 " Oh, here's the most wonderful creature ! And he could 
 have had her for the asking. If she knew nothing about 
 me " 
 
 A strange deep trouble oppfessed him, so that he won- 
 dered at himself. He spoke idly : 
 
 " Where's your old oak that was yonder ? " he asked. 
 
 " It was blown down," said Rachel. 
 
 " That's another change," he said. " We played under 
 it years ago." 
 
 There was a glimpse of the graver Anthony in him as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " You sent me word about William Jose," he said pres- 
 ently with his eyes upon the ground. There was a new 
 
RACHEL MARR 245 
 
 bashfulness in him which was stranger to himself than 
 to her. 
 
 And Rachel nodded. 
 
 "Did Steve tell you?" 
 
 John slashed at his legs with his whip. 
 
 " Aye," he said, " but he can't drive me out of Morna." 
 
 " He may kill you." 
 
 John smiled. 
 
 "I've heard many threats in my time; I'll speak to 
 him." 
 
 " Don't," said Rachel, " don't ; at least do not if " 
 
 She hesitated, and John finished what she would have 
 said. 
 
 " If I don't mean to marry her ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Rachel. 
 
 John frowned and stood without a word for a long 
 minute. 
 
 " Do you think I should? " he said at last. 
 
 "Mary thinks so." 
 
 "But do you?" 
 
 Rachel looked at him fairly in the eyes. 
 
 " I think so. What else could I think? " 
 
 But within her she said : " I don't know what I think," 
 and now in John's heart he heard a voice saying, "But for 
 you, perhaps I would." In the damp and fertile earth 
 seeds germinated every moment. Some that had laid 
 long broke their covering and thrust forth into the soil ; 
 the mighty earth was in labour and the hearts of men. 
 
 " I don't know what brought me here," said John, " and 
 now I'm half sorry I came. Here's my brother in 
 hell " 
 
 Oh, but her heart knew it, and leapt to hear him con- 
 firm it. 
 
 "In hell, John?" 
 
 " That Winnie ! By God " 
 
 There was a strange passion in him, and now she knew 
 the truth of the thoughts that Steve's dark sayings had 
 sowed in her and of the rumours that Martha had 
 repeated, 
 
 "That Winnie and my own brother " said John. 
 
246 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Many things came to fruit in him then, and he was less 
 and more than he had been. Rachel's eyes burnt and the 
 swift questions rose in her mind. 
 
 " Is he unhappy, so unhappy ? " 
 
 She knew it, she knew it. But out of John's eyes leapt 
 a flame. 
 
 " You're a queen," he cried, " and the finest creature 
 among women — and I've seen many — ^but between the 
 best woman and the worst there are greater degrees than 
 lie between Christ and Judas. She's a foul thing, 
 Rachel ! " 
 
 Lifting his face he showed her how he knew Anthony 
 must suffer. 
 
 " Think the worst of me for knowing what she is," said 
 John. She who had never seen him aught but laughing 
 groaned in her inmost soul. 
 
 " And I love Anthony," said John. 
 
 She put out her hand, and for his love, which was also 
 hers, forgave him all those passions of the earth which 
 the birds sang of around them. 
 
 " And then there's this Jose and Mary," said John. He 
 stood considering things for a moment and then turned 
 almost savagely to Rachel. 
 
 " I'd like you to think well of me," he cried, " though 
 of course I don't see how you can. But I want you to 
 know that if I seem ashamed of myself, it's only because 
 I think you feel I ought to be. Anthony loves me, but he 
 says 'I've no soul or conscience. But I can't see why folks 
 make such a fuss about natural things. You can hate me 
 if you like." 
 
 But Rachel heard herself say: 
 
 " I don't hate you, John." 
 
 His smile was brilliant. 
 
 " If you say so, I could sing again," he said. " And 
 now I'll go to your home and see Mary." 
 
 He brought up old George Perran's horse, which had 
 been feeding by the roadside, and entered the gateway 
 with it. 
 
 " Go," said Rachel, " and do what you feel you ought 
 to do. I'll stay here." 
 
RACHEL MARR 247 
 
 "I wish I was just half as good as you," said John. 
 Perhaps it was the first time he ever felt that he was not 
 as good as need be. 
 
 But she shook her head and cried : " Don't say that ! " 
 
 And as he went she repeated to herself, " Anthony is in 
 hell. Oh, she's a foul thing ! " 
 
 The wet sweet earth was all aflicker with Ufe, and the 
 birds sang in their green houses. The pines swayed new 
 delicate tassels of their spring growth in the soft wind ; a 
 silver birch by the road showed its fair tracery against 
 a north-west patch of blue; the swift unfolding leaves 
 drank in the air of heaven. It was a world of azure and 
 argent and verdure that was sweet as young life. 
 
 " Oh, this is mine, mine by right ! she cried ; but her 
 eyes were dry flame, her soul's feet were on burning 
 marl. She saw and saw not, heard and heard not, and 
 life was an aching passion of pain. As soon as Anthony's 
 brother was out of her sight she straightway forgot him 
 in remembering Anthony deep in the pit that he had 
 digged for himself. 
 
 But John went down the path wondering at her and 
 his own heart. 
 
 " Why, she's great," he said ; " she's the only woman 
 I've ever seen — oh, I'm a fool. I wish I'd never seen 
 Mary. Here's a knot, and I'm the ass that made it. And 
 that Winnie — paugh ! " 
 
 At the corner of the house he ran straight against 
 Martha bringing water from the well. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony ! " she cried, and then she saw she was 
 wrong. " Oh, it's you, Mr. John ! " 
 
 She put her pail down and eyed him with disfavour 
 which had a touch of humour in it. 
 
 " What do you here, sir ? Is it Miss Rachel you wish 
 to see ? " 
 
 John smiled mockingly. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Martha, you're as fierce as ever. I hear 
 Miss Rachel's well worth seeing. Is that true ? " 
 
 " The truest word ever spoke. And the worst of it is 
 that the unworthy can see her as cheap as the worthy. 
 She's out about somewhere." 
 
248 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Am I unworthy ? " 
 
 " God knows, who made you, Mr, John," said Martha, 
 " for He that made you made all the bad Perrans as well 
 as the good, and no doubt He has His notions of you. 
 All I do is to go by report and facts." 
 
 " There's nothing like them to lead you wrong," said 
 John. " But I've seen Miss Rachel, and I came here to 
 see someone else." 
 
 Martha put her arms akimbo. " Well, here I am." 
 
 " So I see," said John ; " you're like a hen with a 
 chicken hidden in a wood pile. I want to see the 
 chicken." 
 
 " Not with my consent," said Martha ; " she's no 
 chicken of mine, my young cockerel. I never liked you 
 as some do." 
 
 " It's not my fault you were born so long before me, 
 Martha. If you were twenty you'd have a smile for me 
 now." 
 
 " Not half a one," declared Martha stoutly ; " though 
 I'm darkish myself, my fancy was for dark men. And 
 you were overmuch a lover for my taste. Your brother 
 has a sad opinion of you, sir." 
 
 " And I've a sadder one of him," returned John with- 
 out a smile. 
 
 " That's as may be, and what my opinion is of him I'll 
 declare when I'm made to. But as for you — ^there are 
 no chickens for you here, sir." 
 
 " Tut," said John, " I want to see Mary ; I've business 
 with her." 
 
 " Business ! " cried Martha ; " business ! I've seen a lot 
 of wickedness in my time, Mr. John, but you're the only 
 man without shame I ever knew. I suppose you'll be 
 saying Miss Rachel told you to come ? " 
 
 " As a matter of fact, she did, Martha." 
 
 "Truth, sir?" 
 
 " Truth acording to the Fifth Gospel," said John. 
 
 " If the devil quotes Scripture he quotes it right. 
 What's the Fifth Gospel? " 
 
 " For you it's what Miss Rachel says," returned John, 
 " and for me it's what my heart says." 
 
RACHEL MARR 249 
 
 Martha shook her head. 
 
 " You've a keen mind, sir, but as for your heart, that's 
 mincemeat. You'll not see Mary with my consent." 
 
 John threw the end of his horse's bridle over a post by 
 the wall and walked to the kitchen door. 
 
 " I'll see her with my own, then." 
 
 But he turned to her again. 
 
 " Do you really think I want to see her ? " 
 
 " Humph ! " said Martha suspiciously, " how can I 
 tell?" 
 
 " I don't. Send for her." 
 
 " If I must, I must," said Martha. 
 
 She found Mary in the kitchen all a-shake, for the girl 
 had seen him. 
 
 "There's old folly for you outside," cried Martha 
 fiercely ; " go out and speak, but don't forget that you're 
 in Miss Rachel's house." 
 
 Mary quivered and looked at Martha piteously. 
 
 " I don't know what to do," she said ; " what is it he 
 wants? I'm — I'm frightened." 
 
 Martha snorted scornfully. 
 
 " What a pity you are easier scared now than you were 
 years ago. D'ye think the man will eat you? Where's 
 little Johnny?" 
 
 " He's upstairs," said Mary. She had rushed with him 
 to the top of the house when she first saw John, being 
 stricken with a sudden panic fear that the father had come 
 to steal the child. 
 
 " Oh, how do I look ? " asked Mary, fiddling at her 
 brown locks with trembling hands. 
 
 " The worse the better," said cruel old Martha ; " streak 
 your face with tears and flour and the devil will flee 
 from you. I'll out and say you'll have nought to do with 
 him." 
 
 But Mary ran past her and stood at the door with her 
 hands clutching at the posts. It was long since she had 
 seeri him, and she remembered the last time — a night of 
 waning moon and warm wind, with the song of the sea 
 beneath them. He had sworn nothing to her, made no 
 promises, and no oaths, and had gone away laughing. 
 
2SO RACHEL MARR 
 
 The man was an orchard-robber, and stole fair fools that 
 hung low. He had never climbed high yet. An ache for 
 climbing grew in him now, and he scorned dangling 
 apples near his mouth. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Mary. 
 
 Of old she had feigned to herself that she called him 
 " Jack," but such a name had never passed her lips. He 
 was a fine man and all above her, a gentleman, and richer 
 by far, they said, than his brother. His love, or passion, 
 or fondness was the condescension of a god to a daughter 
 of the forge. It was " Oh, Mr. Perran," or " Oh, Mr. 
 John," at the utmost with her, even when they parted 
 under the moon. 
 
 Now John came back to himself, and being himself 
 felt no such mighty difficulty before him. He smiled 
 easily, for he knew enough of the girl to know that from 
 her point of view he had done her little harm. The harm 
 lay elsewhere, no doubt. 
 
 " Well, Mary, and how are you ? " he cried genially. 
 There was such an air of natural gaiety in him that a little 
 gleam of sunshine came into her meek, beseeching eyes, 
 and made her look almost mischievous. His being there 
 brought about her once more the atmosphere of an opin- 
 ion that feared nothing and knew not sin. 
 
 " I'm very well, sir," stammered Mary. She added 
 (for these three years had enlarged his air of being above 
 her) , " Thanking you kindly, sir." 
 
 Such a little speech was automatic, slavish. She had 
 been his slave. He took her by the arm above her elbow 
 and led her out towards the wood pile where the chickens 
 clucked. 
 
 " I hear that you found something in the parsley," said 
 John ; " why didn't you write to me ? " 
 
 Mary smiled through her tears. " I was 'mazed, Mr. 
 Perran. I'd never had much of a head, sir, and I lost it 
 — the paper you gave me, Mr. John." 
 
 But for Martha at the kitchen window he might have 
 kissed her wet brown cheek. Or — was it but for Rachel 
 at the north gate ? 
 
 " Did I treat you badly, Mary ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 251 
 
 He thrust his hands into his breeches pockets and faced 
 her squarely, a fine head and shoulders over her. 
 
 " I'll never say you did," she murmured, " no, never ! " 
 
 " I'm going to look after the boy and make a man of 
 him," said John. But Mary put out her hand timidly. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you'll not take him from me ? He's all I've 
 got." 
 
 Now she wept a little, for her faint dream that " Jack " 
 would come again and marry her was no more than the 
 memory of a childish fancy, built in idleness. 
 
 " To be sure I won't till he's ready to go to a big 
 school," said John, " and then you shall be near him. If 
 you're not happy here " 
 
 " Oh, I'm very happy with Miss Rachel, sir." 
 
 " And with Martha ? She's a fierce old tabby, Mary." 
 
 But Martha used no claws. 
 
 " She's kind enough," said Mary, " and very good to 
 the boy." 
 
 " I'd like to see him, Mary." 
 
 Mary's bosom heaved ; she would have let him trample 
 on her. The boy was the gift of the laughing Apollo to a 
 humble nut-brown maid. 
 
 " I'll bring him," she cried, and she ran to the house 
 happy as any pagan of the singing woods. She met 
 Martha face to face in the kitchen. 
 
 " Well, has Mr. Devil brought you proposals of mar- 
 riage ? " asked Martha, with her head on one side. 
 
 " He wants to see little Johnny," said Mary, who 
 looked neither before nor after. 
 
 " Tell him he can't till he swears he'll take you to 
 church," said Martha. " If he hasn't a number of 'em, 
 who knows what he'll say? Some men are as cracked as 
 women over children." 
 
 " He's waiting," panted Mary, " and I must wash 
 Johnny's face." 
 
 " Wash the scarlet off your own," grumbled Martha. 
 " 'Tisn't such girls as you get married. He'll not marry 
 you, Mary." 
 
 But Mary for once stamped her foot like an angry 
 ewe. 
 
2S2 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " I'm not asking him," she cried, and diving under 
 Martha's arm she ran upstairs. 
 
 She bundled Johnny into her lap and washed his face 
 mightily. He bore it like a Trojan, for she promised him 
 apples and lots of pennies, and the sight of a new man 
 down below who had a horse. And down she came, 
 shame-faced, flustered, and triumphant, and set apple- 
 cheeked Johnny with the Perran blue eyes on the door- 
 step outside the kitchen. Martha came out after her and 
 stood watching Jphn Perran. 
 
 " If there weren't any rules," said Martha, " what 
 would be wrong with him? And moral talk is water on 
 a duck's back to him. There's men wouldn't have come 
 here; there's some would have come repentant; some 
 would have come brazen. But John Perran walks in 
 here as if he was a model. He surely don't know black 
 from white. I'm wondering if I do." 
 
 " So this is the boy," said John. " What do you call 
 him, Mary?" 
 
 Mary gasped a little. 
 
 " Johnny, sir." 
 
 " Well, Johnny, do you know me ? " asked his father. 
 
 Johnny put his thumb into his mouth. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You're no wiser than other boys then," said John. 
 "What's this?" 
 
 Johnny looked from him to the horse and back again. 
 
 " It's a horse," he replied firmly as if he expected con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 " Could you do anything with a shilling? " 
 
 He showed one, and Johnny marched over to him as 
 bold as the north-west wind. He pouched it promptly and 
 laughed till he was all fat dimples. 
 
 " He's a fine little chap," said John. And Mary glowed, 
 though she kept her eyes from Martha. But Martha's 
 heart was sore for the dead of long ago, and she said 
 nothing bitter. 
 
 " Won't you do what you should for him ? " she asked. 
 
 " He shall have a ride on the horse," said John. " Will 
 you have a ride, Jackey-boy ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 253 
 
 "Oh, aye," said Johnny, and he squealed wonderfully 
 as John held him in the saddle. The two went fifty yards 
 and came back again. And Martha said something that 
 Mary did not understand. 
 
 " Whatever happens you have your child." 
 
 Now Mary was sad. 
 
 " He'll not marry me." 
 
 There was strange bitterness in Martha's answer. 
 
 " You've a child of your own." 
 
 She went inside for a moment. 
 
 " 'Tis the sight of the father makes a fool of me." She 
 sighed, and a tear rolled down her cheek. 
 
 " Does a woman ever forget ? " she asked. 
 
 She went out again and stood by Mary. 
 
 " Have you spoken to him about your father ? " 
 
 Mary went very white and shook her head, for she 
 knew the old man's bitter mind. 
 
 " You'd better, then," said Martha ; " you've heard 
 what Steve said. Or shall I speak ? " 
 
 " You," said Mary, and John Perran and her boy came 
 back to them. John set him on the ground and he ran 
 gurgling to his mother. Martha left the pair of them and 
 walked over to John. 
 
 "Are you going to make your peace with this girl's 
 father ? " she asked. 
 
 " How can I do it, Martha? " 
 
 " It's easy for a bachelor," said the old woman signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " You never heard I'd turned Mormon and had forty 
 wives, did you ? " asked the bachelor. 
 
 " I'd believe it if anyone else said it. But are you 
 going to marry the girl and give the boy a name as well 
 as his mother?" 
 
 " If I were a king there'd be nothing wrong with his 
 name," said John. 
 
 " But you're not." 
 
 " I'm a republican and that's as good." 
 
 "Not here," said Martha. "And Mary's father is 
 after you. He'll kill you." 
 
 •" Others have said that elsewhere." 
 
2S4 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " I daresay you deserved it, Mr. John. And if you have 
 forty wives, one more won't hurt you. You came to see 
 Mary as bold as may be. Go and see her father ! " 
 
 John shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Of course I'll go." 
 
 " With paper in your hands — ^marriage lines? " 
 
 " With bare hands," said John. 
 
 But Martha, knowing that he meant it, shivered at the 
 thought of violence. 
 
 " Go away, sir, if you're not minded to do the right 
 thing. Old Jose is mad and will murder you. He talks to 
 himself and preaches against you in his empty house." 
 
 " I'll not go," said John. " What do you take me for? 
 And I'll see him." 
 
 " If you don't care for yourself think of what it will 
 mean for the man who kills you. And you are young yet, 
 Mr. John, and might live long and happy." 
 
 He smiled upon her and she forgave him his sins. For 
 this is the nature of women. Yet there was a little bitter- 
 ness in his smile, and she knew it and wondered deep in 
 her mind. 
 
 " What does Miss Rachel think of me ? " he asked 
 lightly. 
 
 " I should say she did not think," answered Martha, 
 and there was more than a little bitterness in her voice. 
 
 " I'm going back to see her again," he said. He went 
 over to Mary and picking up the boy kissed him on both 
 cheeks, but he only stroked Mary on hers, and as he rode 
 away the tears ran down her face. 
 
 " He — ^he doesn't love me any more," she quavered. 
 
 But Martha said fiercely: 
 
 " You've got your boy." 
 
 When John came to the gate he found Rachel was gone. 
 He rode back to his uncle's whistling, but as he went he 
 was conscious of a little ache deep within him, which was 
 not wholly of the senses. 
 
RACHEL MARR 255 
 
 XVI 
 
 Rachel had meant to stay till John returned, but some- 
 thing in the man and something that the sight of him 
 roused within herself set her fast in the snare of a reverie, 
 and she walked like one in a dream. For she saw the 
 wonder of the day and its glory and yet saw nothing. 
 And what her thoughts were she could not have said, for 
 only at times were her consciousness and her inward soul 
 one stream. She perceived now that no word was ut- 
 tered which was not like another barrier against her re- 
 turn to the days in which her will was at war with her 
 desires. 
 
 John himself told her of his brother's agony; he 
 spat upon the ground in loathing of his brother's wife. 
 John's frank admiration for her was sweet, not of itself, 
 but because it showed the power of her beauty. And not 
 a laugh or a look of his but said that such sanity and 
 health were better, and in themselves more acceptable to 
 God, than any madness of worship and sacrifice. As he 
 glowed it seemed that here was one like an Anthony re- 
 newed and sound. His voice had been music to many 
 women, but it was no less sweet to Rachel when she im- 
 agined that her love yet might make Anthony's voice 
 an equal melody. John believed, they said, in nothing, 
 neither in heaven nor in hell. What God then was it that 
 made Anthony lay his soul and body on the altar? Not 
 by fire or sacrifice came salvation, but by obedience to all 
 equal voices within man. It was Anthony she loved. She 
 declared sacrifice was alien to God, and yet accepted the 
 fire. 
 
 These things she thought. But what she thought she 
 knew not, for the mind of man is a deep flood, and what 
 man knows of himself is nothing. Yet as she walked 
 eastward through wet fields there were wild moments 
 when Anthony and John were as one, and Anthony was 
 restored to himself and to her, and her deep soul's 
 thoughts rose to the surface of the great ocean within her 
 and delighted in the sun. But she only woke utterly 
 
256 RACHEL MARR 
 
 when she found herself a long mile from home standing 
 upon the high cliffs, looking to the south. 
 
 Here the world of the live fields was lost to her, and the 
 birds of the fields sang no more. Their influence was an 
 influence of melancholy : in the inland beauty of the fields 
 there was something which seemed to sap her will and 
 soothe her with empty anodynes. She obtained strength 
 not so much from the things which were her heart- 
 mates as from their strong opposites. Out of the deep 
 silences of books came virtue and strength and singleness 
 of purpose. But the great woods and the songs of birds 
 and the cry of mothering beasts made her soft even to 
 tears. On the high barren uplands where trees grew not 
 and the grass was scanty and the soil no more than a 
 covering for the primaeval nakedness of the earth and its 
 mighty bones, she found a natural hardness which helped. 
 It was not the green worship of the priestlike pines or 
 the smoking altars of the houses of men that strengthened 
 her ; they bowed her knees and oppressed her spirit and 
 filled her with the patient thoughts of the poor in heart. 
 But now the wet sparkle of the shouldering sea, crowd- 
 ing in between curved headlands, was something that 
 braced her very soul. The ocean was a creature that was 
 the equal child of God and brother to man, but it was 
 bright and splendid and magnificently bent upon the 
 deeds of great waters and its inward necessities. It was 
 one and indivisible. But man drew his soul from those 
 who begat him, and in one heart were a thousand hearts 
 and in every heart ten thousand thoughts of divided de- 
 sire. The elements of living thought lifted themselves 
 out of the multiple soul's darkness, and created passions 
 that died or survived. For he that claimed unity was a 
 million creatures and his emotions were the passions of 
 his dead forbears and those who had lived in the dark 
 abysm of time, and God was not the gift of his appre- 
 hending intellect, but the mingled deities of all men who 
 drew their soul's sustenance from that which lay within 
 them of fear and fearful joy. Man was the creature of 
 the fields and the fat pastures and the deep pleasant woods 
 and the crowded huts. But he was not most himself 
 
RACHEL MARR 257 
 
 when he was among them, and an hour of the west wind, 
 which now took on southing and blew graciously, made 
 Rachel almost ready to sing. What she thought again 
 she knew not, for the body of man thinks not in words, 
 which are difficult art, but in processes of the living mat- 
 ter which responds to the myriad rain of influences as the 
 grass of the fields to the rain of heaven. She stayed on 
 the height for a long while, and then leapt almost lightly 
 down a cliff path and came to a golden crescent of sand 
 by the tumbling seas. She sat on a jutting rib of rock 
 and looked out upon the marching array of the sparkling 
 waters. 
 
 As she dreamed and grew and let the sea and the wind 
 have its way with her great heart, only sometimes the 
 thoughts that were in her came to the surface as strange 
 creatures of the sea come up to breathe. Once she started 
 and wondered why it was that her soul was set upon An- 
 thony, and something within her said that it was because 
 he loved her and was unhappy. But she knew that deeper 
 still there was knowledge that this passion was as in- 
 explicable as time and eternity and space. For the affec- 
 tions of the living body are like the gift of time and 
 space to man. By her affections she existed. 
 
 And once again another thought rose up in her, and it 
 was as though some coldly wise creature of her heart said 
 to her that to love Anthony was folly. And this voice 
 used the arguments that the world would use, and that 
 pride might accept. For according to this wise voice 
 Anthony was in no way so fine a man as his brother, see- 
 ing that he was a fool and the instrument of his passions 
 no less than John. But John's passions were the fine 
 passions of the good earth and a true harvest, and his 
 laughter was happy laughter and a song, while Anthony 
 rarely smiled and was not a creature of the earth, but an 
 alien who feared its fruits, and his passions were the bar- 
 ren passions of the altar. And there was that within 
 Rachel, seeing that she was now a woman, which told her 
 that Anthony's brother might be to her what she chose, 
 and that if she could put aside her deeper love, and could 
 forget that Mary and her child lived, her strength could 
 
2S8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 raise John to her own level far easier than she could draw 
 back Anthony to the dear and usual earth. 
 
 And when she knew what it was she thought she rose 
 from the rock on which she sat in great and strange agita- 
 tion. She was ashamed, for she perceived that under 
 such stresses the soul and body might be dissevered. And 
 for the first time in her life she believed truly in the in- 
 dwelling spirit and abhorred her own flesh, until she re- 
 membered a strange little piece of script, written by her 
 grandfather on the margin of a book, which said, not 
 wholly obscurely, " The true man has neither soul nor 
 body, for separation is disease and unity is health." 
 
 Then she walked upon the hard sand close by the verge 
 of the sea, and touching the hem of the sea she drew vir- 
 tue that was strength from it, and understanding herself 
 better ceased to be ashamed. For all these things were 
 natural, and good was in her even if evil was deep within. 
 And whether she understood or no mattered nothing, 
 since the earth and the air and the water, of which she 
 was the sister, gave her comfort and simplicity. 
 
 And a cold wise voice within her said: 
 
 " It is a pity." 
 
 And she answered : 
 
 " That is as may be, but Anthony will need me ; when I 
 see him I will speak." 
 
 And the voice asked : 
 
 " How will you speak? For it will be hard." 
 
 And she said: 
 
 " I will speak, though it be impossible." 
 
 And she was answered deep out of her heart: 
 
 " Speak not for yourself, but for me." 
 
 And this voice was another voice and was like the cry 
 of that which lives and yet lives not, and may never live. 
 Sharp pains shot through her body and there was a warm 
 fire at her bosom. 
 
 But she had said to Winnie, " It will never be born," 
 and this saying was echoed in her own heart as she went 
 homeward through the fertile fields that the sweet year 
 embraced. 
 
RACHEL MARR 259 
 
 XVII 
 
 MoRNA Cove did its talking and its cackling about things 
 as they were and as they might be. There was a strange 
 sense of expectancy in the village folks now that John 
 Perran had come back. They talked of his brother and 
 of Winnie, and about her things were said that not only 
 touched the truth, but overshot it. They talked of Mary, 
 over whom Rachel had cast her robe (for who should say 
 aught against one that Miss Rachel pardoned?), and then 
 of her father. The man was mad, they cried, and should 
 be shut up. Till the time of Mary's troubles he had been 
 accessible and friendly, but now he was so dark and stern 
 and voiceless that the village resented it. John's return 
 made him mad, so that he muttered, and other folks did 
 what Steve had done — they listened outside at nights and 
 heard him mouth the psalms of David, Who himself had 
 burnt his enemies and sawn them asunder. Martha had 
 cried out, " There'll be murder done in Morna," 
 and Morna believed it. Others than Steve came to 
 Rachel to ask her help against such disaster, for they 
 knew that William Jose would speak with none save 
 her if it were not a matter of some forging or a horse- 
 shoe. 
 
 " 'Tis a hard man, and religion in him is the flame of 
 his forge." 
 
 " His heart's a hot coal." 
 
 His passions fanned the coal till he wrought all the 
 commandments to his will. As it seemed Heaven itself 
 was behind him ; he was inspired from on high. And even 
 yet it was possible, he said, that the seducer would marry 
 his daughter, making what reparation he could. He went 
 up to Morna House an hour after John Perran had left it, 
 and Mary saw him coming and ran up to her room and 
 sat there quivering. Jose came on Martha and asked for 
 Miss Rachel. 
 
 " She's out and about somewhere," said Martha. She 
 thanked the Lord that John was not there, and Jose saw 
 she was over-anxious. 
 
26o RACHEL MARK 
 
 " Has any stranger been here ? " he asked, bending his 
 dark brows on her. 
 
 " No," said Martha, none too lightly ; " what strangers 
 come to Morna ? " 
 
 " Some that have become strangers," said the old man. 
 " Has John Perran been this way yet ? " 
 
 Martha's eyes flickered and she lied. 
 
 " Why, no, Mr. Jose," she answered in a high-pitched 
 voice ; " what should he do here ? " 
 
 He looked at her hard and then turned away. And 
 Martha stood wondering if she had done wisely. 
 
 " Maybe it would have been better to tell the 
 truth. Yet truth or lie — what difference here? The 
 man's mad; there never were such eyes. Where's the 
 girl that made all the trouble? I'd like to wring her 
 neck ! " 
 
 When Rachel came back from the cliffs she told her all 
 that had happened between John and Mary. 
 
 " And just afterwards old Jose came up," she said, 
 " and I was in such a stew that when he asked if he had 
 been here I said ' No ' as bold as brass. But if he didn't 
 know I lied then, I lie now. He looked at me fiercely and 
 turned away. Oh, Rachel, what I said is true — ^there'll 
 be murder done." 
 
 Murder came near even then, for John Perran was 
 riding into Morna as Rachel went down into the village 
 to speak once more with Mary's father. She saw John 
 at one side of the Cove as she came to the other, and soon 
 every soul in the village saw him too, and knew that there 
 was trouble in the air. 
 
 " What folly of John Perran's," said Rachel, " to do 
 such a thing ! " 
 
 But she knew it was a hard thing to do, and that was 
 something. The women talked at their doors; the men 
 working at their boats came from the beach. 
 
 "Oh, 'tis Mr. John!" 
 
 They stood and watched ; there was no help in them till 
 Rachel came. She called to Sam Burt, who ran to her 
 obediently. 
 
 "Yes, Miss!" 
 
RACHEL MARR 261 
 
 " Go to the forge, Sam, and stay there. I'll come too. 
 If there's any trouble, Sam " 
 
 Sam was big and simple, but as strong as a young oak. 
 Before his marriage he was one of those who used their 
 hands in argument, and had more than once been re- 
 proved by Rachel. Now with her approval he would 
 have fought the whole village. 
 
 " Whichever starts. Miss, I'm to go for ? " he asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes," said Rachel. She walked with him to the forge, 
 which opened towards the east, as John came riding from 
 the west. Old Jose was working at his fire, and never 
 woke to the fact that all the village was like an overset 
 hive till Rachel came to him. Then he looked up and 
 smiled gloomily. 
 
 "Well, Miss?" 
 
 She motioned Sam back and went into the forge. 
 
 " Are you wiser, Mr. Jose," she said. " and will you do 
 what I ask ? " 
 
 " I'll do what comes to me," he answered sullenly. 
 " What's gone wrong with the village, eh ? " 
 
 He stared into the day and saw the women and the 
 children in the street. 
 
 " What's wrong. Miss Rachel? " 
 
 " Nothing's wrong," said Rachel, " if you are wise. 
 Mr. Perran is coming to see you." 
 ' She saw the knotted muscles ridge themselves on his 
 hands and arms, and heard him gasp. 
 
 " Bid him go away," said Jose, " unless he comes to do 
 me and mine fair justice. Does he do that, Missy, does 
 he do that?" 
 
 Within her heart she knew that John was of no mind to 
 do such tardy justice. 
 
 " I'll speak to him," she cried. " Stay here, Mr. Jose, 
 till I come back." 
 
 She ran out and met John in the street. He was lead- 
 ing his horse now. Some of the younger men who had 
 been his playmates on the beach spoke to him. Others 
 stood back; there were some who had grudges against 
 him, some who were sure he was the child of the devil. 
 
262 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And some women smiled at him; even those who knew 
 him not. When he saw Rachel he stopped and raised his 
 hat to her and made a little mouth of scorn at the curious 
 folk around him. 
 
 " What do they look for, Rachel? " 
 
 She put aside the question. 
 
 "Are you going to see Mr. Jose ? " she asked. And he 
 nodded. 
 
 " They think I will not. And you thought I would 
 not, Rachel?" 
 
 She put her hand on his horse's bridle-rein as it lay 
 over his arm. 
 
 " Unless you are going to do one thing, turn again," 
 she said. 
 
 "I'll do most things for you," John answered, "but " 
 
 There was one thing he could not. Now he knew 
 why his heart ached a little as he had ridden away from 
 Morna House ; the knowledge woke within him very 
 suddenly, and the ache returned. 
 
 " I'll not marry her," he said suddenly ; " but I'm not 
 so much of a coward that I can't speak to her father." 
 
 There was no one in the country around who could call 
 him a coward, if taking advantage of sweet fools was not 
 cowardice. Now the smile died out of him, and his face 
 grew hard and stern. But the fire lived in his eyes as he 
 looked at Rachel. 
 
 " Why won't you ? " she asked. " There's no reason ! " 
 
 " There's great reason. But she's not the reason," said 
 John. " If I didn't speak to the old man you would 
 despise me ! " 
 
 He walked on again, slipping the bridle from his arm. 
 For a moment Rachel stood there with it in her hand and 
 then she too let the horse go. There was that within her 
 swift mind which told her John's reasons. But they were 
 folly. And she ran after him and came by him, getting 
 to the forge first. 
 
 " He's coming, Mr. Jose," she said breathlessly. She 
 caught the old man's arms. " If I've ever done anything 
 for you and yours, you'll use no violence. Promise me." 
 
 And then John stood in the door of the forge. It was 
 
RACHEL MARK 263 
 
 sheer folly for him to come, and no advantage lay in the 
 act for any, and Rachel's heart almost failed her as she 
 stood between them. 
 
 " Have you come to ask me for my daughter ? " cried 
 old Jose ; " it's very late you are, it's over-late." 
 
 "Aye, it's over-late," said John. 
 
 Jose pushed Rachel aside, not ungently, and came face 
 to face with him. 
 
 " If it's over-late, and I think it is, what has brought 
 you here ? " 
 
 He overtopped John by inches and was gaunt and grey 
 and white, but with the darkness of the forge about his 
 bearded face. 
 
 " I heard you said I dared not," said John. 
 
 " Do you bring Miss Rachel with you ? " 
 
 " Go, Rachel," said John. 
 
 But Rachel shook her head and caught hold of Jose 
 once more. Other men than Sam Burt crowded to the 
 entrance of the forge. Women chattered shrilly at the 
 back of them. 
 
 " I'll not go. He never brought me, Mr. Jose." 
 
 " Will he marry Mary ? " cried Jose ; " will he marry 
 my daughter ? " 
 
 His voice was a sharp cry of anger — it was edged with 
 madness. John was whiter yet, but his eyes were swift, 
 and though he knew that coming there was madness 
 equal to Jose's own, he could not stir. He looked at 
 Rachel and then at the father of Mary. 
 
 " I'll do all I can, but marry I cannot." 
 
 Now the old man shook and the very hair upon his dark 
 brow bristled while he wrung at his hands as though he 
 fought with himself. Rachel kept hold upon his arm and 
 said again and again : 
 
 " Mr. Jose, Mr. Jose ! " He nodded dumbly at her and 
 turned a little away from John, and she heard him pray- 
 ing and caught some of his words. Then he took hold of 
 her hand. 
 
 " Oh, you've done much for me and mine. Missy," he 
 whispered, "you've done much. I'll do something for 
 you if you wish it." 
 
264 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I wish it," she said, " and I know you 
 love me." 
 
 " That's sure as God ! " cried Jose ; " that's sure ! " 
 
 He turned again toward John, who stood there in 
 silence with his eyes on Rachel, and his heart at her 
 feet. 
 
 " Was I a fool or am I one now ? " he asked himself 
 bitterly. And as he asked it he knew that whatever hap- 
 pened here, his time had come and there was little joy in 
 the world unless Rachel looked upon him smiling. 
 
 " I meant to kill you," said Jose in a low voice, " I 
 meant to kill you. But for Missy's sake and her sweet 
 asking, her that's been good to those I might have loved, 
 I'll do nought to hurt you. Go, Mr. Perran, go, and let 
 me see you no more." 
 
 He caught Rachel's hand again and held it so that he 
 hurt her greatly. 
 
 " But if you stay in Morna and go nigh my girl that's 
 in Miss Rachel's care and has lived respectable since you 
 did that which makes me ache to crush you — ^by God 
 Himself I'll grind your skull beneath my heel ! " 
 
 He turned again toward the darkness, and as he turned 
 Rachel motioned to John to go, and Sam took him by the 
 arm. 
 
 " Let's get out of this, Mr. John. Don't you see Miss 
 Rachel says we are to ? Come on, sir. Oh, Lord, here's 
 a coil about a girl, and if half that's done came out the 
 world would be as foolish a place as ever old Steve makes 
 it out to be." 
 
 But Rachel stayed in the forge for a little while and 
 spoke to Jose, and then leaving him, she took him by the 
 shoulders and kissed his sunken cheeks. He prayed God 
 to bless her for all her goodness, and she went away back 
 to Morna very soberly. But when she came to her own 
 room she shook all over. 
 
 " It's not ended," she said, " for John won't go ! " 
 
 And indeed as Sam brought up the horse for his old 
 playmate of the beach and the uplands, John said as much 
 to him. 
 
 " Will you leave us again, sir ? " 
 
RACHEL, MAKK 265 
 
 " If I can take away all that makes Moma what it is 
 now," said John ; " if I can take that away." 
 
 " 'Tis a sweet place to one that's born here," said Sam 
 simply, " and my wife wasn't, which is a pity. But it's 
 the women that make the trouble, isn't it, Mr. John ? I 
 married to save myself and somehow it don't quite work. 
 But nevertheless Moma's a sweet village ; aye, it is." 
 
 XVIII 
 
 It was days before John came to Moma House again, 
 but come he did in spite of Jose's words, and Morna knew 
 it and told Jose as he worked at his forge, and then went 
 away laughing. For some fools could not see that the old 
 man was not of those who say, but do nothing, and they 
 laughed at murder, latent and near at hand. But old 
 Steve, when he heard what had happened in the village 
 and what Rachel had done, went up to George Perran's 
 house and caught hold of John anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, sir, are you going ? " 
 
 " Going where ? " 
 
 " Out of Morna. This old Jose " 
 
 There was something less of sweetness in John; his 
 brow was darker. 
 
 " Shall I let any map drive me out of the country, you 
 old fool ? " he asked with an odd and rare touch of irrita- 
 tion in him. " You think I'm a cur ? " 
 
 " What business have you here after all, sir ? And 
 wisdom need not be cowardice." 
 
 But John answered : 
 
 " It might look like it. And what do you know of my 
 business ? " 
 
 There was some bitter implication in his tone and 
 Steve, being, as he swore, over-sober and ragged in his 
 nerves, caught hold of it and wondered and finally drew 
 conclusions which were not far from the truth. 
 
 " Oh, I know you, sir," he sighed ; " there's the old 
 signs in you. You were always wonderful and happy as 
 a herring gull when herrings are plenty, when you cared 
 
266 RACHEL MARK 
 
 for no woman. But when any she of them all caught 
 your fancy, the men found you bitter tasting and a dis- 
 cord. Aye, you wouldn't even drink with them then, and 
 there wasn't a say in you. Oh, aye, but there's a woman 
 in this again. "Tis a sad pity, but then I suppose there 
 weren't many in foreign parts. And you'll have your 
 way if it leads to hell or over the cliffs." 
 
 That was true enough, it might be, but Steve did not 
 know who the woman was, and never thought of her. 
 The devils of chance and mischance put mischief into his 
 head when he spoke of Rachel, as he did presently when 
 John gave him whiskey and made him blinder and more 
 bland. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. John, but Miss Rachel's the lady of them all, 
 and a thing I'll tell you that perhaps you know. She 
 loves your brother, sir." 
 
 John's face darkened, but now the old man saw nothing. 
 
 " She loves him and it's folly, and he's married to one 
 we know of and that finishes him. But you, sir, are free, 
 and are as like him as two peas, save that you are more 
 the kind that women love, being blithe and bright. Why 
 don't you make up to our sweet young lady and make her 
 happy? Lord love us, women change, and as I say one 
 pea's like another, and you're the dead spit of him, light 
 or dark, sun or rain. She's a wise young lady, and list- 
 ening to me has given her some knowledge. She'd for- 
 give you Mary, I shouldn't wonder. And yet I don't 
 know. All I want is to see her happy, for I love her a 
 deal more than my own daughters. However, I'll away 
 and say no more. It's silly meddling, and you are all my 
 betters, and to say the truth, I have my doubts whether 
 anything would change her." 
 
 He sowed poison where poison grew, and John Perran 
 cursed him freely to his face and afterwards. 
 
 " Let me go," said Steve. " Oh, Lord, never a free 
 word again. All Morna's mad, and a black cloud over 
 it, when Mr. John is dark. That's more than I ever saw." 
 
 And after he had staggered away John Perran sat in 
 silence, and as Steve said, there was no song in him. 
 When George Perran bade him drink he marched out 
 
RACHEL MARR 267 
 
 into the rain and stood for a long hour on the cliff watch- 
 ing the sea and yet watching nothing. 
 
 " I never thought I could suffer," he said. He strove 
 with himself to get his own soul back again, but it was like 
 strife with some dark angel of the Lord. " Oh, she's 
 wonderful, wonderful ; Anthony's the fool ! " 
 
 He walked to and fro upon the cliff, and going back to 
 the house made false merriment with old George, and at 
 nightfall deserted him again and watched the dark gleam- 
 ing waters roaring round the roaring Lion Rock. 
 
 And even as he marched in the darkness of the night, 
 waiting fojr some sign in himself of healing, if healing 
 might come, there was another man who watched else- 
 where with his heart aflame. In his hand he carried a 
 bar of iron and the ijitent of death. 
 
 That night was one of ceaseless rain and the wet roofs 
 ran floods. Martha and Mary were together in the 
 kitchen, and Rachel sat solitary among her books. But 
 in the garden of books she gathered no sweet herbs ; bitter 
 herbs grew all around her, and she plucked them and 
 savoured them in all their bitterness. For her heart was 
 now superstitious, and she made sacrifices to her one 
 great hope, as there are those who give grudging alms 
 lest some jealous god shall rob them of their wealth. She 
 thought not only of Anthony, but let her mind dwell in 
 agony upon his wife. And she prayed to her empty sky 
 — prayed with that part of her mind which had to believe 
 or perish — that Winnie's child might never be born. And 
 then she let herself face the world with that babe in Win- 
 nie's arms. 
 
 " That which helps not, give me help," she cried. The 
 rain fell and the eaves poured heavily. 
 
 And in the kitchen by the glowing fire, hidden by 
 steaming cloths, Martha and Mary sat, saying nothing. 
 But Martha's heart was with Rachel and Mary's was with 
 her one-time lover, and both of them were bitter. For 
 Martha grew old and she saw no happiness for the girl 
 who was now a woman, and liker dead Mary Marr than 
 Martha's memory of the dead. 
 
 " Rain, rain, how it rains ! " said Martha, shivering. 
 
268 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " I always hate the rain. Why don't you say something, 
 Mary, girl ? " 
 
 " I've nothing to say," replied Mary sullenly. 
 
 Martha rose and went to the window and unbarred the 
 shutters. 
 
 " Oh, you've your troubles, and so have all of us," she 
 cried. 
 
 Then she heard Sigurd's chain rattle and the dog 
 barked. 
 
 "What's he barking at?" asked Martha. "I'm 
 nervous to-night." 
 
 Mary rose and went to the window. Sigurd barked 
 again, but this time without the note of a watch-dog in 
 his deep throat. 
 
 " 'Tis someone he knows," said Mary. " But I hear 
 no steps." 
 
 " Who should come now ? It's late for any from the 
 village." 
 
 She turned towards the girl with knotted brows. 
 
 " Did you hear steps ? " 
 
 " I heard the rain," said Mary, trembling. " Oh, shut 
 the night out — I'm afraid of the night." 
 
 But Martha threw open the window and called : 
 
 "Who's there?" 
 
 And Sigurd whimpered in answer. There was no 
 other answer but the pouring rain. Martha closed the 
 window and the shutters. 
 
 " He's like me and doesn't love the rain," she said. " It 
 could be no one." 
 
 " It might be " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " There was someone came at nine the other night," 
 said Mary bitterly, " but not to speak to me." 
 
 " He'll not come again. Why should he ? " 
 
 Bvit Mary thought she knew better, aye, or worse. She 
 sat down by the fire and stared at the flame. 
 
 " Oh, damn ! " said Martha fiercely ; " but this is a 
 cheerful house. God forgive me for swearing, but there 
 are times my tongue gets the better of me. I wish there 
 was never a Perran on the earth ! " 
 
RACHEL MARR 269 
 
 The wind rose a little and moaned in the pinewood and 
 the elms closer to the house. It died away mournfully, 
 for it was but a breath from the midnight sea. 
 
 " I heard steps," said Mary, springing to her feet. She 
 trembled all over and her face was white as a bleached 
 doth ; " I heard steps." 
 
 Martha gasped and then turned upon her. 
 
 " Go to bed, you fool. You'd hear anything. If there 
 were we'd hear the dog." 
 
 " The dog knows him." 
 
 " Knows who ? " 
 
 "My— my father," said Mary shaking. "'Tis my 
 father watching ! " 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " You know," said Mary. Then she cried out " He'll 
 be thinking he comes here for me ; ah ! but he doesn't ! " 
 
 She sat down in a chair, for she could not stand. 
 Martha stared at her. 
 
 "What for, then, what for?" 
 
 She ran to the window as she spoke and unbarred it 
 so that a Ught once more showed that folks were up in 
 the house. 
 
 " Who's outside ? " she called tremulously. And Sigurd 
 barked again very Ughtly. She turned to Mary and 
 found the girl with her apron over her head. 
 
 " Are you sure ? " 
 
 The covered figure nodded horribly. 
 
 "Oh, you fool, go out!" 
 
 "I daren't, I daren't!" 
 
 "I'll go to Miss Rachel," said Martha, and she ran to 
 the book-room. 
 
 " Mary says she hears her father walking outside, 
 Rachel," she cried to her, " and the fool is scared to 
 death ; and so am I." 
 
 She clutched Rachel's shoulder. 
 
 " Come and see, Rachel, come and see. To have him 
 about is to have death walking in the garden. I'm ter- 
 rified and I'm an old woman ! " 
 
 And Rachel left her books. 
 
 " How can you tell, Mary? " 
 
270 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Isn't he my father ? " quavered the girl. " I know 
 every footstep in the village. Oh, 'tis him, and he's after 
 Mr. John." 
 
 " Unbar the door," said Rachel, and when the door was 
 opened she went out. Martha followed her a little way 
 behind, but Mary stood within the shadow of the door- 
 way. Rachel called aloud — 
 
 "Mr. Jose! Mr. Jose!" 
 
 There was no answer but the pleased whimper of the 
 great dog. 
 
 " Fear has got hold of us all," thought Rachel. And 
 she said aloud, " It's nothing." 
 
 They went back into the house, and still Mary trembled. 
 
 " He's outside in the dark, he's outside in the dark," 
 she said. And suddenly she screamed aloud and cried : 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 What it was they knew not, but they heard no more the 
 plash of the slow rain. 
 
 " Get the door open," cried Rachel. And Martha 
 fumbled at it and could not upen iz with her shakirj 
 hands. " What was the sound ? Was it a cry ? Oh, let 
 me to the door." 
 
 She thrust aside Martha and opened it hersc;/, anr ::■ 
 out in the rain again. 
 
 " Loose the dog," cried Martha, " loose the dog ! If it's 
 murder, J jse the dog first. Mary, Mary, come ! " 
 
 But Mary lay in a dead faint upon the flcor and never 
 stirred. So Martha ran after Rachel and caught 'iol(' of 
 her dress. 
 
 " Let's loose Sigurd ! " she ci ^ed ; for uov7 Sigurd was 
 barking furiously aivl sli lining r '; his chain towards the 
 gate which led dow;. into the \-iIlage. And Rachel let 
 him go. He ran no further than the gate almost hidden 
 in high shrubs, and they followed him. 
 
 " It's open," screamed Martha, " and it swings shut of 
 itself! Don't go, Rachel! " 
 
 But Rachel followed Sigurd, for the dog howled. And 
 upon the gate, wrenched from its hinges by his falling 
 body, they found John Perran lying in trampled flowers 
 and his own blood. 
 
RACHEL MARR 271 
 
 "Oh, Mary's father," said Rachel, " Mary's father! " 
 
 She fell upon her knees beside the man and, listening, 
 heard a faint moan. 
 
 "Is he killed?" asked Martha. "What did I say? 
 'Twas death in the your garden ! " 
 
 " He's alive yet," said Rachel. But on her hands and 
 dress was blood. She straightened out the man's limbs 
 and bade Martha sit down and hold his head, and the old 
 woman did so, wailing. 
 
 " We can't carry him in," said Rachel ; " I must go to 
 the village." 
 
 And though Martha reached out and caught hold of 
 her dress she tore herself away and ran down through the 
 woodland path to the Cove. The first cottage she reached 
 was Sam Burt's, and he came out when she knocked. 
 
 " You, Miss Rachel ! " he said. " What's wrong. 
 Miss?" 
 
 " Go at once to Dr. Greer and bring him back with 
 you." 
 
 She dragged him from his doorstep and Tryphena Burt 
 came after him crying out in wonder : 
 
 " What is it. Miss, what is it? " 
 
 But Rachel neither saw nor heard her. 
 
 " Tell him Mr.' John Perran's at my house and has had 
 a dreadful accident. Go and bring him back." 
 
 She pushed him forward to the road. 
 
 " Run," she said. And Sam ran labouring, while she 
 got two other men and took them up to the house. They 
 passed Jose's cottage, and in the front room there was a 
 light, and old Jose was chanting a terrible psalm to God. 
 
 XIX 
 
 It was a full hour before Greer came galloping through 
 the wet night to Morna House, and during that time 
 those who watched the wounded man died many deaths, 
 as watchers do. Rachel had John carried into the big 
 front room, furnished with old oak and china and shining 
 pewter, and they laid him upon the table on a soft mat- 
 
272 RACHEL MARR 
 
 tress. She and Martha tended him, stanching one great 
 wound that ran down his cheek and another on the head, 
 and they murmured about him, fearing death. For 
 though he breathed, it was over quickly and his pulse was 
 weak. Mary sat outside in the passage, but her limbs 
 failed her and she could do nothing to help. The men 
 who had carried John into the house stayed in the kitchen 
 and spoke in low voices. 
 
 " "lis Jose's work, this, Tom." 
 
 " Aye, lad, and it's hanging if he dies ! " 
 
 "And if not?" 
 
 " He'll die. Did you see there was blood in his 
 ear?" 
 
 " I never noticed it." 
 
 " 'Tis mostly fatal, as I've heard tell." 
 
 " His left wrist was broke." 
 
 " Saving his head — ^but for that he'd ha' been like a 
 dropped egg, lad. All this comes c I running after girls. 
 The old man's daughter is snivelling now in the passage. 
 She used to laugh too lightly, and so did her child's 
 father. This is bad for Morna ! " 
 
 Rachel walked into the kitchen swiftly, took a glass and 
 walked out again. 
 
 " She's fine," said the older man ; " why aren't all 
 women like her?" 
 
 " She daunts me," returned the other. " I prefer some- 
 thing more common-like." 
 
 " You are common, lad. Hark ! " 
 
 He held up his hand. 
 
 " 'Tis the whistling doctor at a gallop. He'll break his 
 neck some night when some woman needs him, but he'll 
 never come where he's needed more. That is if he is 
 needed at all ! " 
 
 He ran out into the yard and Sigurd barked loudly. 
 Rachel came back to the kitchen. 
 
 " Bring Dr. Greer through this way when he comes," 
 she said. 
 
 And Greer stopped his horse outside and swung him- 
 self down. 
 
 "What's the trouble, Tom?" he asked. "Sam Burt 
 
RACHEL MARR 373 
 
 came for me, but all I could get out of him was ' murder ' 
 and ' somebody's skull.' " 
 
 Tom told him, and Greer took his saddle-bags and went 
 in. He followed the light down the passage and came to 
 the room in which John lay. Martha sighed heavily and 
 sat down, but Rachel took Greer's hand. 
 
 " Bring the light close," he said. And when Rachel put 
 the lamp down upon the table Greer whistled queerly 
 through his teeth. 
 
 " I thought they said it was John, and it's Anthony ! " 
 
 But Rachel shook her head. 
 
 " It's John, doctor. But now he looks more like his 
 brother." 
 
 He looked terribly like him on the unwounded side of 
 his face, and Rachel knew it, and there were moments in 
 that hour when she could not distinguish one from the 
 other in her mind, and trembled. But now she did all she 
 could to help, and her hand was steady, her mind set and 
 concentrated. She watched the doctor as he examined 
 the man and his wounds, but she sent Martha back to the 
 kitchen. The old woman was all ashake. 
 
 " Who did this ? " asked Greer, as he felt John's skull 
 with skilful fingers. He got no answer and looked up at 
 Rachel. 
 
 " Who knows ? " she answered, ' for she could not 
 answer. "Will he die?" 
 
 Greer listened to John's heart, and then laid his 
 wounded left arm out straight, and, lifting his eyelids, 
 looked at the pupil of his eye. His mind was set and 
 there was rude strength in his face which was a comfort, 
 even if he said nothing comforting. 
 
 " Get some hot water, my dear ; and where's the 
 brandy?" 
 
 Rachel showed it him and went out for the water. 
 Greer opened his bag and got out stimulants. He found 
 himself whistling lightly and checked himself. 
 
 " It's a fracture of the base ! " he said. " What a skull 
 he must have ! " 
 
 And Rachel came back, and found Greer in his shirt 
 sleeves cutting away hair from the side of John's head. 
 
2^ RACHEL MARR 
 
 " This will be a longish job for you, my dear young 
 lady," he said, " but I think he'll pull through. The shock 
 isn't half so great as it might have been, and the skull is 
 sound on top where he got the blow. He must have saved 
 himself with his arm, you see. He's strong ; nothing can 
 kill a Perran but drink or religion ! " 
 
 And though John drank, he never drank what folks in 
 Morna thought unwise. 
 
 " The Perrans live for ever," was a saying round about. 
 Rachel remembered this and thought of Anthony and 
 Winnie living till they were old, and living together. 
 
 " It would be better for him to die." 
 
 She helped Greer coolly, and all the time her mind was 
 thinking of Anthony. 
 
 " Now he'll have to come and see me in my own 
 house." 
 
 She spoke aloud. 
 
 " It won't be possible to move him, Dr. Greer? " 
 
 " Not for Heaven knows when — if he does well," re- 
 plied Greer. " But if he doesn't " 
 
 Now he had the scalp wound clean and strapped. The 
 long ripped wound of the face looked terrible till he 
 washed it. He cleaned it, dabbed it with an antiseptic, 
 and bound it up. And John's breathing was a little 
 slower, his pulse not so weak. Yet Greer asked for hot 
 water bottles, and while they were coming he put the 
 broken arm in splints. He sent Rachel out of the room 
 for hot blankets and when she came back he kept her at 
 the door a minute. When he let her in John's clothes lay 
 on the floor and he was wrapped in warm woollens. 
 
 " Is there anything else we can do ? " she asked. As 
 she spoke she bent over John and saw once more how like 
 he was to the man she loved. And she knew that she 
 would rather see Anthony in his brother's place than 
 where he was. The sight of the helpless man in her care 
 hurt her horribly. For there was another who needed 
 help worse than he and could accept none from any. 
 
 " I'll stay," said Greer, " and to-morrow we'll have a 
 nurse. If there's nothing supervenes that should not, the 
 man will live and someone won't be hanged." 
 
RACHEL MARR 275 
 
 In her mind Rachel heard old Jose chanting his 
 triumph, as of old Israel chanted over the spilt blood of 
 the children of Moab. 
 
 " I'll watch with you," she said. 
 
 " Nonsense," said Greer, " I've had three whole nights 
 to myself. If I want you I'll call. Get Martha to light 
 the fire here, and I shan't want anything else." 
 
 And then he added : 
 
 " Oughtn't his brother to know ? You had better send 
 over for him ; it's not eleven yet." 
 
 And Rachel's heart leapt in her bosom and she caught 
 her breath. 
 
 " I'll send for him," she said in a low voice, and then 
 Greer remembered what idle folks talked of, and he knew 
 that it was true, and was sorry. 
 
 " Here's another human being wanting the moon and 
 the stars," he said ; " another dear fool would crack the 
 earth for its kernel ! " 
 
 And Rachel sent the younger man who had stayed in 
 the kitchen over to Pentowan. Then she took Mary in 
 hfer arms and told her that John Perran would live. Mary 
 had been her servant, but for the moment seemed her 
 sister. Yet still the girl shook and her eyes were wild. 
 
 " Oh, Miss, it's all my fault. What will they do to my 
 father?" 
 
 But Rachel gripped her hard. 
 
 " Who can say it was your father ? " she asked. Deep 
 in her mind she knew that if John recovered he would not 
 denounce the man who had struck him. She sent Martha 
 and the weeping girl to bed and sat by the fire in the 
 kitchen waiting for Anthony. 
 
 XX 
 
 Now a west wind rose out of the sea and moaned through 
 the woods of Morna, and the rain was still heavy, and the 
 wet roof dripped. Outside in the darkness Sigurd was 
 restless and his chain rattled. Sometimes he whimpered 
 softly and grave, a single bark which was almost a howl. 
 
276 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Then it seemed as if he feared the very noise he made and 
 was quiet for a while. 
 
 And yet Rachel never heard him — ^her mind was where 
 her heart was, and all the world was a dream because she 
 dreamed. As she sat before the red-hearted fire that 
 companioned her loneliness the very figure of the half- 
 murdered man upon his strange bed within was the figure 
 of a dream. There was nothing real round about her, and 
 all the human beings of her household and the strangers 
 within her gates were ghosts. But if they were ghosts, 
 and it might be portents, prophetic of disaster, Anthony 
 himself was greater than life, and more wonderful now 
 that she had run close to the sight of death once more. 
 The sense of human insecurity that chilled her made her 
 reach out to grasp the flower of life while it blossomed. 
 She grew like a magic plant out of the cold white bosom 
 of her dead mother, whose blood had been like fire. The 
 unconscious within her was dominant; it struggled for 
 life and pursued it, but desired the difficult with unchang- 
 ing steadfastness. Whatever she knew of her mother one 
 thing at least she knew, and it was that the dead woman, 
 even at the edge of the grave and on the very verge of 
 hell, pursued the desire of her heart. 
 
 And Anthony was coming! The wind rose end the 
 sound of the rain was heavy and the rising na roared 
 upon the rocks in foam. 
 
 Not once since his marriage had he set foot within her 
 house. And now he must come and come again, for it 
 was so contrived of fate and the hand of him who read 
 aloud from the fierce words of David. What should she 
 say to him, if she said anything? What could she say of 
 his agony, or of her own? Now she felt dumb, and was 
 like one in a nightmare, speechless and afraid. She might 
 be able to say nothing, now or in the few days that were 
 given her, those days John had brought to her stained 
 with his blood. 
 
 " Oh, I'll speak," she said. But the crawling minutes 
 sickened her heart. She went upstairs and stood before 
 her glass. Her hair was in disorder; she loosed it and 
 knotted it low upon her neck. It was so long that she 
 
RACHEL MARR 277 
 
 might have wound it thrice about the neck of love. Her 
 eyes were dark-circled ; they gleamed like moorland pools 
 beneath the evening star. 
 
 Her heart cried! 
 
 "I'm beautiful!" 
 
 And she was glad. She ran downstairs again and 
 found Greer in the kitchen. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," he said ; " he's as well as may be. 
 But you look ill, and no wonder ! " 
 
 " I'm very well, doctor, and always strong." 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 " Oh, you're strong. But don't carry weights that are 
 too heavy. Take it easy. Are you friends with both the 
 brothers, now ? " 
 
 "Why not?" said Rachel. 
 
 " We are all different kinds of fools," said Greer. " I'm 
 one myself. I give advice — sometimes gratis." 
 
 He strode back lightly to the room where John lay, and 
 let her wonder what he meant. But the wind and the rain 
 drew her from his words ; what matter was it if he meant 
 much or nothing? She went to the back door and threw 
 it open, and stood in the porch listening to the pulse of 
 the sea and the wet sob of the windy trees. The sky was 
 low and very heavy, the only light in the world was the 
 gleam from the lamp lying in the worn hollows of the 
 brick-paved yard that was full of rain. Anthony was 
 coming through the storm. She remembered the awful 
 night of lightning and thunder in which her mother set 
 out upon her last journey, and she felt in her bosom for 
 the crucifix which promised life and held immortal death. 
 She carried it into her book-room and laid it on the table 
 and then lighted the lamp there. A strong sense of calm 
 came over her, and with it a feeling that life could not be 
 counted by years or any contrivance of man. Who could 
 compute the hours since she found John trampled into 
 the hollow earth, or the eternal minutes since the mes- 
 senger set out for Pentowan ? 
 
 She sat down by the fire again and then she heard a 
 creaking of the back-stairs and looking up saw Martha 
 peering in through the door that opened on the kitchen. 
 
278 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " How — how is he ? " she asked. 
 
 She was a white ghost and an intruder, and Rachel 
 frowned. 
 
 " Go to bed," she cried, " you can do nothing." 
 
 Martha nodded her head. 
 
 " I'll go, dear," she said quite meekly, " but it's you I 
 think of. Has Mr. Anthony been ? " 
 
 " Not yet," said Rachel as she turned to the fire. And 
 Martha crept upstairs again and spoke to Mary, and in 
 her own room prayed to God. But she did not pray for 
 JohiT — she prayed that Rachel might be happy, and did 
 not count the cost or her own words. 
 
 " Some think God can only really forgive themselves," 
 said Martha, " and not others. But is it my darling's 
 fault she suffers ? " 
 
 She called Rachel her darling now, for Mary seemed 
 incarnate in her child. The memory of the aging declines 
 upon the dear children of the dead. 
 
 " I prayed for my lover and the sea took him. There's 
 crueller creatures than the windy sea," said Martha. 
 
 And the windy sea moaned, and the rain fell, and 
 presently Sigurd's chain rattled again and he barked 
 aloud. And Rachel stood at the door waiting, for she 
 heard the sound of one riding fast till he came to the 
 northward gate. In another minute Anthony alighted 
 from his horse and took her outstretched hands. He 
 knew she offered him her very soul in them, and deep 
 under the restrained passions of his heart he rejoiced and 
 was afraid. 
 
 " Is he alive ? " he cried. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Rachel, " come in, come in." 
 
 But though she hungered to behold him in the light she 
 was glad even then to see that he thought of his horse. 
 He led the dripping animal to the stable, and knowing 
 the stalls were empty, turned it loose there. As he 
 passed Sigurd he put his hand out and the dog whim- 
 pered joyfully. 
 
 Ere he came she had been wan and pale. Now she was 
 like a rose. He was tall, but she nearly matched him, and 
 she was erect as a sheltered pine. His lips trembled a 
 
RACHEL MAKK 279 
 
 little as he spoke to her of John, but though he loved his 
 brother the emotion of the almost accomplished murder 
 was not that which shook him. He saw his own mur- 
 dered life under disastrous and malignant influences that 
 took upon them the authority of heaven. 
 
 "He lives then?" 
 
 " And will," said Rachel. 
 
 She cried aloud to herself : 
 
 " I live and will live." And then she said, " Come with 
 me." 
 
 He followed her and Greer met them at the door. The 
 two men shook hands. 
 
 " This is a bad business," said the doctor, " though I 
 believe he'll pull through. But he is unconscious and 
 may be so for days." 
 
 Anthony stepped past him and stood by his brother's 
 side, and Rachel followed. From where she stood she 
 saw John's uninjured profile and marked its pale and 
 quiet likeness to the strong head of fraternal pity bent 
 above him. But John was nothing and Anthony was the 
 world. 
 
 " They say Jose did this," said Anthony ; " is it true ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? " replied Rachel. " The poor man is 
 mad and not responsible." 
 
 " Who is ? " asked Greer quietly. " There's more mad 
 than Jose." 
 
 Anthony bent over his brother and kissed his brow. 
 
 " He has brought this on himself," he said. But his 
 voice was not stern, for he knew that evil might be 
 wrought in more ways than one. He knew that now. 
 But whether a man works evil or permits it is one. 
 
 'I If he dies " 
 
 " He shall not," said Rachel. She caught Greer's hand 
 and he patted her on the shoulder with the one she 
 left free. 
 
 '[ We'll do our best." 
 
 " If he dies," said Anthony, " this will mean — what 
 murder means ! " 
 
 They thought of the old fanatic at the Cove, but Rachel 
 thought of her own bleeding heart as well. 
 
28o RACHEL MARR 
 
 " If he lives John would be the last to revenge him- 
 self," she cried almost angrily, and Greer nodded. 
 
 " Look here, Perran, we'll leave this to your brother." 
 
 " If he lives," said Anthony ; " I never meant other- 
 wise. I was thinking of the madman that he made." 
 
 " You're just as mad," cried Greer. " Now go and 
 settle with Miss Rachel what's to be done. There won't 
 be any moving him for weeks, that's certain, and Morna 
 House is my hospital. We're all mad, Perran, there's no 
 sane soul between sea and sea." 
 
 He looked Anthony in the eyes. 
 
 " There are good madmen and bad," he said, " but the 
 good ones do the most harm, Perran. Take that from a 
 wise physician like myself, and swallow it." 
 
 He thrust Anthony to the door almost cheerfully. 
 
 " Give the man a drink, Rachel," he said. " You want 
 something, Perran." 
 
 And Anthony knew what he wanted, but what he 
 wanted Rachel should not give him. Yet his soul was 
 athirst and she was like a river in a desert. He followed 
 her to the book-room and there he stood before the sink- 
 ing fire for a long while and never spoke a word. It was 
 Rachel who opened her parched lips first. 
 
 " This is the first time you have been in my house since 
 it was mine," she said. There was one who hated him 
 to be there now. He knew his wife was raging even 
 then. 
 
 " Aye," said Anthony. That which was next to death 
 had brought him ; and sin had brought him — ^his brother's 
 sin. The desire of his heart shook him. He asked her 
 for water and she brought him to drink, and he looked 
 upon her very strangely. For as he looked he remem- 
 bered what Martha had said to him in the road, and how 
 the old woman wept while she stabbed him to the heart. 
 And once again he heard a ghostly musical voice say, 
 " Anything you wanted, Anthony, anything you wanted," 
 calling from the dark water at midnight. And then he 
 saw her as he had seen her in the moonlight when she 
 lifted her hands above her head, and the crucifix fell 
 from her bosom. And once more he heard her say, 
 
RACHEL MAKK 281 
 
 " Your God " and " I am a Catholic no more." His eyes 
 fell upon the crucifix now. 
 
 She watched him with passion and without remorse. 
 The pupils of her eyes were dilated ; excitement had hold 
 of her and gave her strong drugs, so that she was more 
 than herself, greater, more imperial, majestically humble, 
 frank, and subtle, enticing, pitiful. She watched his 
 mind and knew its every emotion; intuitions sprang up 
 in her and she saw through his guards, knew his strength 
 and his weakness, and her own. 
 
 She knew what folks said of him, and knew they spoke 
 truly of his kindness to the weak, his justice for the 
 strong. There was no line in his face that was not 
 graven in her heart ; the sound of his voice was music to 
 her, and before him she felt her weakness well up in 
 tears even when she passed before him like a queen. He 
 was a man, and all men said so, and now she saw him 
 struggling fiercely with himself. She sat down by the 
 table, and took her eyes from him out of very pity, and 
 when she looked again there was something in his face 
 which made her think upon those who were said to be 
 blessed of God. And yet within his eyes was love for 
 her, and she knew it, and for one immortal moment she 
 surrendered her body to death and believed in love that 
 could not suffer. 
 
 And then she remembered her dream, and the man 
 saw her shoulders shake with dry sobs that wrenched 
 at her heart strings. 
 
 " Rachel ! Rachel ! " he cried. And she reached out her 
 hand to him and he took it and trembled. 
 
 She desired to speak, to express her inmost desire, to 
 throw herself at his knees and embrace them, and the 
 bonds of silence were upon her, holding her as with 
 steel, and she could not break them. But her very hand 
 spoke, and the silence of her fever of inward thought was 
 more_ dreadful to him that words. For it was nigh upon 
 midnight and he was alone in the house of the woman 
 he worshipped. What she thought poured into his soul 
 by the channels that the waked souls knows of, and he 
 grew swift and swifter in his mind to understand. 
 
282 RACHEL MARK 
 
 And still behind him stood his God, and the pillars of 
 the temple in which he worshipped were not shaken, nor 
 was the veil of the temple rent. 
 
 " I will speak if it is impossible," she had said to the 
 sea. 
 
 It was impossible and she spoke. But not yet could 
 she speak and not for herself first — for when had women 
 spoken? And now she knew that speech was but a rude 
 symbol for the passions of the heart, and failed even 
 when re-cast in the very furnace of passion. She was 
 like one stricken dumb. Then she looked up at him, and 
 he saw that she was asking him for something. But 
 what it was he knew not, though he sought for it in her 
 eyes and in his own soul, and even prayed to God to find 
 it for him. 
 
 "What is it?" he murmured, and his voice was 
 strange to his own ears. He waited for her answer as 
 one waits for the first words of those who have escaped 
 the grave. And her eyes asked, " Do you not know ? " 
 and he did not know, and he cried out again, " Rachel ! 
 Rachel ! " Then she spoke and asked : 
 
 " Do I make you suffer? " 
 
 And he answered " no " as she loosed his hand and 
 took hold of the crucifix that lay between them. 
 
 " If I were dead would you suffer? " 
 
 Did she say that, or did the thought spring from her 
 to him, swift and wordless and terrible ? He choked, and 
 wrenched at his throat for breath, and she saw him shake. 
 But she did not help him. She asked for help again and 
 now spoke it. 
 
 " I want to speak and cannot. Help me, Anthony, 
 help me ! " 
 
 Her eyes burned and he saw her bosom heave like the 
 sea. She was a woman, not a child or a girl, and one 
 who held all the gifts of womanhood within her beating 
 heart. And she held inspiration and the power that 
 moves men and gives them strength unless it destroys 
 them, and out of her mind he drew words and knew 
 what they were and what they implied even before they 
 shaped themselves into unspoken speech within his brain. 
 
RACHEL MARR 283 
 
 " I cannot." 
 
 She caught his hand again, and still insisting with her 
 eyes spoke soft words to him. 
 
 " Poor Anthony ! I make you suffer ! " 
 
 But he had loved her first, and had held her to his heart 
 in dreams when her dreams were only those of the fruit- 
 ful earth. His love he had beaten down in his own soul, 
 but it had taken refuge in hers like wild seed floating on 
 a wind, and now it was again a red, red crop upon his 
 wasted land. 
 
 And once again her eyes sought his, and the insistent 
 question of her soul repeated itself and hammered upon 
 his brain, as thunder hammers at the gates of sleep till the 
 tired night wakes. He let her- hand go and walked up 
 and down the room, and coming to the door caught the 
 handle as if he would escape, but he could not turn it — 
 a strange paralysis seized him ; he was impotent, stricken. 
 And the words she asked for cried out for birth within 
 him and wrenched his shut lips open and were born with 
 a strange physical agony. 
 
 " I— I love you ! " 
 
 In the very moment of speaking a deep and perfect 
 peace floated down upon him. So deep it was and so per- 
 fect that he heard again the sound of the fine and falling 
 rain outside, and caught the faint sounds of the surging 
 sea and the passing wind. And within him he tasted the 
 holy chrism of nature, and for a while the word of na- 
 ture was true scripture, and his peace the peace of God. 
 
 And he heard Rachel sigh, and ran to her like a true 
 lover, and fell upon his knees and murmured voiceless 
 things to her that were terrible and dear. And then 
 Anthony prayed to Heaven and laid his heart before the 
 throne. 
 
 " My heart is Thine, O God, and Thy gifts are love ; 
 order Thou my steps." 
 
 For the spirit of man was one thing and his body 
 another, and the body was the slave of the Most High 
 God. 
 
 And Rachel turned to him and laid her hand upon his 
 head and blessed him. For now there was a passionate 
 
284 RACHEL MARR 
 
 peace in her own heart, and having accomplished so 
 much it seemed to her for a time that no more was 
 needed, since the knowledge of his love was all her heart 
 asked for. And for a long while neither she nor the man 
 spoke, and they forgot even themselves as he knelt upon 
 the floor beside her. 
 
 And the night was quiet and the rain ceased and the 
 wandering wind died down in the woodlands, and there 
 were stars in the deep heavens. 
 
 And Rachel spoke again, for the lamp grew dim and 
 the coals in the fire were darkening. 
 
 "You suffer, Anthony?" 
 
 He spoke the truth. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Rachel." 
 
 " You have no peace, then? " 
 
 " What peace is there, here? " 
 
 " There might have been peace," she cried, and once 
 more her voice was bitter. " Why did you do this ? " 
 
 She felt him shake, but he did not answer. 
 
 " And you loved me ? " 
 
 " Always." 
 
 He heard her breathe: 
 
 " And I loved you." 
 
 She took up the crucifix. 
 
 " I think you let this part us, Anthony ; or was it your 
 word given when you were a boy ? " 
 
 He flinched as she spoke. 
 
 " Oh, it's done, it's done ! " 
 
 He made a motion to rise, but she pressed him to his 
 knees. 
 
 " Let me go home, Rachel." 
 
 " Where is your home, Anthony ? " 
 
 No houseless wanderer of the roads was half so home- 
 less. Old Steve himself, of the grass and fern, was less 
 far from a warm hearth where love dwelt. He felt her 
 quiver as she asked it, for he knew where his heart was, 
 and heard it beat then. Passion rose in her once more 
 and beat its wings, and she beat her bosom, and as he 
 looked up at her she seemed strangely old and worn. 
 
RACHEL MARR 285 
 
 For a great maternal passion for him mingled with the 
 inexorable implacable love she bore him. 
 
 " Here, here !" she said, and the burning passions of 
 the burning South where she was born flowered in the 
 garden of her heart. And her mother's unsatisfied soul 
 cried out in her, and the broken desires of the exile who 
 begat her. 
 
 " Oh, here's your home," she cried, and she sprang to 
 her feet. " I want to speak, I want to speak ! " 
 
 Once again she wrestled with a woman's dumbness, 
 for he was suffering, and she could give him rest. Nor 
 right nor wrong nor any law oppressed her. There were 
 some beyond and some beneath the law. And what she 
 said shook him, for her voice was once more the voice 
 of one out of deep waters. She cried out : 
 
 " I'd do anything you wanted, Anthony, anything you 
 wanted ! " 
 
 And again she bowed her head as she had done upon 
 that unforgotten midnight, and Anthony rose up and 
 went backward from her so that he stood against the 
 door. He heard her speak again and her voice was like 
 the sound of a low wind in trees and it wavered and grew 
 strong. And he clenched his hands and the beaded sweat 
 stood upon his brow, and as she spoke he spoke to God. 
 And he listened to every word she spoke. 
 
 " I would have married you if you had asked me," she 
 said. " Oh, you made me love you years ago — I was a 
 girl, then — a girl ! You used to come here and talk to 
 me. And I didn't know I loved you till you were mar- 
 ried ; I didn't know ! " 
 
 But something within had known. He saw her in 
 the moonlight by the wood. 
 
 " I thought you were so strong, and such a man. Oh, 
 Anthony, Anthony, help me to speak, help me ! " 
 
 She wrung her hands and ran to him and he stood be- 
 fore her moved, unmoved. 
 
 " O God," he said, " O God, look down on me — on 
 us!" 
 
 She cried out passionately : 
 
286 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " There's no God, Anthony — don't look up, don't look 
 up!" 
 
 He tried to speak and could not. 
 
 " Oh, you've bitter strength," she said. " If that had 
 been which might have been I'd have knelt with you — I'd 
 have worshipped any God with you ! " 
 
 He heard old Martha's words that cut him to the heart. 
 
 " She'd have worshipped idols with you, idols with 
 you." And she had said, " I know love's in his heart and 
 'twill be wind to the fire in hers and her nature's dread- 
 ful." There was no woman like her, for she was woman, 
 this Rachel. 
 
 Rachel lifted her arms. 
 
 " You love me, and your heart's a fire. I'd have 
 brought you all I had, my heart for you, and my heart 
 for God, and what there was in me. Was I not young? 
 Oh, . I'm young still ! Many think me beautiful. Hear 
 me, Anthony's God, there's my beauty for him, but my 
 God's heart is dead ! " 
 
 She shook with dreadful passion, and her eyes were 
 fire and the soul of flame, and her bosom was as tumul- 
 tuous as the sea. 
 
 " I offered it all," she cried; " I offered it all. There's 
 less to offer now. Here I'm shamed, for shame is on me, 
 and my lover's in hell and an evil thing battens on his 
 heart, a thing I hate ! " 
 
 He held up his hand, but she caught his wrist and 
 pulled it down. 
 
 " 'Tis true, oh, true as death, and your heart cries to 
 me it's true. And she said things to me — ^my God, she 
 said things that were blisters ! " 
 
 Anthony cried out : 
 
 " What things, what things ? " 
 
 "God! what things!" said Rachel, writhing. "Oh, 
 Anthony, do you laugh in bed at nights with her because 
 I love you ? " 
 
 Her voice was an anguish. 
 
 " My God ! " said Anthony, " my God! " 
 
 " Oh, oh, she said it ! " 
 
 " And she's my wife, my wife 1 " 
 
RACHEL MARR 287 
 
 Rachel's voice rose almost to a scream again and she 
 beat her bosom. 
 
 " No, no, no, Anthony ! " 
 
 Her knees gave way beneath her and she fell upon the 
 floor. 
 
 " Oh, here's your home and here's my heart, here's 
 my heart." She tore choking at her bosom, and An- 
 thony groaned and cried out : 
 
 " Rachel, for God's sake, for God's sake ! " 
 
 And she sank down at his feet and clutched his knees. 
 
 "Is it true, is it true?" 
 
 " Oh, a lie ! " he said. " I love you and I'm shamed, 
 and yet's she's my wife, and I can do nothing, nothing, 
 nothing ! " 
 
 The strangled passion in him almost burst his heart. 
 He beat his fist against the wall until it bled, and Rachel 
 sprang up and caught him. 
 
 " Don't, don't. Will you kill me? " 
 
 " I have killed you." 
 
 She caught him in her arms and laid her head against 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " No. I'll live ; and you shall live, Anthony." 
 
 She heard his voice and she laid her hand upon his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Don't pray for my death, don't pray for that ! " 
 
 " Your salvation and mine, yours and mine. That's 
 what I pray for. Aye, and hers! Oh, you think me 
 strong." 
 
 In her fervent heart she cursed his strength and her 
 own weakness, for now weakness got hold of her and 
 she shook terribly as she held to him. She went almost 
 blind, and he took her to the big chair and put her in it 
 and stood by her. And he stroked her hair, and his soul 
 said she was dearer than heaven, while his fixed mind 
 was set on a paradise which was less sweet than love on 
 the cruel earth. And yet love was cruel as the grave, 
 and the awakened passions of the real heart of man 
 were as awful as the gates of hell, and the fumes of 
 the pit. 
 
 " You think me strong? " 
 
288 ' RACHEL MARR 
 
 Her soul cried out for strength, and that the earth's. 
 She needed warm joy and the gift of little children and 
 the sheltered house and the love of her own man. 
 
 " But I'm not so strong. I said I loved you ! " 
 
 She reached out and took his hand and kissed it, 
 
 " I'm tired, Anthony, I'm tired! " 
 
 Reaction' came on her and tears ran down her face 
 quietly, and the man's heart was broken. 
 
 " Always, always, I shall love you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Anthony." 
 
 " You'll be in my heart. There's another life, dear." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " This is enough. You'll be in my heart on earth, I'll 
 not let you go." 
 
 " I must go." 
 
 " Now," said Rachel ; " oh, yes, you can go now." 
 
 She took both his hands and looked up at him. 
 
 " You are sure you don't despise me ? " 
 
 " I'm sure of that." 
 
 " Next time, perhaps I shan't be beautiful, Anthony." 
 
 "Next time, Rachel?" 
 
 " I offered more than words to-night, Anthony." 
 
 He knew that. Yes, he knew it. 
 
 " If I'm not beautiful, I may love you more, or you 
 may learn to love me by then." 
 
 "Don't, don't!" 
 
 " Good-night, dear. Go now." 
 
 But he could not move. For she still held him. 
 
 " Kiss me once, Anthony." 
 
 And he kissed her brow. 
 
 " Kiss my lips," she said. 
 
 And he kissed her mouth. 
 
BOOK IV 
 
 The summer began the very day after Jose went walking 
 in the woods hand in hand with murder, and heat 
 wrought such swift wonders with the plastic earth as his 
 forge had wrought in stubborn metal, and Morna was 
 aflame with sudden blossom of apple, and the scent of 
 flowers was in the air. As rain fell no more and the wind 
 was soft the steeped earth smoked under the sun and the 
 young harvest grew mightily, and the grass upon the 
 lower meadows was as high as the little children who 
 played beside it. 
 
 "But though the season promised rare prosperity, even 
 for the gaunt farms upon the upland, the village lay under 
 a cloud, since part of a bitter harvest had been garnered 
 in its midst and a sense of foreseen calamity was not dim 
 within those who dwelt there. Jose's forge was silent and 
 his house empty, and the worker in iron sat with his Bible 
 in a cell of a grey stone building in the near town. There 
 were too many talkers for him to escape suspicion, even 
 though the chief witness against him might never speak 
 again. Or so the talkers said, for the whistling doctor 
 came and went twice a day from the Church Town and 
 said feut Uttle even to the nurse who sat with John Perran 
 all night, and less to Rachel who helped her in the day. 
 He held his tongue and waited, for though he saw no 
 reason yet why John should not live, he wondered what 
 manner of man would rise with the silent figure that he 
 handled like living clay. 
 
 "Jose's iron might make a saint," he said to him- 
 self; "but it's far more likely that he'll be a stranger 
 
 289 
 
290 RACHEL MARR 
 
 devil than he was. When skulls are cracked, wits are 
 cracked. He's as still as death or sleep now, but, if I'm 
 not wrong, when he's up he'll be mad-drunk at times 
 when no drink's in him. These Parrans are strange 
 folk, and so are we all. Damn these passions of humanity 
 that won't take nature easy ! " 
 
 Before old Jose was taken from Morna, and while John 
 Perran was quiet in his bed, Rachel went down to the 
 Cove and spoke to the old man, though many of the 
 villagers implored her not to enter his house. For now 
 they feared him, and feared for her, since in her house 
 were those who had together done such things as made 
 him mad. 
 
 " Hurt me ! Oh, he'll not hurt me," said Rachel, and 
 though Jose did not answer her knock she opened the 
 door and went in and closed it quietly. She found the 
 old man sitting at his table with the Bible open before 
 him. It was full thirty hours since he had met his enemy 
 at midnight, and since then he had not tasted food or 
 slept. But now he was sane, and when Rachel put her 
 hand upon his shoulder tears ran down his worn face and 
 he took her hand trembling, and he said : 
 
 " I'm not worthy to touch the hem of your garment, 
 Missy. What is it that I've done — is it murder? " 
 
 " The man will Hve," said Rachel. " Oh, how could 
 you do it ? " 
 
 " Twas me and the devil. Missy." 
 
 He stared at her from under heavy brows and 
 sighed. 
 
 " And I thought it God in me, and I said, ' Vengeance 
 is mine.' But I'll give myself up for it ! " 
 
 And Rachel lighted his fire and made him some tea 
 and put food in front of him. 
 
 " How can I have you serve me, Missy dear?" asked 
 the old man, " and me a killer of men ! " 
 
 But once more she told him that John Perran would 
 live, and she said he would never say who it was that 
 had attacked him. 
 
 "For though he did evil, he's no coward, and he knows 
 he wronged you." 
 
RACHEL MARR 291 
 
 " 'Tis all the more reason for me to seek the law," said 
 Jose stubbornly. 
 
 "You can't be forgiven then? " asked Rachel, and the 
 old man's eyes burnt like blown embers. 
 
 " Oh, 'tis hard ! " 
 
 " Don't you remember I asked you to do something for 
 me and you would not? Will you do something for me 
 
 now 
 
 ?' 
 
 The old man adored her, and she knew it, and he was 
 hot iron in the fire and she twisted him as she would. He 
 laid his head upon the table and cried like a child while 
 she bent over him and talked softly, and soothed him. 
 
 " I'll do as you tell me. Missy," he said at last. " I'm 
 weary and old, and too much of ordering myself and 
 being hard and strong makes me tired, and I miss my 
 wife, poor dear, more these days than I did when she 
 died. And I've no daughter to be a child to me." 
 
 But then Rachel kissed his forehead. 
 
 " Whatever happens, say nothing," she said, " and no 
 one will speak against you." 
 
 He rose to his feet and took her hands. 
 
 " Oh, but you are a blessed woman ! " he cried ; " and 
 your hands bring healing and your voice is like a choir of 
 angels singing, and may God make you happy and give 
 you all things, here and in the life everlasting. For you 
 comfort the poor and the afflicted and the childless and 
 those who are like me, even like me ! " 
 
 He turned from her and leant against the wall and 
 prayed aloud to God to bring her into the paths of peace, 
 and as he prayed she left him and walked back to her 
 house, neither happily nor unhappily, but in a strange 
 calm of spirit which seemed passionless and was passion's 
 self. And she stayed for a moment by her own peculiar 
 pine and laid her cheek against its cool scales, and 
 dreamed. 
 
 " You comfort the childless," she said to the pine, " and 
 those who are like me, like me ! " 
 
 And that night old Jose was taken away until it was 
 seen what would happen to John Perran if he lived and 
 spoke, or if he died and others spoke for him. It was 
 
292 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Anthony who told her of this, for he rode over every 
 evening to ask about his brother, and often enough came 
 in the morning too. But he never spoke of what was in 
 his heart, and she was very silent, and both greeted and 
 said good-bye to him quietly. For there had been no 
 such strong quiet in her heart for years as that which 
 had come since he understood and had spoken those 
 words that she drew from him. The sense of shame 
 within her was laid asleep because he loved her greatly 
 and had said so, showing it not only in words, but in a 
 passion of control at which her woman's heart marvelled, 
 being sore at it and yet wondering. But the silence 
 having been broken there was little need of speech, and 
 the relief within her was so great that is seemed at certain 
 hours that the knowledge of his love was enough. And 
 at other hours, when she knew that it was not enough, 
 she declared to herself that it would have been if Anthony 
 were in any way happy or at peace. But in his eyes she 
 read of his torment, and she knew that his coming to 
 Morna House, even though his brother lay there, was a 
 bitter offence to his wife, and one for which she made him 
 pay. But as he did what was his duty, and also fed his 
 hungry solitary heart at the table of vain desire, he came 
 and paid, and lived a life that held a little dear-bought 
 joy in it. 
 
 And on the third day after Jose had been taken to 
 prison John Perran became conscious once more, and 
 Greer rubbed his big hands and stood, straddle-legs, by 
 his bed and pronounced the man lucky. 
 
 " That is, if it's lucky for fools to live," he said ; " and 
 as I have my doubts even about wise men, why there we 
 are, you know." 
 
 He broke off and whistled, and had a tolerable and 
 happy conceit of himself both as a wise man and a 
 physician and a surgeon. But truly he did most, if he 
 did anything, for those who watched the patient rather 
 than for John Perran, who owed his escape to an elastic 
 skull and the swiftness of his guard to which his smashed 
 arm witnessed. 
 
 " He'll get through now, I think," said Greer, " but he 
 
RACHEL MARR 293 
 
 must be kept quiet, and all talking's bad and any excite- 
 ment's worse. Now our job will be to keep him in bed. 
 I wish I'd had the fore-sight to put his leg in splints and 
 tell him that it was broken." 
 
 The injury done to John declared itself soon enough, 
 for though his wounds healed and his arm grew sound 
 with wonderful swiftness, it was more than the nurse 
 could do to keep him quiet, even with drugs. And pres- 
 ently he took a violent dislike to the woman, and Greer 
 sent her away and brought another. But even her he 
 could barely endure, and he perpetually sent for Rachel. 
 When she came he was very humble and as quiet as a 
 child, and he begged to be allowed to hold her hand so 
 that he could sleep. And one day when Mary came into 
 the room he got violently excited, and drove her away 
 with curses. Rachel foimd the girl sobbing violently on 
 the landing outside his door, and when she went to her 
 Mary refused to speak and ran to her own room without a 
 word. So Rachel went in to John and found him just 
 quieting down under a sedative. 
 
 " Don't you let her come near me," said John angrily ; 
 " I won't have her. I'm going to do the square thing if I 
 can, and I'll say nothing as to who put me here, but I 
 won't have her about." 
 
 " She only wanted to be kind," said Rachel. 
 
 John grew sleepy, but resisted sleep. 
 
 " Some women are too kind," he muttered, " and some 
 not kind enough. I hate her because — of you — Rachel." 
 
 And then sleep struck him down suddenly, and Rachel 
 sat by him sorrowfully, for she understood. And as she 
 stayed she wondered at the dark web of life, and the 
 strange follies of men, and of passion, and the weakness 
 of women and their strength. For here was John Perran 
 become her slave, and his poor slave was weeping jeal- 
 ously, and Anthony's soul and body cried out aloud for 
 one who would have gone down into the pit to give him 
 any joy of earth. 
 
 As she sat within the dark web that she and fate wove 
 the sun set and the glory of the evening shone into the 
 room, and she saw John's pale face upon the pillow. And 
 
294 RACHEL MARR 
 
 as she sat upon his right side she could not see the red 
 scar on his left brow and cheek, and he became so won- 
 derfully like Anthony in his quiet sleep that she trembled 
 and bent forward and stared at him. Her heart leapt and 
 was still, and a dream took her and her world was 
 strangely shaken and a fearful uncertainty as to the very 
 nature of things got hold of her. 
 
 She remembered how John had come riding to her 
 house, and how it seemed that here was a happy Anthony 
 riding like a bridegroom to his beloved. Then she had 
 trembled and for a moment the fresh green world was 
 wonderful and God was in His heaven, and nature was 
 God's church and men His glorious ministers and the 
 sweet birds His choir. 
 
 And here, in her own house, in the best chamber of the 
 house, lay one who was no happy bridegroom, but a man 
 escaped from death, and, in his pallor, the exact and 
 awful image of his dearer brother. For the living, red 
 had gone out of John, and the glow had left him, even as 
 a sunset faded, and his face had the clear, cool aspect of 
 the quiet stars rather than of the living sun. 
 
 She knew that in death they would be alike. Now it 
 seemed to her that Anthony was dead and in her house, 
 safe and secluded, given to her for ever, and she held the 
 thought to her heart like a child, and fell upon her knees 
 by the bed, thanking whatever gods there were, gods of 
 the woodland or the sea or the earth or the heaven, for 
 the gift of his death. And the light faded and the room 
 grew dark, so that her imagination flamed about the 
 sleeping man, and she set him to play in his unconscious- 
 ness the part of Anthony in her house and her home. 
 For first he loved and blessed her, and then he died bless- 
 ing her, and she took the crucifix out of her bosom and 
 laid it upon his heart, and for a moment believed again in 
 the Virgin Mother and her Son and in immortality. And 
 then she bent and kissed John upon the brow. 
 
 But as she kissed him the door was opened slowly and 
 Mary looked in and saw what she did, and she hated 
 Rachel bitterly. 
 
RACHEL MARR 295 
 
 II 
 
 Thus it was that what Rachel did out of pity and a dream 
 and her engrossing passion wrought upon her life and 
 made the girl whom she had helped her bitter enemy. 
 And though Mary was little in her mind, and rather be- 
 cause she was so little, she was capable of waiting to do 
 her friend an injury. And she had no other home. 
 Even at the forge a stranger worked until it should be 
 known what John Perran said of her father to the law 
 which held the old man close in the grey house upon the 
 hill. 
 
 But John had cried out already that he would say 
 nothing. 
 
 " It is one to him and one to me, and now we're quits," 
 he said. But he rarely spoke with any of his old light- 
 ness even when the forty days that Greer gave him to be 
 out of any danger drew to their close. There was some- 
 thing in his mind that was striking deep roots, and there 
 were times when he not only understood his brother, but 
 hated him and turned away from him when he came. 
 
 " He loves Rachel and she loves him, and he sits at 
 Pentowan with that spider, that blood-sucking she of 
 darkness. Oh, the fool ! And what am I ? " 
 
 Though he had always been wild and often violent, 
 there used to be a wild sweetness in him such as women 
 loved. But now much of his sweetness went out of him ; 
 he was sometimes almost brutal, and was sullen even to 
 Rachel. And he would not see Mary or his boy; they 
 both stood to him for points of shame. Seeing them, how 
 could Rachel love him? He was a changed man and 
 argued angrily with Anthony about free-will. 
 
 " If I cracked you on the head with a hammer you 
 might run all over the country after the girls and spend 
 your spare time preaching atheism and drink," he cried. 
 " Look at me — I'm not what I was ! Damn old Jose and 
 all wild rose hedge girls ! Oh, I'm sick ! " 
 
 But he had his hours when his voice was sweet and the 
 new melancholy in him, which was bred of doubt and a 
 
agS RACHEL MARR 
 
 loosed hold upon life, made him more lovable than ever, 
 and Rachel listened to him and heard Anthony. His 
 heart leapt, because he deceived himself. Then he saw 
 her eyes wander, and her mind seclude itself from him, 
 like a singing bird flying into a deep woodland, and the 
 snarer of singing birds sang no more. 
 
 " I'm an accursed fool, and I'll out of the country when 
 that lingering, rapacious ass of a Greer lets me out of 
 this." 
 
 He cursed Greer and all doctors and medicine men, and 
 all women and all mankind, and then was astonished at 
 himself for taking things so bitterly. 
 
 " I'm as mad as Anthony," he said. And it seemed to 
 him that he understood his brother better, so much better 
 indeed, that at times he understood a man's conscience 
 and all the bitterness that comes of that sense of sin which 
 cannot exist with real health. But he wanted what he 
 could not get, and till now he had never asked for ther 
 impossible, and if any that he desired loved him not, he 
 had left them lightly. Now desire was a barbed thorn 
 in his flesh, and the very aspect of the bright world was 
 changed. 
 
 " It's a pity I guarded my head ; by now I'd have been 
 food for the roots of grass." 
 
 Nevertheless he yearned passionately for life, and 
 growth, and for Rachel, and he hated the hollow con- 
 suming earth beneath the trodden ways of men. And 
 once he said with a strange note of lamentation in his 
 voice : 
 
 " Rachel, you make me want to be good." 
 
 And Rachel smiled. 
 
 " I do not think you so bad, John. If the world was 
 different I could think a man like you better than many of 
 the best." 
 
 But the world was what it was, and John Perran knew 
 it, and saw strange growths in his own heart. They rose 
 above the surface at times, and Rachel saw them and 
 feared him and was sorry. But always and for ever 
 her soul was with Anthony, and she only gave John husks 
 where Anthony had all the harvest of her heart. And as 
 
RACHEL MARR 297 
 
 she waited for him, and waited for something that she 
 knew not, she only sometimes spoke to his brother, 
 malsing him the image of the dear god she worshipped. 
 There were times when John hated and desired her, for 
 now his spirit was quick within him, and he touched 
 things in her which were hidden deeply. 
 
 " She likes to think I'm Anthony," he cried one night 
 in agony. " I could kill her for that ! " 
 
 He struggled with himself for hours, and dark night 
 covered his soul. 
 
 " Is this love ? " he asked, " and does she suffer worse 
 than I, seeing that that she-toad has her man? Oh, I'm 
 sorry for her. My head's aflame." 
 
 The sleeping nurse never heard him laugh bitterly. He 
 saw the pearl of dawn upon the sea from his southward 
 window, and walked the room lightly. 
 
 " I must get out of this," he said, " before I do some 
 mad folly. She's a divine creature and I'm a fool maimed 
 in my mind. I used to be so happy and she burns me. I 
 never thought of things that come up in me now. If I 
 kissed her I should go mad. My arms ache for her. I 
 ache, I ache. Not all the beauty in the world could cool 
 me. I could pray to God if there's one this side of dawn 
 and sunset. O God ! O God ! " 
 
 For his burning tongue there was no water. He bit his 
 lip till the blood ran and beat his hand against the wall 
 as his brother had done. The pain eased him and he 
 laughed bitterly. 
 
 " I'll go to old George's now before I'm mad again," 
 he said. The light of dawn grew; he searched for his 
 clothes and found nothing. 
 
 " Naked came I into the world and in grave-clothes go 
 out," he said ; " there's nothing odd in marching in my 
 night-gear. Good-bye, room, that I'd better have died 
 in ; and good-bye, sweet nurse. Sleep in peace ; I'll nurse 
 my own sick self." 
 
 But he could not get away after all without folks know- 
 ing, for he came face to face with Mary wandering in 
 the passage in her nightgown with a shawl over her 
 shoulders. 
 
298 RACHEL MARR 
 
 "Oh, sir! "she cried. 
 
 He was fierce as a thief at night. 
 
 " Silence, girl ! Do you know where my clothes are ? " 
 
 " You're not going? " 
 
 " Find them, or I'll wring your neck." 
 
 But she could not find them and trembled so that she 
 sat down upon the stairs. 
 
 " I'm off without 'em. Say I went to old George's." 
 
 He marched down and she trailed after him weeping. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! Oh, Mr. John " 
 
 But he answered nothing, and opening the door went 
 out into the cool, calm dawn that embraced his burning 
 spirit like deep water. 
 
 " Blessed are those who can weep," said John ; " I can 
 see that. They'll think I'm mad, but now I'm as sane as 
 a fish." 
 
 He hammered blaspheming old George Perran out of 
 bed, and tumbled into bed himself, finding sleep out of 
 reaction. 
 
 When he woke Greer was standing by his bedside. 
 
 " I thought I had escaped you," he said coolly. 
 
 " I came after you. You're a rash fool, Perran." 
 
 " I never was wise with my old brains, and with these 
 that you've been patching what can you expect ? " 
 
 Greer took his hand, and felt his pulse and looked at 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Well, you're not so bad, or so mad." 
 
 " I tell you I'm as sane as any doctor cock-a-whooping 
 on a pile of dead folks." 
 
 " You're mad enough. You never thought of the 
 trouble you might cause at Morna. You never thought 
 of Rachel." 
 
 " I like you, but you are a liar," said John, " for I can't 
 think of anything else ! Get out of this, by God, or I'll 
 cut your over-wise tongue out ! " 
 
 And Greer went whistling. 
 
 " Where's the old Jack Perran? " he asked. " Where 
 does he walk and laugh now? Here's a strange conver- 
 sion — he that stole ripe apples wants the moon." 
 
RACHEL MARK 299 
 
 III 
 
 MoRNA Cove knew much and believed it knew more, and 
 by ten o'clock there was not a soul in it who could not 
 tell someone, who had another tale, what it was that had 
 happened at Miss Rachel's house, and how it came that 
 mad John Perran had walked a mile without a rag to his 
 back. Some said that he was simply crazy, and had no 
 reason for such outrageous folly. But others cried out 
 that Mary Jose was the reason of his flight, for there were 
 women who hated to think he might marry her after all. 
 Others declared that Steve had said that John Perran 
 was in love with Miss Rachel before his head was 
 broke. 
 
 " And knowing as we do that a cracked skull makes 
 mad men madder, 'tis evident he's wild about her, and she 
 turned him out or said he was to go, whereupon he ups 
 and quits, like any Perran quick to take a hint, as we 
 know," 
 
 But whatever Steve had said when he was under the 
 weather, and then he said as much as magpie in an 
 orchard, he remembered now that John had cursed him 
 bitterly when he suggested that he and Anthony were 
 like as two peas, and that either out of the pod might suit 
 Miss Rachel. 
 
 " And I talked and talked, like a fine fool," said Steve, 
 " and all the time as like as not he had a notion to hunt 
 her, and all the time Jose was hunting him. Well, if that 
 was so, I did no great harm. And how did I dare talk 
 about my dear young lady loving my king of fools, 
 Anthony Perran? There will be a time, I can see it, 
 when I shall take my liquor where I can get it, and shall 
 go bold as a bishop up to Pentowan and tell that woman 
 my mind. And I'll tell Mr. Anthony my mind, too. I 
 hate folks who think they were born only for the purpose 
 of getting to heaven. A proper trust in God might leave 
 that little matter to Him. In the meantime the round 
 earth's between our arms and our duty is to hug it." 
 
 He walked off to George Perran's, where he was 
 
306 RACHEL MARR 
 
 almost sure of something to drink, if Silenus was not 
 silent beside his barrel, to inquire about John. 
 
 " I have taken Morna into my charge," he said ; " I'm 
 the butt and the Bishop of Morna, and its prophet and its 
 sad example. I'm Balaam and his ass, and all that was 
 his. I wish I was its Providence; it's a sad place now, 
 and yet the death of Mrs. Anthony would make everyone 
 smile but my dear friend John. For then Miss Rachel 
 would marry Anthony, and she would be a queen and 
 smile, and Anthony wouldn't hunt so for heaven when 
 heaven lay within arm's reach, and I should smile and all 
 the village would laugh. And yet no one cuts Mrs. 
 Anthony's throat. I'll lay odds no one has even thought 
 of it. No one will: such creatures live for ever. It's a 
 silly world as I've often remarked before. Here's a 
 poison fly in the eye of Morna and no one kills it. I've 
 heard butchers talk about life being sacred, that I have, 
 with blood on their hands. I could, if I were a poet, make 
 a song about fools that would sound well in choirs and 
 places where they sing." 
 
 He saw no John Perran at George's, for John was 
 asleep under the last administration of a drug by Greer. 
 But George sat in a chair in the garden, and save for 
 sudden curses when his gouty foot caught him he was 
 very reasonable and friendly and to be approached in 
 the matter of drinks and a stray sixpence, even though 
 he had been roused at early dawn by a half-naked man 
 battering at his door. The two old vagabonds exchanged 
 their views, and Steve sat on a campstool and cringed a 
 little till he was brave with whiskey, for after all he was 
 a beggarman, and not a holy wandering beggar of the 
 East. 
 
 " We Perrans are mad," said George, " but now John 
 will be the maddest of us." 
 
 " I did my best to warn him, sir. I kept my eye on 
 Jose, knowing he was dangerous. When religious folks 
 do well to be angry, they're hard to deal with, for they've 
 God on their side, and go into battle mightily." 
 
 " He says, winking, that it wasn't Jose that did it." 
 
 Steve nodded. 
 
RACHEL MARK 301 
 
 "That's decent of him, that's fine. Oh, Mr. Perran, 
 but I will say that nearly all your family have noble ideas 
 in their hearts 1 " 
 
 "Why not all, Steve?" 
 
 Steve drank deep. 
 
 " I have my reserves, sir ; oh, yes, sir, I have my 
 reserves, and if they were all so good as you and Mr. 
 John, earth wouldn't hold 'em. Mr. John will swear 
 'twasn't Jose, then? Well, Jose owed him one. And 
 what happens now, sir, out of all this? Life's a fine 
 chain, if we can see the links, and we're all blood 
 brethren. I could have done with the death of quite a 
 few rather than Mr. John. Will he sing now, sir, and 
 smile on the women as he did ? " 
 
 Old Silenus growled. 
 
 " Damn the women, Steve ! I smile on none now, and 
 don't care if John doesn't. I wish he wouldn't. He was 
 never company when he was after one of 'em, and before 
 Jose fetched him this crack there were signs upon 
 him that he was after someone. And I guess who 
 it is!" 
 
 " Aye, sir, you guess ? " 
 
 Silenus snorted and reached for his tumbler. 
 
 " Why, it's Morna's beauty. I guessed it, and said so 
 this morning, and he cursed me properly, so that I knew 
 it was true. Oh, Lord, he's the fool, and so's the poor 
 dear. John will bring trouble on her. Do you think she 
 knows, Steve ? " 
 
 " As like as not, sir, for women have eyes for love." 
 
 But he said to himself : 
 
 " Maybe she doesn't ; I'll away down and tell her. I 
 can see that if she smiled on John out of good-nature she 
 might fire a mine. And he's been in her house this five 
 weeks! Damn old Jose, damn him! Didn't I say we 
 were all in a chain ? " 
 
 He held on drinking with Silenus till he forgot his in- 
 tention and then staggered down to Morna and preached 
 a sermon to two old fishermen, a few children, and Mrs. 
 Burt, to say nothing of the sun, and sea, and air. 
 
 " You are all good people," said Steve, " and I'm a 
 
302 RACHEL MARR 
 
 sinner, and that other sinner, George Perran, has been 
 tanking me up. But I'm not tanked up and blind, as I've 
 heard sea-farers say, but my eyes are open and I see how 
 splendid a thing life is, and I see how you dear folks 
 haven't the least notion of its splendour. Fetch me a 
 mighty congregation, fill up the Cove and all the hills and 
 come you winds and come you little birds and fishes, and 
 I will expound. I will take texts, oh. Lord, I will take 
 whole gigantic books, I will hold up the round earth in 
 my hands, and show you little cheese mites how to think 
 upon cheese. Here we have mad folks hammering other 
 folks' skulls because boys will be boys and girls girls. 
 And here we have religious folks to the full as mad. 
 Religion's a fine thing, but let it be quiet in you. No man 
 should know he has it, and if he knows it he should con- 
 sult a doctor quickly. There's a wise doctor up at the 
 Church Town; he and I are the only wise men in the 
 country, and if he poisoned you all because you were 
 fools, we should have a quiet time. But there's no need — 
 you poison yourselves, and hunt for next season's apples 
 when your barns are full. There are men who get out 
 of the sunlight to calculate eclipses, so I'm told on good 
 authority, and I can believe it. When I was young I 
 spoilt my own youth by undertaking God's business, and 
 as I die I see wisdom growing in me longer than my 
 beard. You and all Morna and all the world belong to 
 the dark ages ; webs and spiders are the curtains of your 
 bed. Don't be afraid of your poor little selves, my dears ; 
 God is a deal better than you think. I'd rather kill some- 
 one else than myself, and you chop yourselves to pieces. 
 Come now and let us kneel down to the sea and perceive 
 that it is wet. Verily I daresay some of you say it is 
 dry. The air is meant for breathing, my children; 
 breathe it and be wise. Don't be afraid of hell; hell 
 won't hurt you if you are not afraid. Hell's a cowardly 
 kind of creature; it's a sneaking dog, a yapper at 
 frightened heels. Look for the light yourselves; don't 
 get your preachers to hunt for the sun at midnight with 
 a sulphur match. I may be drunk, but I'm very human 
 and I don't go in for sorcery to get the best of the dark- 
 
RACHEL MARR 303 
 
 jiess. And now I trust that I have cleared up your minds, 
 and that you will henceforth stand on your feet like men, 
 and if that's so I've done my duty and I'll get oflf my 
 feet and seek a shady spot where I can shut my eyes and 
 think how good the summer is. So good-bye to you, and 
 may your throats never be dry and may you never lack 
 wisdom such as mine." 
 
 And some little boys threw bits of turf at him. 
 
 " He's a sad disgrace to this Morna of yours." said Try- 
 phena Burt. 
 
 IV 
 
 Those who let William Jose out of the grey stone house 
 where he had lodged said that he was a lucky man, for 
 they knew well enough that John Perran had lied when he 
 swore that, whoever his assailant was, it could not have 
 been the blacksmith. What Jose himself thought he told 
 no one, but once more he worked at the forge, and when 
 he met John Perran in the village he passed him with a 
 bowed head. So folks breathed again since violence had 
 passed out of him, and though there was always a sense 
 of trouble in the village there was for a while greater 
 peace, and all the processes of passing life renewed them- 
 selves. Fish were drawn out of the sea, and beasts were 
 fattened, and the harvest grew up with poppies, and with 
 poppies it might be that there were tares also. Winnie 
 Perran wrought out what fate gave her, and they said she 
 was quieter and less querulous and bitter. For now 
 there was no need for Anthony to go to Morna House, 
 and he bowed his neck to the yoke and the heifer ploughed 
 with him. And in Mary a bitter harvest grew, and a 
 suUenness came over her that was felt through the house, 
 and her heart was wholly turned from Rachel, because 
 Rachel had seen Anthony in his brother. 
 
 "What's come to the girl?" asked Martha. "She 
 glowers at us all, and I'm sick of it. As if I hadn't 
 enough trouble getting old, and with Rachel in this 
 trouble of her mind. I could scream at times, I could, 
 
304 RACHEL MARR 
 
 and though I am old if I shake Mary I will shake her till 
 her teeth rattle." 
 
 At another time the old woman was more gentle. 
 
 "Well, well, Rachel, what can you expect? She's a 
 poor fool like all us women. And to have the man she 
 wants lie here a month and never ask for her or the boy— 
 oh, yes, it was hard, I'll swear. I told her he'd never 
 marry her, and she's jealous of all women, knowing him. 
 It was a mistake to bring her into the house at first. 
 You'll mind I warned you. Trouble will come of it, 
 somehow. But what's the use, trouble grows on barren 
 ground: there's no svich crop as woe; it's green in frost 
 and it's green in drought. Salt won't kill its roots, and 
 prayer is vain. My life has been a prayer for you, and 
 there's times I say my knees shall ache no more." 
 
 And Rachel knew well enough that John's latest pas- 
 sion was for her. Her own full heart passed this by, for 
 what did it matter? He was a man who knew passion, 
 it might be, but of love he knew nothing, and without 
 any reward his passion would fade. She saw the man as 
 he had been, not as he was, and walked upon a path of 
 danger dreaming. Steve never warned her, though his 
 warning might have been vain, for he had a bad week 
 of drunkenness after being at George Perran's, and he 
 celebrated the advent of summer and lying out at nights 
 in a wild long debauch procured with money that a 
 daughter sent him. 
 
 So Rachel lived for a while in what seemed peace to 
 her, and John was as mad a man as any in the country 
 round. For he knew well enough where her heart lay, 
 and not knowing that his own passion was vain, it 
 angered him that she should waste herself upon his 
 brother. He struck the truth when he thought upon him, 
 or a bitter part of it. 
 
 " Did he come to see me when I was in her house? No, 
 he came to see her." 
 
 Yet Anthony loved him, and he was unjust and felt he 
 was unjust. He swallowed his resentment and yet 
 chewed the cud of anger, and bitter herbs were his food, 
 
RACHEL MARR 305 
 
 for he had lost himself and his serenity, and his old 
 harmony with nature was inappeasable discord. As he 
 looked from his window he saw Anthony coming upon the 
 road, and he went out to meet him. 
 
 " What's he going to do with Rachel ? " he asked. " I'll 
 find out." 
 
 Something liker happiness than anything he had known 
 bloomed in Anthony's heart, for the knowledge of 
 Rachel's spoken love was sweet as soft rain to burnt pas- 
 tures, and that he had said " I love you " seemed no sin 
 since nothing could come of it which was sin. For this 
 was love spiritual, and in it the glory celestial burned as 
 brightly as any lamp to any moth. Now when he walked 
 alone he was happy, for the self within him rejoiced that 
 Rachel for his sake would live alone, even as his spirit 
 lived alone save for her. And her strange sweet violence 
 of passion passed like a storm of night, as his soul greeted 
 the dawn of sinless love which would endure in Paradise. 
 So God's child walked upon the earth, and saw his brother 
 of the earth coming. 
 
 John linked his arm in Anthony's. 
 
 " But for this scar," said John, " I hear I'm more like 
 you than I was, old boy. Is it that we're both cracked? 
 Who smote you over the skull when you were younger? 
 Now I'm as mad as you." 
 
 Anthony smiled on him. 
 
 " You're not well yet." 
 
 He stopped and looked John in the face and sighed. 
 
 " Are you more like me ? There's some change in you. 
 I wish there was more." 
 
 " If I get much madder, I may pray to be madder still," 
 said John, " and as mad as you, and I am crazy or I 
 shouldn't have something to say to you." 
 
 He paused and stared anxiously at Anthony. 
 
 " No, I'm getting sane, my dear boy. I'm as sane as 
 any cool fish in the sea. I have been mad, you know. 
 I'm going to reform, Anthony." 
 
 He spoke nervously. 
 
 "You're married, Anthony, and I'm for getting mar- 
 
3o6 RACHEL MARK 
 
 ried too. Damn this wild life of woman-hunting that you 
 know nothing of! I'm tired of it, full to the lips of it. 
 I've someone in my mind." 
 
 His manner was strange, and Anthony's mind worked 
 swiftly, now that he came out of his dream. 
 
 " Who is it ? There should be one." 
 
 John burst out angrily. 
 
 "Thepe you are again! Didn't I tell you I'd sooner 
 have my neck broken? I got my skull cracked instead, 
 and I'm quits with Jose. As for the girl, I'll do as much 
 as any man who wouldn't hang himself to do his duty. 
 I'm not so much like you as all that." 
 
 He never meant to taunt Anthony, but his tongue was 
 over-quick. Anthony's face grew very dark, and the re- 
 proof angered John foolishly. 
 
 " I'll go my own vyay, if it leads to hell." 
 
 And then he was sorry. 
 
 " Forgive me, old boy ; oh, I'll be fair. I don't care a 
 damn about this sin you talk of. I wish you were a 
 bigger sinner, even if it made me as cracked as you think 
 I am." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Anthony, and his face 
 worked as he walked on. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 ■" What do I mean ? I'll tell you. Do you know I've 
 been over thirty days in Morna House ? " 
 
 As he spoke he stopped, and Anthony stopped too, and 
 the brothers looked at each other. 
 
 "By God, do you understand?" asked John in a 
 strained voice of anguish. " I was thirty days in her 
 house, and I've come out of it with a heart of fire." 
 
 Anthony saw another heart of fire burning that far off 
 wonderful night so long ago. He felt his own burn, and 
 peace went out of him as the chained passions of his soul 
 leaped within him. 
 
 " She'll not marry you. She'll not marry." 
 
 He put his head upon one side as if he was listening to 
 hear what he would say. But John was staring at him 
 hard, and his eyes were swifter than words and carried 
 more than any words. John caught him by both lapels 
 of his coat. 
 
RACHEL MARR 307 
 
 " You're my brother, and I love you. I'll be fair with 
 you. You're married; oh, you fool, you're married. 
 That's nought to me; I know you love Rachel and that 
 she loves you. Are you going to take her, tell me that ? " 
 
 A thousand voiceless passions raged in Anthony, and 
 he was speechless. What he said represented nothing of 
 the strife within. 
 
 "Oh, here's my brother," he cried aloud, and then he 
 ceased speaking. " God help me. Am I going to take 
 her ? " He caught his breath and struggled, and John 
 tried to speak. 
 
 " No, no," said Anthony. " Wait." 
 
 He loved John and hated him; could have struck him 
 down and wept over him. He had been a month in 
 Rachel's house and now loved her. 
 
 " She loves me," he said to himself. " Oh, me, me ! 
 No other man ! " 
 
 He turned to John again. 
 
 " Don't say such things. I'm married — and you know 
 me. But she won't love you. Go away, John, go, I im- 
 plore you to go. There's nothing but misery here for us, 
 and why should you be in it ? " 
 
 " I'm in it to my neck," cried John. " But if she's 
 yours, or if she will be, I'll go." 
 
 He caught Anthony's hand. 
 
 " I'm like you, and I'm a man, I think. I'll make her 
 love me, but it chall be by your leave. They say she 
 loves you. If you'll take her, I'll leave Morna, leave it 
 now, to-day." 
 
 He stared at his brother hard, and Anthony's face was 
 rigid as death, and as pale as if he bled inwardly. 
 
 " She's a good woman," he cried, " a sweet woman, 
 and if she loves me she's like steel. You can't turn her. 
 Go, go!" 
 
 But John could not be shaken off. 
 
 " Is she yours, Anthony ? " 
 Don't say that, or I'll kill you," said Anthony, for 
 his passions bayed within him like a pack of wolves. 
 " Don't say it. Can't you see what you're doing ? " 
 , He prayed to God. 
 
3o8 RACHEL MARK 
 
 " I've kept my heart down, O Lord : keep it down, 
 Thou " 
 
 And John cried out: 
 
 " Smash me if you will. But whatever you do, I'll 
 know. Is she yours ? " 
 
 Anthony's heart cried out, " She's mine ! " and his lips 
 said: 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 "Then will she be?" asked John. "For if not, I'll 
 get her, if it costs me my soul that you talk of. Isn't 
 this fair and fine of me to be so good, my boy? I'm 
 oflfering her to you and getting ready for life and death 
 without her. But if you don't take her, I will." 
 
 " I cannot take her. Take your own woman and your 
 child." And suddenly Anthony caught hold of him by 
 the shoulder. 
 
 " My brother, go and leave us. Don't you see what 
 we suflfer ; don't you see my heart and hers ? Oh, 
 I'm mad this day and hour, and every day and every 
 hour." 
 
 But John laughed savagely. 
 
 " Then what's your wife and your God if Rachel suf- 
 fers? I'll beat you out of her heart. Oh, if I loved any 
 woman I'd go hell for her. But you leave her in hell 
 and lay your bloodless heart before your God. You're 
 not a man, Anthony, you're a priest-like thing, a mere 
 image, a cold abstraction. I hate you ! You suffer ! You 
 can't suffer!" 
 
 But he saw Anthony's face' writhe and he knew that 
 he lied. He lied again to back up his own soul. 
 
 "By God, you act it! I'll have her and make her 
 forget you ever cast a shadow. Oh, do you cast a 
 shadow ? You've no heart. It's God's, and you go hunt- 
 ing it. She's got mine, and I'll have it from her. Oh, 
 Rachel!" 
 
 He burnt with passion and Anthony knew it, and know- 
 ing him of old, he raged in his heart and the sky was 
 darkened. 
 
 " Such love as yours, such love as yours ! " he cried. 
 
 " It's human. It's a man's, and she's a woman. Oh, 
 
RACHEL MARR 309 
 
 she loves life and children. Have you heard her speak 
 of little children ? " 
 
 John had heard her speak of them. But Anthony 
 had searched her heart. 
 
 " If you trouble her, I'll kill you." 
 
 " Oh, kill," said John ; " kill ! If I win her, I'll look 
 out. And if I don't, you can brain me. I'd not give a 
 hair of my head for a long life if she's not mine ; but I'd 
 give my life for an hour of her love. I can see her at my 
 hearth!" 
 
 But Anthony had seen her at his feet, and he became 
 a man suddenly, even in spite of himself. His voice was 
 terrible and he laughed. 
 
 " Her heart's mine, you fool. Take her if you can. 
 She'll be sorry for you, but not I. Get out of my sight, 
 or I shall forget you are maimed and a madman and my 
 brother." 
 
 And when John was gone he knelt behind a rock and 
 prayed to God for help where no help might be, and for 
 repentance for this passion. But John went on towards 
 Pentowan, since a devil that had entered into his heart 
 bade him take counsel with Winnie. 
 
 " She's a leech and will stick," said John. " I wonder 
 what she knows. Does Anthony speak the truth — does 
 he speak the truth?" 
 
 "I COULD have killed him," said Anthony, even as he 
 prayed. " Oh, but I'd got a good peace, a calm in my 
 heart," he cried, " and now I'm mad again. I called to 
 John and what did I say? Oh, I said she loved me, and 
 that he might take her if he could, and I laughed. I said, 
 'She loves me, me,' and that's true, but I said it! I 
 burn now! To think he thinks of her, and may go to 
 her! He's free, for all Mary: he's not married; he's 
 not where I am. God help me, my wife's my bane and 
 she'll bear a child; and that night, that sweet night 
 Rachel held my knees, I was strong, but I was afraid, 
 
310 RACHEL MARK 
 
 for she was sweeter than air to the drowning. Her sight 
 gives me eyes ; the thought of her is food." 
 
 He marched bhndly. 
 
 " God above, cool my heart and its flames ! Her 
 heart's a fire and draws me. If I had wedded her (oh, 
 but that night in the woods comes back — I saw her sleep- 
 ing!) I could have brought her to Thy service. Give 
 her to me now by some unimaginable way of life or death ; 
 or give me peace." 
 
 The sky was peace and the wind's wings were folded, 
 and the sea glowed with soft colour. 
 
 " He's my brother, but let him approach her, let him 
 trouble her, and he's not my brother. But she loves me! 
 That's bliss to think upon, and it's the fire of hell. I 
 dream of her, and there's Winnie: I think of her, and 
 there's Winnie. A meal's a sacrament thinking of her: 
 but Winnie makes God's sacrament choke me. I had 
 such thoughts of women; they were so fair, so sweet, 
 such God's creatures. And some are, some are ! Rachel 
 believes in Him no longer, she says, but I know God 
 believes in her: she's dear and great and has a heart to 
 mother the world with. With her I'd have climbed, now 
 I hang over the pit and slip; my fingers clutch and 
 weaken. Where's my faith? I doubt, I doubt, and yet 
 O Lord, I believe, I believe ! " 
 
 He stood and faced the sea, envying its calm. 
 
 " I'm not calm, there's no peace in me. John said I 
 cast no shadow, did not exist, was a cold abstraction, 
 not a man. If I met Rachel now! I must ask her not 
 to call to me, not to speak as she did. I hear her spirit 
 at nights! Winnie said I laughed o' nights! There 
 are men and men, and women and women! She's to 
 be the mother of my child. It's ghastly to think on: 
 I'm one pain to think of it." 
 
 And this same man went down into Morna, and spoke 
 with meii. But though they said Mr. Anthony was dark 
 in his mind, none knew how dark he was: nor did any 
 know that under the darkness lay fire. Only Steve 
 guessed how it was with the man, and going up to An- 
 thony he plucked him by the sleeve boldly. 
 
RACHEL MAKK 311 
 
 "Do you remember, sir, saying some time ago, when 
 you and Father Brant came across me, that I should be 
 whipped?" 
 
 " I remember," said Anthony. " I'm sorry, for you're 
 not a bad fellow in your heart, Steve." 
 
 Steve looked at him from under his shaggy eyebrows, 
 and stared hard. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony, I'll take a whipping for leave to give 
 you good advice." 
 
 Anthony eyed him stenrly. 
 
 " Say nothing that you think should be paid for so." 
 
 But Steve threw up his head and snorted. 
 
 " I'm not afraid, sir, only I think, after all, the time's 
 not yet. There'll be a day I'll come to you and speak 
 my mind, and I'll go on speaking till you are of my mind, 
 or tear my tongue out and go running from my 
 prophesyings." 
 
 As Anthony walked away Steve called after him : 
 
 " There's as many flaws in your theology, sir, as there 
 are holes in a ladder. Bless my poor dry soul, sir, you've 
 a sad opinion of God, and if I were the Almighty I should 
 resent it ! I'm preparing a sermon for you. Did it ever 
 occur to you that thinking only of yourself and God and 
 your own miserable salvation is the selfishest thing a man 
 can do ? " 
 
 But Anthony said to his heart that he was thinking 
 of the salvation of others and to help them walked in 
 hell. 
 
 VI 
 
 John had not been alone with Winnie once since he came 
 back to Morna, and even the few words she spoke in the 
 presence of others had been fouled with innuendo. He 
 ignored the past wholly, and as he tried not to think of 
 it, spoke clearly and cleanly to her as his brother's wife. 
 But he never kissed her. 
 
 " Oh, she's unspeakable ! " said John ; " and here I'm 
 going to see her. And what for? I love Rachel, and 
 
312 RACHEL MARK 
 
 my heart's so rotten with what I used to call love that I 
 can't trust her clear eyes and her open heart. And Win- 
 nie's a liar. I'll have to sift her words." 
 
 That he could have done two months before, but now 
 he was past it. Of old he had been swift and clear in his 
 mind; now he was conscious of strange confusions and 
 sudden turbidities. For all his ancient wildness he had 
 had himself in hand ; he drank, but drank too much very 
 rarely ; he never lost his temper or lost himself. He was 
 his own man for good or evil; and no one influenced 
 him. Now all this was changed; suggestions planted 
 themselves in his broken brain and flowered; his pas- 
 sions were not subordinated; the ancient discipline of 
 true health was weakened; the brute beneath the man 
 mutinied. 
 
 He found Winnie in her garden, for she had a certain 
 love for flowers. 
 
 " You've come to see me at last," she said, smiling. 
 
 She watched him with veiled eyelids; beneath them 
 her eyes flamed lazily. 
 
 " Did you get what you deserved, John ? " 
 
 " Part of it, no doubt." 
 
 " I've no grudge," said Winnie swiftly, and she 
 stooped with some difficulty to pick a rose. " How did 
 you get on with Rachel ? " 
 
 She saw the flicker of his eyes, and caught him breath- 
 ing a little harder. Her jealousy of Rachel went far — 
 she herself had tested the weaknesses of men. 
 
 "She was very kind," said John coolly; but his 
 coolness was over-acted and too late, and Winnie 
 frowned : 
 
 " Of course you think I hate her," she said frankly ; 
 " everyone says that, and it's so foolish. We're not 
 friends, but that's her fault and not mine." 
 
 She looked up at him and came closer. 
 
 " You've fallen in love with her, John," she said with 
 an air of sadness. The past was vivid in her mind and 
 clear enough in his. He moved away from her. 
 
 " No," he said, but there was a choke in his voice, and 
 she said " yes " to herself, and followed him. 
 
RACHEL MARK 313 
 
 "I don't mind, John. I've forgotten the — old days. 
 Was I so wicked? How is it that you make women 
 fools?" 
 
 She turned away with an affected sullennesSs 
 
 "Now you're different, and I suppose she loves you, 
 and you've come to tell me that you're going to be mar- 
 ried. Does she love you very much — as much as some 
 others did?" 
 
 The suggestion maddened him doubly; but the deeper 
 madness remained and his inward desires were agony. 
 
 " She doesn't love me." 
 
 "But you love her? " 
 
 "What if I do?" asked John. "She's not for me. 
 I'm not what I was, Winnie ; I'm not sane now." 
 
 Winnie held her breath, for she hated Rachel worse 
 than ever. But a thought took root in her, and she was 
 pleased with her swiftness and her subtlety. 
 
 "You used to be over-brave with us poor women," 
 she said tauntingly ; " folks used to say there was none 
 of us could resist you. You made me suffer, but I'll help 
 you." 
 
 That she offered to help was not strange to John. 
 
 " She's afraid for Anthony," he said, and sucked his 
 dry lips. 
 
 "There's no chance," he said, lifting his eyes with an 
 appeal of fierce suffering in them. " If there's a chance, 
 tell me, Winnie. You're happy now, and I'm just mad. 
 I'm not what I was." 
 
 " Why should I help her? I don't love her," said Win- 
 nie cunningly, and John answered to her lure as quick as 
 any hawk. 
 
 " Help her ? Help me, you mean ? " 
 
 " Help her," said Winnie, " that's what I meant. She 
 thinks she loves someone else. I could let her suffer — 
 she was never sweet to me." 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 "You know what I mean," said Winnie, and to any 
 but a blinded fool her hate was fire to bum. " And you 
 could take her away — if you had courage. But you're 
 not what you were, John, I can see that." 
 
314 RACHEL MARR 
 
 The thought within her grew like grass in spring; it 
 covered her with its shade. She was deep in an evil 
 grove and smiled. 
 
 " You took what you wanted long ago. Oh, you think 
 her far above you ! " 
 
 John answered nothing, but stared at her. 
 
 " I'll have to sift her words." That was what he had 
 said, and she sifted him. 
 
 " There was a time I couldn't have helped you," she 
 sighed ; " it would have broken my heart. But she and 
 I used to talk of you and about things. When she was 
 seventeen she liked you more than a little, John. I was 
 fool enough to say I — I loved you." 
 
 She cast down her eyes, but knew he was shaking. 
 
 " And you went away, you see. And — and there was 
 that other girl," she added. She broke a white lily's 
 neck with her fingers as she spoke. 
 
 " The man's mad about her," she told herself ; " what 
 can they see in her ? " 
 
 But John stood in a strange mad dream. 
 
 " She loved me then ? Do you mean it ? " 
 
 " Why should I tell you lies ? " demanded Winnie. 
 " What's it all to me ? If the poor fool thinks she loves 
 someone else, let her. And you can let her go on think- 
 ing it. You wouldn't have done it long ago." 
 
 " I'm changed," said John almost humbly. " She'll 
 never look at me with Mary in the house; she's so 
 proud." 
 
 Winnie moved closer to him and laughed. She put her 
 hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, are we not proud, we women, when our hearts 
 are fools ? She's no prouder than the rest of us. Oh, I 
 know her ! We talked in the old days. I could tell you 
 things, John ; there's no weaker woman in Morna." 
 
 She bore upon his shoulder, and whispered : 
 
 " She has a passion for children — of her own, John ! 
 If you dare kiss her and break her pride, she'd adore you 
 again. She wept when you left Morna." 
 
 He had gone there to find out if there was aught be- 
 tween Rachel and Anthony. He meant to sift Winnie, 
 
RACHEL MARR 315 
 
 but she played upon him Uke any pipe, and made him sick 
 with desire. And all the time he knew that Anthony's 
 very soul was in Rachel's hands. 
 
 " He's like me," said John to himself, " and I went 
 away. He won't take her ; he'd think it damnable. And 
 he's married." 
 
 He heard Anthony's strained voice saying, " Her heart's 
 mine, you fool." 
 
 " I offered her to him ! " 
 
 And Winnie watched him struggling. 
 
 " Oh, but she's fine and sweet ! " said John ; " there's not 
 a soul in Morna that doesn't love her. She can't love me, 
 she can't, Winnie ! " 
 
 There was a strange humility in him, the humility of 
 high passion which exalts and casts down. And Winnie, 
 who had never inspired aught but base passion, laughed 
 with bitterness. 
 
 " I could tell you things," she cried mockingly. " She's 
 no saint ; there's no need for worship. Ask Mary ! " 
 
 She had played for this and for the moment, and she 
 shook him suddenly. 
 
 " Ask " 
 
 " Ask your Mary girl," said Winnie. " She told me 
 something the other day. I met her in the fields by the 
 brook and she was fierce and sullen (she loves you — 
 Morna's full of fools) and when I asked her how Rachel 
 was she looked to be asked questions and I asked them." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She saw him trembling. 
 
 " She hates Rachel — now." 
 
 " Oh, but she's a mean little fool, and Rachel was so 
 good to her," cried John. " Why — why? " 
 
 And Winnie plucked a rose red to pieces as she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Your lips should know." 
 
 She spoke dark enigmas and turned away from him as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " My lips ? " stammered John. " What do you mean, 
 woman, what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Has she never kissed you ? " 
 
3i6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " No, by God," said John, " no ! " 
 
 " She has," screamed Winnie, " she has ! Mary saw 
 her. You were in bed, near death, and she bent over you 
 and kissed you, and said such things of love, and her lips 
 were fire on yours. And Mary told me with her face in 
 the grass and her body shaking. 'Tis truth, 'tis truth ! " 
 
 What was truth she told him, and the truth would 
 have fired his blood, but she added hot lie on lie, and he 
 was a-flame. 
 
 " You lay cold and she was fire." 
 
 She caught him again and put her lips to his very ear. 
 
 " She lies waking and sleeping in her wood, and call- 
 ing on you. Do your lips burn, do they burn ? " 
 
 And when he saw the sky clear again and the dark 
 woods of Morna and the sea beyond them, he was alone. 
 
 VII 
 
 Rachel stood in many groves, not only in the groves of 
 her own dark woodland, and she heard the voices of 
 Sibyls in caves by the sea, and her heart suffered and 
 rejoiced as the summer drew on. She waited and could 
 wait, but what she waited for she knew not. All that she 
 was aware of was that a new hope built its nest in her 
 soul, and she heard its song like that of the nightingale 
 before the dawn comes up from the sea. So much love 
 surrounded her that it clothed her like a garment, and 
 she went among her people of the village, knowing well 
 that they knew more of her heart than any told them, and 
 did her best to make them happy. But after John left 
 her house so strangely she thought little of the passion 
 which seemed to have waked in him. He was a man who 
 loved women; a woman he could not love. And her 
 whole heart was his brother's, who came no longer to 
 Morna House. 
 
 Yet there were times when they met by the verge of the 
 sea, and on the wide wastes of the eastern upland far-m, 
 and they spoke together with failing tongues and sudden 
 silences. And both were happy unhappy. The world 
 
RACHEL MARR 317 
 
 was a wonderful place, and the glory of the sun was in 
 them, and the glory of the sea about them and the winds 
 sang to them. And they never spoke of that midnight in 
 her house, so that sometimes the splendour of the world 
 was nothing when they remembered. In his heart his 
 own house was death. 
 
 " I wait," said Rachel to herself. 
 
 And many voices of the earth asked for what she 
 waited. 
 
 " He'll come some day," other voices said, and there 
 were moments when she sang. 
 
 "He said, 'I love you!'" 
 
 She perceived differences in him now. He was more 
 abrupt; less steady in his mind; sometimes he appeared 
 reckless and defiant; he walked leaning towards her. 
 Once he said suddenly as they parted : 
 
 " If I could do anything for you ! If I could protect 
 you " 
 
 She feared none but him, because she loved him. One 
 day he asked : 
 
 " Have you seen John since he left your house ? " 
 
 She shook her head and Anthony frowned. 
 
 " He's mad, Rachel, mad, but not ungrateful. He 
 angered me the other day. There are depths in a man — 
 oh, there are depths. I — I could have killed him." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I could have killed him," repeated Anthony. " Jose 
 did kill him. Be wise with him, Rachel." 
 
 He said no more, for now that his rage and jealousy of 
 John had died in his heart he was sorry for him, and 
 very pitiful. 
 
 " He loves her, and she's not for him. I love her and 
 if I reached out my hand — oh, mine's the worst ! " 
 
 In the intolerable anguish of his desire of her love he 
 said he would reach out his hand for her, and when he 
 met her the gift of her presence and the humble majesty 
 of her love were like cooling waters. 
 
 " To be with you is heaven, Rachel." 
 
 He walked at times on the moorland at night with her 
 spirit, and logked with her very soul at the depths of 
 
3i8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 heaven, and in such hours his faith enlarged, and he be- 
 came one with the deep universe. 
 
 " But she calls me back to earth ! " 
 
 Man was mighty and of the children of the Most 
 High; his spirit reached out to heaven, and he took the 
 stars for his crown. He called upon the Almightyy and 
 All-merciful, and trod down the earth beneath his feet. 
 But woman was of the earth, and was the child of the 
 earth, and her paradise was earthly love, and dear chil- 
 dren near her heart. 
 
 " Oh, man's the greater creature ! " he cried ; " he's 
 stronger, nearer God. His place (and mine, O God!) to 
 lift her up from the earth." 
 
 But Rachel stood upon the earth firmly, and saw that it 
 was beautiful in all the ways where love dwelt. God was 
 not far, but close at hand, and when she cried out that 
 there was no God she knew the spirit of God was within 
 her, and that her true instincts expressed the will of 
 Heaven, and that nature was God and nothing alien. 
 She trusted herself and found no evil, though much evil 
 v/orked about her, and the world was dark to many more 
 than herself. And now it was strangely dark for An- 
 thony's brother, and he walked in darkness. For the 
 poison that Winnie had planted in him grew very rankly, 
 and he began to lay wait for Rachel, believing that she 
 loved him. His desires whispered to him that it was 
 natural that she should. 
 
 " I'm free, and if she loved me first And An- 
 thony's married. Winnie's not so bad, poor woman. 
 They'll have children, and Anthony is a man to love 
 them. I'll try Rachel, but I'm different from what I was. 
 Old Jose did his work — there are hours I wish he had 
 finished me ! " 
 
 He haunted the village and the woodland paths about 
 Moma and the caves of the sea that Rachel loved. The 
 village folk talked of him, and Steve kept his eye on the 
 man, for he saw that he was altered and might be dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 " I was wrong. Miss Rachel will never change ; there's 
 no change in her and she'll hang to Anthony Perran till 
 
RACHEL MARR 319 
 
 death. I mistrust John Perran now and hope Miss 
 Rachel does. But Sigurd's always with her; he's a dog 
 and truer than any man, and he that insults her might die 
 no natural death with that big beast's teeth in his throat." 
 
 He met Rachel and Sigurd that day on the verge of her 
 woodland. 
 
 " I like to see your dog with you, Miss Rachel," said 
 Steve. " A dog's truer than a man. I've never heard of 
 a dog ceasing to love without bitter reason, but men 
 often do, being men. Keep Sigurd close to you ; danger 
 follows beauty closer even than the hour when beauty is 
 not. Have you seen Mr. John lately, Miss Rachel ? " 
 
 " Not for days." 
 
 " He wanders round Morna House," said Steve signifi- 
 cantly, " and he's ever in the village now. He's ceased 
 to drink; they say it maddens him. He's mad already. 
 When he speaks to you, be careful, and speak him fair 
 but coldly. Why were men made as they are ? I'm glad 
 I'm old and past all love that's no more than a glow in 
 the sky when the sun's down. Men's love is a sun at 
 noon; it scorches fair cheeks over-much. I could speak 
 out, but I'm in a shake, which serves me right. I earned 
 it. John Perran's no safer but less safe than he was. Of 
 old he never robbed orchards, but took what hung over 
 walls. He'll climb walls now, or I'm a skew-eyed skate 
 of a man and see crooked." 
 
 But Rachel heeded nothing that he said and walked in 
 the aloof security of her dreamland. 
 
 "John mad? Who's madder than I? Martha 
 watches me and talks of my mother, every word a warn- 
 ing. Anthony loves me — he said so." 
 
 She lived upon the warm remembrance of the hour 
 when his love gave her soul permission to speak. 
 
 "My heart spoke. It was as though someone in me 
 cried out. When shall I speak again ? " 
 
 She knelt on the needles of her pinewood and put her 
 arms about Sigurd's mighty neck. 
 
 " When shall I speak again, Sigurd ? " 
 
 And the big dog licked her hand and whimpered 
 lightly, and then barked aloud, for he saw John Perran 
 
320 RACHEL MARR 
 
 walking in the wood, coming towards them. And Si- 
 gurd, knowing that it was not his old master, did not go 
 to meet him, but stood in the path and greeted John as 
 one who had cold leave to enter Morna House. Rachel 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 " I'm quite forgiven, then, for leaving you at mid- 
 night ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Rachel, smiling. How like he was to 
 Anthony ! And yet the dancing circles of sunlight on the 
 ground beside her were as like the sun itself as John to 
 him she loved. But he made a picture of Anthony when 
 she half closed her eyes, and then the world was sweeter; 
 it was a wonderful day and she could dream foolishly. 
 
 John Perran was tongue-tied, for he, who used to 
 speak so well, found words with strange difficulty, and he 
 leant against a pine, wondering at himself. 
 
 " I used to have things to say," he cried at last, " but 
 since I left your house as I did I wonder at nothing." 
 
 Through a narrow aisle of the woods Morna House 
 showed a warm white in the glow of the sun. 
 
 " I was happy there," he said, with a touch of sullen- 
 ness. " I'll never be happy again." 
 
 If she had said that, surely all the world would be- 
 lieve it. But for him it was folly. The likeness between 
 him and Anthony faded, and her dream grew cold and 
 the lighted wood sombre. She played with Sigurd's 
 sharp ears as the great dog leant his head against her, 
 and she sighed a little mournfully, looking at John as she 
 sighed. 
 
 "Don't say that," she murmured. "There are too 
 many sad." 
 
 His own heart was softened, not only by the warm 
 breath of summer and the voices of the wood, but by his 
 sorrow, and the strange folly of men and the world, and 
 the changes in human hearts. Once no doubt he had 
 waited for Mary, believing he loved her. How could 
 such a man love, since love was as steadfast as the an- 
 cient earth, and as immortal as the stars ? 
 
 " I'm mad with myself," said John, in a troubled voige. 
 " I was a fool years ago." 
 
RACHEL MARK 321 
 
 What Winnie had told him had become truth, and 
 what she said was but a corroboration of his instincts. 
 
 "She kissed me!" 
 
 And yet underneath his mind there was some knowl- 
 edge of the real reason she had kissed him. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I'm like him, like Anthony ! " 
 
 He put the thought away from him. 
 
 " I wish I knew your heart," he cried suddenly, and she 
 looked at him wide-eyed and alarmed. 
 
 " I'm afraid of you and of myself," he said, struggling. 
 
 He gripped his hands together, and she saw him 
 shake. Sigurd looked up at him as if he scented some- 
 thing strange. 
 
 "I want to speak, Rachel," he cried, in a strangled 
 voice. " I want to speak, and I can't ! " 
 
 But his eyes gleamed and he came nearer to her, so 
 that Sigurd growled. 
 
 " I heard something about you in the old days," he 
 said at last. " You — you liked me better then. You're 
 in trouble now, or you think so " 
 
 She clutched at her bosom and the ivory thing she 
 
 carried there, and her heart was bitter. Did she think 
 
 so then, did she think so merely, or was not trouble 
 
 ^growing blood-red all about her ? And John reached out 
 
 his arms to her. 
 
 " I — I love you, Rachel, I love you ! I'm mad, blind, 
 foolish, and I love you ! " 
 
 But for Sigurd's great interposed body he would have 
 taken hold of her then. 
 
 " O God, if I could speak," said John, " if I could 
 only speak ! " 
 
 The red fading scar on his left cheek grew scarlet, and 
 he staggered. 
 
 " Don't speak," said Rachel wildly, " don't. I will not 
 hear you." 
 
 But the words came to him, and with words a mad be- 
 lief in what he wished to believe. 
 
 " I'll wait," he said. " I understand. I've been that 
 which I should not. It's natural you should almost hate 
 me. But I know, Rachel, I know, now that I see you ! " 
 
322 RACHEL MARR 
 
 He spoke in such passionate triumph that Rachel 
 quivered. 
 
 "What do you know?" 
 
 " I know your heart, I can see it. I loved you years 
 ago, but you were so young and I went away after doing 
 folly." 
 
 He lied with fervour, for he believed what he said: 
 there was a passion in his voice which showed it. 
 
 " I came back — for you ! When Jose struck me I was 
 coming for you. I knew all that was in me when I saw 
 you at the gate that day I came first. If I'd known what 
 had been in yours, I'd have kissed your feet ! " 
 
 She heard him speak, and such words even from him 
 drew strange echoes from the high solitude of her heart. 
 When he reached out his trembling hands she drew back 
 saying to herself : 
 
 " If they were Anthony's," and yet was sorry for him 
 even as he triumphed so inexplicably. 
 
 " I know you love me," he cried aloud. 
 
 He saw her grow rigid and fierce. A dark cloud swept 
 over her, and she turned away from him. 
 
 " Are you indeed mad ? " she asked, " oh, are you 
 mad?" 
 
 Now what Winnie had said was not something told 
 him. In his mind he saw himself in her house, and found 
 her lips on his. 
 
 " I know better, Rachel, my darling, my darling." 
 
 There was so great an accent of conviction in his voice, 
 which with softer words found its ancient music, that she 
 trembled like one who meets an incredible accusation 
 without defence. 
 
 " You're mine, I know it ! " he said, triumphing. " Oh, 
 I know what your heart was when I went way. I was 
 foul and your love shall cleanse me. I'm your slave and 
 your king. Rachel, Rachel ! " 
 
 She clutched at Sigurd's collar as for help, and the dog 
 turned towards John, and growled deeply. 
 
 " Growl, old boy," said John, " oh, I could sing! " 
 
 He shook and his eyes were injected, and Rachel was 
 afraid. 
 
RACHEL MARR 323 
 
 " 'Tis natural you feel so," he cried. " Oh, what a 
 beast I've been! But I'm a man and can give you all 
 things a woman needs." 
 
 But her fear left her and rage got hold of her. Her 
 brow was dark as night. 
 
 " Don't come near me, or I'll kill you 1 " 
 
 She felt in the bosom of her dress for the crucifix. 
 And John laughed like one insane. 
 
 " Oh, but you are fine, and a fire of flame. There's 
 no such woman as you in Morna, or all the country 
 round. Your heart's a forge to melt me. Oh, but you 
 wrought me into steel that night, Rachel !" 
 
 He threw up his arms. 
 
 " I'm steel of love, steel engraved. Oh, that night in 
 the house of yours ! " 
 
 She turned again upon him. 
 
 " Are you mad ? What night ? " 
 
 There was no such thing as Winnie now. The man 
 knew. He had not been told. He could have sworn that 
 he remembered. 
 
 "What night? what time? what hour? I can't tell 
 you, but I recall it. Didn't I say I was steel engraved? 
 My lips remember. My God, but yours were fire ! " 
 
 He clutched at a pine, and held it shaking. 
 
 "My— my lips?" 
 
 " Your lips, Rachel ! Your lips on mine and I not 
 dead, but alive and motionless ; not able to speak, but not 
 deaf. I heard your words of love. Kiss me now ! " 
 
 She was as white as a wreath of snow, and she shook 
 dreadfully, and her eyes burned with shame. 
 
 " I never kissed you ! " 
 
 She had kissed Anthony when she put her lips on this 
 madman's brow. 
 
 " Say so, my sweet, say so ! Oh, but it's natural. 
 You'll be mine. God help me and you, but I'll win you 
 if I break myself and you, since you've kissed me. I 
 heard you — words of love in the dark that fired me! 
 You told the truth then ! " 
 
 There was that fierce hostility of passion in him which 
 conquers such women as love, but still fight. But it made 
 
324 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Rachel shrink, and the motion that she made and the 
 sound of his voice roused Sigurd to swift anger. 
 
 " You lie !" said Rachel. " Don't speak to me." 
 
 "You're proud now," cried John, "you'll be the 
 sweeter. My heart can win you." 
 
 Fear of him merged in sudden fear for him. 
 
 " Go, go !" she said. " Can't you see you've angered 
 Sigurd ? In a moment I can't keep him back." 
 
 As she spoke the dog leaped forward furiously; and 
 she only held him by clutching a pine sapling with one 
 hand while she gripped his collar with the other. 
 
 " Dog in a leash ! Oh, that's my heart," said John. 
 "fie hates me; he's male too. I'm no dog-fighter with 
 this arm. Oh, don't be ashamed of love, Rachel, I did 
 wrong, but I'll make amends. You kissed me ! " 
 
 " I can't hold him. Go, go ! " 
 
 He went laughing and a-tremble, and left her with 
 Sigurd, who presently gave way and begged for pardon 
 with his great head at her feet. But she stared through 
 the wood at the hurt man, and as fear, sudden and awful, 
 went out of her, an infinite pity soothed her soul, and 
 made her almost shed tears. 
 
 " Hearts of men and women ; hearts of men and 
 women! Where's Anthony, where's Anthony?" 
 
 But John sat talking to himself by the cliff-road. 
 
 " She kissed me! I can feel her lips — it's her pride: 
 what should women do with pride? I'll take her; I'd 
 steal her from an army. What a woman, tall and fine; 
 there's a glory about her. Oh, if that boy had but been 
 hers, we'd have played in the happy wood and I'd have 
 sung. I'd have sung of red lips, and her heart and a 
 child of hers and mine." 
 
 He was drunk with passion and staggered as he went 
 down the road. There was a dim echo of vile words in 
 his soul: 
 
 " She lies waking and sleeping in her wood, calling on 
 you." 
 
 " I'm fire, I'm fire," said John. " I could cool my heart 
 at a blown forge." 
 
RACHEL MARR 325 
 
 VIII 
 
 The anger and fear in Rachel's mind turned too soon to 
 rity. The sense of tragedy that was in all passion over- 
 whelmed her heart; not only did she suffer, but all the 
 vorld was in bitter travail. She grieved for the man who 
 lad spoken strange things to her in the wood, and seeing 
 hat he was no longer himself, no longer the bright crea- 
 ;ure of a happy day, she forgave him almost Avith tears. 
 The sense of love offered that she could not accept, that 
 >he fled from, gave her, at the very time of her flight, 
 pleasure that was pain and led to pain. The little peace 
 that had come to her fell away : she called upon Anthony 
 in her soul, and the storm once more renewed itself in 
 lier. There were hours which came to her heavy with 
 1 sense of fate: she perceived death in the woodland, 
 death at her unlocked door. The passion of her remem- 
 bered dreams was sowed with salt tears : she suffered and 
 yet was strong because death itself seemed half as de- 
 sirable as life, and who should come riding with death 
 but Anthony. 
 
 " Years ago Steve mocked him, saying he rode a pale 
 dorse, and was like death." 
 
 That touch of passionate virility in her adoration of 
 her lover and in her desires which pfave her love its 
 compelling quality was now in high rebellion and looked 
 for help in despair. 
 
 " She's well and fair, and will live for ever," she cried, 
 " and then " 
 
 Ah ! besides all this Winnie would have a child and 
 hold the man for ever. 
 
 " What did I know, and what was in me when I cried 
 to her that it would never be bom? It was as though I 
 knew. I'll wait." 
 
 Now she did little work, and restlessness got her by 
 the neck. She sat with her books an hour, reading 
 nothing, and then walked in her garden and her pines, 
 leaving them for the sea, which said inscrutable things, 
 which mocked the hot folly of man. And while she was 
 
326 RACSEL MARR 
 
 in the house Martha followed her and offered her serv- 
 ice. And the old woman's heart was heavy, and some- 
 thing that was almost terror of Rachel grew up in her 
 heart. 
 
 " It's her mother walks the house once more," she said ; 
 " what peace can there be for such agony in death ? My 
 darling's bones are in the windy churchyard on the hill, 
 but here she suffered. There's another soul looks out of 
 Rachel's eyes. She's no girl now; she's ripe for love or 
 death. I could pray for that fool Anthony to break God's 
 law. Oh, fool that he is— fool ! " 
 
 She went to Rachel once in desperation to console her. 
 
 " I'm afraid for you, Rachel. But your good time's 
 coming. I know it will; it shall, it must! There's no 
 such heart as yours. If I were a man I should be mad 
 about such a woman. Oh, my darling, I'm old, but I 
 shall see you happy yet. I see things that you don't." 
 
 " What do you see,' Martha ? " 
 
 " Some would say I was wicked. I believe I see what 
 you desire coming." 
 
 She caught hold of Rachel and whispered : 
 
 "Your mother — she suffered — oh, I've held her in 
 my arms when her tears were of blood, and I said to her 
 that her day would come." 
 
 Her own tears fell. 
 
 " And did it come ? " asked Rachel. 
 
 " That crucifix knows," said Martha. " She flamed 
 like a star. Oh, it was cruel, but she had her hour. I'm 
 a wicked, weak old woman, jjut I can see things because 
 I'm so old. They say those near death get wise." 
 
 "Then you're not wise, dear," said Rachel; "what 
 should I do without you ? " 
 
 "Oh, that you could," said Martha. "If I saw you 
 full-hearted and sweet as harvest ! But you'll be happy, 
 dear, you'll have your hour. 'Tis as much as any 
 woman gets. That's true, sad wisdom, so I must be old, 
 very old." 
 
 She smiled and kissed Rachel and went away to work 
 and weep, since her own hour was long past, and Rachel's 
 might never come. 
 
RACHEL MARR 327 
 
 "The crucifix brought mother happiness and it 
 brought her death," said Rachel. " There are hours I 
 could thrust it into my own heart." 
 
 She went out into the shadow of the wood. 
 
 " There are hours I could thrust it into Anthony's. 
 I'm alone. What's my suffering to his ? " 
 
 As she looked out across the half-hidden village she 
 saw Anthony come walking down the road into Morna, 
 and though he was far away she knew him. And she too 
 went down to Morna, and they met on the beach. Most 
 of the boats were at sea, fishing, but Sam Burt's was 
 there, and Sam was getting her ready to go out. 
 
 " You're late, Sam," said Rachel. 
 
 " I'm not for fishing to-day. Miss," he answered. " I'm 
 going across the bay to the River for salt. You came 
 with me last time. Miss ; will you come now ? 'Twill be 
 a fine sail. It's a sweet day, and my new boat sails as 
 sweetly as a gull on the wing." 
 
 She saw Anthony's face twitch, and he looked at her 
 swiftly as though he would have spoken. But he said 
 nothing. 
 
 " I'll come," said Rachel, and her face was dark. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony's coming, too," said Sam. 
 
 As she turned again to Anthony her face was won- 
 derful. 
 
 IX 
 
 The day was a splendour and a glory, and though high 
 noon was past there was still a touch of morning in the 
 freshness of the northwest wind. Though the sea under 
 the grey and cold cliffs was windless, the strong easterly 
 flood broke in foam and in dull thunder beneath the high 
 wall of the land. The song of the sea was a continual 
 melody, and even the harsh cries of wheeling sea-birds 
 made no discord in the natural music of the hour. Morna 
 lay in the full sunlight ; its white houses glowed ; a burn- 
 ing band of madder-coloured weed clung to the beach, 
 and heaved with the glowing waters. Beyond Morna 
 
328 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Rachel's house showed through its trees ; beyond it again 
 were sloping pastures and lifted uplands burning with 
 gorse and with grass yet unbrowned by the young sum- 
 mer. Hills and tors beyond the upland lost their earthly 
 material solidity — ^they became atmospheric and blue as 
 the sky itself. 
 
 Sam rowed the boat out of the Cove, for there was 
 little wind in its sheltered waters. When they felt the 
 lift of the sea beneath them and heard the echoing cliffs 
 on either hand, he laid in his oars and hoisted the lug, 
 and grinned with the satisfaction of the seaman in behold- 
 ing the wind do his labour. 
 
 " I could set and do nought for hours," he remarked 
 sublimely, as he handed the sheet to Anthony. " I could 
 set and watch this boat go for — for hours. Tryphena 
 don't set about much, not she." 
 
 He lighted his pipe and contemplated the day with 
 quiet satisfaction. 
 
 " I'm best out of the house, she says," he added many 
 minutes later, and then he had shot his gun and was ad 
 silent as the full sail. Yet he thought slowly of those 
 who were with him. 
 
 " Folks do say they're set on each other, fair mad. I 
 don't owe his missis aught, and I never liked her. She's 
 a thing, she is, that I wonder he took. And I've never 
 seen Miss Rachel look so wonderful as she do, setting 
 there by his side, for all she's reckoned the most beautiful 
 woman in the country. Tryphena says that's true, and 
 she's not the one to say so much of any woman easy — not 
 easy. She'd be less easy if she knew all I don't tell her. 
 I did think when I was courting Tryphena that no other 
 girl could get so much as a look out of me. I don't 
 blame Mr. Anthony none. But I'm sorry for poor Miss 
 Rachel, if what they say is true." 
 
 She had no pity for herself, and had need of none, as 
 she sat beside the man she loved. This was an hour 
 stolen out of eternity for a creature of swift remorseless 
 time to rest in. 
 
 " The world is beautiful," she murmured. 
 
 " Aye," said Anthony, as he watched the curve of her 
 
RACHEL MARK 329 
 
 cheek and saw where the live red-brown of her neck 
 melted into her bosom. " There's beauty in the world 
 and the sea and beyond." 
 
 This was no hour for him to rest in : for passion smote 
 him, and he quivered like a harp-string. 
 
 "Here I am, O God, with her, and we are innocent. 
 Incline my heart to keep Thy law ! " 
 
 But Heaven itself could not keep his eyes from her or 
 hide the fierce hunger of his passions. His heart leapt 
 like the boat beneath the wind ; his thoughts were as deep 
 as the deep sea, and yet out of passion he built a palace 
 for his soul. He looked at her and saw the frail tenure 
 by which the strongest held to life, and the quality of his 
 thoughts made life not so much the prelude to immortal- 
 ity as its first great temple. _ 
 
 "We are immortal now, we have put on immortality 
 here." 
 
 But she was a mortal of the woods — a woman of the 
 house of man's love. 
 
 " I had strength that night," he said ; " oh, how bitter 
 the soul's strength is to the body ! I can be with her and 
 fear not. She shall be with me some night in Paradise." 
 
 She lapped her hand in the cool embracing sea, and the 
 warm earth seen across the leaping waters was paradise 
 enough. She saw her own tall trees and her home shin- 
 ing. Pentowan Farm lay hidden in a fold of the up- 
 lands, and she who lived there was hidden. Her eyes 
 sought Anthony's, and in them she saw home shining, 
 and grief and joy as well. 
 
 " We have been given this hour, Rachel," he said 
 softly. And the passion of his heart was calmed; he 
 looked strong and brave and tender. 
 
 " I can guide myself as I steer this boat," he said. But 
 the wind was fair, and Rachel's soul then was as sweet 
 as the wind. 
 
 The cliffs behind them lost their sharp projection and 
 melted ; the uplands and the trees were now tender grey. 
 But in the sunlight the sea was azure and heavy tropical 
 blue; it lifted wonderfully, and on each rising sinking 
 shoulder of the waters foam-flowers grew and died. To 
 
330 RACHEL MARR 
 
 the east of south the far curve of the bay showed more 
 clearly each moment ; white villages bathed in the gleam- 
 ing water ; fishing-boats came in with the flood and would 
 drift west again with the ebb. To the far south, in the 
 fairway of the channel, tall ships showed their sails to 
 the southward sun; dark trails of smoke ran eastward 
 from steamers bringing far-brought merchandise. And 
 presently Sam Burt turned to them as they sat in silence. 
 
 " This wind ain't going to last for ever, sir," he said. 
 " It will maybe die at the top of the flood." 
 
 And Anthony looked back to windward and nodded. 
 
 " There will be enough for us coming back with the 
 ebb under foot," he said ; and Sam agreed with him. 
 
 " It's no matter to me anyhow, sir ; I can set and see 
 this boat sail for hours. Tryphena says I can, and she 
 says it's laziness. I say it's a proper feeling for the sea, 
 sir. Some of us. are born to the water. She's an inland 
 woman, she is, and don't see the use of it." 
 
 But Rachel said to herself : " I could sail for ever, for 
 ever, for ever 1 " 
 
 Beyond this sea there were strange lands that beck- 
 oned ; ships sailed to them and anchored in golden ports ; 
 the winds spoke of the great round world beneath the 
 horizon. 
 
 " We sail too fast," said Rachel. For they must come 
 again to Morna. "Why don't you speak, Anthony?" 
 she asked him. 
 
 " I'm too happy and unhappy to speak, Rachel." 
 
 She could have told him ten thousand things, but her 
 own silence was as vocal as the dawn of day. Birds 
 sang within her heart, and yet there were dreadful pre- 
 monitions of labour and the sorrow of the night. 
 
 " Can you be here and behold the glory of the world 
 and sky and not believe ? " asked Anthony. 
 
 " I believe I am here," she cried. " You are so strong." 
 
 " I'm weak," he said. " There's something I must say 
 to you." 
 
 " Say it," she whispered; " say it." 
 
 She saw his hand grip the tiller so that the fine muscles 
 ridged themselves. 
 
RACHEL MARR 33 1 
 
 "Oh, Where's the glory?" he asked, " where's the 
 glory r spoke of ? " 
 
 He turned to her and she saw in his eyes a dumb 
 anguish that hurt. 
 
 " That night, Rachel," he said, " I remember it. It's 
 in my heart. But this must be the last; I'm not so 
 strong." 
 
 " I'll be strong," she said. 
 
 " Since then I've had no peace. Here on the sea, 
 which is so sweet and clean and holy, we must say good- 
 bye." 
 
 He looked at her again and saw how she clouded and 
 grew wan as the colour went out of her and out of the 
 bright day. 
 
 "You'll be strong, Rachel?" 
 
 " Oh, as strong as death," she answered. 
 
 " I said I loved you. That was wrong ; there's — ^there's 
 my wife. If I left her " 
 
 He tried to speak further and for a long minute failed. 
 
 " I know myself. If I left her " 
 
 Again he was silent. 
 
 "What, Anthony, what?" 
 
 She heard him breathe, in words that burnt : 
 
 " I should go back — back to her." 
 
 As he spoke he was white as death. 
 
 "That's written in the sky for me — written in my 
 bleeding heart ; I can see it written in yours that I should 
 murder your soul and get nought for it." 
 
 But she had no soul that was not his, and drew no 
 breath that was not his. She spoke in accents of deep 
 unutterable passion and contempt: 
 
 "My soul!" 
 
 Here her sweet body anguished, and her spirit, never so 
 maternal as when she beheld him suffer, knew the foul 
 bitterness of his house. He lived hoping for paradise, 
 when her heart was his true home and her true body his 
 body's true mate. 
 
 " If he ever comes to me he shall not go back ! " 
 
 She put her hand to her bosom and felt the crucifix she 
 always carried there. She plucked it out. 
 
332 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Here's a sharp blade, Anthony. It killed my mother. 
 See what's written on it, see. It means, ' I come not to 
 bring peace but a sword.' " 
 
 " To fight evil, to fight ourselves." 
 
 " There's no evil in you — ^none. There's no better man 
 ahve." 
 
 She believed it in her inmost soul. 
 
 " That blade's in my heart," he said. " Though He slay 
 me yet will I trust Him." 
 
 " I believe in the hearts of men," she cried passionately. 
 " We are not all evil ; there's little evil in us. But there 
 are devils ! " 
 
 He put his hand upon her arm. 
 
 " Oh, hush, hush ! There was One who said to a sinner, 
 ' This night thou shalt sup with me in Paradise. " 
 
 But Rachel's spirit anguished for the warm earth, 
 dearer than any dream. And the tears ran down her face. 
 
 " If I could but die with him ! " 
 
 They spoke no more till they came to the River, and ran 
 up it to the village that shone by land-locked waters. And 
 though it was but a few miles across the sea from Morna, 
 they were strangers of whom little was known. But 
 many had heard vaguely of Rachel Marr. She drew the 
 old men's hearts after her like Helen of dead Troy, and 
 many young men were bitter with their own women after 
 seeing her. 
 
 It was four o'clock before they started homeward, and 
 the wind had fallen lighter. There was a grey haze in the 
 sky, and the warm sun looked colder. 
 
 " This weather won't last, sir," said Sam. " There's' a 
 look of change about it. But what we have will do us. 
 We'll stretch out to the south'ard a bit, and get into the 
 true ebb out o' this eddy in shore. With the ebb under 
 foot she'll walk up to wind'ard like a sea-bird going 
 home." 
 
 They had talked little at the River, for Anthony had his 
 business to do, and Sam had loaded his boat with eight 
 " hundred " of salt. And even now they spoke but little; 
 they were going back to Morna — back to Pentowan. 
 
 " I've been happy these hours," said Rachel to herself; 
 
RACHEL MARR 333 
 
 " when half my pain's gone I'm in heaven. How sad he 
 looks now ! " 
 
 But he held himself quietly and smiled upon her when 
 she looked up at him. Once he laid his hand upon hers 
 and she saw his lips move, blessing her. 
 
 " I'm happy — I'm in heaven," she murmured. 
 
 As the swift minutes passed the wind grew lighter still 
 and the sea glittered without a break of foam. But the 
 tide drew them onward, as it swept in a wide circle round 
 the great bight of the bay. 
 
 " There'll be no wind presently," said Sam. And as he 
 spoke he wondered what would happen if they stayed 
 out all night. 
 
 "There'd be trouble at Pentowan, if half they say be 
 true." 
 
 But Anthony looked at the sky, and being at least as 
 weather-wise as any of the fishermen, he spoke with 
 certainty : 
 
 "There'll be wind enough by-and-by." 
 
 His heart knew that if there were too much wind for 
 their boat he cared not for himself. And Sam nerved 
 himself for a great sacrifice. 
 
 " If you like, sir, I'll put the oars out and row her 
 home." 
 
 As he spoke he sighed. 
 
 "Why should you? There'll be a breeze as the sun 
 goes, or before. There's something brewing in the south 
 or east." 
 
 They swept westward slowly, while the lug-sail flapped 
 as the boat rose on the smooth rounded swell. And Sam 
 lay smoking, with his head on a bag of salt. 
 
 " I could sail west for ever," said Rachel. 
 
 But Anthony never answered ; he looked shoreward in 
 a dream. For ever was eternity ; they were on the tide of 
 time. 
 
 Now at last Morna's Cove opened and they saw the far 
 white houses on its strand. Between the trees of Rachel's 
 wood her house shone in the setting sun. 
 
 " How far are we ? " she asked. 
 
 "Three miles," said Anthony. Then Morna's crab- 
 
334 RACHEL MARR 
 
 claws closed and shut in the village. Pentowan Valley 
 opened, and Rachel's face darkened as she saw the sweet- 
 ness die out of her dear lover's eyes. Then the sun bit a 
 gap out of the far western land, and standing for a mo- 
 ment like a star drew down into the baths of ocean. 
 
 " Where's your wind, sir ? " asked Sam. " 'Tis an Irish 
 hurricane, straight up and down! My pipe smoke's 
 overhead." 
 
 " There'll be enough," said Anthony ; " we'll be in by 
 dark." 
 
 And the ebb swept them westward as steadily as the 
 stream of a river. Anthony and Rachel spoke but little, 
 for Sam rose from his hard bag of salt and sat near them. 
 
 " If Tryphena was here, she'd have had me rowing," he 
 said. " She's not one to set about, and she hates salt 
 water, she does. I was bom with the taste of it in me. 
 My mother says it blew wonderful hard from the south- 
 'ard when I was bom, and she was quite tolerably indif- 
 ferent, as all Morna's boats were in. But many was lost 
 that time, many was lost." 
 
 And still they drifted. 
 
 " 'Tis an iron coast, sir, that's a fact," went on Sam ; 
 " there's little shelter. If we get blown to the westward, 
 what is there for us ? And eastward safety's a long run, 
 bar the River. Was that a lick of air out of the east? " 
 
 He wetted his forefinger in his mouth and held it up. 
 
 " I did think it was, but now there's no breath of it." 
 
 He filled his pipe again, and as he lighted it they grew 
 conscious that the sky was darkening. 
 
 " Night will be on us," said Sam. " Oh, that's wind, 
 sir, out of the north-east." 
 
 And presently over the land the breeze came lightly, 
 and the waves lipped at the boat's bows as she stood in 
 shore. But the wind was not yet strong enough to walk 
 them over the tide. 
 
 " It '11 strengthen," said Sam, and he added half-ner- 
 vously, " I've seen it blow quite a lot beginning like this." 
 
 And thin filaments of mist and cloud blew out from the 
 land like fine smoke. Sam pointed to it, and Anthony 
 nodded. 
 
RACHEL MARR 335 
 
 "She'll stand it, Sam!" 
 
 " Oh, sir, she'd stand anything," said Sam. " All I'm 
 thinking of is Miss Rachel — and the salt. I don't want 
 her to be wet." 
 
 Even as he spoke the wind came to them and the sail 
 filled strongly and the boat lay over. 
 
 " You'd better reef the sail," said Anthony. But Sam 
 shook his head. 
 
 " She'll stand it, Mr. Anthony. The sooner we're out 
 of this the better." 
 
 And they ran in towards the land till they heard the 
 distant roar of the clifif -breakers. Then the wind grew a 
 litrie lighter. 
 
 " We'll be home in an hour," said Sam. But even as 
 he spoke they heard the wind coming, and the night was 
 on them before the storm. Anthony threw the boat into 
 the wind, and without a word Sam scrambled for'ard and 
 reefed the sail. When he hoisted it again it was to the 
 full as much as the boat could stand. 
 
 " Take the tiller," said Anthony. 
 
 " Oh, you're as good as I," cried Sam. But all the same 
 he took it, and Anthony sat down forward of Rachel as 
 she crouched low out of the driving spray. She laid hold 
 of his arm. 
 
 " Is it going to be a storm, Anthony ? " 
 
 " It will blow," he answered, and he felt her hand 
 quiver and grip him. The world was dark now and the 
 foam leapt up, white dogs of the sea beneath a whip, and 
 the shriek of the wind among the cliffs was unearthly. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Sam, but what he wanted to say 
 he said not, and Anthony did not reply since he under- 
 stood. 
 
 " It's Morna Cove or nothing," said Anthony, " or— 
 nothing ! " 
 
 They came under the dangerous lee of the high land, 
 and the wind screamed down the sloping funnels of the 
 cliffs and struck them. Thrice Sam saved her by throw- 
 ing the boat into the wind, and thrice he loosed the sheet 
 when a second blast came and smote them as she ran uo 
 to the gale and quivered. 
 
336 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " We'd best go about, sir," said Sam. And Anthony- 
 lowered the sail and shifted the tack, and they ran out to 
 seaward again when he hoisted it. The night was thick 
 about them, and sharp rain mingled with the spray, and 
 the sound of the breakers on the land was lost, and with 
 that went the uneasy chorus of the sea-birds disturbed in 
 their nests upon the ramparts of the land. 
 
 And Rachel was with the man she loved and death was 
 close and her heart cried out to him, and she embraced 
 his knees and laid her head upon them. 
 
 "I want to live," she said, and again she said, " I could 
 die with him ! " 
 
 And within him was the desire of death that his nature 
 fought with, for the warmth of her hands and the strength 
 and softness of her body fired his nature so that the man 
 wanted life, and wanted it dreadfully. 
 
 But the land was lost, and the sound of it, and the sky 
 came down upon them close, so that the world was not. 
 And Rachel cared nothing that another than her lover 
 was there, and indeed Sam Burt said : 
 
 " Oh, but I'll never see Tryphena again, or any of the 
 others, poor dears, and I'm main sorry for myself and 
 Miss Rachel. As for Mr. Anthony, he's a poor fool, and 
 may look out for himself." 
 
 But he set his teeth and watched the lift of the seas and 
 marked the sound of the squalls upon the water so that 
 he knew of their coming. And not once, but many times, 
 he saved himself and those with him by a hair's-breadth, 
 and even Rachel knew it. But she held Anthony close to 
 her. 
 
 "Shall we die?" 
 
 And the man said " no," but his voice was strained. 
 
 " We shall die," said Rachel. And he did not answer 
 her. 
 
 And now they were well off the hidden land, and once 
 more went about and stood in for Morna ; but the nearer 
 they came to the land the greater was the danger, for the 
 cliffs broke the wind and made it unsteady, so that it came 
 in fierce and fiercer gusts after dreadful lulls. 
 
 Through the anguish and flying foam of the sea came 
 
RACHEL MARK 337 
 
 the sharp scream of gulls, and some like ghosts upon the 
 wind wheeled about the boat shrieking, and shot into the 
 resounding cliffs again. Under the mighty wall of the 
 land was the boom of waters, and air driven into caves 
 roared strangely, and overhead the sound of the wind was 
 terrible. For it seemed that over them the gale was a 
 living tide, and left them sunk within it. And then a gap 
 of the barrier opened and the wind blew down the funnel 
 of the cliff and smote them, so that a smother of foam fell 
 upon them, and it seemed that they were sunk. And 
 Anthony thrice lowered and raised the lug, and he baled 
 the boat desperately, and Rachel watched him shiv- 
 ering. 
 
 "Oh, why do we fight?" 
 
 And when he knelt down by her again, she said : 
 
 "You love me?" 
 
 " I love you." 
 
 " Kiss me, Anthony." 
 
 He kissed her, so that Sam Burt laughed bitterly to 
 himself. 
 
 ■ " He kisses her now — when the sea's ours, and we are 
 the sea's. I'll never kiss red lips no more." 
 
 Tears that were salt mingled with salt spray for this 
 man who loved life and saw it lost. And it was lost for 
 Anthony. 
 
 "This is heaven, dearest. Oh, my life — my life! 
 Thank God for death ! I'm yours now, now. I can kiss 
 you. Here's the warm land close, but we'll never walk it, 
 never touch it, never be buried in it I " 
 
 " Can you hate now ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " he cried. 
 
 But she could hate still. 
 
 " You're happier now. than at — home? " 
 
 He answered nothing, but she felt him shake. 
 6 " You're happier," 
 
 Then the wind over the cliff roared horribly, and Sam 
 cried out, and Anthony let the sail come down with a run, 
 and beat it under him in the squall. And for a long 
 minute it seemed the last of their lives, and Rachel threw 
 herself along the boat and reached out so that she could 
 
338 RACHEL MARK 
 
 touch Anthony, for in that there seemed not safety so 
 much as salvation. 
 
 " Oh, sir, she stood it," said Sam in strange astonish- 
 ment. " She stood it ! She'll stand aught. Oh, this 
 boat's a witch; she'll crawl home like a conger for its 
 rocky hold!" 
 
 His voice was a thin scream upon the wind, but the 
 courage that had never left him wholly came back to him 
 now. 
 
 " Up wi' the sail again, sir ! We'll live yet, we'll live ! 
 Oh, there's kissing yet for good and bad ! " 
 
 And inch by inch and tack by tack they beat up by the 
 cliflf first inshore and then out, and the wind roared and 
 lulled and lulled and roared, and the sea was dark as a 
 grave and as white as carded wool, flowing with foam 
 and beaten down. 
 
 " Does he think we can be saved ? " 
 
 She asked it, but Anthony answered fiercely : 
 
 " We shall die." 
 
 And he said to his heart : 
 
 " Oh, my lips have been on hers and can I feel the 
 earth again and go to Pentowan? Her body's in my 
 arms; I feel her heart; the sea's beneath us, and no more 
 an anguish than I. Here's our two lives — our two bodies 
 given to God and in His hands. Have we sinned? Oh, 
 she's pure-hearted, clean-hearted, a true soul of a woman ! 
 As for me, I'm a wretch ! Help me, God, help me with 
 death before I fall ! What can I do with love? If I die 
 I'll live and love. Oh, love's as strong as death; many 
 waters cannot quench it ; not all the seas can quench me 
 or the fire of me. If I touch land again I shall break in 
 flame " 
 
 He turned to her and grasped her wrists. 
 , "Rachel!" 
 
 He put his mouth to her very ear and called to her 
 through the storm. 
 
 " If we die, it's well. But if we don't, Rachel, have 
 pity on me. If you call me — at nights I seem to hear you 
 — if you call me I shall come. And the rest is written in 
 my blood — in the nature of me. I told you." 
 
RACHEL MARR 339 
 
 But she triumphed. 
 
 " Oh, say you don't love me ! " 
 
 She put her arms about his neck. 
 
 " That you can't say — you can't unsay it. I'll call you 
 when my heart says call. I know what your Ufe is — I 
 know it " 
 
 She found no pity in the strange music of this night. 
 What she found was bitter strength, and a picture of his 
 dark soul and its anguish. 
 
 " I can call him out of it, and there's my heart for him, 
 my heart ! " 
 
 And as she held him she heard Sam call to him : 
 
 " Oh, sir, we'll do it ! Did you see a glimmer there 
 through the smother of the sprays and the night ? There's 
 candles lighted in Morna, maybe Tryphena's. I can smell 
 a blown-out candle in my nostrils, and I shall smell 'em 
 again, I hope. Oh, we're not dead yet ! " 
 
 In him there was the strange and fierce intoxication of 
 the struggle. 
 
 " Oh, sir, oh, Miss Rachel, I'm a'most drunk, that I 
 am, and me as sober as water ! Oh, but it's dark, and the 
 live sea's white, and the sound o't is terrible. My boat's 
 the girl ; she's the woman ; she can carry, she can carry ! 
 There's no graves ready yet in the pit of the sea ! " 
 
 And Rachel cried out : 
 
 " Don't, don't, Sam ! " 
 
 " Oh, Missy, bless you — I'll not have you drowned ; 
 you're the bright candle for all Morna, that you are. 
 Now, sir, we'll about again. Dip the lug and we'll shoot 
 into the Cove as easy as going to church." 
 
 And as they lay over on the other tack Rachel said in 
 a strange voice : 
 
 " Is it true ? are we saved, Anthony ? " 
 
 But Anthony did not answer, and she shook him 
 angrily. 
 
 " Are we saved ? " she cried again. 
 
 Anthony still answered nothing ; and then Morna Cove 
 Opened like a mighty gate, and Sam cried out : 
 
 " The wind's beat, and we're alive all three and the boat 
 beside. Oh, but it's been a night ! " 
 
340 RACHEL MARR 
 
 He ran the bows of his boat into the beach, and An- 
 thony got over the side, and lifting Rachel in his arms 
 carried her to the shore. 
 
 " Oh, are we saved ? " he asked of God. 
 
 And he knew that he was not, for his heart was aflame, 
 and he kissed Rachel as he carried her, and the solid 
 earth shook beneath him. 
 
 Then Sam took hold of his arm and said strange things. 
 
 " I'm a fool, sir, and if I take liberties fetch me over 
 the head with the loom of an oar. But I can tell you 
 there's land the other side of the water, fine land, so I've 
 heard. You could sail to it, you and them that love you. 
 But I've heard nought this night, and seen nought, Mr. 
 Anthony. I'm a man too, and a fool too, and beauty's a 
 poison to me, as old Steve says. And to make things 
 equal, so that you can make it hot for me, I'll tell you that 
 if Tryphena's my wife, she's not the only one that would 
 have cried if I'd been rolling over among the congers, 
 sir. She's not the only one, and mebbe there are two, if 
 she cried at all." 
 
 And Anthony heard him out dully, but only understood 
 as he walked up the beach with Rachel towards the pine- 
 wood path. 
 
 " Good-night ! " said Rachel when she reached 
 " Good-night ! " 
 
 He caught her in his arms. 
 
 " Be merciful, Rachel, be merciful ! Don't call to me 
 at nights. I'm in hell when you call ! " 
 
 " Not only when I call. I was close to death with 
 you." 
 
 He let her go. 
 
 " We're alive now, we're alive. Oh, God ! " 
 
 " I'll call you," she said suddenly. " I'll call at eve 
 and midnight and at dawn." 
 
 She ran from him into the thick sweet wood. 
 
 "Anthony, Anthony!" 
 
 He hung upon the gate that led into warm darkness, 
 and heavy sweat ran down him. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" 
 
 But all she said was — " Good-night ! " 
 
RACHEL MARR 341 
 
 He heard light twigs crack under her feet, and heard 
 parted brush. 
 
 "Anthony!" 
 
 He did not answer, for her voice was far away. 
 
 " Anthony, Anthony ! " 
 
 Such sighs might have been the wind's, for now the 
 wind was falling. 
 
 And " Anthony " sounded in his ears as he walked 
 homeward, and he heard it in his dreams, and waked to 
 hear it above the near breathing of the thing he hated. 
 
 X 
 
 It mattered nothing that Sam Burt said little, even to 
 Tryphena, of what had happened when the wind blew 
 upon the sea and death was close, for that Rachel and 
 Anthony had gone sailing together was sufficient for 
 many, and more than suificient for Pentowan. 
 
 "There's nought in it," said Sam faithfully. "Why 
 should they not? Who 'ud know so well as me if there 
 was aught betwixt them? I give in, clear give in, and 
 reckoned I'd see Morna no more, and they was calm as 
 could be. If it was as some say, she'd a' been in Mr. 
 Anthony's arms, and she wasn't." 
 
 And Sam was caught outside by Steve, who greeted 
 him kindly. 
 
 " If I was rich and you had a mind to be drunk, Sam, 
 I'd fill you to the back teeth with golden liquor. Oh, 
 man, but you are a splendid kindly liar, and by no means 
 so big a fool as I always thought you, for women (one or 
 two) have educated you. But someone took word to 
 Pentowan that they went over with you to the River ; and 
 Mrs. Anthony's fierce, I know, as a handled hawk or a 
 trapped owl. I wish I knew who told her." 
 
 But the one who told her was Mary Jose, for Winnie 
 held the girl on a string, and flattered her folly and her 
 blind hopes, and made a slave of her and a slave of her- 
 
34^ RACHEL MARR 
 
 self. And yet she said nothing to Anthony, and was so 
 sweet to him that his heart was sick. 
 
 " She knows I love Rachel, and she's kind to me, as 
 kind as she can be," said the wretched man. But if 
 Winnie laid her hand upon his shoulder she felt the 
 muscles of his body grow rigid, and she fell into a silent 
 fury. 
 
 Next time John came up from her father's she was 
 scornful of him and laughed. For he was changed once 
 more from what he had been in his hour of mad exulta- 
 tion with Rachel. 
 
 " You — ^you, oh, but you are a poor creature, and you 
 were so strong. Did you ever make love or ever believe 
 that a woman was worth it? Now you whine like a 
 child." 
 
 " She doesn't love me, she loves Anthony," he said sul- 
 lenly. 
 
 Her eyes flamed. 
 
 " She hates me, you fool ; and Anthony is as weak as 
 you. But it's you she loves. She went over to the River 
 with Anthony to anger you and anger me. Oh, you are 
 changed from the man I knew. Come in, I'm weak and 
 can't stand the sun." 
 
 When she got him inside she drank some wine and 
 grew bolder even yet. 
 
 "Your poor head won't let you drink? Or will it? 
 Are you a man again? Oh, you used to drink with 
 father and sing; do you sing now? What's father say 
 when he drinks and roars and you sit mumchance, water 
 drinking?" 
 
 John sat crouched in a chair and followed her with his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I could drink fire. Oh, Winnie, what's your heart? " 
 
 "Drink and I'll tell you," she said. "Or dare you? 
 Do you think spirits would give you spirit and set you 
 asking Rachel for a kiss? I half hate you now, John, 
 since she kissed you." 
 
 He jumped up and went over to the sideboard. 
 
 " I'll drink with you. Winnie, you're a deyil, I hate 
 you, you play on me." 
 
RACHEL MARR 343 
 
 But he poured out whiskey and drank it. The dying 
 scar on his cheek reddened angrily. 
 
 " She's in the wood every night when the sun goes 
 down," said Winnie ; " she lies dreaming of love. I- 
 know her ; how we girls talked, saying things, giggling ! 
 Then she hated me when you — when you loved me. Do 
 you remember the moonlight? Here I'm married; isn't 
 it strange, and she still hates me because you didn't look 
 her way. If you had you'd ha' been tired of her now and 
 a<fter me — as like as not. But she's steady-hearted ; Mary 
 told me things ; Mary has eyes ; oh, she's jealous of her 
 because she has eyes." 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 "I'd tell a man, but what are you, John? Go over 
 when the sun's down. Will you marry her, John ? " 
 
 She saw how he was moved, how the poison worked, 
 and yet saw him struggle; Then she took him by the 
 shoulder and twisted him round. 
 
 "You said — what's your heart? I said I'd tell you." 
 
 Her hot breath fanned his face, and her eyes of flame 
 held him. She struggled with her words, and acted, 
 played to him. 
 
 " I'm ashamed, — I'm married, and I hate Anthony. 
 I always loved someone else — " 
 
 She let her words drop and fall into a whisper. 
 
 " I want you to be happy." 
 
 He believed her. 
 
 " Poor Winnie ! Oh, I've been a beast." 
 
 " I'll tell you the truth. Mary told me something ; 
 something that proves it." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I'll tell you — to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Oh, now ! " 
 
 " I won't," said Winnie. " I won't. But if I prove it 
 and you go down to her in the daylight like, an uplifted 
 fool, and ask her, she'll refuse you; don't forget that I 
 and your old days are the enemies. The wood at night, 
 when she's dreaming under her pines ! " 
 
 In her heart she said — 
 
 " She'll think he's Anthony ! " 
 
344 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Come and see me to-morrow in the afternoon. Then 
 I'll prove what she thinks of you. Has she ever carved 
 your dear name as it's carved here ? " 
 
 She let the tears fall down. 
 
 " Go — I'm a fool. I want you — to be happy. She'll 
 love you again, or show she always loved you. I'm 
 giving you up to her that I don't love." 
 
 And when he was gone she sent word for Mary, who 
 crept away from Morna House at sundown. 
 
 " I've something for you to do," said Winnie. " You've 
 no courage to court your faithless lover. I'll do some- 
 thing for you." 
 
 " What is it, ma'am ? " asked Mary with downcast eyes. 
 
 " You know the pine tree that your mistress sits under 
 in the wood ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mary, " she calls it hers. And they're all 
 hers." 
 
 " Aye, she's rich enough, Mary. Go there to-morrow 
 and carve ' John ' in the bark low down to the ground." 
 
 "Why, ma'am?" 
 
 And Winnie burst out upon her angrily. 
 
 " You fool, you miserable little fool, do what I tell you. 
 Do it, do as I tell you, or I'll let Miss Marr know you 
 came tale-bearing to me. You'll be cast out then, and 
 there'll be none for you but your father who loves you sp. 
 And come and tell me to-morrow when you've done it." 
 
 And Mary crept away in terror. But Winnie called 
 her back, and took her by the chin. 
 
 " Do you really love him, girl, or would the next man 
 do?" 
 
 " I love him," said Mary, choking. 
 
 " Love's a damnable disease," said Winnie fiercely ; 
 " it's as bad as hate, it's as good as hate. Will Sigurd 
 follow you ? " 
 
 " He often comes out with me," said Mary. 
 
 " When you come to-morrow be as late as you can, and 
 bring him with you. There's a friend of mine wants to 
 see him ! " 
 
 And when Mary had gone, Winnie struck her bosom 
 hard. 
 
RACHEL MARR 345 
 
 " Hate's my friend," she said ; " I'll chain up her dog 
 here. The pinewood, my lady — the pinewood, my 
 woman, and the scent of the flowers and a mad lover with 
 a mad brain and hot thoughts growing. You'll love my 
 husband, will you ? Oh, but his child is mine ! " 
 
 And that she chanted to herself savagely, for life was 
 strong within her, and her time drew on. 
 
 XI 
 
 The kiss that Mary had seen given tp her lover had almost 
 slain her little soul; she had the gift of revenge without 
 the bigness of mind and heart of her poor old father. She 
 never thought of him with any sense of sorrow, and 
 though she knew he only waited now for some sign of 
 repentance in her to take her back to his lonely heart, she 
 passed him in the village with averted eyes. She had 
 adored Rachel, and yet had been envious of the greater 
 woman's greater beauty. Now she feared and hated her, 
 and believing all things against her she delivered her 
 treacherous soul to Winnie. 
 
 " But for her he'd ha' been mine. Oh, but he loved the 
 boy, I could see it. I'm his boy's mother and she kisses 
 him in bed, and Mrs. Anthony says she loves him. She's 
 bad through and through ! " 
 
 Yet if she feared Rachel she now feared Winnie even 
 more, for she knew she was in the woman's hands, and 
 could no more fathom her mind than she could plumb the 
 sea or Rachel's heart. 
 
 " She has a scheme and I'm to work it, and if I don't 
 she'll tell Miss Rachel what I say, and I'll have to starve 
 or go back to father ! " 
 
 So she stole from the house at earliest dawn next day 
 and carved " John " upon the red bark of Rachel's pine, 
 close to the ground. 
 
 " My man's name, and what for ? Now I've done it 
 I've a mind to cut it out. Oh, Mrs. Anthony's bad, I 
 know." 
 
346 RACHEL MARR- 
 
 But she feared her, and now was sunk in the mud of 
 some deep trick that she wondered at. 
 
 " 'Tis to hurt Miss Rachel ! I hate her ! " 
 
 She went back to the house and took breakfast with 
 Rachel and Martha, and said " Yes, Miss," and " No, 
 Miss," and was as meek as milk and humble. And when 
 the day's work was over in the dairy she slipped out and 
 called Sigurd, and ran with him to the brook and across 
 the field to Pentowan. And Winnie saw her coming and 
 met her at the gate of the barn-yard, where Sigurd's old 
 kennel was and his chain lay rusting. 
 
 " Did any see you coming ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " Did you do as I said ? " 
 
 And Mary answered " yes " sullenly. 
 
 " Then chain up the dog here," said Winnie, and 
 her eyes were bright ; " chain him up, the growling 
 beast." 
 
 Mary chained him up and then turned. 
 
 " Oh, why do you want him ? You'll let him go soon : 
 before it's too late." 
 
 " I'll let him go. You never brought him, mind ; if 
 there's any trouble I'll say I caught him here and chained 
 him. Go home quick." 
 
 And as Mary ran back across the deep fields she saw 
 John walking against the setting sun on the high road to 
 Pentowan. 
 
 " I'm i' the dark," said Mary. " I misdoubt I'm a fool. 
 They said things of Jack and that she-devil at Pentowan 
 before he ever held me in his arms." 
 
 She went upstairs unseen, and came down as if from 
 putting her boy to bed. She was a white thing to look at 
 if Martha's eyes had been good that night. For John was 
 with Winnie and she trusted no one. 
 
 " You've come then," said Winnie. " Come in. You 
 and Anthony are not good friends, it seems, but he's away 
 to the hill farm. I wish I knew why he and you were 
 two. If I knew I'd know more." 
 
 " You know too much," said John. She saw his hand 
 shake as he laid his stick upon the table. 
 
RACHEL MARR 347 
 
 " Is it true what I heard, that you can't taste things any 
 more since you got sent to bed ? " 
 
 " That's true enough," said John ; " but the pity is I can 
 see, or hear, or feel." 
 
 She went to the sideboard and fiddled with the glasses 
 there. 
 
 " What, don't you wish to see Rachel? " 
 
 He answered nothing. 
 
 " Or your name carved in her heart — and else- 
 where ?" 
 
 " What's this about carving ? " 
 
 " Does a woman carve a man's name lightly, and what 
 name should your woman carve but yours? I can tell 
 you." 
 
 He rose from his chair and took her by the arm, nip- 
 ping her soft flesh. 
 
 " You play on me, Winnie, and I'm mad enough ; don't 
 play too much ! " 
 
 She laughed low and wrenched away from him. 
 
 " She's in her woods when the sun goes down, and at 
 the foot of her big tree that's an idol to her, and a shrine, 
 and on the foot of it there's a new carved name. I saw 
 it myself when I crept into her wood. Whose name, John 
 Perran, whose ? " 
 
 The sweat stood upon his brow. 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 " Yours. Here, drink, 'twill calm you." 
 
 He poured a little brandy with shaking hand. 
 
 " Water, if you like," said Winnie, and she handed him 
 water that was half pure spirit. " Water it, if liquor 
 makes you mad, and go over and see her now as she kisses 
 the bark of a tree. Oh, your lips are better than that! 
 Go, go!" 
 
 The liquor took hold of him, and her words were 
 wind in flame, and her imparted thoughts were flame in a 
 summer wood, and he saw Rachel and felt her in his 
 arms. 
 
 She pushed him from the room, and he went with 
 blood-shot eyes, believing in his own desires — insane and 
 happy. 
 
348 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Oh, God, it's true ! My name on her tree ! It that's 
 true, 'tis all true; my fingers in that name, and I'll kiss 
 her eyes till she's blind. Oh, my love ! my Rachel ! " 
 
 He went down the path to the brook, and saw the warm 
 pines on the opposing slope, the sun setting and the ripe 
 world glowing. 
 
 " If she's mine I'll fill Morna with happy folks, — set 
 them dancing. If she's mine, if she's mine " 
 
 And Winnie watched him stagger as he went. 
 
 " Flame has hold of him and fire's in his blood. Oh, 
 white gin's fine water for a thirsty lover. I'll laugh at 
 fallen pride. My God, what pride hers is for all her suit 
 of Anthony ! I know it — she'll drown herself this night 
 or kill him ! " 
 
 She ran to the sideboard and took some of her doctored 
 water and poured the rest away. 
 
 " Now I'll sit by Sigurd, the grey devil, and think how 
 he's not with his fine mistress to save her. Oh, but there's 
 sweet hot pleasures in life! Her dog's mine, chained; 
 and Anthony's mine, chained ; and I've loosed a mad dog 
 on her in her wood, and Mary that she friended is her foe 
 and a little Judas. Thank God, Rachel and I have always 
 been foes ! My score is clean, she knows what to expect. 
 She'd not drink in my house, not she. Will she know 
 'twas me? Oh, if she lives and I tell her, then I could 
 die. But I'll live, and that within me shall live." 
 
 She went out to the barn-yard and found Sigurd 
 trailing uneasily to and fro on the chain. When he saw 
 her he growled and backed a little and looked at her 
 with something that her mind turned into scorn. She 
 sat down on a big block of hewed timber within ten feet 
 of him. 
 
 " You scorn me, you devil ; but I've got you chained. 
 What of your mistress? She's i' the wood, doggy dear, 
 where you mostly lie with her and she fondles you. Oh, 
 I could fondle you, I could ! " 
 
 At the sound of her voice the hackles rose on Sigurd; 
 he bristled all over and stood like a carven dog of slate. 
 And then she mocked him with her tongue out, and made 
 fool's faces at him and he barked savagely. 
 
RACHEL MAKK 349 
 
 " You beast, you scared me when you were loose. If 
 I'd poison ready, and you'd eat, I'd feed you." 
 
 He ran out the length of his chain at her, and for a 
 moment she quailed. 
 
 " Oh, you're anchored tight, doggy," she said. " I've 
 seen you of old try to break adrift." 
 
 But now the chain was older and the dog was heavier 
 by more than a year's growth. Sigurd stood three feet at 
 the shoulder, and was as massive as any Great Dane that 
 ever pricked cut ears. 
 
 " Bark, you beast, and who shall hear you ? " 
 
 The day's work was over, and all the men gone but 
 Simon the carter, who was with the women. And Winnie 
 stood up and angered Sigurd more and more. 
 
 " You're Rachel's guardian. Beauty's guardian, and 
 I've got you. If you were she and she were you, I'd get 
 a whip and lay it over you. I hate you 1 " 
 
 She stooped slowly and picked up a stone and threw it 
 at him, hitting him upon the head. The devil within the 
 dog burst out then, and he leapt out so that chain hurled 
 him backward. And the liquor that was in her and 
 hatred of the dog made her crueller than ever and bolder 
 than she had ever been. 
 
 " Do that again and I'll whip you ! " 
 
 She struck him on the jaw with another stone and 
 Sigurd foamed, and tugged at his chain so that the collar 
 nearly strangled him. And Winnie's hate of him and her 
 hate of his mistress flowered in bitterer rage even yet. 
 
 " I've got you ; wait ! " 
 
 She went across to the harness room and took a car- 
 riage whip from the rack. Her cheeks were white save 
 for a red spot; her eyes of flame blazed cruelly, but she 
 came back with slow deliberation. 
 
 " You're her dog and should be mine ! " 
 
 She reached out and laid the lash across him, and the 
 sting of it was red-hot, for she had the strength of rage 
 in her, and she lost her head. And the sounds that she 
 and the dog made were bestial, for he was a beast and she 
 became one, and she lost sight of the farm and the uplands 
 and the distant circling world. And as she lashed at him 
 
350 HACHEL MARR 
 
 the noise he made was so dreadful that the women and 
 Simon ran out from the kitchen wondering. 
 
 "Whatis't! whatis't?" 
 
 Simon ran across to her clumsily and cried out : 
 
 " Missis, missis ! " 
 
 But she heard nothing and saw nothing, and still she 
 lashed Sigurd. 
 
 " 'Tis Miss Marr's dog," said the women. " Oh, she's 
 a cruel beast! If he gets loose he'll kill her. Where's 
 Mr. Perran?" 
 
 " Missis, don't, don't ! if he breaks loose " 
 
 He ran in on her and caught her arm. But when she 
 turned upon him he fell back from her. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony should be coming ! Run and see," he 
 cried, and one of the women ran and the other stood 
 screaming : 
 
 " Stop her, Simon, stop her ! We'll be murdered by the 
 dog. He'll break loose ! " 
 
 And over the sound that he made they heard the woman 
 at the front cry : 
 
 " Help, help, Mr. Perran ! " 
 
 And there was the sound of a horse galloping upon 
 hard turf, and Anthony rode into the yard and saw his 
 wife at her work. And by an evil chance for him he 
 came in time and flung himself from his horse within 
 three yards of her as the tortured beast at last broke his 
 old chain and sprang through the air at the enemy who 
 had shown him what mercy there was in her. And as 
 Anthony ran in Winnie screamed awfully, and was 
 thrown upon the ground with the great dog right upon 
 her body, seeking with half-blinded eyes for her white 
 throat. But Anthony leapt at him and caught the mad- 
 dened beast by the collar, and struggled at first for her 
 life and then for his own, as the woman lay by them and 
 beneath them, and he saw her face as quiet as sleep. 
 
 But Sigurd lost sight of his master, and found a man, 
 and being unable to catch that throbbing white throat 
 leapt for a brown one and got Anthony down upon his 
 knees, but with both knotted hands set in the collar, so 
 that the dog's mouth, open and foaming, was above his 
 
RACHEL MARR 351 
 
 wrists. And those who said that Anthony Perran was 
 stronger than any man in Morna, since old Jose was past 
 his strength, were justified, for no other could have held 
 one who had lost his tame nature and came out of 
 civilisation's kennel as red-hearted as a wolf of the snows, 
 even for one short minute. For Sigurd was of steel, and 
 but that he lacked a dog's encouragement which is his 
 deep nature, and lies in the chorus of the pack or the 
 voices of those who set him on and are the pack as they 
 cry, he would have had his old master like a bloody rag at 
 the first great grip And the women stood by shrieking, 
 and one made foolish lunges at her fainting mistress's 
 skirts as she lay in the whirlwind of dust that they made 
 who fought above her. And the other woman beat Simon, 
 who stood gaping, and bade him do things, and make an 
 end of it, as was a man's place, seeing that his master 
 was over-matched. But his brain was as slow as mud, 
 and his wits as thick as the dregs of mud, and he held his 
 jaw with one hand and said nothing with sense in it, 
 nothing even so pertinent as a cry for help. And An- 
 thoiiy, feeling his muscles crack, looked at them over the 
 dog's head with a strange white look, and with drawn 
 lips so that his white teeth showed, and then he wrenched 
 Sigurd sideways and got his head on the ground, and at 
 the same time he called out the dog's name, and the name 
 seemed to touch Sigurd somewhere, for he faltered a little 
 and went over so that Anthony had him with straightened 
 arms right under him. And as he held him there he saw 
 that Winnie's face was bleeding from a cut across her 
 mouth, and he knew well that in the fight he must have 
 struck her with his boot, and though he hated her he was 
 sorry, and his mind said pitiful things as Sigurd rose 
 again. And then he saw one of the women come running 
 with a hay-fork, and thrust it into Simon's hands, and he 
 saw Simon's lips go curiously as if he tasted doubt, and 
 then he made a savage little run, and at the same time 
 Anthony forbade him with deadly eyes, for he had no 
 speech left. For this was Rachel's dog, and he had been 
 maddened and there was no true fault in him. And 
 Simon saw that he was forbidden, but the weapon in his 
 
352 RACHEL MARR 
 
 hand was too much and he drove at Sigurd with it, and 
 pierced him with both points, one in the shoulder, and one 
 the flesh of the back, and the dog howled and flinched, 
 and once more Anthony got him over and this time choked 
 him down. And all the courage went out of Sigurd then, 
 and when Anthony spoke to him again, loosing him, he 
 crawled upon his belly and whined, and lifted up his 
 whealed head for pardon and for pity. Anthony rose 
 from him and drew a great breath, and bent again and 
 looked at his wounds, and turned upon Simon of the 
 bloody fork. 
 
 " You saw I meant you not to hurt him ? " asked 
 Anthony. 
 
 " Aye, sir," said Simon, shaking, " I saw that ! " 
 
 They carried Winnie into the house, and as they carried 
 her Sigurd growled and turned away for the gate and ran 
 lamely for home. For he knew it might be that someone 
 was calling him, and Rachel for him was mistress of the 
 earth and the heart and voice of the ghostly pack which 
 hunts with every solitary dog. And when he had crossed 
 the low valley and the brook and the evening light was 
 fading and the starry heavens shone over the meadows, 
 he ran faster in spite of his wounds and his dripping 
 blood. 
 
 And Anthony came out of the house again and called to 
 Simon. 
 
 " You saw I meant you not to hurt the dog ? " 
 
 " He'd ha' killed you, sir," said Simon ; " he'd ha' killed 
 you, for sure ! " 
 
 " Here's what I owe you, and something over, for 
 saving — what you saved," said Anthony. " Let me see 
 you no more." 
 
 He rode fast to the Church Town for Greer. And now 
 Sigurd too galloped, for he heard a voice, a wild and fear- 
 ful half-choked cry, calling to him out of the middle of 
 the pines, where , midnight came at lucid eventide and 
 darkness stood witness and abettor to the drugged pas- 
 sions of a broken fool. 
 
RACHEL MARR 353 
 
 XII 
 
 That day had been serene, sweet-breathed with a west 
 wind, and every hour had hinted, like the ghost of a last 
 year's scent revived in the season's memory, at summer's 
 ardours. Rachel knew the far faint call of summer and 
 listened, for since that storm upon the sea strength came 
 back to her, and with strength peace, and with peace pity. 
 Whatever happened now, whether Winnie lived or died, 
 or whether her child lived or died, she had had one great 
 hour with Anthony, and both had spoken their hearts; 
 they had lived, had died together, and had come back 
 again to something like immortality. For long days pas- 
 sion, stretched to the full, rounded like the moon, died 
 down in Rachel's heart ; it died down like a sweet root in 
 autumn, secreting a new year's larger growth. 
 
 At nights she dreamed of the storm and the white teeth 
 of the sea and the wail of the wind. But ever and ever, 
 as she sailed, Anthony's brave hand was in hers, and no 
 threatening ghost, flying upon the gale, hurt or alarmed 
 her. What folks said was nothing; folks cried like sea- 
 birds on their cliflfs ; they were ghosts, poor spirits, flesh- 
 less follies with no hope of re-incarnation. She herself 
 lived warm again when the cold white terror of death in 
 solitude went away from her. Portents she drew from 
 this their sea adventure — if they died, they died together ; 
 his soul was hers ; he had cried it out aloud, and she knew 
 that he heard when she called at midnight. The intense 
 and equal ardour of her astonished heart fed like fire on 
 the great confession of his love; she marvelled and was 
 satisfied until other storms blew about her, wailing in her 
 woodlands. 
 
 "If I call, he will come!" 
 
 And yet he had declared with the sea that swallowed 
 up all lies and all falsehood and all pretence, that if he 
 came he would yet go back. This was written in his 
 heart, but she was a woman and believed in the power of 
 her own womanhood, which in its secret citadels laughs 
 to scorn the power of man. If he came he would stay 
 
354 . RACHEL MARR 
 
 and would take deep root in her fruitful earth, and grow 
 to be a shelter beyond the shadow of a great rock in a 
 thirsty land. 
 
 Yet as she walked in this fine security of faith in her 
 own soul and her beautiful body, there came, like faint 
 thrills of air which threaten frost, faint fears of other 
 dangers encompassing her. Her spirit, for all its secur- 
 ity, perceived darkness beyond, and in the darkness 
 human terror and strange forebodings. The inextric- 
 able tangle of living passions, in which she had her habi- 
 tation, made nets for her feet, and it was as though 
 spiders spun gossamers in the darkness and their webs 
 and filaments floated across her as she moved. Anthony. 
 become less human and more human by the extreme 
 utterance of the passions which the sea accompanied 
 with great and awful music, lived with her soul as a 
 warm and terrible shadow. And in his very shadow 
 crawled dim beasts, antagonistic, ancient, the prehistoric 
 souls of such as the woman who bore his name. These, 
 and there were many of them, crawled about her woodland 
 palace and citadel in which she was secluded, and in- 
 stinct in her raised strange alarms to which she listened, 
 And she went in fear, for the voice of the flesh was true 
 prophecy and warned her. And once again she feared 
 not, for her sweetness assured her that men were not 
 beasts, nor was any creature so cruel as her instincts 
 cried out. She lay in her dark palace dreaming. 
 
 As every season of passion harvested means again a 
 winter, now she cooled and retreated within herself. 
 And there she found such things as had pleased her of 
 old, though everything was changed, as the man grown 
 finds the very aspect of his ancient world of childhood 
 other than he dreamed when far away. Here too were 
 rods with which she had been whipped or had whipped 
 herself; she took hold of poor dead faiths, and being 
 angry with them no more, covered them up pitifully, as 
 she had covered dead birds with leaves when she was a 
 child. The older gods faded; their immortal attributes 
 were death, and died out of her garden. She perceived 
 a deeper spirit than that which any creeds hid in nebu- 
 
RACHEL MARK 355 
 
 lous words. Many times in her bitterness she had denied 
 that there was a God, and now, with a Httle happiness 
 which was rather a motion of the blessed soul than that 
 happiness which comes from without, it seemed to her 
 that God lived. Here she knew the truth and proof of 
 God; His revelation was happiness, however reached. 
 There was no remorse within her; this was the path of 
 the promises of God. He was within her — within the 
 burning bush, which was her soul in a white flame, 
 scented, pure, and ardent, and most natural. 
 
 And strange beasts crawled in the garden of her pines 
 where her heart dreamed and her body lay in peace. 
 
 There was light star-flame in the sky, the silver of the 
 moon lay unburnished in soft clouds, the wind was a 
 wandering air and kindly, the quiet of the evening lapped 
 the world like sweet water. The pines spoke with each 
 other in faint whispers, aspens chattered lightly; some 
 birds already were in their nests, but the energy of others 
 yet unexhausted broke out in high ecstatic music. The 
 song of the distant sea was quietest melody, as faint as 
 that of the happy blood ; the brook spoke low and Morna 
 sat within its houses. And far over the valley over 
 against the south-east air was the sound of a furious dog 
 that ran through the warp and woof of peace like a 
 savage thread of scarlet in silver cloth. But deep 
 thought, deep beyond thinking, deafened Rachel's ears ; 
 she heard the song of the blood that youth hears, though 
 her youth was tired in passion, and to its lulling she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 This was no paradise, though every tree bore fruit of 
 strange old knowledge ; yet here a thing crawled, once a 
 man and now a fool, steeped in rage and wild desire and 
 the wonder of his drugged world. How natural it was 
 for him to climb the bank and enter the dark wood ! 
 
 " Oh, many's the wood I've met love in, but here's my 
 love!" 
 
 She, who beat the chained passions of Sigurd to fury, 
 had whipped the unchained passions of John Perran to a 
 bitterer madness. 
 
 " Rachel's for your taking. That's her nature 1 " 
 
356 RACHEL MARR 
 
 John nodded to himself. 
 
 " I'm wise about women. God's truth, that's the na- 
 ture of many ! If it's true my name's on her tree I'll set 
 my mouth on hers." 
 
 What Winnie said and what she had poured out for 
 him rose and reddened in the soul's abandonment. His 
 drugged soul cried faintly to him, but he was far. 
 
 " She's to be mine ! " 
 
 His passion ached within him and strained his heart 
 and set him trembling. 
 
 " Oh, is she in the wood ? If she's here it's heaven. 
 I'll storm it!" 
 
 He ran lightly and yet staggered, clutching pine sap- 
 lings. He went down on his knees. • 
 
 " There's a break in the tree-tops. Shine through, stars 
 and moon, shine and show her to me ! Her red lips, her 
 bosom ! Oh, but I'm mad ! If she loves me ! " 
 
 She slept sweetly, quiet as happy death — quiet as a 
 sheltered flower. Dear happiness, sifted from life's pro- 
 digious gifts, lay at her heart like a blessing ; she was with 
 Anthony, who by some immortal alchemy was pure 
 gold of love and nature. And his God was hers — a God 
 of love and the quick world's fertility. 
 
 John leapt to his feet, and leapt so lightly with his 
 blood aflame, that he made no sound. He clutched his 
 own hands and hung over her. 
 
 " Oh, she's beautiful ! My God, a wonder ! Could I 
 have loved her of old? And I went wallowing! Oh, 
 but it's true she loves me, she must! Anthony's not for 
 her. If she loved him, I'm his likeness. I'll feel at the 
 tree for my name. It should shine, it should shine! 
 God, if it's not there, carve it with your lightning ere I 
 kneel and ere she wakes ! Here's paradise — here's Eden, 
 a wedding bower. Oh, she loves life, life her own. She 
 maddens me with her curves and her cheek on her hand. 
 I'll hunt my name ! " 
 
 He shook with an ague and his eyes were burning and 
 blood-shot as he crept upon the ground to the tree. 
 
 " 'Tis her own tree. Where's my name, my immortal 
 name ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 357 
 
 With a shaking hand he searched the cool bark for the 
 fire of his name, and ran in upon the letters, and, reading 
 them with blind, informing fingers, fell into outrageous 
 madness and such delight as marks hot hearts stricken 
 with Spring's swiftest arrow of desire. 
 
 " Mine, mine ! " 
 
 This was no man but a mad creature, fooled by lies 
 and corroborating circumstances at one with desire. He 
 fell upon his knees and set his lips upon hers, at first 
 lightly so that she hardly stirred, and yet under the 
 touch of them she sighed. 
 
 In her bright dream, in some far island of the blest, 
 Anthony, her renewed and perfect lover, set his lips to 
 hers! God help her if she returned his kiss. And she 
 returned it and woke in sudden terror that was at first 
 delight, for she thought of Anthony in her woodland. 
 But this was so fierce and hungry a beast that in a mo- 
 ment she knew, and with every instinct flaming she re- 
 jected his wild gifts, and found herself choked, strained, 
 and speechless. 
 
 He murmured dreadful assurances of his love, and his 
 late knowledge of her old love for him. And as she 
 fought with him, and felt her strength was vain against 
 one nigh as strong as him against whom she would not 
 have fought, a dim horror of all red and white passion 
 grew in her. Yet nought but equal passion could save 
 her, and as she prayed for mercy to the winds and the 
 tides of unanswering madness, black rage within her at 
 the immeasurable insult of such a deed sent her shaking 
 hand for the weapon in her bosom. 
 
 " You love me, you love me ! " 
 
 "I'll kill you!" 
 
 Others in far countries had said that. Under a hot sun 
 one girl had stabbed him and then kissed him, binding up 
 his wound that could not bind her own in her yielding 
 heart. 
 
 She got the crucifix out and he hurled it from her into 
 the darkness. 
 
 "Could that stay me?" 
 
 He knew not the blade that was hidden within it, as he 
 
358 RACHEL MARR 
 
 knew not the heart of the sweet of earth that struggled 
 with him. 
 
 She cried "Help!" 
 
 But her strength failed, she felt her consciousness fail- 
 ing, and saw the stars betwixt tree-tops waver. But this 
 was worse than death, and she drew back from the 
 waters of sleep and cried out in a choked and strangled 
 voice of lamentation: 
 
 "Sigurd! Sigurd!" 
 
 The dog was safe, he said. 
 
 " She's for me. My name you carved ; your name's 
 in my heart ! " 
 
 And then her heart failed, and the white stars crackled 
 in a red sky, and the sound of a great wind which was the 
 sound of her blood overwhelmed her, and yet she heard 
 the bush break and heard Sigurd leap furiously and hurl 
 John Perran from her headlong. Then she fainted and 
 lay unconscious for long, long minutes, so that when she 
 woke the evening glow had passed out of the deep im- 
 measurable heavens, and the night had come. 
 
 She came back from the great gulf of unconsciousness 
 but slowly, and only slowly she recalled the horror that 
 had sent her into its depths. A sense of infinite fatigue 
 drowned her senses, and yet she knew that she had es- 
 caped something too hideous to dream of. She stirred 
 and moaned a little, and Sigurd did no more than sigh, 
 and yet struggled, and coming nearer licked her hand. 
 Then she knew and woke utterly, and sat up and saw the 
 dog, and reaching out to him touched him and found him 
 wet. And she knew that he was wet with blood, and she 
 caught her breath and shivered, looking for the satyr of 
 her woodland, expecting a torn and bloody rag. And 
 she saw him in the lucid darkness lying quietly upon his 
 back, with a white face at which the moon peered. For 
 a moment she thought that he had stabbed Sigurd with 
 the blade of the crucifix, but when she snatched it from 
 the ground she saw the weapon was in its sheath and 
 no blood on it. She fell upon her knees and felt Sigurd 
 over, and found his wounds. He winced as she touched 
 
RACHEL MARR 359 
 
 them, but licked her hand, and could not move when she 
 implored him. 
 
 " Who has done this ? " she said. And Sigurd lay 
 down very quietly, until he heard John Perran stir, and 
 then he barked faintly and made a weak motion towards 
 this enemy of his dear mistress, for the dog had lost 
 much blood and his strength for the time was out of him. 
 But for that he would have rent John limb from limb 
 when he had hurled him against a tree. 
 
 " Lie still ! " said Rachel, and with the open dagger in 
 her hand she stepped over to the fool who lay so quiet, 
 and yet was waking. He groaned as she came near. 
 
 " Where am I ? What's happened ? " 
 
 He sat up with his hand to his forehead. 
 
 " My head's a wild ache ! " he murmured, and then he 
 saw Rachel. 
 
 " Get off my ground, out of my place, — don't let your 
 breath poison the air," she said with dreadful passion. 
 " Get up, or I'll set the dog upon you." 
 
 John scrambled to his knees and clung to a sapling. 
 The fire was out of him ; he was ashes, he was humble. 
 He remembered, and cried out lamentably: 
 
 " You don't love me ? " 
 
 "You foul thing! go, go! " 
 
 She shook all over, and her voice was terrible. 
 
 " Oh, God, that such a man should be his brother ! " 
 
 The accent in which she spoke gave him the truth in 
 one swift moment. He cried out : 
 
 " Winnie's a liar ! she's made a beast of me, Rachel. 
 Rachel, I'm ashamed ! " 
 
 He staggered to his feet and threw his hands in the air. 
 
 " Why did you carve my name, then, why did you ? 
 The thought of it, oh, the touch of it, was madness for 
 me. I've been mad for you since I was in your house ! " 
 
 " Your name " 
 
 " It's on your tree ; there, there ! " 
 
 She stooped and felt it. 
 
 " I never carved it. Who told you ? " 
 
 " Winnie told me." 
 
36o RACHEL MARR 
 
 "Did you try to kill Sigurd, you devil? He's been 
 stabbed. He's bleeding to death, bleeding now." 
 
 She knelt by Sigurd, who growled yet licked her 
 hand. 
 
 "That's Winnie, that's that devil," said John. "I'm 
 a thing, a crawling beast that was a man. Rachel, 
 Rachel, shall I kill her for you ? " 
 
 She answered nothing, but pressed the clotted hair 
 close on the dog's wounds that now bled Uttle. John 
 poured out a passion of words. 
 
 " If you'd loved me — ah, that was madness ! She filled 
 me with lies ; I believe she drugged me. She poisoned 
 me with words." 
 
 He cried out: 
 
 " Forgive me, Rachel, forgive me ! " 
 
 But she could not speak. He threw himself before her 
 on the ground. 
 
 " There's no such cur as I on earth. What can I do 
 for you, what can I do to help, what can I do that's right ? 
 Winnie's the beast of the earth — she's a vampire, a blood- 
 sucker. She's Anthony's hurt, his flame to burn. I'm 
 nothing. My life's yours if you'll pardon me! Rachel, 
 I'm in an agony of shame. Till this night I had some 
 pride — I was a man ! " 
 
 Such an unutterable, half-uttered abasement shook 
 her. 
 
 " Be a man again then," she cried in a very rage of 
 angry pity. " Get up and do what's right, if there's any 
 right on earth." 
 
 He rose and held to the sapling. 
 
 " I was a man, I was a man," he said, and he went 
 with his head down. " Good-bye, Rachel, good-bye. If 
 I see you no more I shall love you till I die ! " 
 
 The darkness of the woods closed over him. 
 
 " If I had the strength to kill that woman ! But I've 
 no strength ; there's nothing left in me but pain." 
 
 He passed Mary at the upper gate and never spoke to 
 her. 
 
 " He's been with her," said Mary. 
 
 But when Rachel called her she smoothed her bitter 
 
RACHEL MARR 361 
 
 face and went down to the village for Sam Burt, who 
 helped them to carry Sigurd into the house. 
 
 " He'll not die, Miss," said Burt ; " but who did it? " 
 
 And Mary's face was as white as death. 
 
 " Was this what she wanted him for ? " she asked ; and 
 but for John's having passed her that night she would 
 have told Rachel the truth. 
 
 " There's something between them. I'll go to Pento- 
 wan to-morrow." 
 
 But she did not go either the next day or the day after, 
 for Greer was at the farm all night, and in the early morn- 
 ing Winnie gave birth to a still-born child. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Old Simon brought the news of Mrs. Perran's disaster 
 to Morna, for though he had been discharged he slept 
 that night at Pentowan so that Anthony might think over 
 what he had said. But when things fell out as they 
 did and Simon saw his master set and white and fierce, 
 he was afraid to speak to him, and went away mourn- 
 fully to the village. The old man's heart was sad within 
 him, because he was leaving a place he had worked in 
 for seventeen years, and because he had hurt that which 
 belonged to Rachel Marr. 
 
 " If it had been the missis I could ha' stood by and seen 
 him devouring of her," said Simon ; " but 'twas the mas- 
 ter, and sack or none he's a good man, and the dog'd have 
 eaten him for sure. But that it was Miss Rachel's dog 
 do make me sorrowful, and if any can get Mr. Anthony 
 to take back his word 'tis she." 
 
 So with his cap in his hand and his eyes full of tears 
 he went early to Morna House, not knowing that he had 
 things to say that might alter the world for those who 
 dwelt there. He was met by Martha on the doorstep, 
 and she looked at him curiously, wondering what brought 
 him. 
 
 " You're early from Pentowan, Simon! " 
 
 " Aye, ma'am," he answered humbly ; " I be come to 
 
362 RACHEL MARR 
 
 beg pardon in the matter of Miss Rachel's dog, for the 
 master has sent me away after serving his father and 
 him for seventeen years." 
 
 Martha stared at him. 
 
 " 'Twas you hurt the dog? Oh, it's not good for you 
 to be here, then." • 
 
 The old man held up his hand. 
 
 " 'Twas saving Mr. Anthony, for the dog had him 
 down," he urged, and Martha bade him speak. The story 
 came out dolefully and with foolish confusions and much 
 lamentation about seventeen years of service. 
 
 " And so the missis whipped the dog and he nigh killed 
 her, and the whistling doctor's there and he came out on 
 the step and whistled — ^to be sure. And they do say she's 
 ill before her time and that the child be born dead." 
 
 And hearing this Martha ran straightway to Rachel, 
 leaving Simon standing in the yard. She had not yet 
 seen her mistress that morning, and she found her with 
 Sigurd, who lay on rugs by the fireplace in the book- 
 room. When Martha's eyes fell upon her the old woman 
 threw up her hands. 
 
 " You've been with the poor beast all night ? " 
 
 For Rachel was as wan as death. And yet her colour 
 was not due so much to vigil and fasting, though she had 
 watched without food the whole night through, as to the 
 rage of shame and anger that smouldered within her 
 heart. For John was Anthony's brother, and she had 
 been kind to him, and he had lived for weeks under the 
 hospitable shelter of her roof. And when she found 
 deep wheals upon Sigurd's brave head it had come to 
 her that there was no living creature in Morna or near it 
 who could have done this thing but Winnie. And the 
 dog carried an old collar and a few links of broken 
 chain. 
 
 " You've been with him all night! " 
 
 There was a strange look in Martha.'s face, and Rachel 
 saw it. 
 
 " You've something to tell me ? " 
 
 " Oh, aye," said Martha, " there's news, there's a par- 
 cel of news, and there's devils on this earth, and to my 
 
RACHEL MARR 363 
 
 mind a God that mocks them. Come and see old Simon, 
 standing gaping and sick within himself in the yard. 
 He's the man that nigh killed Sigurd." 
 
 She clutched Rachel's rigid arm. 
 
 "There's no fault in the poor old devil. Oh, but if 
 I'm wicked the Lord must put up with it. There's good 
 news for you from Pentowan, good news, or I'm a fool ! " 
 
 She whispered in Rachel's ear, pulling her down. And 
 Rachel held her hand to her heart. 
 
 " He's mine," she said. 
 
 She fell upon her knees by Sigurd and kissed the dog's 
 head, and he lifted himself up a little and licked her hand. 
 But when she rose Martha cried out : 
 
 " Don't look so like the dead I loved ! " 
 
 And Rachel smiled. 
 
 " She tied up my dog, and whipped him ! " 
 
 She went out to Simon and bade him speak, and the 
 old man told his tale, while she never spoke a word. But 
 Martha looked at her and not at Simon, though now he 
 spoke better, and put a certain hatred of Winnie Perran 
 into his words. 
 
 " And, oh. Miss, I was sorry to hurt the noble dog, but 
 I feared for Mr. Anthony, and I seemed to think them 
 that loved him would prefer the dog to die rather than 
 him. It was a terrible fight, and I never have seen 
 such in my born days. But I knowed well that Mr. An- 
 thony said with his eyes that he would fight it out him- 
 self. But after all a man's a man, and a dog's a dog, and 
 I had to strike. And so he said, ' Lemme see you no 
 more," and there's no one but you that he'll listen to, 
 and if you would speak for him to take me back, saying 
 that you forgive me, he'll do it." 
 
 He added simply : 
 
 " 'Tis common knowledge. Miss, that Mr. Anthony 
 will do aught you ask him ! " 
 
 And Rachel asked in a curious voice : 
 
 " How do you know I forgive you, Simon ? " 
 
 " 'Tis knowledge as common that you are just and 
 kind-hearted. Miss," said Simon, " and I served Mr. An- 
 thony and Mr. Anthony's father seventeen year, and I'm 
 
364 RACHEL MARR 
 
 over-old to hunt a new place. And there the horses know 
 me, and my heart would break to plough a new furrow 
 for any furrin farmer that doesn't know my ways. And 
 as to your forgiveness, Miss, I see it in your face." 
 
 But what he saw in her face was something more than 
 he knew, though Martha knew what it meant, and why 
 she smiled. 
 
 " Wait," said Rachel, and going into the house she 
 wrote for the first time in her life to Anthony, telling him 
 that Sigurd would not die, and that she wished him to 
 take back Simon. And as she wrote tears fell upon the 
 paper, and at the same time she was glad, and her 
 strength came back and mastered her, and in strange 
 illegible script she added at the end : 
 
 " It was I that she chained, and / that she whipped, 
 Anthony. I'll call to you at midnight ! " 
 
 And she took out her crucifix and kissed it. Then she 
 went back to Simon and gave him the letter. 
 
 " This is for Mr. Perran only," she said, and she saw 
 Martha's eyes upon her. 
 
 " You look strangely, Martha," she said when Simon 
 was gone. 
 
 " I looked to see what was in .your mind, Rachel." 
 
 "And did you see it?" 
 
 " I knew what was in your mother's," said Martha 
 very soberly ; " and her I loved no less than you ! " 
 
 The old woman went about her work again, while 
 Rachel sat with Sigurd, and every now and then she 
 burst out saying : 
 
 " I'm a wicked woman, as the world would say, but I 
 care only for her. What she wants she may have, if it 
 was gold dishes out of a church, or a man out of matri- 
 mony." 
 
 But Rachel said to herself, smiling: 
 
 " ' 'Tis common knowledge. Miss, that Mr. Anthony 
 will do aught you ask him.' " 
 
 And while she blessed the dog, Winnie cursed him, 
 and Greer whistled and said, quoting : 
 
 " ' Damn civilisation ! it makes cats eat their kittens, 
 sows eat their young, and women send their children out 
 
RACHEL MARR 365 
 
 to nurse,' and it makes us wise physicians save those we 
 should bleed to death." 
 
 And Simon told his news down in the village, which 
 by some chance had heard nothing, and old Steve cried 
 out to the world's surprise : 
 
 " By God, sirs, I begin to have hopes ! " 
 
 But when folks inquired what it was he meant he said 
 things which were irrevelant according to the universal 
 opinion. 
 
 " What I have hopes about," said Steve, " is a private 
 matter which may be public, and if it is some will hiss like 
 geese on a green when a man goes by. Here's Mr. Per- 
 ran gives a dog to our Miss Rachel, and Mrs. Perran ties 
 him up, and being a notable lady for a high temper, as 
 her maids say, she gets a coach whip and wales him. 
 And he breaks his chain and she is knocked over as stiff 
 and cold as a three days' dead skate on the beach. There- 
 upon Dr. Greer comes along, and the rest we know, and 
 some we don't know and some I suspect, but then being 
 the fool of the village I'm a wise man. And to go off on a 
 side issue, and to beat to windward, 'tis odd how the 
 women always do the courting. The poor things entice 
 men, as nature bids 'em, without knowing it, and half the 
 devil's tricks of the flesh are unknown to them. Ah, ah, 
 but the cradle's in their poor silly minds, and the sound of 
 it is music. I tell you the cradle's in their minds, singing 
 strangely. The unborn is king, and we're slaves. 'Tis 
 fine to think how things work together. Did you say, 
 Simon, that the dog had part of a broken chain on him ? " 
 
 " That's true," said Simon. 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " said Steve, " he's part of a chain. Who's 
 forging it? Who's God's blacksmith at this forge ? And 
 speaking of forges, puts me in mind of Jose, and Jose re- 
 minds me of cracked skulls, and cracked skulls make me 
 scratch my own head and remember that John Perran is 
 usually good for a drink about now. 'Tis all a chain, 
 good people ; we're all chained, and go clanking, talking 
 seriously of free will and grace and such things, all of 
 them as contradictory as I am of myself when I call you 
 fools and talk to you wisely." 
 
366 RACHEL MARR 
 
 He went drink-hunting, for the sun was high; and 
 though the village folk understood him not a whit, they 
 felt as heavy in their hearts as those who had more bitter 
 need of wisdom. 
 
 XIV 
 
 That sense of the working together of all things about 
 which Steve spoke to deaf ears, that only heard the fool- 
 ish side of wisdom, came home deeply to Rachel now. 
 And a bitter-sweet feeling of joy took hold of her, and 
 the world was bitter-sweet. The rage within her at the 
 insult put upon her by John Perran faded as she con- 
 sidered his strange madness and the reason of it, and 
 now that she knew that Winnie had chained up her dog 
 something grew within her that put the one thing and the 
 other together. The construction of the plot that rose 
 in her mind extinguished her rage against the man, for 
 in her sprang such reasoned and just rage against her 
 adversary that he was but a little thing, a mere incident, 
 less than a dog who was set on by vice to do murder. 
 
 " If I but knew ! " 
 
 And, even as it was, her heart was free to urge her as 
 she desired, for this woman of Pentowan had done so 
 cruel a thing to Sigurd. Anthony, too, was chained at 
 the farm, chained by his folly, and what whips she used 
 Rachel only guessed. She remembered he had cried 
 out : " And this woman is my wife ! " 
 
 The marked inevitable irony of tragic circumstance 
 dealt out Rachel's acts to her. She could give herself 
 life and give her true lover happiness. Whatever he had 
 said at sea under cover of the tumult of the elements 
 was truth so far as she desired to know it. What he 
 said else was false; it was but his religion speaking. 
 How could he go back, if once he entered into Paradise, 
 if once he left hell even for the pleasant fields of the 
 dear green earth? 
 
 And yet again, as she moved, pushed onward more 
 insistently by the passions of love and pity and a noble 
 
RACHEL MARR 367 
 
 hatred, towards his due deliverance from so dreadful a 
 marriage, dark signs within and around her, dim portents 
 as dreadful as those which came from dark oracles, bade 
 her linger, bade her fear. In all things dwelt tragedy; 
 even sweet life was leavened with it, and overflowed at 
 last into the dark pool of death. Children themselves, 
 the sweetest fruit of life, were but postponements of the 
 end ; age and old age and the natural decay of the bright 
 fire of the living soul were as sure as death itself. She 
 dwelt at dark hours in strange fierce agony at the 
 thoughts of such denial of immortality. The soul's life 
 was a white thing, a bloodless thing, a fiction abhorrent, 
 incredible, even when it seemed possible to her that such 
 life was real. And yet in her torture there arose along 
 with her passion for Anthony a growing passion for quiet 
 death itself. For the dreadful and exact opposite of pas- 
 sion drew her on ; she conceived death as a high deliver- 
 ance if only she were not alone. 
 
 " I could kill him ! " she said again, and she remem- 
 bered that before this she had had such words upon her 
 tongue. Such remembrances became portents; she had 
 a fear of her own hands, and trembled, for she recalled 
 her mother, and her mother's grief and her mother's end. 
 
 And what she remembered was for ever in old 
 Martha's heart. 
 
 " I'm afraid, oh, I'm afraid," said the old woman ; 
 "we're going down into the pit — ^there'll be a dreadful 
 end to this ! " 
 
 Till Sigurd was surely out of danger Rachel sat with 
 him each night, and instead of sleeping read in her books, 
 and walked the room, and if she slept at all it was only 
 for an hour or two after the long night was done. And 
 the night that she first had all to herself after this long 
 vigil was one that Martha slept not at all, for Rachel 
 moved from her own old room to her mother's, and 
 could not be induced to alter her fixed mind. 
 
 " What's in you to do this ? " asked Martha. 
 
 And Rachel did not answer. 
 
 " I ask you not to. Don't, my darling, don't ! " said 
 the old woman. But Rachel sat down by the window on 
 
368 RACHEL MARK 
 
 the old trunk which still held ancient gear and bright- 
 coloured clothes that had been her mother's. 
 
 "Why should I not?" 
 
 And Martha was as white as the wall. 
 
 " You're over-like her, girl. .Here she died ! And 
 here she lives," said Martha, shaking, " here she lives ! " 
 For as the darkness of the evening fell Rachel's face was 
 like the dead woman's strangely. 
 
 " Come away," said Martha, tugging at Rachel's 
 sleeve ; " it's a sad night of summer rain, and clouds are 
 dark, and if it thundered and there was lightning, I 
 should die to think of you here." 
 
 But Rachel was unmoved. 
 
 " You are foolish," she said. And she stayed where 
 she was till the night fell deeply over her woods and the 
 moaning trees dripped heavily. Martha came in when 
 she was in bed and sat down by her, and Rachel stroked 
 her hand. 
 
 " It's dark, very dark," said Martha ; " are you not 
 afraid?" 
 
 "Of what, Martha?" 
 
 " Of death." 
 
 " I'm not afraid," said Rachel. " Are you afraid ? 
 And you are old now, Martha." 
 
 But the old woman feared the dead and the living who 
 were like those on whom green grass grew. 
 
 " I'm nought to you," she said bitterly ; " you need 
 someone to tell your heart to. I see it breaking day by 
 day. Can't you tell me, your old, old nurse, what's in 
 you? I could be all you wish. You've no mother, but 
 you've me." 
 
 " You're very sweet and an old dear," said Rachel, 
 " but I can tell you nothing. I wish I could ! " 
 
 She spoke so wildly that Martha sat upon the bed and 
 took her in her arms. 
 
 " Speak, speak ! " she said. But Rachel, though she 
 held her closer, said nothing. 
 
 " Her heart's breaking for the fool I spoke to," said 
 Martha, " and I can't speak to her. And she can't speak. 
 Oh, why are women dumb when there's God's help in 
 
RACHEL MARK 369 
 
 speech, and wild words are better than tears ? If I could 
 only tell her my own old grief and offer her my own dead 
 child to nurse at her sorrowful heart ! But I'm a dumb 
 thing, and shame's hot even in an old witherling like 
 me!" 
 
 And kissing her she went away, and sat in her own 
 room without undressing. 
 
 " Fear's in me this night ! And strange things work 
 about us. She doesn't tell me anything. Will she sleep 
 this night?" 
 
 She took down her Bible and tried to read it, but thrust 
 it aside with strange and bitter impatience. 
 
 " Wherever I open it, there's a dreadful word for me. 
 Twice I've opened at the Witch of Endor, and thrice at 
 blood, and once where jealousy was cruel as the grave. 
 'Tis a lie to say there's always consolation in it. There 
 was nought for me long ago. Oh, I'm old, I'm old, but 
 my heart can bleed ! " 
 
 She walked her room uneasily, and heard the soft fall- 
 ing rain and the light sound of wind in the trees. 
 
 " I could live in the open, where there are no trees. 
 Wood they make coffins of — my heart runs on death. If 
 I dared go down to Rachel! But I dare not; she'd be 
 bitterly angry and bid me go. But she loves me, my dear 
 loves me. She has so much love for all and can spare me 
 mine, for all that bitter fool soaks her love like sand and 
 gives back nothing." 
 
 She opened her door and listened in the darkness to 
 hear if Rachel moved. 
 
 " Is she quiet, or was that the dog? The house cracks 
 at midnight ; it's as if feet were on the stairs. My dear's 
 feet are on a bitter path; they bleed, they bleed! Ah, 
 what's that?" 
 
 She strained trembling over the banisters, and over 
 them saw a white thing, and her heart failed her so that 
 she cried out lightly, where, without fear, she would have 
 screamed. 
 
 " She's walking in the passage, poor thing. I'll go 
 down to her. I must, and yet I tremble." 
 
 She crept down stairs and found no one. 
 
370 RACHEL MARR 
 
 'Tis dark ; I could ha' sworn- 
 
 But as she spoke she saw Rachel walking. 
 
 " Rachel ! " she cried weakly, but Rachel did not 
 answer. 
 
 " She's in her sleep ! Oh, oh, this is how she sleeps ! " 
 
 She crouched down upon the steps in terror. 
 
 " My God ! it's not her — 'tis her mother," said Martha. 
 " Here's dead passion up again out of the uneasy grave. 
 I could ha' sworn 'twas her, and now I know what the 
 end is ! Now I know ! " 
 
 And once again Rachel paced the passage, and it 
 seemed to the feared watcher in the shadows that her eyes 
 were open. 
 
 " Out of her mother's death room into the passage 
 those dear dead feet walked! Oh, it's cruel, it's cruel; 
 there's nothing in man, and God's cruel as man that wor- 
 ships. Oh, I fear her. If her eyes looked on me I'd die, 
 if she touched me now my flesh would creep. My bones 
 are cold, my marrow's water. I'm a poor thing to help, 
 but I'll do my best again. Send her back to her rest, O 
 God ! And give the dead peace, and give it me ! " 
 
 She ran upstairs with frightful nimbleness and got to 
 her room and closed the door against her she loved most 
 in the full world. 
 
 " I'm a coward, that I am ! God, listen, and give her 
 love or give her death. I've had neither, neither! It's 
 bitter, but she's as strong as a thousand and her heart's 
 gold, and her soul loves children, and You can forgive 
 her ! " 
 
 She knelt shaking at her bedside, and prayed, wrestling 
 with a silent God and with terror which had voices in 
 every drop of rain and every sound of the hollow night. 
 
 But at dawn she crept down once more and found 
 Rachel in her room sleeping with a smile upon her lips. 
 
 XV 
 
 For Winifred Perran all agony of body was much abated 
 by the belief that she had triumphed through her poor 
 
RACHEL MARR 371 
 
 instruments. She suffered and grinned, and when relief 
 came at the last she smiled in comfortable languor and 
 hugged such solace as her soul delighted in to her bosom. 
 She nursed no child, but at her breasts unnatural joy fed, 
 and there was that in her face which made Greer damn 
 civilisation and the knowledge which assuaged and ended 
 her torment. Yet when her pain was over, and life be- 
 came desirable again, she had her fears of Anthony. If he 
 learnt what she had done, and he might learn it, she saw 
 her hold upon him would be loosed, for now the child by 
 which she held him closest was that which was not; and 
 she grieved not for the child, but for this and this only. 
 
 "And he knows I beat that brute," she said, " and he 
 gave it to her. What's she like now ? Oh, if I could but 
 see John again ! " 
 
 But John lay at George Perran's, and was a broken man 
 of shame. 
 
 " If I could see John ! But I'll speak to Anthony — 
 he's my husband. When she's done for he'll forget her. 
 I'll hold him! 'Tisn't over yet, but she'll not get him! 
 Is she howling now ? " 
 
 She sent for Anthony and he came at the second mes- 
 sage, but was so stern and strange and white that she 
 trembled. 
 " He's bitter, but — we're married ! " 
 He stood away from the bed, and his heart was loath- 
 ing, conceived and living, within his bosom. And the 
 concealment of his loathing wrenched him, for his just 
 wrath was too fierce to loose upon her as she lay ill, and 
 yet a dull fire burnt in his eyes, and when she thrust forth 
 a white hand he bit his lips and looked over her. She 
 saw his lips move, and her uneasy mind half guessed his 
 agony. 
 
 " Here in my wife's room I think of her, think of 
 Rachel. I see this wedded woman, a cruel thing — I'm her 
 husband — oh, fool! Help me, God, here in this pit, 
 among these thorns of fire. If Rachel draws me, here I 
 am repelled. There's no soul that's clean on earth for 
 me but Rachel's. God and man and my own ignorance 
 have put me here to try me. Till I was married I'd lived 
 
372 RACHEL MARR 
 
 alone; I knew nothing; I'd beaten down desire and 
 checked it. It grows, it grows, and out of her cruelty 
 this wife of mine has slain her own child that was mine. 
 God, hear me and forgive, when I say I'm glad of that. 
 I was one living pain to think she should bear me a child ; 
 I was one wound, one aching scar." 
 
 She whimpered as he stood there, and he brought his 
 face to some composure. 
 
 " What is it you want? " 
 
 As he spoke he said : " She told Rachel I and she 
 laughed at nights because she loved me! But she's my 
 wife — oh, God ! " 
 
 " I've been very ill," said Winnie. 
 
 " Aye," said Anthony 
 
 She cried out: 
 
 " 'Tis my own fault ; I was wicked, Anthony. You'll 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 It was not wholly acting. She feared him, and, accord- 
 ing to the low endowment of her soul, had a passion for 
 him which was not all jealousy. But as she spoke her 
 double mind worked, and she smiled secretly, knowing 
 that to appeal for pardon was to strike him in the weakest 
 place of his strong nature. He looked at her with bent 
 brows. 
 
 " Forgive you ! — for what ? " 
 
 Aye, for what? The agony within him worked again, 
 and she saw that he appealed for help where she found 
 none, and asked for none. 
 
 " I've been a beast," she said. " I was angry and cruel, 
 and my anger got the best of me." 
 
 Tears came easily to her and she wept softly. 
 
 "You'll forgive me?" 
 
 He stood amazed at the difficulty of his own soul that 
 loved mercy. 
 
 " I can't forgive her," he said to himself. " Here's 
 heavy thoughts in me and dark hatred, and I loathe her. 
 Oh, she was cruel; there was a red beast in her heart — 
 I've seen it before. Oh, I can't." 
 
 He struggled visibly. Passions moved across his soul 
 like storms on a waste of sea; he choked, and his breath 
 
RACHEL MARR 373 
 
 came in gusts, as rage rose and was beaten down. Now 
 he lost sight of her and stood opposed to God, and in 
 great argument appealed for justice, and justice only. 
 But he saw God in the clouded mirror of his heart, and 
 saw that which was not. 
 
 " My duty's to forgive." 
 
 She watched him, and played with tears. The inward 
 tears he shed were blood, for natural justice yet lived 
 within him, though he had strangled it as he had stran- 
 gled the brave heart who might have freed him. 
 
 " To be hard ; to leave her ; to cry out, ' This is just ! ' 
 and there is Rachel waiting! Some would yield. My 
 heart breaks ! She spoke to me that midnight in words 
 that were fire. And on the sea we lay in each other's 
 arms and death was close! We smiled on death. Sin's 
 in my heart — I did wrong ! wrong I " 
 
 And Winnie sobbed. 
 
 " You've always been so good — it's easy for you to be 
 good!" 
 
 He burst out into violent speech, speech that was torn 
 out of his bosom ; for against his very heart lay Rachel's 
 one letter. 
 
 " Oh, God ! don't, don't say that ! I'm as great a sinner 
 as lives " 
 
 She flinched — was it then possible ? 
 
 " as lives, for I that should forgive — find it hard. 
 
 Oh, woman, you don't know " 
 
 He struggled hard to speak. 
 
 "What don't I know?" she asked; "what don't I 
 know ? " 
 
 " The heart you torture," said Anthony ; " here, in me, 
 like a living thing! You're my wife, and I, if I could 
 speak " 
 
 He stood over her with clenched hands and the veins in 
 his face were like knots. 
 
 " Oh, if you were well " 
 
 He turned away to the wall and said nothing. But he 
 prayed. 
 
 " Because I am Thine, O Lord, and because I could 
 tear her with my hands, and because my gorge rises at 
 
374 RACHEL MARR 
 
 her, and because if I forgive her, I shall for ever renounce 
 the great gift of love and live solitary but dedicate to 
 Thee, I do forgive her." 
 
 Through the window he looked across to Morna, now 
 in shadow. On the far hills beyond lay the shining bene- 
 diction of the sun. 
 
 "I do forgive her!" 
 
 As the shadow darkened in the room and in his own 
 heart, he turned to her. His voice was faint and yet 
 austere, and there was in it the quality of pity, and a 
 touch of the fatal benediction which lay upon him. 
 
 " Say no more ; I do forgive you ! " 
 
 He laid his hand upon her brow, and that which wa* 
 good within her was moved to pity and that which was 
 evil rejoiced. 
 
 " You are good," she sighed. " Oh, Anthony, you'll 
 never leave me? I should die." 
 
 " How could I leave you ? " he asked harshly. " Are 
 you not my wife ? " 
 
 She heard his footsteps pass down the passage. 
 
 "Wherever he goes — I'm his wife; wherever he goes 
 I'm his wife." 
 
 She lay back upon her pillows. 
 
 " What's Rachel now ? She's a crying lost thing, and 
 shame will eat her heart. I know her. She'll not live. 
 She set herself against me and I've won ! " 
 
 She thought again of Anthony and smiled. And on the 
 morrow she sent for John, but got no answer, for the man 
 was sane and his heart was broken. 
 
 XVI 
 
 Old George Perran had fine work, as he swore, with 
 John ; work that made him more sober than was now his 
 wont; for he was well on the slope of alcohol that leads 
 to the pit. And but for one thing he might have been 
 there by now. 
 
 " Company saves me, love of company saves me," said 
 Silenus chuckling ; " and as lonely drinking leads to quick 
 
RACHEL MARR 375 
 
 intoxication, which is no such amusement as the very dry 
 may think, I never drink so much and so steady as when 
 I've a fellow at the bottle. But now Johnny is a devil of 
 a chap! One drink makes him mad, so he won't take 
 even one. And here we sit, and I'm sulky and he walks 
 up and down groaning. I did think when I shunted Win- 
 nie on to a new track at Pentowan that I was bound for 
 the haven of rest. But, truth of God, I might as well 
 have a lunatic asylum here as John." 
 
 The fine streak in John's character showed itself now, 
 when he was broken, wrecked, and desperately unhappy. 
 He perceived that he had been played on like any pipe by 
 the woman at Pentowan, and he saw into her nature as he 
 had seen into it of old. He cursed her to her father. 
 
 "That daughter of yours," he said; "that daugh- 
 ter " 
 
 Old Silenus grinned uneasily. 
 
 " Her mother was too good for me, and I suppose she 
 is my daughter. What did I say to you — or was it to 
 you? He's a brave man that has daughters. I knew 
 about her and about you, my Johnny Rover. I hate her 
 — never was easy with her in the house. But what has 
 she done to you now ? " 
 
 " Oh, if I could say ! " cried John. " If I don't believe 
 in God, lean in a devil." 
 
 " You know enough women," said George. " Oh, 
 there are she-devils if there are no cock-birds of the infer- 
 nal breed. It's a proper terror to think a man may love 
 and be the father of hate. This is the damnablest world, 
 and you won't drink and help me forget it. 'Tis time 
 you got out of the country. Go, my son, go." 
 
 " I'll go soon," said John ; " I've got a notion. Don't 
 laugh, George, old man, but I've a notion to do right once 
 in my life." 
 
 George Perran stared. 
 
 "Why should I laugh? By God! I don't laugh at 
 good people, nor at the repentant. If I don't repent my- 
 self, it's because I've nought to repent of. Do good, my 
 boy; do the right thing and make everyone damned un- 
 happy. That's the truth of things — if you do wrong 
 
376 RACHEL MARK 
 
 (what is wrong?) nought goes right, and if you do right 
 everything goes wrong. It's the maddest world, and old 
 Steve and I are the only wise men in it. When you've 
 gone I'll have him up and we'll drink ourselves to death. 
 I'm sad you're going, Johnny ; I'm a miserable old beggar, 
 I am ; I could shed tears." 
 
 He looked at John fiercely from under his shaggy 
 brows. 
 
 " If I did you'd say I was drunk." 
 
 " Not I," said John ; " I know you love me, old boy. 
 I could shed tears myself. Your damnable daughter has 
 made me hurt the one thing I love — that's the truth of it. 
 What kind of a man did old Jose make of me? When I 
 look back and remember how I laughed and was happy 
 I could think I died and am now in hell ! " 
 
 He stared at his poor old bestial friend. 
 
 " I was a wild chap, I know, but for all my racketing, 
 George, I never laid traps for women. I laughed and 
 they smiled, and when the moon went behind a cloud if 
 they cried they were soon comforted. There's a lot of 
 nature in them. But now I've hurt a soul, and not only 
 my own, if I had one. I never thought to do what I 
 thought wrong, but I've done it. And it hurts like fire. 
 And Winnie played on me — she knew my weakness. I'll 
 swear she drugged me." 
 
 " Ah," said George, " did she ? I can believe it ; I 
 could tell you, and she's my daughter. Once I forbade 
 her to go out ('twas when you were away), and she 
 mixed gin with my water and made me as drunk as any 
 fiddler's trull. Then out she went, the devil knows where. 
 Is it true they mostly drown shes in China when they're 
 born ? If it's true I wish this had been a damn sight fur- 
 ther east or west. You don't tell me what you did." 
 
 " I never will, but — I did nothing. 'Twas the wish in 
 me, and now the shame. I'm red with it." 
 
 He went into the open air and wandered. 
 
 " Love me ! Oh, that was a lie. She loves Anthony of 
 course. If she kissed me it was Anthony she kissed, poor 
 girl. What can I do for her to ease my own heart ? If I 
 could give her Anthony I would now. By God ! ■" 
 
RACHEL MARR 377 
 
 He stood and stared at the sea. 
 
 "Anthony's mad about her and she about him. Yes, 
 he can suffer, and shame has cooled my blood. I wonder, 
 I wonder " 
 
 He bit his lip, and the scar upon his face which was 
 growing pale now flamed. 
 
 " If I could pay Winnie for this ! Or is she now too 
 set? Perhaps she has a passion for Anthony; it's in her 
 nature to hold what hates her and to play with it. She 
 whipped the poor devil of a dog; she may use whips on 
 him. For she used to want the dog and was never good 
 to anything she wanted. I'll try, by the Lord, I'll try, 
 and if I fail I'll do the right thing and go." 
 
 He laughed with bitterness and slapped his thigh. 
 
 " I'll take her if she'll come, and I'll leave her planted 
 ten thousand miles away. I'm rich enough, and she 
 knows it. I'm worth twenty times what Anthony is ; I 
 can coin money, or could, and she loves it. Oh, if I 
 could only see Rachel once more and be sure she's for- 
 given me. I was a madman, an unimaginable beast. 
 Poor old George, too. I begin to believe in sin, or in the 
 malignity of nature itself. Now I can see heights — 
 Rachel's there and so's poor old Anthony. And he thinks 
 he's a bad man to love such a woman. It's salvation to 
 love such and be loved again. I must see her once more, 
 but I'm ashamed to face her eyes in daylight." 
 
 The day was fine after two days' rain, and he walked 
 upon the cliffs till he came to a hollow of smooth turf, 
 sweet and fine. On the edges of the hollow bracken was 
 newly unfurled and gorse flamed bright as burnished 
 gold. 
 
 " Here I used to meet Mary. Poor little treacherous 
 devil — she went tale-bearing to Winnie. But I suppose 
 she loves me as far as she can. Her love's a puddle to 
 the sea of such as Rachel. But the sea's not for me. 
 Perhaps the puddle is, after all. The boy's fine and 
 healthy; I might love him — he's been in Rachel's arms 
 often enough." 
 
 His head ached, and he lay down quietly and after a 
 while fell fast asleep and slept heavily. For since he had 
 
378 RACHEL MARR 
 
 met Rachel in the wood he had had a quick fever of wake- 
 fulness upon him. It was after sundown when he woke, 
 and he went back to George's house and ate soberly with 
 the old man. 
 
 " You're off soon ? " said George. 
 
 " Soon ! " replied John ; " any moment, it might 
 -be." 
 
 " I'll never see you again, Jack ! " 
 
 And John reached out his hand. 
 
 "What of that, George? what of that? — I'm worth- 
 less." 
 
 " You're all I've got," said George. 
 
 And the old man and the young one sat together in 
 silence till it was nigh upon nine. 
 
 " I'm going down to the village," said John ; " I want 
 to see someone. I shan't go down much oftener." 
 
 " I shall go once more," said George. " It's on the 
 way to the churchyard." 
 
 The night was dark for the time of the year, as John 
 went down to the Cove, for heavy clouds had come up in a 
 calm and there was the brooding heavy melancholy of 
 a thunder storm in the air. The sea inside the claws of 
 the Cove was as calm as a sheltered pond, and in it rare 
 stars, discovered by the shifting devil's dance of clouds, 
 shone like flowers in some magic mead. A thin new 
 moon drifted in the west, tossing like a keel in dark 
 waters ; beneath it shone the faint afterglow of evening, 
 melting in the purple blue of thunder weather. 
 
 " Whether it breaks or no, there's what the men call a 
 thunder planet hereabouts," said John. " I feel the storm 
 in my head and in my nerves. I to have nerves! It's 
 strange. What's a man? Here's old Jose forging 
 another perhaps." 
 
 He looked into the shop and saw Jose blowing at his 
 bellows. The fierce white light danced upon the ridges 
 and hollows of the man's worn face, and made him look 
 unearthly. John spoke lightly: 
 
 " You served me a fine trick with that hammer of yours, 
 Jose. I don't know who I am or where I'm heading. If 
 it's any help to you I don't mind saying I believe in the 
 
RACHEL MARR 379 
 
 devil now, if I don't in God. And the devil's a she, Jose ; 
 she's feminine." 
 
 And Jose let the fire die down. When he was in dark- 
 ness he spoke. 
 
 " If there's bad there's good, sir. I'm sorry now I 
 struck you." 
 
 " I wonder whether I am," said John. " I see things 
 through the crack in my skull that I never as much as 
 suspected." 
 
 He marched off towards Morna House and went in the 
 back way as all the world did, and asked Martha if Rachel 
 would see him. 
 
 " I'll ask her," said Martha. But when she came back 
 she shook her head. 
 
 " She's shut up with her books and the dog, Mr. John, 
 and she'll not come out or let me in." 
 
 John leant against the doorpost and nodded un- 
 happily. 
 
 " Has she ever told you what she thinks of me, 
 Martha?" 
 
 " She thinks as the rest of us do," answered Martha 
 sharply. " You're a might-have-been." 
 
 "How's Mary?" 
 
 " She's a bitter trial to me. I wish she'd never entered 
 the house." 
 
 "Shall I take her away?" 
 
 " Take what you will, sir. I can't stay talking." 
 
 " Good-night, Martha. I'll take myself then." 
 
 But he never left the grounds, and knowing that Sigurd 
 was sick and in the house he went fearlessly, and sat in 
 the. wood, under Rachel's pines. 
 
 " My place of shame," he said. " How could I have 
 been so mad, so much a beast — aye, and so much a fool ? 
 My face is hot when I think of it, and Jose's mark bums." 
 
 The night brooded heavily over the earth, and the ten- 
 sion of the threatening storm tried his heart and brain. 
 
 " If I could only see her once ! But I've no courage. 
 What a fool I've been, and what a fool poor Anthony is. 
 There's something gigantic in him, something monstrous. 
 Oh, to think that she adores him, and he's in the claws of 
 
38o RACHEL MARR 
 
 that she-devil. White rabbit, poor old George called harl 
 She was pale and now she's red. She's a blood-sucker: 
 I could believe I might come back and find her bloated 
 like a she-spider with Moma's corpses in her web. It's 
 his religion holds him. God! There's more religion in 
 a true woman's bosom than in all the books which could 
 be crammed into the deep sea! If I go, what will hap- 
 pen? If I stay, what? If I stay I shall drink with 
 George and go up and strangle Winnie, but if I go 
 Anthony and Rachel will meet some night in the wood, 
 and his heart will crack. Such a man can't last out, 
 there's such a magnet in her that she'll draw, she'll draw ! 
 Look at me, and she didn't love me ! If she'd loved me 
 I'd have walked a red-hot world through to bring my 
 scorched body to her. I'd have swum seas, climbed the 
 dark skies. There's no crime I'd have stopped at; I'd 
 have used crime like a tool ; I'd have riven walls asunder 
 with my nails. Will he last with his religion? There's 
 steel for you; there's martyr's hooks; he's racked and 
 won't scream. But he will, unless I go courting to 
 Winnie and get her to go with me. I'll try, but she 
 won't ; she hates Rachel too much. I must do something 
 for Rachel. Oh, this is a mad wood, a mad world of 
 passions. I'm all of a shake and my brain's boiling like 
 crackling fat in a pan. There's thunder and lightning. 
 Come, storm, come ! A storm's as good as a great drink 
 to me. It's God's hammer on my skull. I see things, 
 I see things ! " 
 
 He rose and staggered as the thunder pealed. But no 
 rain fell. 
 
 " A dry storm and short," said John. " I'll look at her 
 window — kneel down to her house and perhaps she'll look 
 out. I want to see her once more. If there's an atom 
 of good in me it's hers. I'll nourish it with tears after 
 this." 
 
 In the dark house there was no more peace than out of 
 it. Mary went to bed early, driven out of the kitchen 
 by Martha's bitter tongue, for now the sweetness in the 
 old woman turned to acid easily and she grew fierce. 
 
 " I thought our dark hours were over when my poor 
 
RACHEL MARR 381 
 
 darling died," said Martha ; " when she took her soul in 
 her hands and leapt to God knows what. I thought 
 there'd be peace, and that I should wither quietly while 
 Rachel grew as sweet as any. Now she's not sweet; she 
 walks at night and smiles so. There's a steady deep smile 
 in her face now which was her mother's. I could scream 
 at it. And here's the month that her mother died. The 
 month — oh, almost the day, when I looked through the 
 door and saw the poor dear's blood run. Mine ran cold ; 
 it's cold now, and here there's thunder crackling. There 
 are times I wonder if I'm alive — if this house is real or 
 something that one dreams of. God help us! this is a 
 house of love ! I could wish there was no such thing as 
 love in the world: it's a fever — it's a disaster. Oh, that 
 mad fool at the farm ! Here's Rachel praying, and dark 
 things work about me : I fear the passages and the wind 
 and the sound of rain." 
 
 She sat late by the dying fire. 
 
 " By this time I might ha' sat here with her child and 
 she pale and happy, and that Anthony man looking like 
 a king. He has good eyes and a fine mouth, and the look 
 of a man. I could ha' sat by her and held her hand and 
 said, ' Here's your child, darling ; oh, it has a fine look of 
 its father,' and she would have laughed so sweetly, and 
 her pale face would ha' been rose when her man came in. 
 Mine's dead — mine's in the sea, and my babe is mould. 
 I could ha' lived again with hers. She'll nurse none, and 
 my dry old bosom will never cherish her heart's blood. 
 It's cruel, it's cruel, and I'm an old woman. I could 
 rest, I could rest ! " 
 
 The dry storm raged afar off upon the sea, and the hot 
 glare of lightning split the darkness. But the thunder 
 was low and only muttered, rolling in the vast opaque 
 obscurity of the renewed night. 
 
 "She'll not fear it— I'll to bed," muttered Martha. 
 " It's over-late and I need sleep and I get dreams. They 
 crowd about me now, as I lie, they crowd and say things. 
 I see her at nights, and my own dear dead man comes 
 crowned with death weed o' the sea. There's no such 
 ease in being a Christian woman as there was, when such 
 
382 RACHEL MARR 
 
 dreams come. Can one pray to God when one's icy witH 
 old fears ? " 
 
 And outside John Perran stood in the garden under the 
 shadow of the trees that edged the outer pasture. He 
 looked up at a room in which a feeble lamp shone. 
 
 " That's hers," he said. " My far-off woman, my de- 
 light ! The beast of my heart seems buried now ; I could 
 kneel!" 
 
 And Rachel looked out but did not see him, for even 
 when the lightning gleamed he was in the darkness. She 
 paced the room ceaselessly, and the stream of her 
 thoughts was like a ceaseless flood. 
 
 " I'm young, and so old. Why is it? Beauty dies out 
 of me, and the pain of its going tears me. Yet after that 
 night at sea I was beautiful. He held me close, close. 
 If I'd died then!" 
 
 But against death her body even yet revolted with 
 incredible passion. 
 
 " I want to live, and I see things now so clear. I see 
 him and her. I've no dimmest thought of mercy for her 
 now. I know she set John on me — I can hear her. And 
 the poor dog ! oh, my heart bursts to think of him. And 
 he might have killed Anthony — ^might have torn his 
 throat out. I'll know the truth and tell him. She had 
 shame laid up for me, and played on a wounded madman. 
 I can pity him. There's no thought in me against any 
 living creature but that thing of Pentowan. But her 
 child's nothing; she'll remember that. I'm glad, I'm 
 glad ! It was fire within me to think his child would lie 
 in his arms, and make him love it. Any child on earth 
 but one I could love — but that I could have laid in the 
 frost ! Oh, Anthony ! " 
 
 She paced the room again, and as she went by the table 
 took up the crucifix. 
 
 " Was it this night my mother died ? And even then I 
 loved him, and he used to come and talk to me. He 
 smiled then — I remember he laughed. I've not seen him 
 smile since he wedded that woman. Marriage is unholy 
 sometimes; here's the proof of it. Can a man wed and 
 never smile and the state be holy ? I'd have warmed hi§ 
 
RACHEL MARR 383 
 
 heart and warmed my own that's cold. I'm a wretched 
 woman! Mother, I'm wretched. I know I came to you 
 in grief and you never smiled on me. There's a dreadful 
 thought: if her smile had touched me I might have been 
 all I am not — I might have loved all gentle creatures as I 
 do now and have been gentle. She set me out in the frost, 
 and there's hot fire within me. I'll call to Anthony ! He 
 said I must not; he said he could hear me across these 
 wide fields. He shall hear me, if it's across the world — 
 across a grave ! Oh, there's room for many graves in 
 one of my fields, and one little grave will hold my body, 
 and all my heart that's big and bursts ! He's suffering ; 
 he's in agony. I was so happy in his arms and the sea a 
 grave beneath us. Now he'll be with her and his heart 
 will shrink. Oh, oh, is there any disgrace in me to love 
 him and pity him ? I was his long ago and she stole him. 
 I'll call, I'll call." 
 
 Holding her crucifix in her hand she ran to the open 
 window with all her soul aflame. And as she reached it a 
 golden shimmer of sheet lightning filled the firmament, 
 and her great garden of deep shadow was a flame of soft 
 and wonderful light. In the middle of the light she saw 
 a dark figure and she cried out in accents that filled the 
 returning darkness with lamentable and joyful music. 
 He who was within the shadow cried : 
 
 " Rachel ! " 
 
 And she answered, " Anthony, Anthony ! " but even as 
 she said the word that lay nearest to her heart, the light- 
 ning again played upon the darkness and she saw that it 
 was his brother, and in an access of anger and despair 
 she threw up her arms, saying : 
 
 "Go, go!" 
 
 And as he turned away in grief unutterable she heard 
 a movement behind her, and turning she saw Martha in 
 her nightgown, and when the old woman saw her she 
 screamed, and ran to her crying out strange and dreadful 
 things about the dead. 
 
 "Is she in the house and does she cry out? Put that 
 awful thing away — there's red blood on it, dripping blood 
 upon it 1 " 
 
384 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And Rachel, remembering how her mother died, held 
 the old woman close and shook like a leaf, for she was 
 clad in black, and the white cross was at her heart, and 
 Martha's hands were as cold as the hands of death. 
 
 And an hour later Anthony himself stood in the garden 
 saying : 
 
 " If this is earth, O God, how shall I fear hell? " 
 
 But if she had called to him he never called aloud to 
 her out of his garden of agony. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Where two blades of grass live there may grow the red 
 flowers which make Gethsemane. Anthony had his soli- 
 tary hour of anguish and went back to what the world 
 called his home in the calm which comes to believing 
 hearts, what time their humanity dies down within them, 
 and they see visions beyond the horizon of their daily 
 faith. Nourished by his blood white lilies grew, for the 
 man had a great heart, and he pitied what he hated ere 
 the dawn came. But for John's hour of mfinite pain 
 there was no recompense. He was more of the earth ; his 
 old self flourished in his new heart, and he had no pity 
 for those who now seemed to him more bestial than the 
 beasts. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there's sin," he said, " it's hurting others, 
 it's being cruel, it's being unjust. It has nothing to do 
 with Anthony's God. Sin's a human thing ; it's the score 
 one marks up for one's own paying. But there's nothing 
 cruel in killing the cruel ; nothing unjust in tricking liars. 
 If I have half the tongue I had once I can fool Winnie. 
 Once she was as fond of me as her blood let her be. 
 She's grown subtle, but she loved ease, and I've money. 
 That she loved always. What's her love for Anthony? 
 Now I know it's hate for Rachel. Oh, such love ! " 
 
 He spent that day in the house pacing his room. When 
 old George came to beg his company the young man 
 raved. And then in an access of pity he put his hands on 
 George's shoulders and said: 
 
RACHEL MARR 385 
 
 " Old boy, old boy, can't you see I'm bad? Be good to 
 me and let me fight it out alone." 
 
 He went up to Pentowan Farm as the sun went down, 
 for he saw Anthony, whom he had not met face to face 
 since they quarrelled upon the high cliff going to 
 Morna. 
 
 " I'm doing much for you, Anthony," said John. " Oh, 
 much if I succeed. Did Jose knock all my cunning out 
 of me? Now it's hard to be cool. Once I laughed at 
 anger ; now it makes me grin like a savage. I'll try ! " 
 
 He found Winnie on her couch, and she stared hard 
 and eagerly at him. But for answer to her questions he 
 threw up a careless hand and turned its palm uppermost. 
 
 " Do you think I'm mad, Winnie, my love of old days ? 
 Well, I'm not now, but I was when I was here." 
 
 " You've nought to tell me then ? " said Winnie sul- 
 lenly. "You failed?" 
 
 " No, I succeeded in finding out my own folly, my 
 child," he answered lightly ; but the red scar burned, and 
 his eyes were hard as steel. " I can't abide women who 
 love other men, Winnie. I get cold as ice when I hear 
 a fond name murmured. If Venus came out of the foam 
 as fresh as a heavenly oyster, I'd offer her pepper and 
 vinegar, but not my love if she talked even idly of 
 another demigod like me." 
 
 "Did she talk?" 
 
 " Aye, my white sea-gull," he murmured, " and of 
 whom her fond murmurings were you know, though you 
 fooled me. Anthony's more to her mind than John. Oh, 
 Winnie, but you've grown clever since the days I'll not 
 talk of. And yet you're not so wise. Anthony's a poor 
 fool and will be poor all his day, tied to a plough, muddied 
 in a furrow. Why didn't you wait till I came back, all 
 golden as I am? I used to dream of you in a golden 
 country ! " 
 
 He sighed and she stared hard, half-believing, half- 
 incredulous. But she went back upon his words bitterly. 
 
 " She spoke to you of Anthony ? " 
 
 " Aye, and my heart froze — I went clear cold. God, 
 what a fool you are, Winnie, to care for a man that loves 
 
386 RACHEL MARR 
 
 another woman and hates the sight of you. You that ate 
 my heart are his poison. And it makes you vicious! 
 Lord, you that are so soft and sweet, you tell your mad 
 old lover lies, and all the time Mary carved my 
 name " 
 
 " Do you know that ? " she cried ; " how do you know 
 it?" 
 
 " I guessed it. It's as plain as Pentowan Head, as 
 plain as my nose. Look here, Winnie, listen and don't 
 think of your hates. What's Miss Hecuba to you and 
 you to Miss Hecuba? You hate her and you don't love 
 poor fool Anthony, and once, once, you did love me. 
 Listen! I've money, I roll in it and can make more. 
 I've farms you could put Pentowan in a thousand times 
 over. If one stole such as Pentowan from me I'd not 
 miss it. I've had my madness and it's over, and I've 
 come back to you. Come with me I " 
 
 But for the coldness which came out of his loathing for 
 her he acted well, and put some of the old fire into his 
 face, if not into his voice, and she listened, charmed at 
 the hot thought of her own enduring charm. It was 
 sweet to be courted and the thought of Anthony added 
 sweetness to it. Her cheeks grew red, her hands were 
 moist. 
 
 " Oh, the beast ! " cried John to himself. " Here's a 
 thing for me! To take her even a swift thousand miles 
 will be carrying weight. My knees will crack. And my 
 heart " 
 
 But if she could not love, and love she knew not, she 
 could hate, and to leave Pentowan was to die, to make the 
 others free. But in spite of that her cheeks had a rose 
 colour in them, they flowered. 
 
 " Is the door shut? You can kiss me, John." 
 
 The play and swagger of his outside mind died down. 
 Here was a most monstrous thing ! This woman, or this 
 no-woman, this succubus, this " white rabbit o' the 
 bracken," offered her red kissed lips, and he had but 
 to take them it might be to win the game he played 
 for Anthony's sake and the sweeter sake of Rachel whom 
 he loved. He knew this, saw the adulterous eye and the 
 
RACHEL MARR 387 
 
 red flag that meant surrender to come, and could not 
 budge. His heart was incredibly sick ; his gorge rose, his 
 entrails moved within him, and all the while his mind 
 bade him do what his body loathed. Jose had smitten a 
 soul into the man; of old he could have laughed, 
 would have leant over her mouth and laughed. Now 
 his mouth was full of hatred, burning like acid; he was 
 controlled, beyond himself, and saw the opportunity slip 
 and slide out of his grasp, because his eyes of steel were 
 wounding, bitter, full of gross and inconceivable insults 
 that a dull beast would have felt. He saw she woke out 
 of her desire for ready love, saw her face fix and the 
 colour go. The flag went down, her cheeks were white ; 
 she looked at him in strange suspicion, and swift as he 
 was, for she had grown swift of late, she touched upon 
 the insolent truth and was amazingly hurt by it. It was 
 incomprehensible if he had not always been a lying beast, 
 a laugher, a mocker, a fooler of poor women who were 
 weak. She started up, and resting on her elbow stared 
 hard, and he knew his assault was done for, because the 
 fort was warned and she discerned his unutterable 
 disgust. 
 
 " Touch her lips ! Oh, God, I'd rather rot in any 
 ditch ! " said John. 
 
 " You — ^you are lying to me," said Winnie. 
 
 There was red, there was scarlet in his scarred face. 
 The sudden relief that the way was barred, that not thus 
 could Rachel be helped, and that her own salvation must 
 come from herself, if it came at all, let his heart go, sorry 
 as he was for his brother and for her. 
 
 " God, I'd like to speak the truth to you," said John 
 suddenly. The room reeled ; he felt dizzy. " I'm looking 
 for words to tell you, looking for words that are fit to 
 clothe you with ! " 
 
 And Winnie quailed. 
 
 " You're mad. You asked me " 
 
 " I asked you," said the man, " I asked you ! Here's 
 a thing ! What was in my heart to ask this incarnation 
 of the vile to come with me? What was in my heart? " 
 
 He stood over her, and his voice was low and fierce ; it 
 
388 RACHEL MARK 
 
 stung like a whip. She knew she was under the hands ef 
 one little less than mad, for she had estimated his nature 
 and his new self since his hurt, and had played upon him. 
 
 " You liar, you harlot !" said John, as he wiped his 
 forehead ; " where are the words, where do they rot, in, 
 what puddle of filth, that I can hang them on her fore- 
 doomed carcase like dead weeds ? " 
 
 He struggled with himself for speech, and looked up 
 wildly as she shrank from his hot breath. 
 
 " I know what's wrong," he said ; " something's 
 wanting ! " 
 
 " I'll shriek," said Winnie ; " go, you fool, you beast ! " 
 
 "You'll shriek!" cried John; "why, that's it, that's 
 the very clue. I want someone to tell about you. I want 
 someone to hear of you. What's the use of telling you 
 the truth? you're so rotten that you'd laugh. You'll 
 shriek, will you? I'll call!" 
 
 He ran to the door, and opening it, called to the nurse, 
 who came running at the sound of his extreme passion. 
 
 " Come in," said John. And then he closed the door, 
 and pointed to Winnie on the couch, as he held the won- 
 dering nurse by the arm. 
 
 " Look at her, woman, look at her," he said. " I'm 
 speaking some truth to her. She wanted you, wanted 
 your help. She thought it might be that I'd foul my hands 
 by touching her " 
 
 " Sir, sir," said the nurse, but John was beyond any 
 power of control, and raved. 
 
 " This is the vilest woman, nurse, you ever handled. 
 There's no comparison for her. Don't think I can kill 
 her. This is a creature that outlives good people. She'll 
 be fat and ruddy when we are dead. Look at her mouth ! 
 If it could speak of itself it would confess such things! 
 She's a common woman, she's a liar to out-lie Sapphira, 
 she's a traitor, a plotter, a traducer; she hates the pure 
 and would put them in her own ditch. There's such vile 
 cruelty in her; she beat a dog and brought you here; 
 she's a thing to drug men. She drugged me the other 
 night. Her poor old father told me she ginned his water 
 so that she could creep out at midnight on some errand 
 
RACHEL MARR 389 
 
 you can guess at. Great God, and outwardly her flesh 
 is white and pink and has some soundness in it ! But she 
 reeks to me and to any man that has a thousandth part of 
 a soul — she reeks, she rots, she rots before my eyes ; oh, 
 God, I see her dissolve and steam ! Oh, that's the thing 
 she is, and coddle her now ; mop her up and go out and 
 buy a wash for your mind. Wash it clean. Oh, oh, if 
 only I could wash my own ! " 
 
 He flung the door open and went out and on the 
 threshold turned again, pointing at her with his finger. 
 His lips moved, but he said nothing, and so said it that no 
 curse and no bitterest thought left to the last could have 
 been half so intolerable an insult. And Winnie screamed 
 as he went, and her fear and passion choked her so that 
 her eyes made the nurse quail and the woman knew that 
 there was some dark truth at least in what this man had 
 said. She quivered as she touched her, and Winnie 
 almost struck her. 
 " Leave me and get my husband. Where is he ? " 
 While John talked fear had hold of her, mere physical 
 fear, for there was proof in the aspect of the man that 
 anything was possible. Now the insults that burned (and 
 there was no human hide they would not scar) wrought 
 her in her temporary weakness to a loose rage she seldom 
 yielded to. Her instrument of revenge had failed — had 
 broken in her hand, piercing her flesh, and she could have 
 tied John up and flogged him as she had flogged Sigurd. 
 "Where's Anthony?" 
 
 She desired to give pain, desired it urgently; a very 
 orgasm of desire worked within her. For once, truth 
 spoken to her before a stranger was like burning pitch 
 on bare flesh. 
 " I'll have him killed. Anthony, Anthony ! " 
 And when the man came at last and stood stern and 
 white and wondering beside her couch, she hated him as 
 she hated his brother. Her uneasy and unholy passion 
 for him quenched itself for the while wholly in rage. 
 " He and Rachel have brought this on me ! " 
 He bade the nurse leave the room, and then she 
 screamed at Anthony what John had done. 
 
390 kACMEL MAkk 
 
 " He wanted me to go away with him " 
 
 There was a strange spark of flame in her husband's 
 eye, and he trembled, saying nothing. 
 
 " You don't care ! He insulted me, poured insults 
 upon me when I cried out shame upon him. He said — 
 oh, he said — good God! speak, Anthony, won't you kill 
 him?" 
 
 She shook with the extreme of passion, and some pity 
 in the man moved at last : 
 
 " You're ill " 
 
 " He said I couldn't die, that I'd outlive decent folk. 
 Oh, there's no reason, he's a foul thing. You don't care, 
 but if I said what he's done to others, you'd rage, you'd 
 rage! I'll tell you " 
 
 She sat up and grasped his wrist, and pulled his re- 
 luctant face towards hers. 
 
 " He laughed at you, man ; mocked you, said you were 
 a fool. And he said you were welcome to someone now 
 if you'd take her ! " 
 
 She felt him shake and saw his eyes burn beneath his 
 drawn brows. He put out his hand and nipped her wrist 
 with fingers that were steel. 
 
 " You say " 
 
 She spat her words at him. 
 
 " I'm your wife ! He swears you — ^you are running 
 after that girl at Morna " 
 
 She felt the anguish in him, felt her very claws at his 
 heart and struck them in. 
 
 " I'm your wife — you'll be true to me, I know. But 
 he said you could take a thing he's no use for. He dared 
 to come to me after that " 
 
 She heard Anthony speak, and his voice was as the 
 voice of a stranger. It was strange to himself and veiy 
 dreadful. 
 
 " After what, woman, after what ? " 
 
 She took him by the collar and pulled him down and 
 spoke. And Anthony groaned. 
 
 " In the wood, in the wood," she added, panting ; " in 
 the dark o' night that evening of the dog. He made 
 Mary bring him here, enticing him — ask her. I found 
 
RACHEL MARR 391 
 
 him and would ha' let him go, but he growled; John was 
 with her then in the pines. He laughed and said so ; he 
 laughed!" 
 
 Here was a liar speaking, that he knew ; but there was 
 some truth in what she said, some instant foul corrobora- 
 tion. He had wondered at Sigurd being on the chain 
 that day in his old home. And John was mad. He 
 heard his brother's voice ring out : " I was thirty days in 
 her house, and I've come out with a heart of fire ! " " If 
 you trouble her I'll kill you." He heard his own voice 
 and heard John's : " I'd give my life for an hour of her 
 love!" 
 
 " Her heart's mine, you fool ! " 
 
 That was what he said, and he said it laughing wildly. 
 Now — now — oh, but his heart would burst, his brain go. 
 There was such a sudden change in him that Winnie 
 quailed. 
 
 "My God! " 
 
 " Is this truth— truth? " he cried. 
 
 " That woman heard. Call her in." 
 
 And when the nurse came in Winnie screamed to her 
 furiously : 
 
 " Did that man say horrible things — did he ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, 'tis true." 
 
 " You hear, you hear I Go, go ! " said Winnie. But 
 Anthony wrenched himself from her and threw her 
 back upon the couch and ran like a madman across the 
 darkening fields to Morna. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Over the eastern wood, hung so beautifully upon the 
 slope of the hill, the moon rose roundly, white of silver, 
 and the sunk day shone in the sun's great afterglow. So 
 might some foundering galleon heave aloft for one last 
 flaunt of pride her golden and crimson shining flag to 
 the mirror of the seas. The insurgent stars themselves, 
 at day's signalled departure, broke out in heaven ; the land 
 breeze moved upon the waters, breathing soft ; peace, like 
 
3f2 RACHEL MARR 
 
 a homing dove, settled upon the quiet world, and the 
 shadows of night unfolded their wings, and the murmur 
 of the night was music, and it seemed that all things were 
 good in the sight of Him who made them. " He giveth 
 His beloved " — peace. 
 
 Such monstrous peace as Anthony Perran had clothed 
 himself withal he now flung down. His peace had been 
 endurance : he had sweated blood, and making a desola- 
 tion of his soul and body had called it peace to God. His 
 tortured soul in rebellion renewed its ancient, its inherited 
 qualities. He had been swift in instant service to his 
 bitter duties, but here the man gave way ; he cried aloud 
 in agony both for Rachel and his own lost control. He 
 had suffered, had endured, had built walls against him- 
 self; had piled pyramids to point to the skies and to 
 heaven; had written books upon his heart; had been a 
 martyr in the arena, had overcome lions and been 
 crowned. A thousand times he had seen Paradise, a 
 thousand time the Pit, and had struggled onward to live 
 by the creed and the law and the spirit, yielding no jot, no 
 tittle, to the craving flesh, or to the piteous heart that cries 
 aloud in man. In this conflict, this living pain of abne- 
 gation, he had used himself utterly; there were no 
 reserves within him, none to call to, and now at the last 
 there was less of agony than fierce delight in the abandon- 
 ment of himself to passion. 
 
 " I will kill him," he said ; " if this is true, I'll kill him !" 
 
 The fibres of his heart thrilled ; there was so strange a 
 relief even in this agony that his body rejoiced, for body 
 and soul were disparted in a desperate disease. He ran 
 in bodily exultation ; his soul was sick for his beloved ; his 
 hands were on his brother's throat ; his soul mourned for 
 Rachel. 
 
 " My dear, my beautiful dear ! Oh, oh, oh, my heart 
 bursts! I'm sick — I'm dead — ^here's damnation! Oh, if 
 I'd taken her, if I'd trusted God, trusted Him to bring her 
 out of the path to hell — we'd have been hand in hand now 
 for Him. That devil — if he's hurt her — ^harmed her — if 
 he's spoken aught of shame! I see red stars: a bloody 
 
RACHEL MARR 393 
 
 moon that was silver: there's a red autumn on the un- 
 mown hay ! " 
 
 He breasted the quietly opposing slope out of the valley 
 and raced with emulous devils of wrath. He marked no 
 gate, but, going straight, burst through the quickset hedge 
 where it was thin and came into Rachel's garden. Run- 
 ning open-mouthed he panted heavily, and Sigurd heard 
 his footsteps and his breathing, and raised a faint alarm. 
 For now the dog was better; he lay in his own kennel 
 and came back hour by hour to his complete strength; 
 and even as he barked he whimpered, for he knew that 
 here was Anthony. But hearing him whimper fetched 
 Martha out, and Anthony almost ran into her as he came 
 round the corner of the house. 
 
 " Oh, sir " 
 
 He caught her by the arm. 
 
 " Speak, quick ! where's Rachel ? " 
 
 " In the garden — the rose garden — oh, sir, I'd like to 
 speak with you ! " 
 
 He left her, and she stayed open-mouthed, wondering, 
 afraid. 
 
 " What's this, what's this ? His face was white as lime 
 — white, and he runs ! " 
 
 He burst across a flower-bed and came on Rachel seated 
 on the steps of her quiet house, opposing her own deep 
 loneliness to the full company of heavenly stars. Against 
 the gate by the wood, new since John's blood had stained 
 it, leaned Mary, whom he saw not; over the wood hung 
 the lamp of the moon, all beaten silver; there came one 
 gleam from the deep pool of the Cove, a gleam as of 
 some great silver fish caught in the net of the night. It 
 was a haunt of peace, and the scent of roses filled the air 
 as she who tended them sprang to her feet and cried out 
 to this her lover. He ran in upon her headlong and 
 caught her in his arms. Such sweetness lay in revenge, 
 and such was she, so sweet! 
 
 "My girl, my girl!" 
 
 His voice was broken music, but in its undertones lay 
 something of such fierce menace and such fire that she 
 
394 RACHEL MARR 
 
 quivered in his arms and strained backward to find his 
 eyes with hers. 
 
 "Anthony!" 
 
 But before she could speak he cried out : 
 
 " What's this ? Is it true, true, true that my brother 
 did aught to damn him utterly, to make me — oh, what ? " 
 
 However he knew it, now this attempt to shame was 
 published, and even in the moon-glow he saw her cheeks 
 were scarlet and saw them white again, and whiter than 
 they were before, when her blood ebbed. In the aspect 
 of her, in her eyes which he met, he found corroboration, 
 and she knew it ; and seeing that her face had confessed, 
 she feared it had confessed more than the truth, and she 
 hung upon him saying — in deep shame: 
 
 " He did no harm — the poor fool was mad ! " 
 
 " Thanks be to God that I am mad too, then," said 
 Anthony ; and as he kissed her, he saw her turn in fear to 
 Mary. 
 
 " That girl " 
 
 He ran across the flowers and seized Mary by the 
 wrist. 
 
 " Here, sister to Judas, come and kneel." 
 
 And Rachel caught hold of him. He shook her off. 
 
 " This is the sister of Judas, Rachel ; this is your house- 
 traitor. Speak, girl, did you lead Sigurd to my house and 
 chain him ? " 
 
 There was so great a power in him, for now at last 
 Rachel saw the passions loosed that she had reckoned on, 
 that she stood back even when she heard this most in- 
 credible thing declared to her. This poor creature had 
 been for ye^rs part of her life, and part of its high tragedy 
 rooted itself within her quailing body. Was this then a 
 traitress, this a leak, a gap ? 
 
 " Great God ! no ! " said Rachel ; and then Mary, wal- 
 lowing in the trodden mould like a cut worm, answered 
 like any poor thing of fear, and let the truth out. 
 
 " I took him, sir ; oh, sir " 
 
 He whirled her up and backward, and bent over her 
 with spoken curses. 
 
 " Throw her back into the ditch, Rachel, throw her 
 
McHeL MARR 395 
 
 back. This creature — and what you did for her! And 
 my brother " 
 
 She who knew loosed passions in her own heart saw the 
 storm in him with horror. He had been as a rock, as 
 a thing unmoved, and now he was like the driven sea 
 intolerably shaken. That he loved her with a passion 
 that only strength like his could resist, she knew ; and to 
 that she clung. His love for her was the very mark of 
 him ; without it he was so strange a thing that she feared 
 him. And now he was as one who loved not, for love 
 was swallowed up within him, swallowed in rage that had 
 that touch of the elements which makes human things, in 
 all excess, most cruelly inhuman. 
 
 She took hold of him, and felt her not ; she called out 
 and he heard not. 
 
 " My own brother ! God, give me his life " 
 
 She heard him whisper it, and she kissed his neck and 
 writhed up against him, holding him against disaster, and 
 calling him such sweet names as lovers use, while the 
 surge of his heart was like the hammer of the infinite sea. 
 Sweet names upon her lips were sighs of the lightest air 
 to him, for the moon was a bloody rag in a red sky and 
 the hay unmown might steep fair feet in dreadful red. 
 He hung upon the very sacrament of murder in his pray- 
 ing heart. To expel his brother from the world — " Oh, 
 oh, to hurt her — my Rachel ! " He threw Rachel from 
 him, for she was a phantom, and staggered, and then ran 
 fast and faster down the slope. She saw him go and 
 called to him and he heard not, and she stayed, caught in 
 the thorns and briars he had pushed through; and she 
 screamed, so that Martha came into the garden and the 
 hollow night lamenting. She fell across the crouched 
 body of the sister of Judas. 
 
 "What's this? "she cried. 
 
 Then Rachel, tearing herself from the thorns, came to 
 them swiftly, and in her eyes was strange fire, and for 
 once her gentleness went out of her, and her voice was a 
 scourge. 
 
 " It's a woman I helped when she had a nameless child 
 at her breast," she said ; " now it's a nameless thing that 
 
39© RACHEL MARR 
 
 takes word of us to those who hate me. Martha, she took 
 my dog to Winnie Perran's, and if I knew what I can 
 only guess, I could set Sigurd on her to tear her." 
 
 She leapt at the truth with her mind and saw it 
 brokenly, saw it reared like a black pile in darkness, and 
 out of the contradictions in it took this other truth, that 
 any contradiction must be made worthless if she knew the 
 part that Winnie acted. She bent breathless over Mary; 
 and the instrument that any played on lay like a broken 
 pipe upon the grass. 
 
 " God help us ! " said Martha feebly. And Rachel 
 caught Mary by the neck and her arm and set her on her 
 feet. 
 
 " 'Twas Mrs. Perran I " screamed Mary ; " 'twas Wini- 
 fred Perran! Don't hit me, Miss, don't hit me, and I'll 
 tell you everything." 
 
 Her lower lip hung down, for she was frenzied with 
 terror, and Rachel shook her into silence. 
 
 " You fool, there's no time ! If you think anything of 
 John Perran's life run to old George's, and tell him to stay 
 in the house, and say that his brother will kill him." 
 
 She took her to the gate herself, and all the way Mary 
 sobbed and said inarticulate things; things that were 
 wandering lights to Rachel to light the strange darkness 
 of the web in which she stood. 
 
 " I'll run, Miss — she wanted the dog — 'twas me that 
 carved his name on the tree — she made me — she said 
 you'd hate him and he'd marry me — I'll run." 
 
 And Rachel pushed her into the woodland path of dark- 
 ness and came back to Martha, asking — 
 
 " What's that about his name on the tree ? " 
 
 She took Martha in her arms. 
 
 " If John comes take him into the house and bid him 
 hide there, for my sake — ^that's for Anthony's " 
 
 She left the old woman quaking. 
 
 " Here's strange fear and death about ! What is it ? 
 Now she's running over the fields! Who's mad this 
 night, oh, God, or do I dream ? " 
 
 And Rachel followed where Anthony had gone, mean- 
 ing to get between him and old George's house and speak 
 
RACHEL MARR 397 
 
 to him if he came armed. But as she went upon the dewy 
 grass her limbs failed and the strength went out of her, 
 and she fell upon her knees, and saw the very firmament 
 of fixed stars swing loose. And the round moon flattened 
 and bulged and was gibbous and took foolish unnatural 
 shapes, and her blood roared like a wind in her ears, and 
 she fell fiatling on the quiet earth, and the full moments 
 passed her like shadows that were of no account. 
 
 But Mary ran labouring to George Perran's house and 
 found John and the old man in the garden, and she came 
 up to them saying : 
 
 " Oh, sir, Miss Rachel " 
 
 And again she said, " Oh, sir. Miss Rachel " so 
 
 that John jumped up and caught hold of her, and spoke 
 with such violence and brutality that she lost hold of her 
 very thoughts and stood stammering. 
 
 "Stop shaking her, you idiot !" roared old George; 
 " you'll get nought out of her else " 
 
 But John thrust her away furiously, so that she stum- 
 bled and fell, and he ran, crying out as he ran : 
 
 " I'll see what it is, George ! " 
 
 But as he ran he said : 
 
 " What is it ? What have I done ? Or is it I ? " 
 
 He came into Rachel's garden and there found Martha, 
 for when she saw him the old woman called to him out of 
 the darkness. 
 
 " What's wrong with Rachel ? " he asked fiercely. But 
 Martha took him by the arm and tried to lead him to the 
 house. 
 
 " She's run out into the field, sir, and she said you were 
 to hide in the house till she came " 
 
 " Hide, hide ? " said John. " By the living God, are we 
 all mad this night ? There's Mary and now you " 
 
 But Martha hung upon him. 
 
 " Come, come, sir, Mr. Anthony will kill you. He 
 came here mad enough, and he's run home " 
 
 "Anthony kill me!" 
 
 He ejected the words through his clenched teeth. And 
 then he understood. 
 
 " That's Winifred ! by God, that's Winfred ! " 
 
398 RACHEL MARR 
 
 He stood as if he was rooted to the earth ; and Martha, 
 set in her broken mind and feebly fierce in her intent to do 
 as she was bidden, tugged at his rigid arm. But as she 
 tugged he felt nothing, and was only dimly conscious of 
 her weak influence, which was no stronger than a feeble 
 motive disregarded, and yet regarded curiously, in the 
 storm of a man's dark mind. The round moon swung 
 over the trees and poured her silver on the flowers and the 
 dewy grass. He saw the beds were trampled, and noticed 
 the burst hedge, and trailing roses on the ground. And 
 then he saw Rachel come through the gap. She moved 
 wearily and as one foredone, 
 
 " You here ! " she said ; and then Martha ceased pulling 
 at his arm and wailed. 
 
 "Why not? "he asked. 
 
 But Rachel took Martha to the hedge. 
 
 " The moon's bright, Martha. See if he comes 
 riding ! " 
 
 She went back to the man who stood among the ruined 
 flowers by the verge of the wood, and stared him in the 
 face. 
 
 " Someone has told him " 
 
 " Let him kill me," said John stubbornly. " I'm not fit 
 to live. This is his wife's work. I talked to her this day, 
 Rachel. I said great things to her, and even she finds the 
 truth red-hot. Oh, I'm glad I spoke — she screamed at 
 me!" 
 
 " Come into the house ! " 
 
 " Your house ? No ! " said John. " You were good to 
 me, and I've been worse than any beast. I'll face him ! " 
 
 But now her strength came back, and she took him by 
 the shoulders. 
 
 " If he kills you, man, if he kills you — ^what of him and 
 me?" 
 
 Then she called to Martha. 
 
 " Does anyone come riding, Martha ?" 
 
 And Martha wailed : 
 
 " I see no one — no one ! " 
 
 " What of him and what of me ? " 
 
 She spoke plainly, and her face was an anguish to look 
 
RACHEL MARR 399 
 
 upon. John's hands were clenched behind his back. She 
 saw him struggle with himself, and beheld the muscles of 
 his throat contract. 
 
 " Then there's no mistake ; you love him, Rachel ? " 
 
 She answered simply enough, but with a backward 
 glance as if looking for him who rode a pale horse, or 
 as if listening for the sound of galloping. 
 
 " I love him." 
 
 " And his heart is yours," said John, choking ; " he told 
 me so, Rachel. If I was wedded to any sweet saint I'd 
 leave her to get one kiss from you. Oh, Anthony, what a 
 monstrous fool! He wastes, and sees you waste and 
 pine!" 
 
 As she stood in the silver of the moon her face was 
 white as any flower beneath the moon. 
 
 " To get a kiss from you ! — Is it true, Rachel, that you 
 kissed me as I lay in your house ? " 
 
 And Martha, standing in a tremble by the hedge, called 
 out quavering: 
 
 " There's something moving on the road from the farm, 
 Rachel. 'Tis a dim rider ; he comes fast, oh, fast ! " 
 
 " How could you know it ? " asked Rachel. " It was 
 not you " 
 
 " Mary told me. She saw you. Did you bless or 
 poison me? 'Twas Anthony you kissed in me. Oh, if 
 I were he ! " 
 
 He spoke wildly, and Rachel grieved. 
 
 " What can I do for you, my dear ? " he asked, " what 
 can I do?" 
 
 " Leave me, leave us," said Rachel. " Martha, do you 
 see him now ?' 
 
 " He's in the dip o' the road. There he comes fast — 
 'tis the white horse he rides, Rachel. He's at old George's 
 crying out and waving his hands ; he's plain to me in the 
 white moon, plain as death." 
 
 " Go now, John," said Rachel. She pushed him toward 
 the pinewood. 
 
 "And not meet him? That's hard. I never re- 
 fused " 
 
 " Oh, that's for me," cried Rachel. 
 
400 RACHEL MARR 
 
 Martha spoke again in a high treble. 
 
 " He's riding fast, fast from the little house. 'Tis him 
 and the white horse, I say, and now he leaps the hedge 
 and is on the grass. He comes like a hunter, girl, like 
 any madman ! " 
 
 " Get into the wood, John." 
 
 " It's dark," said John, " but no darker than the path in 
 front. What will your path be ? " 
 
 " There's darker woods than these ! " 
 
 " He's in the field below, Rachel, and across his saddle 
 there's a gun ! He's bare-headed ! " 
 
 " Kiss me that should have been your brother," said 
 John. And Rachel kissed him and thrust him from her 
 into the heavy shadow and stepped out into the light of 
 the great moon as Anthony leapt into her broken garden. 
 
 XIX 
 
 As he rode across the peace of that moonlit valley a red 
 madness flowered within him. This was his body's re- 
 venge; for he had been victorious over the flesh, had 
 trampled his true and sweet desires beneath his feet, and 
 cried out to his God in the bitterest triumph. But the 
 red flesh leapt up again, changed and fierce instead of 
 sweet, transmuted, blood-coloured, and aflame. Instead 
 of love, natural and devout, he lifted up an unnatural and 
 debauched heart to the altar. This was the body's revenge 
 and the mind's, for the force within him had to flower, 
 had to do its work. Though he wrenched his very soul 
 under and got it down, it came back to him clothed in 
 madness. To kill seemed natural ; those men of God who 
 slew in the old times were no more men of God than he. 
 His brain worked madly; he prayed as he rode; his 
 thoughts were smoke, his few words jagged flame. 
 
 " O God ! Thou who livest, here is death ! The 
 wicked shall be cut down. Of old Thou didst smite them 
 with Thy thunder, with the fire of heaven. Oh, here's my 
 brother — ^my brother that was — he's now a thing of death, 
 an abomination. My heart's riven — he hunted my white 
 
RACHEL MARR 401 
 
 love in her wood. But mine's the cross, the cross of 
 shame — my unnatural wife ! There's a Calvary for every 
 man — oh, my unnatural wife! There's a Calvary for 
 every man, O Christ! — I ride, I ride, here on the road 
 that's white dust, red dust. I ride against the red moon ! 
 Here's dewy grass and flowers, and my bursting heart's 
 hot fire! Here's moving water, blood-red water. Her 
 wood hangs like a cloud under the moon ! There I saw 
 her sleeping — saw her in the heart of the wood ; saw her 
 bosom as she lifted her arms to the sky ! I ran, I ran in 
 the wood, and there that devil tracked her laughing — her, 
 my Rachel ! " 
 
 He leapt the burst hedge, and saw her in the moonlight, 
 still and strong once more in the presence of need. Deep 
 in the wood behind her was his brother leaning against 
 a dark tree and sobbing. Old Martha clung to Rachel's 
 arm and trembled. His horse stood with heaving flanks. 
 But the night was still, and not a breath of wind stirred 
 any feather of fine grass or any lifted plume of the quiet 
 pines. 
 
 " Where's the thing I hunt, girl ? " asked the rider. 
 " Did he run this way ? Did you see him ? " 
 
 She went to him swiftly and took his horse's mane in 
 both hands. 
 
 "Anthony!" 
 
 He looked down upon her with the eyes of one whose 
 soul was steeped in an alien and intolerable passion. 
 
 "Aye," he said, " what is it? Did he run this way ? " 
 
 She took his hand and found it burning. 
 
 " Come off your horse, Anthony ! " 
 
 He loosed his hand from hers with a strange patient 
 impatience, and looked into the sombre barrier of the 
 wood. 
 
 " There's someone in the wood," he cried swiftly, 
 pointing ; " there's someone in your wood, Rachel. Oh, 
 but beasts crouch in such woods. I'll hunt it out." 
 
 He spurred his horse from her suddenly, and old 
 Martha, wrought up to intolerable terror, cried out dread- 
 fully to the man within the wood. 
 
 She ran to the nigh trees and shrieked ; 
 
402 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Run, run, he's coming ! " 
 
 And Rachel caught her and cried out: 
 
 "There's no one in the wood, Anthony ! " 
 
 But Anthony was in the wood, and he called to his 
 brother, and said strange things to him, and the two 
 women held each other and went down upon their knees, 
 and prayed to God in heaven, and to the inexorable deities 
 who give men their passions. They heard Anthony's 
 voice, and there was the sound of crackling branches ; and 
 the sound died away and they heard one running; and 
 waited trembling till the night was silent yet again. 
 
 And still within the renewed and awful silence they 
 heard imagined terrors, and the thunder of galloping 
 horses and the fierce cries of men. They hung to each 
 other and went deeper into the wood and came Rachel's 
 own tree. And there they sat and waited. 
 
 " Oh, oh," wailed Martha, " men are dreadful crea- 
 tures : they are dreadful ! " 
 
 But Rachel answered never a word, for she pursued 
 the monstrous epic of the flesh, and saw the passions of 
 human hearts stand up in the night, each separate, awful, 
 and implacable. And a cloud drifted upon the silver 
 moon and a light breeze rose and whispered. And as it 
 whispered it was as if men talked low behind trees, con- 
 spiring murders and bitter rapine and inconceivable 
 crimes. Deep in the wood was the depth of the world 
 and the deeps of the ocean of human history, and the wan 
 light of the wan moon was the light of death upon a field 
 of the dead who had sufifered. These loved and died ; 
 these red hearts grew quiet; children were born of dear 
 love and cold duty, and again they suflfered. The very 
 gods died in pain and grief, of strange and most bitter 
 neglect. She cried out at last: 
 
 " What's doing now over all the dreadful earth ? " 
 
 The old woman came close up to her and held her 
 to her heart. 
 
 " You love him dearly, Rachel ? " 
 
 "What's my love?" said Rachel; "what's my love? 
 Can I do aught or change aught, or bring peace or a 
 blessing? There's no help in love." 
 
RACHEL MARR 403 
 
 The heart and its passions wrought themselves out like 
 fire. Human control of the fire was a vain thought of 
 vanity. 
 
 " But you love him dearly ? " 
 
 " I love him," said Rachel ; " my heart's an agony. 
 He's mad this night, and it's I that have made him mad. 
 And I'm a woman and can do nothing but set fire to fire 
 and burn and see others burn." 
 
 Here in this deep wood she had dreamed and had waked 
 to find Anthony beside her. Here she had known joy, or 
 a lovely shadow of it. This was the bridal chamber of 
 her pure heart. Now men's passions wrecked its peace ; 
 her own grew till her heart burst. 
 
 " If you could only weep," said Martha. " I'm sore for 
 you. I'm sick in my soul. Can I do nothing? Does 
 he love you, Rachel ? " 
 
 Rachel knew this dreadful madness of the night was his 
 passion turning to another shape. 
 
 " He loves me." 
 
 That was sure, sure as that the round world hung be- 
 neath the sun, as sure as that life bred upon its surface 
 and was blasted from it hourly. His love, grown in con- 
 cealment, in the dark, was now beyond hiding and strove 
 to the light, so that men might see it. It was a passion 
 that could not be slain; though he threw it out as some 
 wretched mother might expose her nameless child, it 
 lived and cried aloud in the night and thrived upon bitter 
 dew and the growth of dark woods. 
 
 " Oh, this love's so deadly a thing," said Rachel ; " it's 
 no sweet thing ; it's a fire ! " 
 
 She hugged Martha in her wretched empty arms. 
 
 " I want to speak ; perhaps he'll die this night." 
 
 " Speak, Rachel, speak ! " 
 
 A thousand times this lack of words had choked her, 
 and a thousand times the nature of woman, for whom 
 silence is ordained, had kept her words back. A thou- 
 sand times the very torment of her wordless heart had 
 gripped her throat. And all the human barriers set up 
 against the soul, till the free soul exists only as a dreadful 
 miracle, held her in bondage. 
 
404 RACHEL MARR 
 
 She wrenched herself from the old woman's arms and 
 threw herself upon the brown scented carpet of the pine- 
 wood. She lay upon her face and clutched at the earth 
 and struggled. She turned again and drew Martha down 
 to her, and spoke at last in a flood of words that were an 
 agony to hear and a most bitter joy to use. She told her 
 of the times when she was a little girl, and even then she 
 loved him ; of the days when he came to the house, for 
 then she loved him; of the hour when she knew that he 
 would marry. And even then she knew not what love was. 
 Of all that happened in the wood she spoke swiftly, for she 
 was not speaking to the old woman, but to the god of the 
 wood, which every heart believes in from the time that 
 men hunted in woods with beasts. She told the god about 
 Mary and her child, and of her first reading in the dread- 
 ful gospel of the flesh, and of the path that women tread 
 with its grief and joy. And she told the god (and his 
 withered priestess) how she had dreamed in his wood, 
 and how in that sacred dream she had been so happy with 
 her full bosom and her sweet full life. Here such sweet 
 ghosts had played ; here her visionary children had de- 
 lighted her virgin body and her heart, which in no woman 
 is virgin, and the tears at last flowed, and she choked in 
 a dark silence. And Martha did not speak. 
 
 Then quick rage, flowering suddenly in Rachel's heart, 
 broke out in her. 
 
 " Oh, oh, you can't understand ! " 
 
 She wrenched herself from the old woman's encircling 
 arms and lay upon the ground. Now the wind sobbed 
 faintly in the woodland, there was the sob of the sea on 
 the shore. Overhead the peering moon looked down 
 through the oriel branches of the wood. And Martha 
 groaned aloud. 
 
 " I — I can understand •" 
 
 But Rachel said : 
 
 " What do you know of these things ? What can an 
 old woman know ? " 
 
 And Martha held her own knees and rocked herself to 
 and fro and spoke: 
 
 " There's happy mothers and unhappy, Rachel. Rachel, 
 
RACHEL MARR 405 
 
 don't break my broken heart. I could tell, I could 
 tell " 
 
 She sobbed bitterly, and for her also speech was hard. 
 But Rachel's heart softened, and she took her in her arms 
 again to comfort her. 
 
 " What is it ? Have I hurt you ? " 
 
 " I'm a woman," Martha cried ; " and here, here, is a 
 grave." 
 
 She struck her bosom and spoke with passion. 
 
 " Here's a grave ! You think I've no heart to know, 
 and that I can only listen and hear and speak cold wise 
 things that other hearts use to comfort folk with. I've 
 no such thoughts, my heart's a grave ! I've shed 
 tears on fresh earth and over long, long grass. Rachel, 
 I'll tell you, now you're a woman, now I see your 
 heart!" 
 
 They lay in each other's arms upon the all-nourishing 
 earth, and Martha whispered to her, weeping: 
 
 " Oh, I'm old, I'm old, and my heart's so young ! I've 
 loved you, darling, and your mother. But here I was a 
 girl, and a sweet fool — oh, and soft, for there's no help 
 for the soft but love. And he loved me, and he followed 
 the sea on the coast, this bitter coast of iron. And we 
 were to be married ; that's sure as death, sure as his, for 
 he died. I can think now of my young self (I was brown, 
 but I was a beauty for him), and the day was coming. 
 But a wind blew first, before the day, and he lies among 
 the weeds of the sea. And I was left, left as I should not 
 ha' been, Rachel." 
 
 And Rachel held her close, closer still, and all the time 
 her agony was for him who rode so wildly. As Martha 
 spoke she saw him riding, and wondered if he would 
 return, and how he would return. 
 
 " I went away to a place where I wasn't known, and my 
 child was born. But I cared nothing for what folks might 
 say. It was sweet, sweet, and my dry old bosom aches 
 this hour. Do you think I don't understand ? Oh, God I 
 I know ; I've sinned and 'tis wicked, but this hour I'm not 
 sorry but for its death. It lived three months, and I was 
 alone, dear, all alone. I'd nought of his, not so much as 
 
4o6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 a, hair, and his child was gone, and he was under the sea, 
 the sea I hate this day." 
 
 And Rachel kissed her. The rider rode upon a pale 
 horse. Oh, but the night was dark ! 
 
 " Forgive me ! " 
 
 " Forgive you ! " cried Martha ; " oh, you are that 
 which lives for me as my baby. Haven't I held you to my 
 bare bosom? haven't I sung to you when you cried, aye, 
 and when you stared forlorn at me with your great eyes ? 
 Forgive me! Oh, that I'd strength, my dear, my baby, 
 my own Mary's child, who gave you me. And you are 
 wretched! I'm mad to think of it! There's no such 
 beauty as you, my darling ! Oh, so tall you are, so splen- 
 did ; and you're pale to break my heart, and I'm so old ! " 
 
 And Rachel said that for which she was sorry, for 
 Martha seemed so old. 
 
 "You'll outlive me!" 
 
 " God forbid," said Martha, and she clutched Rachel 
 tight. " You're not thinking of death, Rachel, tell me 
 you're not ? " 
 
 " I want to live. But where's Anthony now ? " 
 
 " You don't think of death? " 
 
 Rachel pressed her to her heart. Would Anthony live? 
 
 " What's that? " she cried suddenly. 
 
 " 'Tis nought, nought," said Martha, " only the wind in 
 the cliffs. The wind rises. 'Tis time we went in. It's 
 over-late." 
 
 " I thought I heard — oh, my heart's water! If I don't 
 think of death, there are those that do. Where are they 
 now ? " 
 
 They stood together in a patch of the white moonlight. 
 
 " I hear a horse galloping." 
 
 " No," said Martha. " John's safe, he's cunning. 
 What's all this, Rachel ? — ^you've never told me." 
 
 " It's wheels, Martha ! Who should drive so late? " 
 
 " Come in, come in ! I hear nothing." 
 
 But Rachel heard truly, and when they came out of the 
 wood even Martha heard someone drive furiously upon 
 the road which led to the upper entrance to her house. 
 
 " Every sound is like a knife in my heart," said Rachel. 
 
RACHEL MARR 407 
 
 "Will they stop here? Who is it? He drives like a 
 madman ! " 
 
 She ran clear of the house and heard the wheels rattle 
 on the hard road. 
 
 " There's someone singing," said Martha. " There's 
 someone madly merry this evil night ! " 
 
 But Rachel caught her by the arm. 
 
 " That's John Perran's voice, Martha ! What should 
 he be doing driving ? " 
 
 " 'Tis better than being driven," said Martha. " I 
 thought he'd never walk or drive again." 
 
 The man was roaring a song, and the sound of the song 
 came on the west wind loud and louder. 
 
 " Oh, he's loud and mad ! He's coming here, here ! " 
 
 They heard the wheels stop and heard the gate clang, 
 and then the horse came on a gallop towards the house. 
 
 " He's been drinking, Rachel," said Martha. " Now 
 they say he's mad when he drinks. 'Tis mad to be so 
 merry ! Men are dreadful ! " 
 
 Rachel knew that he was mad when he was sober, and 
 she knew that his madness was not all an evil thing. But 
 she stood trembling, for John's voice was so strangely 
 merry, and the hearts of women are not uplifted in the 
 presence of bitter danger, as strong men's are. He came 
 round the corner with a swing and pulled the horse upon 
 his haunches. 
 
 " Here, here ! " he cried ; " oh, here I am alive ! Here's 
 the fox that was hunted, and the hunter's far away ! Is 
 that you, Rachel, you, Martha? Here, old girl, hold the 
 poor beast's head. I've a moment to stay and a thing to 
 do here. There's been hunting, I can tell you ! Ha, it's 
 made my blood run free again. Anthony's the fine hunter, 
 but I laid a trap ! " 
 
 He staggered as he stood. 
 
 " I'm not drunk, Rachel ! I've had no more than a nip 
 with poor old George ! He's weeping drunk because he'll 
 see my face no, more. See him when I'm gone. It was 
 his daughter made him what he is." 
 
 But for Rachel this was folly. 
 
 " Where's Anthony ? " she screamed at him. 
 
4o8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " God knows, his God ! I met Steve when I slipped my 
 dear hunter at the village. Steve set him wrong. He'll 
 ride~ himself out, and then he'll go on his knees. I know 
 him of old — what the boy is, the man is, save when the 
 man's been brained." 
 
 He talked furiously and laughed, and Rachel shrank 
 away from him. 
 
 " Hunt him, hunt him, Rachel ! I did my best for you. 
 What do you think? I went up to the farm this day to 
 make love to Winnie, to get her to run away with me. I 
 promised her great farms and gold, and she had half a 
 mind, half a mind. I wanted to do something for you — 
 to set him free." 
 
 He laughed hoarsely. 
 
 " Then she said, ' Kiss me ! ' and even for you, Rachel, 
 I couldn't. Oh, she saw my mind, and I said some scald- 
 ing words ! I boiled ! Kiss her ! — faugh ! " 
 
 " Is she like that? " asked Rachel. 
 
 He put his hand on her arm. 
 
 " She's not fit to tie the shoe of the poorest-hearted 
 harlot living. I'll tell you, you don't understand ! " 
 
 He stood a moment, wild-eyed, nodding. 
 
 " Martha, the horse is all right. Go up and wake Mary 
 and the child." 
 
 "What for, sir?" 
 
 "What for? I want you to !" shouted John. "Telt 
 her to put her fool's head out of the window so that I can 
 speak to her." 
 
 He laid his hand again on Rachel's arm. 
 
 " I'm in earnest, so bid her go. I'm going to do the 
 right thing, Rachel dear, Rachel, my soul, my love! 
 Oh, let me speak ; you'll see me no more after this bitter 
 night." 
 
 " Go and call Mary," said Rachel; " go quick! " 
 
 " I'm going to do the right thing ! " cried John, " the 
 thing that will make no one happy. That's the way of 
 earth. I'll do what I ought and curse my folly. Mary 
 will be proud and curse me later. Well, there's the boy, 
 the boy ! Oh, but about Winnie. Rachel, take your dear 
 white, white face out of the moonlight. Your eyes burn 
 
RACHEL MARR 409 
 
 me, and I'm mad enough. Turn your head away and I'll 
 speak behind you. You should laiow what's she capable 
 of doing ! " 
 
 He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, and as he 
 spoke Rachel stood like one turned to stone, and when he 
 was done with dreadful words she shuddered. 
 
 "That's a she, that's a thing named woman! The 
 women here should tear her. 'Twas not I, Rachel ; don't 
 believe it ! Don't believe it of me. She poisoned my poor 
 brain. And, knowing that, she wanted my lips. Tell this 
 to Anthony, Rachel; tell him all. Perhaps he'll be 
 different. God knows he's a mad fool. But he's a man in 
 spite of it. I wish I wasn't ! " 
 
 They saw a light burn in Mary's room, and John 
 shouted : 
 
 "Mary, Mary!" 
 
 And the girl came to the window. 
 
 " Girl, here's a chance for you, here's a horse and trap, 
 and some miles away there are steel rails that run to the 
 end of the world. I'm a rich man, Mary, my sweet, I've 
 got great farms and fields bigger than Pentowan, darling. 
 Put on your cloak and bundle up Johnny, and we'll be 
 married in the morning and never see Morna any more. 
 Think of it, and think quick ! " 
 
 " I'm the merry wooer, am I not ? " 
 
 And tears ran down his face and down hers. 
 
 " Oh, I'm the merry wooer ! Martha, old lady, get the 
 bride ready. Here's a moonlight going ! There's a hunter 
 after me, and I'm set on a wild marriage and a trip across 
 the ocean, leaving some things behind me." 
 
 He turned again to Rachel. 
 
 " It's something for you. She's a little traitor, damn 
 her ! I'll take her away, Rachel, and you and Anthony can 
 fight it out. I've told you of the Pentowan thing. That's 
 something. Take Anthony from her, Rachel. He hates 
 her and he loves you like madness. We nigh fought about 
 you on the cliff. He was dreadful and threatened me. 
 Where's that damned girl, is she coming? " 
 
 But Mary was crying, sitting on her bed, and Martha 
 called to Rachel. 
 
4IO RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Fetch her down if she wants my name," said John ; 
 " bring her in her nightgown. I want no dower. Tell her 
 I wallow in gold when I'm abroad; say I eat off it and 
 have a million head of cattle for her to ^at with me. Say 
 I'll give her rings, and silks, and all the wealth I can give 
 where I love. Oh, I'm mad, Rachel ! " 
 
 He marched up and down the path in the moonlight 
 and wrung his hands. 
 
 " I'm a fool, and it's right. Why's it right ? There's 
 no such thing. What rights have these women to any- 
 thing they can't take and keep ? And these are creatures 
 of the bracken, as George says. My heart's sore; I'll 
 never see Rachel again. Would I'd never seen her, never 
 had a man's passions. Oh, I ache ! " 
 
 And Rachel ran indoors and brought down Mary and 
 with her the wondering sleepy boy. John seized Johnny 
 and held him aloft. 
 
 " Are you a wise child ? I'm your dad, my son. You'll 
 be a man like enough and live to regret it." 
 
 He caught hold of Mary next. 
 
 "Will you come?" 
 
 The girl wept bitterly, for her little mind was broken. 
 She had been handled fiercely that day and her sou! 
 was bitter with itself. She knew that what she had done 
 was damnable ; so much at least she felt now. And here 
 came her old lover, crying for her with so fierce an accent 
 in which no love dwelt. 
 
 " Tell her to come, Rachel ! It's late — who knows if 
 poor old Anthony is sane yet ? He may ride in on us any 
 moment ! " 
 
 " You'll treat her well ? " said Rachel. For she too was 
 in a mad dream. 
 
 " For you," said John ; " she lived with you ! " 
 
 " Speak to her quietly," said Rachel ; " the poor thing 
 is mazed." 
 
 She and Martha stood apart. 
 
 "You'll come?" said John. 
 
 " If — if you want me," sobbed Mary. " But you don't 
 — love me ! " 
 
 Her heart seemed breaking. 
 
RACHEL MARR 411 
 
 " I'll love the boy," said John fiercely ; " won't that do 
 you ? And I'll be kind — was I ever a brute ? " 
 
 He stroked her hair. 
 
 " Poor girl ! What a damnable and silly world ! " 
 
 He called to Rachel. 
 
 " She'll come. Now, girl, say to your mistress — that 
 you'll see no more — what you should say." 
 
 He took Mary by the shoulders and forced her to the 
 ground. 
 
 " On your knees, you little traitress ! Here's the one 
 woman in the world that was sweet beyond words to you, 
 that helped you. Tell her of the thing at Pentowan." 
 
 And Mary grovelled on the ground and clasped Rachel's 
 feet in an agony of shame. 
 
 " Tell her what you did ! " 
 
 And in bitter, broken words the little fool told of her 
 folly, while John stood above her remorselessly. 
 
 " Every deed of yours is my shame," he said, " and I'll 
 endure. Did she give you money ? " 
 
 She told of bribes, and of the dog, and of the name on 
 the tree. 
 
 " Oh, you carved it, as I guessed," said John ; " that 
 was clever of Madam at the Farm. There's bright intel- 
 lect. Those letters burnt my heart, Rachel ; they were the 
 biggest cause of my madness. Shame eats me ; it carves 
 my heart. Is that all, Mary, my wife ? If that's all, get 
 up and let's away. It's late, and there are strange riders 
 about." 
 
 He lifted her into the cart, and Martha put Johnny by 
 her side. 
 
 " Forgive me. Miss Rachel," sobbed Mary ; " I'm going 
 away, and I don't know where. And this was my home ! " 
 
 " I'll give you one," said John, " but nothing so sweet ; 
 and there'll be no such creature as your mistress about. 
 Do you forgive her, Rachel ? You might. The girl has 
 no brains and that devil has. She used me too." 
 
 And Rachel kissed Mary. But her lips were cold and 
 Mary's heart was ice within her. 
 
 " Good-bye," said John ; " good-bye, Rachel." 
 
 He caught her by both hands. 
 
412 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Bless you for yourself, for being what you are ! It's 
 dreadful that there's only one like you, and that the whole 
 sick world must put up with what it has. I'll remember 
 you ; there's your name here, here ! It's deep, Rachel, oh, 
 so deep. If there's a God, may He keep you ! May He 
 give you what you want and give you joy ! Oh, I feel so 
 dreadful — this is tearing me, I bleed, dear, I'm not what 
 I was ; I'd have stayed to be killed but for you. Tell 
 Anthony that. Tell him everything— rsay you saw me go 
 away into hell for him and you. Perhaps he'll be a man 
 then, and forget his God for a little while. My tears are 
 blood and no shame, Rachel. Let me kiss your hand — 
 my lost heart is in it. Oh, this is death, it's death." 
 
 And Rachel's tears were blood too, and her heart stood 
 still to see his agony, for her own was quiet within her. 
 He got into the cart and took the reins and smiled. 
 
 " I came laughing, I came laughing," he said, and with 
 that he drove away and never turned. And old Martha 
 sat crying on the steps of the house, and Rachel stood by 
 her quivering. 
 
 " Men are dreadful, dreadful, dreadful," moaned the 
 old woman. " He said, ' It's death.' " 
 
 But the night was not yet over, for no sooner had the 
 sound of wheels died away towards the high Church 
 Town than Anthony came on foot into Rachel's garden 
 and stood before her. He still carried his gun, but all 
 madness had died out of him, or sunk deep within. ' The 
 white moon, hanging high over the dark wood, laid his 
 shadow at Rachel's feet. And so he laid his love. 
 
 XX 
 
 " I WAS in the wood," said Anthony ; " I saw him come 
 and go." 
 
 His voice was very quiet. He was like a man who has 
 endured frightful fatigue, and, needing sleep, has gone 
 beyond it. Rachel's very soul was pity; her arms ached 
 to take him to her heart, and every passion within her 
 turned to the one great passion of protection. He needed 
 
KAUillLl^ MAKK 413 
 
 human help, and sought for God's. She put her hands 
 upon his arm. 
 
 "Anthony!" 
 
 Her voice was balm, her touch was healing. He passed 
 his hand across his brow and smiled. 
 
 " I came to myself on the hill," he said, " and I loosed 
 the horse there. But your wood drew me, Rachel. So 
 poor John has gone, and taken Mary ! We're alone again 
 now; I heard something that he said." 
 
 She led him to the door, and made him enter. And she 
 brought him food into the old sitting-room of oak. 
 
 "You have never tasted food in my house," said 
 Rachel, " but you shall to-night." 
 
 She stood and waited on him, and his eyes followed her. 
 
 " The narrow path is dreadful," said Anthony. But his 
 feet were set thereon. 
 
 " I was mad to-day, to-night," he said. " I thank God 
 this hour that I lost my brother as I rode, or else his blood 
 would have been on my hands." 
 
 He looked at Rachel with burning eyes. 
 
 " There was a red moon in the sky, Rachel, and the 
 fields were wet with dew of blood. I came out of that on 
 the hill as I saw the white moon and dew that sparkled, 
 and I fell upon my knees and kissed the natural earth." 
 
 He drank some water that she poured out for him, and 
 he rose. 
 
 "I must go," he said, "this is your house." 
 
 He murmured, and she heard him : 
 
 " Oh, it hurts me to be in her house, it hurts me I " 
 
 And she said: 
 
 " Need you go ? " 
 
 For her heart cried again : 
 
 " This house is yours ! " 
 
 He answered: 
 
 " Let me into the air, Rachel ; I want to breathe the 
 wind off the sea." 
 
 They stood again in the moonlight. For all her quiet 
 she meant to speak with him ; she had much to say, oh, 
 very much, though it was midnight and the moon stood 
 in the high south, warm in a fleece of clouds. 
 
414 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " You said we were alone again, Anthony." 
 
 " His folly made me mad, Rachel." 
 
 " But we are not alone." 
 
 He looked towards the west, towards Pentowan, and 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Let's not think, girl. Why do you stab me ? It's 
 been so dreadful a day that this is peace and heaven to 
 me." 
 
 " Are you going home ? " 
 
 She put so fierce an accent on the bitter word that he 
 flinched. 
 
 " That's not like you," he said simply. " You know I 
 love you, and — and — and it can't be ! " 
 
 Rachel took him by the arm. 
 
 " Did she tell you how it came that John went mad with 
 me — did she tell you that ? " 
 
 " What she said he told her wasn't the truth," he 
 answered. " But she's my wife." 
 
 She stirred his mind, though, and his eyes dilated ; she 
 set his heart strings trembling; her touch upon his arm 
 was something to draw him. 
 
 " She bribed Mary, Anthony. That's your wife ! She 
 beat poor Sigurd because you gave him to me. That's 
 your wife ! " 
 
 She spoke in a low voice, but the passion in it hurt him 
 even more than the true words. 
 
 " There's more than that, Anthony. Let me say it ; if 
 I burn, I'll tell you. There's something so unutterable in 
 her that it makes my heart sick." 
 
 He knew that; none knew it better. 
 
 " Tell me if you must," he said ; and he prayed, " Help 
 me, O God, for this woman of whom she speaks is my 
 wedded wife. By Thine altar did I plight my troth to her 
 for ever. Give me strength to endure and keep Thy 
 law." 
 
 And Rachel stood apart from him with her head down. 
 She stood in the shadow, but she saw his face in the mid- 
 night moon. She prayed to other gods, to those of the 
 woodland and the sea, and the great grey uplands where 
 the lapwings cry; to the gods that speak unashamed in 
 
RACHEL MARK 415 
 
 human hearts and are so beautiful; to the gods of dear 
 love, and of sweet offspring, and the kindly gifts of the 
 due seasons, sweet without passion, and most natural. 
 He cried to the Law and she to the Spirit that remakes 
 the Law or perishes. 
 
 " He's mine, he's mine ! " 
 
 Her voice was low, but as clear as a bell, save where 
 righteous and natural shame stirred its music. She spoke 
 exactly, giving words their right, and as she spoke all that 
 he knew came in as living witnesses. He saw a broken 
 man spurred on to crime by this creature of his polluted 
 house, and nodded dreadfully. This was truth, oh, it was 
 so true that he saw it in action — ^beheld her move, heard 
 her voice. And as Rachel spoke he burst out suddenly : 
 
 " This — this is my wife ! " 
 
 She knew now that he had fire within him, and she 
 watched his face with every word of agony. 
 
 " And I forgave her ! " he said piteously ; " I forgave 
 her, Rachel, for all her cruelty, and for all she had done. 
 She asked that, and said I mustn't leave her! And I 
 couldn't. I said, ' Are you not my wife ? ' I said that, 
 Rachel, and now I know what she is utterly ; and this is 
 madness, Rachel. It's worse than it was. Why did you 
 tell me, girl?" 
 
 He ran to her and caught her hands. 
 
 " Why did you tell me? What's it now for me? Oh, 
 Rachel, Rachel! " 
 
 He groaned aloud, and Rachel cried out with pain to 
 see him thus ; and still her heart was stubborn to save 
 him from the path on which he journeyed. 
 
 " Now — now, you'll not go home," she stammered ; 
 "you'll not go home! Where is your home, Anthony? 
 Am I so mad, so wicked, so unnatural as your eyes make 
 me think? Anthony, Anthony, you'll not go home ! " 
 
 She loosed him and ran back into the shadow. 
 
 " The light hurts, it burns ! Oh, that it were black 
 dark, that I could speak to him. Oh, God, it's not for 
 myself, it's for him, for him ! " 
 
 He followed her, speaking vain things. 
 
 " Be strong — pray — believe — there's a God — ^there's 
 
4i6 RACHEL MARK 
 
 heaven— if there's hell here. I shake, I tremble, but 
 there's a God ! " 
 
 She fell upon her knees and tried to speak, but could 
 not, and he bent over her and saw her open her lips. 
 
 " My God, I could kill that woman," he said ; " I could 
 kill her. Am I going mad again, mad ? Does the moon 
 hang red in the sky once more ? I'll go home ; but there's 
 that gun ! " 
 
 He ran to where it lay against the steps, and catching 
 it up brought the muzzle down furiously on the stones 
 and smashed the bent barrel from the stock. Then he 
 laughed. 
 
 " Oh, fool that I am ! I have hands, hands ! There's 
 her throat! No, no, I'll be sane. Poor Rachel, poor 
 Rachel ! " 
 
 He ran back to her and knelt beside her on the 
 grass, and put his arm about her. 
 
 "Poor girl, why do you love a madman like me? 
 There's fine men on earth, quiet men, and strong, who 
 haven't been fools. There are such traps for men, dear, 
 and they say the traps are all for women. We must be 
 sane, child. There's no way out. I shall see you and 
 love you, and you'll believe again, and God is merciful! 
 Don't I know it ; don't I know it ? " 
 
 But now Rachel laughed dreadfully, and did not cease 
 laughing when he begged her. 
 
 " It's awful, awful ! Don't laugh, my heart breaks ! " 
 
 The tears ran down his face, but not down hers, even 
 when her laughter ceased. Her heart was insistent. 
 
 " Here's your home ! " 
 
 She caught him to her heart. 
 
 " There's other places than Pentowan, than Morna ! " 
 
 " It's death if I don't go back. " 
 
 " And if you do, if you do ! " 
 
 She spoke as one in final agony, but not yet was it the 
 agony which is calm, though that might be coming. 
 
 " Anthony, Anthony, I'm not mad. God never meant 
 this, could not mean it. There's no God could. She's not 
 fit to live. Could any God make her? My love for you 
 grew up with me ; it's part of my heart — it's so true, so 
 
RACHEL MARR 417 
 
 deep. I think of you all day, all night. I dream and you 
 come and sometimes are sweet, and sometimes in a pale 
 agony, and sometimes you are dead. That's best of all, 
 Anthony ; for when you are sweet my heart aches and my 
 body aches, and the next day is a pain that hurts without 
 tears. You love me, and I'll believe, if you leave her. 
 Oh, do you ever say you love her? Does your God let 
 you tell such lies ? The day's a pain, and the night's un- 
 speakable, and I have moments when I'm with you ; and 
 then you go, and I'm sick, bodily sick, Anthony. I've lost 
 my faith, and the poor old priest sends for me, and I won't 
 go. They say's he dying now. I'm so lonely, now 
 Martha's getting old. There are times death beckons, 
 Anthony — oh, that I'd died with you on the sea ! Do you 
 know my mother killed herself, poor thing, with that cross 
 I showed you ? There are times I look at it and see blood 
 on it again, I see blood. Don't go home, Anthony ; don't 
 go back ! I'm past all shame now ; there's that in my 
 heart which makes me speak, or I should die here, here on 
 your knees. I'd be glad, glad if we were dead together. 
 Anthony, Anthony ! " 
 
 And the man on whom she hung was so moved that his 
 voice seemed cold. 
 
 " You draw the heart out of me, girl ! I — I can't see 
 God for your hair, Rachel ! " 
 
 He stroked her bowed head. 
 
 " So much a man can endure," he said, " so much ! 
 God in heaven, is man so strong? " 
 
 He fell into a silence deep as frost, and sat apart with 
 his own soul. 
 
 " Can I not sit like God, and condemn my own soul to 
 the fires ? " he asked. And out of his extreme bodily 
 torment and his pity for her he loved his soul was quiet 
 within him. 
 
 " Rachel, give me this summer, and do not think of 
 death." 
 
 He rose up and gave her his hand, and she rose too and 
 stood by him. And presently he kissed her forehead, and 
 went away quietly. And she sat in the darkness of her 
 own room for an hour, and then, taking the crucifix from 
 
4i8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 her bosom, locked it in an old cabinet. For she had 
 polished the blade until it was exceeding bright, and the 
 point was sharp as the pains of love, and for a certain 
 season there should be no need of it. 
 
 And though the days of the summer were long, yet 
 would they pass. 
 
BOOK V 
 
 The day was burning hot, and on the beach the ranked 
 boats lay with the flood tide beneath their dipping keels. 
 The westering sun dropped slowly seaward: on the east 
 cliffs its light glowed so wonderfully that the rocks were 
 a deep and splendid red, and the grey moss seemed a rare 
 fabric dipped in Tyrian dye. Beneath the cliffs, inside 
 the claws of the headland, the water was like oil ; on the 
 shadowed side the division between air and water was so 
 faint that the double of rock and its reflection hung darkly 
 beneath and over burning blue. And beyond the claws, 
 where the breeze brushed the water into faint lines, the sea 
 was tropic with all the colours of the heavenly sky from 
 the cloudless zenith to the heat haze of the far horizon. 
 The road by the beach was fine white dust ; dust lay upon 
 the roadside flowers and in the few fair gardens of the 
 Cove, In the welcome shadows sat many of its people, 
 for the noon had been heavy indoors upon this day of rest, 
 and only now had a faint air stirred upon the land and sea. 
 
 From the shore to the high uplands, where even at this 
 hour sheep thrust their bowed heads beneath broken banks 
 of flinty earth, the march of summer was as visible as the 
 mighty track of a great army. The haying was long ago 
 forgotten, and the browned stacks stood here and there 
 like rude huts built for quick human increase. The wheat 
 was yellow as fine gold ; the greyer barley was bold and 
 strong ; the oats rustled in their ceaseless chatter, and men 
 said that this year the harvest would be early, and that 
 ploughing might be late. 
 
 " Sharpen your sickles, my slayers of the corn," said 
 419 
 
420 RACHEL MARR 
 
 old Steve, " for man is but grass. And point the coulters 
 of the ploughs, for his grave is a furrow in the hollow 
 earth." 
 
 They said he grew foolish, for who used sickles now in 
 these great days? 
 
 " For Death a sickle may do still," said the old man 
 gloomily ; " the harvest comes for all of us. As for me 
 I'm but a dead awm of wheat sown by the hedge-side. I 
 stand alone, all alone, and when death comes I care not. 
 For neither open air on the headland nor too scanty drink 
 can kill me, and I would fain cover my face before I see 
 certain things come to pass which will come to pass more 
 surely than harvest here at Morna." 
 
 He sat on a great stone outside Sam Burt's cottage, and 
 Sam sat on a bench with his wife, who was heavy with 
 child. 
 
 " What are your prophesyings about, Steve ? " asked 
 Sam. " These months past you have been going round 
 like a Death's head and cross-bones, saying things which 
 are by no means joyful. Is the drink so scanty now that 
 Mr. John has gone ? " 
 
 " Oh, aye, he's gone," said Steve, " and I miss him, not 
 for the drink, but because, when he was like himself, he 
 was a man. And I could tell you strange things about 
 him that's little known. He cried like a child to me on 
 the cliff one day, and that not long before he went." 
 
 " Why did he cry ? " asked Tryphena curiously. 
 
 " On account of what old Mr. Tregilgas used to call the 
 tears of things," said Steve ; " and about himself and poor 
 old George and about a woman he loved and was a mad 
 fool for, and about those who had happiness offered them 
 and would not take it. Oh, that day John Perran was 
 great upon fools, and he foresaw something. But not 
 so much as I." 
 
 The old man had lost much of his marvellous strength, 
 which neither privation nor excess seemed able to diminish 
 until this last hot year. 
 
 " I go down the hill now," said Steve. " Did I say I 
 cared not when death came? That's a lie, Sam Burt; 
 I've always said that life was a splendid thing, and so it 
 
RACHEL MARR 421 
 
 is if we are not too curious, and keep strong and bold and 
 don't put your noses into God's business. But Mr. An- 
 thony Pcrran now is as cock-sure of God as if he had 
 written the Bible under direction all by himself. I hear 
 they revised the Bible, Sam, and I wonder what they made 
 of it by bringing it up to present times. It would seem 
 we've none of the new copies here. We go by the old 
 one — especially on Sundays and when our young wives 
 are by." 
 
 Sam fidgeted a little uneasily, but Tryphena was un- 
 moved. Nature worked with her easily; she thought 
 better of Morna than she did. When Sam got up and 
 walked to the beach she followed him with her eyes not 
 unlovingly, though she was a hard little woman. 
 
 " How do Miss Rachel and Mr. Anthony get on now, 
 Steve ? Folks do talk, surely." 
 
 " The less need of us to talk," said Steve. 
 
 " 'Tis natural," said Tryphena, " for it's very 
 wrong " 
 
 And Steve smiled. 
 
 " If you'd been a man, my dear woman, you'd ha' 
 made a preacher. That's the text of all wordy fools ; it's 
 very wrong, for it's natural ! When do you expect to be 
 a virtuous mother, Mrs. Burt ? " 
 
 " The end o' the summer," said Tryphena placidly. 
 
 Steve rose and followed Sam to the hot beach and leant 
 against a boat with him. 
 
 " This is a hot summer, lad ! " 
 
 " Aye," said Sam ; " it '11 end, and we'll blow our fin- 
 gers out to sea." 
 
 " Marriage has made a philosopher of you, Sam. 
 You're a deal wiser than you were." 
 
 " Tryphena's sharp," said Sam ; " and sharps me." 
 
 "Not too sharp?" 
 
 Sam went dusky red. 
 
 " That '11 do you, Steve. Don't you preach that human 
 nature is human nature? There's no more in me than in 
 some about here. I told you about the time her and Mr. 
 Anthony was in my boat ? " 
 
 Steve nodded and stared out to sea. 
 
422 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " You didn't tell your wife? " 
 
 And Sam shook his head. 
 
 " She's plenty to think upon. But folks do talk. If 
 we didn't hate Mrs. Anthony, talk would be bitter, Steve." 
 
 " I wish she was dead, Sam. But others will die first. 
 Have you heard that the poor old priest at Caerhays flies 
 the blue Peter, being bound for the great port of Lord- 
 knows- where in the land o' Beyond ? " 
 
 " We've all to go," said Sam indifferently. 
 
 " Aye, aye," cried Steve, " but your quart o' life's at 
 your elbow, hardly sipped. And for me the bottom's in 
 sight. And there's some that '11 spill, lad; they'll spill! 
 Damn the land o' Beyond ! Give me the sweet old earth. 
 But if I could give all an unspent life to Miss Rachel, 
 Sam, I'd give it, ph, I would ! " 
 
 " I don't ask what's between her and another," said 
 Sam, " but she has the kindest heart in Moma and around. 
 She's making baby clothes for Tryphena, old chap." 
 
 But Steve struck the gunnel of the boat against which 
 they stood with his clenched hand. 
 
 " By God ! it's cruel, it's cruel ! " he said. And tears 
 ran down his face. For he had a heart that understood. 
 
 " I met her the other day at the gate," he said pres- 
 ently, " and she asked me a strange question, Sam ; she 
 said, ' Steve, when does the summer end ? ' I stared of 
 course, like an owl in daylight, blinking, and a silly thing 
 I answered. ' When it's over. Miss.' And as she smiled 
 (what a smile she has, Sam, even when there's no 
 summer in her heart!) I said that the summer ended 
 somewhere about September. ' But suppose it's fierce 
 and hot till the end of Ocobter, Steve ? ' she said. So I 
 had to allow that I didn't know when summer ended, but 
 that it seemed to me that it was over when the leaves 
 began to turn and to fall, or when a big storm blew up. 
 And with that she nodded and smiled again, and sighed 
 very strangely, as it might be right out of her heart, and 
 she went away by the path among the pines. And it 
 seemed to me there was the end of summer come for her 
 over-early, oh, over-early." 
 
 They hung over the boat for an hour saying no more 
 
RACHEL MARR 423 
 
 until the westward clifif flung its kindly shadow over 
 shining Morna, and the setting sun made the eastward 
 rocks the crowning glory of the day. 
 
 " I'm going up to Caerhays to ask about Father Brant 
 for her," said Steve. " He's ill and old, and grieves about 
 his lost sheep, and she is so sorry for him that maybe 
 she'll tell him lies to give him a happy send-off. But 
 what true woman cares for heaven when her man's about 
 on earth ? " 
 
 As he walked through the fields he looked upon the 
 yellow wheat. 
 
 " The harvest begins to-morrow," he said ; " there's a 
 dark harvester for sweet and unripe wheat." 
 
 II 
 
 In the silence and quiet which fell upon her now Rachel 
 found that the morning of each succeeding day went with 
 unimaginable quickness, while the later hours seemed 
 longer and the night drawn out like an unending cadence 
 to melancholy music. When she woke, and now she 
 always woke at dawn, terror of the swift motion of im- 
 placable time got hold upon her, because she remembered 
 no more the slow passage of the evening that was gone. 
 Her imagination of the processes of earth took on a pecul- 
 iar dread of the uprising sun, which gave her hope and 
 then menaced her with swift oncoming night. In dreams 
 she saw the round earth with a child's thoughts, and be- 
 held the days flash by like sparks from a grinder's wheel, 
 while she sat displaced from her company of dear earth- 
 children. And then once more she came among the alien 
 corn, and found it alien no longer, but the gift of the 
 divinely human earth. 
 
 Folks said she looked at them with eyes which smiled 
 and saw beyond them, and for a long time she avoided the 
 little children who had always been her chief delight. She 
 stayed more within her own garden and her woodland. 
 And she closed her books, shutting up the room in which 
 she had read about the Sibyl, and such noble knights, and 
 
424 RACHEL MARR 
 
 ladies as did what they would, yet did no harm at all. For 
 there was but one more book of Fate to read, and she 
 would find it on the knees of autumn, like a red leaf in- 
 scribed with runes. She walked not wholly without a 
 certain sober cheerfulness, so that many were deceived. 
 She took her quiet pleasure in the pinewoods, where the 
 wind was a wandering minstrel, and there birds came to 
 her, even when Sigurd, who was sound but a little lame, 
 rested his great head upon her knees. 
 
 There she considered many things, and not least often 
 the sweet death of her old priest, to whom, as Steve had 
 wisely foretold, she confessed upon his death-bed to make 
 him happy. That her hour's acceptance of his faith, 
 which was as dear to her as one long dead, was a lie, 
 troubled her conscience not at all. For she perceived in 
 the dying man the flame of the spirit rather than the gross 
 fires of the Church by which he had lived, and she now 
 had a pity for her ancient faith which cried out in him 
 as one abandoned. If she substituted other penances than 
 those his failing voice imposed, they were penances of a 
 more natural and solemn order in the way of charity. For 
 she tried to understand how it was that men gave such 
 attributes to God as they abhorred in their brothers, and 
 by what monstrous perversion of the kindly human heart 
 belief in a creed ranked before the virtues of any pagan 
 soul. And she saw that this dreadful growth was as in- 
 evitable as any noble quality, or as any crime, or as any 
 high purpose, or any base passion, or as bitter love itself, 
 or even as death. 
 
 Out of these meditations, which were truly the wordless 
 communion of her spirit with the indwelling deities who 
 fit man for his fellows, came a great and prophetic content 
 with death. This content, being yet no more than con- 
 templation, went hand in hand with her desire for life, and 
 those gifts of life for which she strove. But now death 
 seemed less far, and she had the knowledge, which noble 
 age or exceeding passion shares alike, that the very act of 
 death itself may be so great a deliverance unto peace as 
 to surpass the most awful expectations of immortal love. 
 She beheld the old priest lying dead with reverent and 
 
RACHEL MARR 425 
 
 appalling interest, for in death he grew more youthful and 
 majestic. He would not lie in marble, but was marble. 
 Death had taken the body and had finished it in the man- 
 ner of a god-like artist. " Here," said Death, " is what 
 life shall itself work out at last, when the noble type that 
 I foreshadow shall live serenely beneath the very shadow 
 of my wings." If, as some said, the older human beings 
 grew the more they prophesied the creatures of the later 
 day, then the very type itself of grave and sweet death 
 should mark the quiet and triumphant close of life's 
 strange drama upon his earthly star. She loved life like 
 a little child, but her secret heart, which knew more than 
 she, comforted itself with death against her aching bosom. 
 And men reaped the golden harvest, and the golden 
 days dropped from the tree of summer like some precious 
 spice which embalmers use. 
 
 ni 
 
 This peace which came upon her in these more solemn 
 hours so influenced those who loved her that they would 
 have believed in her acceptance of fate, save for certain 
 things which happened in the village during the later days 
 of the hot harvest. And besides these matters it was 
 clear to the simplest who knew Anthony Perran that he 
 at least had found no peace even in the full hours of 
 summer. 
 
 " He's mad for work," said old Simon the carter when 
 he came through the Cove on his way to the eastern farm ; 
 " he be fair mad for't, and if another man worked as 
 hard he'd drop. If it weren't for his love o' horses, and 
 I'll say this, that he's kind to beasts, he'd work day and 
 night. Aye, he grows thin. There's more wrong than 
 meets the eye. The maids talk at our farm. And there's 
 times Mr. Anthony sleeps at the hill farm, in the old 
 cottage. These two days he's not been home." 
 
 And someone said that at last Winifred Perran herself 
 grew pale. 
 
 " That pleases me," said Steve, when he heard it ; "I 
 
426 RACHEL MARR 
 
 should have thought she'd have reddened and fattened 
 while others wanned and pined. Those of us that know 
 her hate her, and I knew her since she was a girl. Her 
 old dad has talked about her; and that night Mr. John 
 went off with his boy and Mary he told me things, 
 strange things, boys, that it would be a shame to tell seeing 
 that some we love are touched. Mrs. Winifred suffers, 
 does she? When did she do aught for those who suf- 
 fered? Has she ever helped the widowed or the father- 
 less? Has she come into the Cove with healing in her 
 hands, or kind words that are the greatest help except 
 silence? I've seen Miss Rachel go into a cottage here, 
 and find a stubborn desolate heart, with the man it loved 
 beneath the sea, and by silence and nought else she's 
 brought on the great gift of tears so that the widow has 
 remembered her children. That's a God's gift; that's a 
 God's true heart ; but if the woman at Pentowan suffers 
 'tis wholly for herself and out of jealousy. That's natural, 
 you say? I don't say it isn't, and it's a difficult world, 
 but she can't bring joy anywhere, and that ends her for 
 me. I'm for joy and love, I am, and she can know 
 nothing but pleasure. That's her nature. I wish she 
 was dead. If she was a real woman, aye, and no more 
 than a dozen in the Cove, there wouldn't have been the 
 trouble that there is or the trouble that is coming. I once 
 knew such a woman better than I should, and she scarred 
 me!" 
 
 " You know and you don't say how it was that she had 
 Miss Rachel's dog up there and whipped him," complained 
 the Cove. 
 
 " If I told you'd put Mrs. Winnie in the sea," said 
 Steve ; " so some day I will when I think the time comes." 
 
 He knew so much that his influence was strong in spite 
 of his rags and drunkenness. He hated Mrs. Perran, and 
 understood that his bitter hatred and ceaseless talk against 
 her must avail. It availed much that very week, for by 
 chance it happened that she came down into the village, 
 flaunting clothes that befitted no farmer's wife, as folks 
 said, though for that matter she did no work and desired 
 none. And underneath her fine dress she carried a bitter 
 
RACHEL MARR 427 
 
 and angry heart and a sore one. For Anthony stayed 
 over-much at the hill farm, and she wondered if indeed 
 he slept there. And she met Rachel in the village close 
 by Sam Burt's house, for Rachel had gone there to take 
 Tryphena something for the unborn. And Steve saw the 
 two close together and came up with a spark of fire in 
 his eyes. The village ran out to see if anything happened, 
 for Steve was tolerably drunk, and they knew his mind. 
 And they were rewarded ; for they saw that Rachel passed 
 her as if she were something that cast no shadow, while 
 Steve stood up before Mrs. Perran and took on an atti- 
 tude which betokened that oratory would break loose in 
 him. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mrs. Perran," he said sharply ; " how 
 good it is to see you here among us ! What good deed's 
 yours this day ? " 
 
 And Winnie knew him for her enemy, and hated him. 
 She made as if she would pass him; but he dodged in 
 front of her. 
 
 " Good people all, both great and small, come out upon 
 your doorsteps and see our sweet friend ! " he cried. 
 " Here's Mrs. Perran of Pentowan Farm come down 
 among us ! Who so sweet as she ? Good my dears, who 
 is it that brings you help and is so kind to everyone, in- 
 cluding dogs? Damn my own petty little soul, when I 
 look upon her I'm ashamed ! How great and fine even a 
 woman can be! She brings little puddings to the poor 
 and such like; the widows find a husband in her (she's 
 a power of love) and the children a father. She makes 
 clothes for us and thinks of us hourly, and when a month's 
 storms blow us starvation she's our Lady Bountiful! 
 Isn't it natural all men should love her? All men, all 
 men, but one ! " 
 
 " You — you beast ! " said Winnie, choking. 
 
 " Tie me up and whip me," cried Steve ; " tie me up and 
 stab me with a hay-fork ! " 
 
 And some of the women laughed, and some hissed 
 lightly. For of a surety no one loved her. 
 
 " I could shout with laughter, ma'am," said Steve ; 
 " I'm an old sop, an old wise fool, but I know you in 
 
428 RACHEL MARR 
 
 and out. There's an old man up the road a bit that 
 talks about white rabbits of the bracken. I could talk, 
 I could! Where's our Mr. John? The night he went 
 he burst out about a certain lady and told me pretty 
 things." 
 
 He went right up to her and whispered, and Winnie 
 was as white as foam. She stammered and could not 
 speak. 
 
 " You smote me on the mouth your wedding-morning," 
 said Steve, " but I know more than I told you then. 
 Smite me now ! " 
 
 He offered her an insulting mouth, and Winnie, 
 wrought up to active rage, struck at him and failing to 
 touch him burst into tears. And then of a sudden he 
 saw Rachel, who came to him swiftly and took him by the 
 arm. 
 
 " Steve, come away," she said, and the old man went 
 with her as meekly as if he were a child. 
 
 " I couldn't help it," he whimpered. " God bless you, 
 Miss Rachel, I couldn't help it. Isn't it true she struck 
 me ? Aye, Miss, and she's struck you too. They say she 
 talks of you to the maids at Pentowan. If your dog 
 Sigurd would only tear her throat I'd say ' Glory be to 
 God!'" 
 
 But Rachel told him sternly to be silent, and she went 
 back towards her own house, while Winnie crept out of 
 the village like a thing which has been beaten. And old 
 Steve stood in the road and wept. 
 
 " We poor ants, we poor ants must wait," he said. 
 " What are we, even the biggest ? I smell death here- 
 abouts, and sad disasters. We work things out, and so do 
 those who walk among us. I tell you I smell death." 
 
 As he cried he ran after Rachel and overtook her at the 
 far side of Jose's forge where the path climbed the hill. 
 
 " Miss Rachel, Miss Rachel ! " 
 
 She turned and waited for him, and when he came up 
 with her he rubbed his bleared face with his ragged sleeve 
 and lifted his face to her from below with a lamentable 
 and piteous heart within him. 
 
 " My dear young lady, my dear Miss Rachel, what I 
 
RACHEL MARR 429 
 
 said of her in mockery is true of you. I'm nothing, I'm a 
 wreck, oh, I'm dead, but it's true we love you, and I, that 
 know so much, am grieved for you, if I dare say so. But 
 you are a great woman, Miss Rachel, and you know how 
 what we call God works in the world and in us. If there's 
 wisdom at times in the mouth of babes and sucklings, 
 there's wisdom in an old fool, and a strange keen sight. 
 I've read that there are those who seeing some can fore- 
 tell their death, because they see a white shroud about 
 them. I've no such dreadful gift, but I've common wis- 
 dom, and if this endures I see that we shall lose you and 
 that you will die young. And I'd wish to die before you." 
 
 He wept bitterly as he spoke. 
 
 " Forgive me. Missy, for my heart's full." 
 
 And he saw tears upon her wan cheeks. 
 
 " Poor old Steve," she murmured. And saying that 
 she gave him her hand. But as he took it there was a 
 change in him, a change so great that she was startled and 
 looked at him, the drunkard and the outcast, with some- 
 thing which was like awe. For among human beings, 
 cast adrift in this world, there are those who by endow- 
 ment have the gift of priesthood ; and now once more, in 
 the midst of degradation and out of his infinite and de- 
 spairing pity for her, the priest awoke within him. As it 
 awoke his bowed figure straightened, and all light folly 
 went out of him, and his eyes were bright, and his face 
 had something in it which was venerable. And he raised 
 his hand and blessed her. 
 
 " That which is God-like in this world, bless you," he 
 cried, " and all that is true and natural joy be yours. May 
 your days endure and love brighten your eyes, for where 
 you go love springs like any flower." 
 
 And she bowed her head before him, and then turned 
 toward the woodland path. As she went he cried out to 
 her: 
 
 " I'll do something for you. Miss Rachel, something 
 that poor Father Brant wouldn't have done ! " 
 
 But he had done much already, and fate had done much, 
 for her peace dropped from her like a frozen leaf, and 
 she cried aloud for the end of the summer. 
 
430 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And in the burning heat old Steve toiled up the eastern 
 road. 
 
 " It's time that someone spoke to Mr. Anthony," he 
 said, " for there's death in that dear woman's face." 
 
 IV 
 
 In a little hollow or roundish dimple of the yellow grey 
 upland, where wild and scanty grass edged cornldnd or 
 the rough weeds of abandoned tillage, lay the cottage of 
 the hill farm. By it no trees grew; there was a clear 
 reach of open earth right to the sea, and, upon the north, 
 further yet to the hummocks of brown hills. The land 
 had been won with pain and labour from the desolate 
 moor, and had then been given up because of the failure 
 of the only well. No one but Anthony Perran could 
 have made it yield even a poor rent, but he was of those 
 who endure, even more stubbornly than the earth itself, 
 the conflict which wrenches harvest from the soil. Often 
 and often it had seemed to him that the five fields upon 
 which he laboured were bitter personal opponents; only 
 in a fine season could he make them friends or anything 
 but tribute-bearing slaves of toil. But this year the sea- 
 son wrought with him, the crop was clean and good and 
 tall. He worked upon it with his men in sombre silence, 
 not unthankful, yet without any heart to take payment for 
 labour which brought nothing to ease hi& heart. 
 
 The deserted cottage, in which he now sometimes slept, 
 was the one thing untrimmed within his boundaries. Of 
 its three rooms two were uninhabitable; nettles grew in 
 rankest profusion about its walls and in what had been its 
 garden. Among the nettles showed the broad leaves of 
 dock; wild vetches blossomed rarely, only the thistles 
 were mown down lest the wind should sow them broad- 
 cast in the later year. The one room which he used had 
 nothing in it but a truckle bed, a table of scrubbed deal, 
 and an old wooden chair. But this room was as clean as 
 old Simon the carter could make it. Ever since his 
 strange dismissal the man had feared Anthony more than 
 
RACHEL MARK 431 
 
 he feared God ; for, being one of those who lived equally 
 with kindly beasts, he saw no more quick reason to be 
 afraid of God than of the far-off majesty of the remote 
 law. 
 
 " There be an owl nestles in the old kitchen chimbley, 
 sir," said Simon ; " shall I smoke un out ? " 
 
 " Let it be," said Anthony. 
 
 As Simon went away he murmured thoughtfully : 
 
 " I do hate owls, I do, they're sad birds o' night. 'Tis 
 a sign as the master hates his misses if he'd sooner sleep 
 with an owl ; that's certain." 
 
 Half the wheat was low when Steve Penrose came upon 
 the hill. It showed like the gold of sunset as it lay in 
 waves where the reaper had thrown it. But it was noon, 
 and the men were taking their mid-day meal under the 
 shadow of the northward wall, while the horses champed 
 their food with their head-stalls off. Anthony himself 
 was in the house, for he ate but little, and found dry 
 bread and cheese and water no more tasteless than any 
 food that came his way. 
 
 " 'Tis a damn dry place for Steve to come to," said the 
 men when they saw him climbing the hill ; " what's he 
 want now ? . Well, water's precious here, lads ; let's offer 
 him a pint." 
 
 But the old man waved their clumsy jests aside and 
 went straight in to Anthony, whom he found sitting with 
 his face upon his hand. He was looking at the dead 
 white wall, but if the old man judged true he saw other 
 things than those he looked at with his eyes. Now 
 he stared at Steve for a long moment until he knew who 
 it was, and then he moved impatiently. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I've come with a message for you, sir," said Steve 
 very soberly, as he pushed aside two ragged locks and 
 stood upright before him. 
 
 " From whom, man ? " 
 
 "That's more than I can rightly say, sir. According 
 to my notion it's from God, and as likely as not you'll 
 say it's from the devil. But I beg leave to speak, for, if 
 you remember, I once said there would be a day I'd come 
 
432 RACHEL MARR 
 
 and speak to you if you tore my tongue out after- 
 wards." 
 
 " If you remember so much, it's good," said Anthony, 
 " what folly are you after now ? " 
 
 But there was still something about the old preacher 
 which was so unlike himself that Anthony wondered. 
 
 " I've come to speak to you about Miss Rachel, sir," 
 
 " Keep your tongue off her name, man." 
 " It's a name that blesses every tongue that speaks it," 
 said Steve ; " and you know I love her, sir. And I've no 
 hatred for you, only a kind of sorrow. And I'd like you 
 to know, sir, as you must know, that according to some 
 poor Miss Rachel's blessed name lies in the dust. And 
 there are others, not so wicked as foolish, who think the 
 same, for they've no heart to be strong and to rejoice in 
 natural love. I'll speak to you of Miss Rachel, sir, if 
 you kill me ! " 
 
 His voice was more like the voice of a young man, and 
 his very soul was moved. And Anthony Perran sat 
 quietly. 
 
 " If I will not hear you? " 
 
 " You will hear me, sir." 
 
 He looked straight into Anthony's eyes, and saw how 
 wasted the man was, and how his face was drawn so that 
 he seemed over his age by many bitter years. 
 
 " Speak," said Anthony. " I never gave you anything; 
 I'll give you fifteen minutes now." 
 
 This was in the nature of penance, for he foresaw 
 suffering. And he saw something in Steve which looked 
 as much the direct gift of God as shining waters in a 
 desert of dry sand. 
 
 " Now you give me leave, sir," said Steve, " I come upon 
 the difficulties of it. But I want you to know that I saw 
 Miss Rachel an hour agone, and when I left her I said, 
 ' It's time that someone speaks to Mr. Anthony, for 
 there's death in that dear woman's face.' Yes, sir, there's 
 death's shadow on her, and a consuming fire in her, and 
 it's a fire of love and pity which burns. And I've a notion 
 in me that, by unhappy chance, you lighted that fire be- 
 fore you were married, sir." 
 
RACHEL MARK 433 
 
 And Anthony veiled his face with his hands, and sat 
 trembling. 
 
 " Oh, sir," cried Steve, " here's the difficulty of it, that 
 I've been a preacher and am now of the less account for 
 that, seeing that my name's for laughter and I live like a 
 creature of the fern and take as much liquor as I can get, 
 and make myself less than a beast. And now I'll not 
 speak of the wild nature in me, which has made me what 
 I am, for I'd scorn to defend myself to you. And I can 
 see, sir, somehow, that the very fact of my being what I 
 am and yet able to speak to you so, may show you that 
 God's in me yet, though my God is not yours, and yours is 
 very dreadful to nie. For I'll speak fairly, and say that 
 every man in this sad world seems to have a God of his 
 own, unless it be the poor folks who have none and wor- 
 ship in crowds. And so I come, God knows how, to 
 Miss Rachel and to you, sir, and to your wife, sir, which 
 last is the matter that may make you lay hands on me. 
 However, I care not, as the sky's my judge and the God 
 that we look for in our hearts and out of it." 
 
 But though he paused Anthony never spoke. 
 
 " It's common knowledge, dreadful knowledge, sir, that 
 you love our Miss Rachel and that she loves you. And 
 such love as hers is out of all comparison the rarest gift 
 upon earth. 'Tisn't her beauty, sir, which is so strange 
 and rare, and now wastes like ice in the sun. 'Tis her 
 kindness and her thought for others, and her tenderness 
 and the swift heart to help and her most wonderful power 
 of love which passes words, aye and passes all under- 
 standing. And nature being what it is, and she being 
 what she is, she has set her heart on you, and it's owned 
 all round the country that you are a fine man, good and 
 strong and fair dealing, and with that kind of face and 
 eye which makes many women sigh when you are spoken 
 of. And you would say, ' I'm married,' that's what you 
 would say, and what you do say, sir. I won't speak 
 against matrimony, Mr. Anthony, for it's a holy estate. 
 But it's not holy, as you know, sir, just because of a 
 ceremony, but because it's according to nature — when 
 God and nature go together 'tis a sweet and plain path, oh, 
 
434 RACHEL MARR 
 
 the very sweetest. But God's found with difficulty, and 
 nature's here before us. Who is at the back of nature 
 but God, sir ? and there His word is plain and clear. This 
 He gave to us ; it's the great book, the unwritten book, 
 that sometimes even I have read in when I've slept under 
 the stars and heard the sound of the sea beneath me." 
 
 He wiped his brow and went on, for the man to whom 
 he spoke made no motion. And words were sweet to the 
 old man, for he loved that which lay beyond them when 
 they were clear and true. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you've never lived ! And I — oh, I have, sir. 
 You believe in books, in the Book. Books come out of 
 the human heart, even if God puts them there. But what 
 need have you of books, when here are hearts for you to 
 read? Their very blood is the word of God. They're 
 nearer to Him than any books, believe me. You can't 
 live by thinking, but by living, and religion's not life, sir ; 
 it's only a help, it's only one staff, and nature is our very 
 limbs, our feet. And here you live by the letter of the 
 word, and Miss Rachel's dying, and there's another that's 
 living on her blood, whose heart is wickedness. For 
 some hearts are evil, as some books are evil. And there 
 are things I know about one who is, as you believe, bound 
 to you, that you don't know. And I've come here to tell 
 you the truth, and I'll speak it while I've a tongue in me, 
 for I love Miss Rachel, too, sir, and what is right in her 
 sweet eyes is righteousness in me ! " 
 
 And with that he dropped his voice, and leaning with 
 his hand upon the table he spoke things which stabbed 
 Anthony to the heart. 
 
 " I've no right to hear you," he cried ; " no right ! " 
 
 " I'll speak," said Steve, " I'll speak and I'll say the 
 truth ; truth that I've seen and heard ; truth that I've seen 
 with my eyes in moonlight ; truth that her poor old father 
 told me ; truth that your brother owned to me in the mad 
 hour he had before he went that night, sir. I'll speak it 
 unless you choke me." 
 
 Old as he was and broken, yet he was strong now and 
 dominant. 
 
 "There's no such woman living, I should say," said 
 
RACHEL MARR 435 
 
 Steve ; " she'd drag the fairest soul down to hell. You 
 can't live with such a woman and see God. There are 
 such women, I know — one I met in my old life. That I 
 saw her spotted soul and left her before I was plague- 
 stricken gives me rights that few have, and I've known 
 poor harlots and loved them, sir. Harlotry's no such sin 
 — Christ was kind to a harlot, but what about Sapphira? 
 And a common liar is a poor tool that's soon blunted be- 
 yond the power of wounding. But what of this woman 
 who sat in secret and worked out a plan to make your 
 poor mad brother, whose wild passion she knew, drag 
 Miss Rachel in the dust of shame in the dark of her own 
 wood ? " 
 
 He whispered that into the ear of the man who sat 
 clutching the table. 
 
 " She is my wife ! " cried Anthony ; and he caught 
 Steve by the wrist and nearly broke it. 
 
 " If you're strong to hurt me, be strong to hear the 
 truth," said Steve. " I'm an old man, and you're the 
 strongest man in Morna. It's true, it's true." 
 
 And Anthony groaned in torment, and was white as 
 ashes. 
 
 " She — oh, I said I'd forgive her everything. Is this 
 all true? Oh, God, it's true; there's that in me cries it. 
 What did Rachel say ? And even this old man knows ! " 
 
 He sat with a fallen jaw, and his eyes were wild. 
 
 " And she's my wife ! Oh, man, you talk folly ! " 
 
 He caught Steve by the coat and shook him. 
 
 "She's my wife!" 
 
 And Steve cried out: 
 
 "What's a wife but something human? That's what 
 a wife is. Oh, but I'm sick to see so fine a man, and one 
 that Rachel Marr loves, think so much of his own soul 
 as not to trust his heart if it leads him to damnation." 
 
 He took Anthony by the shoulder. 
 
 " And that's what no human love did yet ! If there's 
 a hell, be sure it's full of those who thought themselves 
 surest of heaven. Will Miss Rachel be in hell, sir? If 
 I thought that I'd be willing enough to lose my own thin 
 chance of Paradise." 
 
436 RACHEL MARR 
 
 But Anthony heard nothing that he said, ana saw no 
 blinding sunlight, though he looked upon the warm and 
 radiant earth. For him the word was law ; the sacrifice 
 of his heart the sacrifice appointed. Unto the Lord he 
 made his altar ; unto the Lord he sacrificed his soul. His 
 word was not given to the woman, but to God, and nothing 
 could recall it. The thought of any revocation was mon- 
 strous sin, and yet not so monstrous because it was im- 
 possible. He had cried out to Rachel on a sea not so 
 perturbed as his own spirit, that even- if he fell yet would 
 he go back. And here his human pride stepped in and 
 blocked his path to any remission of his agony. To know 
 what his wife was, how foul, how bitter, how secret in 
 revenge, how public in her name, and then to return and 
 to say what any guilty man must, would be so intolerable 
 that his body sickened at the thought. He turned upon 
 Steve at last and spoke fiercely and with a religious pas- 
 sion that was dreadful. 
 
 " Are you the devil himself, Steve Penrose, you that 
 once preached God's word and now infect the world with 
 atheism ? Out of my sight, man ! Whatever the chances 
 of salvation the woman I love has, shall I blast them 
 utterly and blast myself, aye, and damn you deeper than 
 you are, by being what you would have me be ? Oh, God 
 forbid! I'm what I am, and where I am, and my sins 
 are as scarlet now." 
 
 " God help you ! " said Steve ; " God help you for a mad 
 fool and for a man that lives on the crumbs that have 
 fallen from great men's tables where they fed the poor in 
 ages past. There's as fine a table spread for you now as 
 there is for every age, and yet you crawl upon the ground. 
 If God makes the times, with them He moves. The man 
 who crucifies the best within him is a howling Jew on 
 Calvary. What a sick heart said a thousand ages ago of 
 man's wicked heart was a lie born of sickness. Man's 
 heart is desperately good, and there's his Bible. In the 
 Bible you cry about there are lies, Mr. Anthony, for any 
 truth becomes a lie when it deals with man and his strange 
 conditions. But I've done, I've done ! I've said my best, 
 and done my best, sir, and that dear woman, who was 
 
RACHEL MARR 437 
 
 born a woman when most shes are only females, must pay 
 the penalty. Good-bye, sir, and a great red-gold harvest 
 to you, and when you thresh and winnow your own slain 
 soul, may you find grain in it, and not only poppy leaves 
 and tares and darnel. I've done, sir, and a bloody even- 
 ing to you this black day ! " 
 
 With that bitter curse upon a bowed head the old 
 man, weeping and aflame, took the white road in the dust. 
 He spent that afternoon with old George Perran, and 
 both were drunk before the sun went down. But An- 
 thony, being drunk with shame and passion, worked like 
 three men, and drove his labourers and his horses till 
 they groaned, and it was long past sunset. 
 
 V 
 
 But when the sun was a sunken star, and colder stars 
 hung in the pure vault of heaven, and a hot land breeze 
 moved upon the waters like the faint breath of a foredone 
 beast who drinks at the margin of the sea, Anthony came 
 out of his wrecked house and sat for an hour in so full 
 a quiet of the body that he seemed carved out of stone. 
 He saw rats run swift in the dusk ; they squeaked bencjith 
 his very feet; the owl sat upon the chimney top and 
 hooted, and then with spread vans slid like a shadow 
 through the lucid night. The colour of the slain wheat 
 made a golden pallor even under the stars, and the hill- 
 top rose out of the vague and tenebrous darkness which 
 covered Morna and the sea like a huge barrow given over 
 to the dead. Far away down among the trees, the pines 
 and elms of Morna, twinkled lights ; where the wind 
 touched the moving tides, or where the tides chafed in an 
 overfall, there was a broken gleam. But Morna House 
 was obscured by its trees, and over it there shone a faint 
 far lamp which marked Pentowan Farm in the open fold 
 of its descending valley. 
 
 " God help me, there's my home ! " he said. And as he 
 prayed, for this was a prayer, he knew that it was God's 
 purpose to give him no help, but to try him in the fires. 
 
438 RACHEL MARR 
 
 He was very certain of God, and God's ways ; for he was 
 assured that the ways of man were not the Almighty's, 
 and that God gave His creatures their passions and their 
 deHghts sto be sacrificed to His own incomprehensible 
 glory, unless their happiness was approved by man, whose 
 approval by his bitter logic went for nothing. And now 
 he wrestled with himself upon a high place, and prayed 
 against his nature and accepted all things, even shame, 
 while within him there was that which cried out like one 
 that would yet triumph. And this was how he, too, 
 prayed wordlessly for death. It was close on midnight 
 before his day's toil and passion gave him, if not a vic- 
 tory, a bitter truce, and he lay upon his bed and slept. 
 And it may be that he dreamed, though there are those 
 who will say he did not dream, for the nature of man 
 broadens like the very stream of time, and with new needs 
 new faculties awaken and are begotten in the fertile hearts 
 of men. For he heard a fine faint voice cry aloud, " An- 
 thony, Anthony ! " and his flesh moved upon his bones, 
 and the hair of his head stood up. This was the voice of 
 Rachel, and he accepted it as her messenger without any 
 denial or any amazement, though he was cold with fear 
 of himself and of heaven. And going out into the night 
 he found that the constellations had wheeled in their 
 mighty march but a mapped hour's space, and yet the 
 aspect of the heavenly host was strange to him, for he 
 saw them not upon any plane, or any curve of the sky's 
 dome, but as lamps nearer or farther yet, in a deep fathom- 
 less abyss. He stood upon the hill over the darkness of 
 the abyss of earth, stood as one lost among the stars, and 
 he found their high company cold and the earth warm as 
 the bosom of his beloved. And like a man who walks 
 in his sleep, or one whose will is bound in the fetters of 
 one desire, he descended the hill, and only when he found 
 himself upon grass within three fields of Rachel's house 
 did he once more awaken. Then he went down upon his 
 knees, and sweat that was ice broke out upon his forehead, 
 and he found no words for heaven, but only those in- 
 articulate motions of the mind which consume the 
 very words which show them forth. And without any 
 
RACHEL MARR 439 
 
 words his spirit cried out to the Giver of all Good 
 Things : 
 
 " O Thou, Thou who hast set us upon this bloody star, 
 this fire-encircled globe, this trembling planet of appalling 
 thunder, to war against the flesh, give me courage to break 
 down my heart and burn it on Thy altar. There's no 
 pride in me, nothing but appeal, for she's so strong, so 
 strong ! She cried out to me, I heard her. Her nature 
 is so pure, so sweet, and Speaks is if Thou Thyself spoke 
 in it. That old man was terrible this day. Oh, Thou 
 knowest her mercy, her loving-kindness, her most im- 
 mortal pity for the poor, and those who suffer. There's 
 a God-given anguish in her: she pours ointment on the 
 very feet of death itself. But for me she has no pity: 
 my passion's here : she cries of green pastures to me in the 
 fire that Thou hast kindled to try me. Immortal God, 
 Great Omnipotent, Just and Most Merciful Creator, blind 
 me to her ravaged beauty, which is more lovely than youth 
 in flower : burn out my eyes with burning tears : palsy my 
 limbs that strive towards her ! There's such an ache in 
 me : there's such a wind that blows me to her : I'm a drift- 
 ing seed upon her indrawn sighs : there's no help but in the 
 God I've given my youth to ! Let me not sink in fire and 
 be consumed! Thy Law — Thy Law — but there's the 
 flesh, the flesh! I beat it down, and there's the body, 
 and my soul's drawn with it : my will consumes ! I will 
 not fall, I will not ! Lift Thou me, for the solidity of the 
 earth dissolves beneath me : I'm engulfed in earth and her 
 cruel loye. Make me love yet hate her: take a little of 
 the burning hatred of my heart and pour it into my love. 
 Set me free from her voice. If it be that my death alone 
 can preserve her and bring her heart and body back to 
 Thee from one poor creature, stamp me into the trenched 
 ground, into the hollow earth, into the clay which is my 
 body's! Save me, save her! Oh, oh, this awful earth! 
 there's but a faint star of faith over it : make the star burn 
 for me, O God ! " 
 
 And yet he rose and staggered onward through the 
 night, and it was as if the earth were split beneath him 
 and spurted flame. To his own salvation and the will of 
 
440 RACHEL MARR 
 
 God he hung as a stricken mind that is barely sane hangs 
 to sanity and is afraid. But his body was drawn onward ; 
 and in this hour he knew that if by any fatal chance she 
 used her power there would be no power in him. 
 
 He crossed the belt of pines and plunged within their 
 scented solitude, for one immortal minute of respite he 
 breathed like a lover at a tryst most exquisitely happy in 
 dear expectation. So sweet and awful a moment of the 
 body's triumph appalled him: he gasped for breath and 
 wondered. 
 
 " Is there such happiness for happy men that lasts ? " 
 
 He saw an equal glimpse of truth, that happiness, how- 
 ever won, must come from God. He thrust the truth 
 away and came beneath the windows of the silent house, 
 and as he stood there he heard Sigurd speak low as one 
 who knew his old master's step. He came to the dog, 
 who fawned upon him joyfully. 
 
 " You are hers, you see her daily," said Anthony ; 
 " she's your sweet mistress ; I've seen your head upon her 
 knees. Oh, but you're a dog, great of affection, but so 
 little to me that you're a ghost, not a reality. What is 
 real but agony ? Heaven's so dim. And I said, ' Give me 
 the summer,' and here I am in harvest breaking faith with 
 myself and with her. Oh, but years ago when we were 
 happy, she cried out, ' I'd do anything you wanted, An- 
 thony.' I'll tell her that. She must not cry to me ! " 
 
 He stood beneath her window that faced the south. 
 
 " Did you call to me, beloved ? " 
 
 Here the lover spoke softly ; here the man denied him- 
 self no music of his own voice. 
 
 " Did you call to me ? I heard your voice upon the 
 wide upland; it came to me." 
 
 Above his head the white house stood that held his 
 heart: earth breathed upon him with odorous winds, and 
 the great woods murmured. 
 
 " One star of my sky. Oh, oh, what red dawn's for 
 me? If she speaks what shall I do? Tear the wall 
 down ; break the door and take her ; or will her voice be 
 what it was of old, and make me gentle ? " 
 
RACHEL MARR 441 
 
 He talked like one in a dream, as one drunk with 
 strange dews of plants in a deep land of flowers. 
 
 " I will speak, I will cry out," he said, " while I stand 
 and wait I'll give myself this gift. I'll fool myself, fool 
 my heart, drink deep. There'll be an awakening, for 
 I'm strong. I shall say what is God's will, but under- 
 neath my words I'll call her dear, and utterly beloved, and 
 my soul's red heart, and I'll think of her bosom and her 
 arms ! " 
 
 And then he knew that Rachel herself stood at her 
 window, open for the cool air of night, and looked down 
 upon him. He lifted wordless lips and stammered, but 
 even in the drawn passion of him he held his arms down, 
 rigid with clenched hands. He heard her speak, and the 
 air was vibrant and warm, and the scent of flowers filled 
 the very ether. 
 
 " Is it the end of summer ? " 
 
 The warm air and the scent of corn-ldnds and all the 
 innumerable voices of the middle year mocked him as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Did you call me, Rachel? " 
 
 "How should I call you?" 
 
 But her heart leapt within her. Here was the man, by 
 his voice so shaken that its very tone proved her power at 
 last. And even as she knew it, pity for him raised its 
 head within her, and it cried out softly that she was cruel, 
 and she knew the truth of it, and yet was bound in such 
 inexorable need that the knowledge helped him nothing. 
 Pity sat apart in her and wept, as it might at tumbrils and 
 the march of war. 
 
 " Rachel, I lay up yonder, and I heard your voice. It 
 cried, ' Anthony, Anthony ! ' " 
 
 She was hard, for triumph that was cruel, that is cruel, 
 ordered the passions of her soul. 
 
 " I lay asleep. Perhaps I dreamed ! " 
 
 " Then your spirit called me. I believe now that this 
 might be. An hour ago I'd have denied it." 
 
 The reaction of his audible passion upon her made her 
 so strangely cold that she wondered. 
 
442 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " Am I ice? " she asked; " am I ice? What has hold 
 of me?" 
 
 She found speech incredibly difficult: the fountains 
 within her were dried up. At this moment it seemed as if 
 she could have surrendered him to his own fate. But she 
 knew better, and yet was cold. 
 
 " When does the summer end ? " she asked of him. 
 " Is it when the leaves fall, or when a storm comes ? I'll 
 keep faith with you ! " 
 
 And he cried out in a loud voice : 
 
 " What name has this garden, O Christ in Gethsem- 
 ane?" 
 
 He found words and poured out speech before her. 
 
 " You said you'd do anything I wanted, Rachel ! That 
 was what you said years ago. Do you remember that 
 night when you were in the cool water, and your heart 
 was cool, and I was what I am, though I knew it not ? 
 Oh, I love you, there's no measure of it. But I'm set 
 fast. Don't call to me. I hear you, and shall hear you. 
 And there's two agonies for me. Give me one ! Give me 
 what you will! No, no, I did not mean that. I said, 
 ' Give me the summer,' but your soul called to me. 
 Rachel, I was drawn here; my dear love, I was drawn 
 here. But I swear before God I'm strong now, and calm, 
 and I bid you to remember what you said. The harvest's 
 half down. Can I live to see it ended ? " 
 
 But her heart was ice, was motionless, she could not 
 speak. And she knew that the old man had been with 
 him, and had used dreadful truth upon his soul. 
 
 " Death itself were better." 
 
 But she could say nothing, nothing. She stood and 
 looked down upon him, while dumb pity wept within her, 
 and the march of death went on. And she heard herself 
 cry out aloud : 
 
 " When does the summer end ? Has it ended that you 
 have come to me ? " 
 
 And she saw him going blindly among her flowers, and 
 she knew that whether summer ended now, or burnt in 
 an eternal glory, he was hers when she called to him. 
 And knowing something beyond this, by reason of the 
 
RACHEL MARR 443 
 
 separate pity which dwelt apart within her, she took out 
 the carved crucifix from the old cabinet, and put it against 
 her heart, and spoke with it as she might have spoken to 
 a living thing. 
 
 But Anthony went not back to the hill, but to Pen^ 
 towan. And going in he woke his wife and said things to 
 her that she found no answer for. She sat shaking till 
 dawn, and then renewed her courage, though she wept. 
 " She'll not get him. He'll come back to me." 
 She prayed that hour to some god she believed in ; for 
 now, according to the measure of her nature, she loved 
 him and was afraid. 
 
 VI 
 
 The harvest of the corn fell to the reaper, and the hours 
 that perished and were reckoned up fell to the reaper of 
 days, and yet the summer endured like gold that the rust 
 of winter cannot corrupt. And there were some whose 
 harvest was nigh gathered, and some that went under the 
 flail and the winnowing fan till men might judge what 
 God sowed. Rachel was of those whose fertility in the 
 eyes of heaven was known; and even men and women 
 knew her, and for all her griefs they loved her still, be- 
 cause she loved them and even now was not cold. And to 
 herself, as she remembered it, that strange midnight hour 
 which found her as cruel as the grave was a very strange 
 and dreadful thing, even though she thought upon death, 
 and went quietly with the thought within her. 
 
 " I was cruel to him, cruel to Anthony ! " she cried in 
 bitter astonishment. But she could not let him go, for her 
 love was stronger than his death ; many waters could not 
 quench it. Her jealousy was cruel as the grave, and 
 digged a grave for him. She prayed ancient human 
 prayers to the white knife of her cross, and handled death 
 like a child. 
 
 And now in Morna, which perceived all things through 
 the dark glasses that Steve held up to them, the folks saw 
 one strange change in Rachel. Once she had scorned the 
 
444 RACHEL MARR 
 
 old and those without children, for it seemed to her abun- 
 dant strength that age was lack of endurance, and owed 
 nothing to the passage of time, while those who were 
 wives, yet not mothers, belonged by no right but a bitter 
 courtesy to the fertile children of the earth. But now she 
 gave herself daily more and more to the old, and such 
 houses as held no rocking cradle and mothered no chil- 
 dren found her within their thresholds with grave conso- 
 lations and many gifts. It was Steve who first saw this, 
 and his very soul was sorrowful, and for many days he 
 said nothing of it, for it seemed even more cruel than that 
 her natural mother's heart should set her empty hands to 
 the help of the unborn. 
 
 " This is death's warning," said Steve ; " this is to be 
 ' fey,' as some have called it. She looks upon the old, not 
 because they are old, but because they are soon to die. 
 And she is sorrowful out of her own sorrow for those who 
 have no children. Now I see death has set his seal upon 
 her, and she makes ready without knowing it. For 
 nature works this way with many, and not once only 
 have I seen it." 
 
 But she desired life, even if it were only for one hour, 
 and her thoughts upon death were, as she knew, alien and 
 intrusive so far as her own soul was concerned. And 
 there were times when she desired to go back upon the 
 path of time with such a desire that it made her do things 
 which otherwise she would not have thought upon. But of 
 a truth she was at once so fixed and so open to certain 
 impulses that she moved as the very winds listed and was 
 blown upon the winds. And a strange thing happened to 
 her, or what she thought strange, since she was of a mind 
 to see portents in inconsiderable chances of the hour. For 
 only a few days after Anthony had come into her garden 
 at midnight she went out into her wood and stayed there 
 till twelve was struck by the clock of the church on the 
 hill and the gibbous moon was high in the south. And 
 she remembered the night of long ago, the night in which 
 she had bathed, and Anthony had come riding by the 
 beach with her own dog Sigurd. 
 
 But then the moon was full and the harvest stood un- 
 
RACHEL MARR 445 
 
 touched. Now upon Pentowan and the hill farm the 
 golden corn was stacked, and the moon was no pure circle, 
 but something incomplete. Yet the night was such a 
 night as the other, balmy and odorous with the scent of 
 pines and heavy roses. The tide was close upon the flood ; 
 her acute ear caught the sound of the lessening purr of 
 the Lion in the tide-way, and the sleepy lap of windless 
 waters on the rocks. She laid her cheek against the cool 
 clean scales of her pines and sighed once or twice, and 
 then at last rose, and going quickly to the house she 
 loosed Sigurd and went down to the beach. Now it was 
 after midnight and the world was asleep. Was there 
 anyone awake? Who should ride upon the moonlit road 
 this night? Was anyone dying at this hour, as her 
 mother had been near to death so long ago? She put 
 the thought away from her, and with that thought other 
 thoughts as well, and tried to be what she had been, as she 
 pat upon the table of rock from which she used to bathe 
 when she was not a woman. And suddenly she looked 
 up and between the claws of the rock which enclosed the 
 waters of the Cove she saw far at sea a vessel on the 
 flood. Such a ship she had seen upon that night. On 
 what voyage had it been : for it was the same mystically, 
 and bore mysteries within it? As the moonlight fell upon 
 Its sail it was white and faint and wonderful. And even 
 as she watched it the vessel went up into the wind, and 
 its sails were in shadow and a shiver ran through her 
 veins. She clutched hold of Sigurd, who lay upon the 
 rock beside her, and found comfort in his friendship. 
 About her a very heavy shadow lay, and the water near at 
 hand was dark. She touched it with her fingers and 
 found it warm, and in another moment was swimming 
 while Sigurd lay with one great paw upon her gar- 
 ments. 
 
 In the firm and cool embrace of the passionless water 
 she recalled her passionless hours, and in her dark heart 
 she regretted the passions of the flesh. These swept over 
 the white purity of the soul, and if they did not make it, 
 marred it. Though she strove against all thoughts of the 
 present, the exceeding bitterness of it could not be ex- 
 
446 RACHEL MARR 
 
 pelled. She was as one driven out of Paradise without 
 cause, and the strange folly of vain self-denial rose before 
 her like a monstrous reef of rock. If Anthony had only 
 trusted himself! At the thought of lost happiness she 
 sighed, and the gibbous moon was a vast blur of light in 
 the heavens. The pale stars ran down the sky like those 
 which fall, like tears which fall. 
 
 And she heard Sigurd speak upon his rock as one who 
 says, " Listen ! " But she heard nothing. 
 
 And Sigurd barked low once more. It was as if he 
 said, " I hear a friend." 
 
 And Rachel's heart almost failed her in deep water, for 
 she knew that Anthony came riding upon the high road. 
 For one moment time itself died within her, and that 
 mystic sense which sometimes flowers in the human heart 
 and says that time is not, grew to a wonder in her. She 
 found another portent in his coming; it meant much. 
 She could make it mean much. How slowly Anthony 
 rode! She remembered that while he was alone at Pen- 
 towan he rode homeward fast. He came within sight of 
 her, riding with his head sunk upon his breast. But she 
 knew that from where he was he could see her house. 
 He drew up and looked towards it, and her heart was all 
 love and pity, for he threw up his hands with a gesture of 
 despair. He sat his white horse bareheaded; it was as if 
 he prayed. Then he rode on and found Sigurd in the 
 path ; and the great dog, remembering much that had hap- 
 pened at Pentowan, though his chief memories were of a 
 certain woman, whimpered joyfully to him and lay down 
 in the dust. And in the moonlight man and horse and 
 dog were like peculiar apparitions, for the quiet world 
 was so dead asleep. Where dust rose it fell. The dark 
 water was like oil ; the moon had no wake in the sea, but 
 was repeated in burnished silver set in the dark of blue. 
 
 She heard him speak. 
 
 " Sigurd, Sigurd, why are you not at home ? " 
 
 He stared at the heavy shadows, and fearing against 
 fear and hoping against hope, cried out: 
 
 " Rachel ! " 
 
 Her voice came back out of the dark waters : 
 
RACHEL MARR 447 
 
 " Yes, Anthony." 
 
 His heart leapt within him fiercely, and intolerable joy 
 and passion shook him. Twice he lifted his hand and 
 then he spoke. 
 
 "Rachel, Rachel!" 
 
 He alighted from his horse and came to the verge of 
 the water, and stammered strangely: 
 
 " Years, years ago — do you remember ? " 
 
 He saw her head set in water to her throat; she was 
 like a lily in a pool, 
 
 " You bade me go home. Then Sigurd was mine," he 
 said. 
 
 He spoke like one in a dream, and knew it. 
 
 " This is like a dream." 
 
 " I was cruel to you the other night, Anthony. I'll not 
 be cruel again." 
 
 But she knew that she had triumphed, and held his soul 
 within her hands. 
 
 " If there's happiness, I'll give it to him." 
 
 His passion took his thoughts and turned them at its 
 will. 
 
 " You said, ' I'd do anything you wanted, Anthony,' " 
 was what he thought. He said: 
 
 " I love you." 
 
 The sound of his own words came to him and made 
 him tremble, though they were so faint and low. 
 
 She smiled, though he saw not that she smiled. 
 
 " Is there such a thing as time, Anthony ? If you love 
 me I'll believe in immortality." 
 
 His soul asked him : " Can God condemn a human soul 
 to hell for ever because it loves ? " And his body said 
 that love lasted for ever, and that if love existed there 
 could be no hell. For in this hour of midnight he was a 
 man, and lived among natural things and saw God face to 
 face. And he forgot the morrow and the resurgence of 
 those things which made him less and more than a man. 
 Here the night surrounded him and cut him off from 
 those aspects of the world which live on dead faith. They 
 were both children of the moon and forgot the bitter sun, 
 and spoke dear words to each other. He knelt upon the 
 
448 RACHEL MARR 
 
 beach and saw her like a dim naiad, and his heart was fire 
 within him. 
 
 And suddenly they heard Steve far up on the road 
 singing. When he was drunk he often sang hymns, and 
 now he sang, " Oh, God, our help in ages past " as he 
 came back to Morna from drinking with old George 
 Perran. 
 
 " Go, go ! " said Rachel. And Anthony rode away upon 
 his white horse with a strange fierce joy in his heart. For 
 now he knew that his God would not be his help, and he 
 desired nothing but her love. And this would endure 
 until passion fulfilled itself, since this is the nature of men 
 of bitter faith. 
 
 But for the first time a sense of pity for his wife grew 
 up within him. For her natural gifts were the infernal 
 endowment of the pit, and Rachel was as splendid as the 
 angels of God. 
 
 VII 
 
 He passed Steve staggering on the road and singing. 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Anthony," said Steve, " good-night J 
 my legs are very drunk, sir, but bar a tendency to see two 
 Mr. Perrans, which is a remarkable increase of lament- 
 able folly, I'm sober enough." 
 
 But Anthony said nothing and rode on, cursing himself 
 and afraid, and yet in a wonder of the rapt flesh which is 
 the spirit. And Steve went down to the beach and sat 
 upon a rock not far from Rachel, though out of her sight, 
 and as she clothed herself again on leaving the water she 
 heard him rave. For there were more thoughts within 
 him than his drinking with George had let free, and meet- 
 ing Anthony in the road set him preaching. 
 
 " Oh, aye, good people," he chanted from his rock, " oh, 
 aye, good people, here's folly for you from the wise and 
 wisdom from a fool. I met a ghost on a white horse up 
 the road, and 'tis a ghost that's afraid of love. Good dear 
 people, do not be afraid of love, for when it is met God is 
 met, in whatever shape. But the ghost on the horse flees 
 
RACHEL MARR 449 
 
 from love, I know. I taught her wisdom myself, and 
 I've helped to slay her. Wisdom's too much for women; 
 and even men rarely get through to the sunny side of 
 wisdom. Look at me howling hymns and preaching to 
 sleepers while my legs are limp and I see twice the houses 
 in Morna that there are. Oh, woe's me, woe's me, Miss 
 Rachel's dying; she's dead already, fpr she's thinking 
 of the childless ones. And to-morrow maybe Tryphena 
 Burt will give her sinful Sam a child. What's that? 
 Here's another ghost ! 'Tis Sigurd and not a ghost. If 
 he were a ghost I'd not see two of him, and here are two 
 Sigurds at my knee." 
 
 He touched Sigurd upon the head. 
 
 "Aye, he's real enough and wanders around. She 
 lamed him. Old boy, come and lie down and warm me. 
 I'll sleep here. I wish I was dead. Poor old Steve, what 
 a sad life yours is! And there's Miss Rachel! I could 
 weep, I could. There's a halo round the moon, she'll 
 weep ; the sky will weep. Summer's done for all of us." 
 
 He lay down and went to sleep, and Rachel went back 
 to the house with Sigurd following. 
 
 " That's afraid of love," she said, " and is the summer 
 over?" 
 
 There were clouds in the south-west sky, and a little 
 breath of wind came out of the sea, and when she woke in 
 the morning she heard the sound of the rain. And it 
 rained for three days, and then a storm from the west and 
 north-west turned the green leaves brown and cast ripen- 
 ing fruit upon the earth of many broken orchards. 
 
 VIII 
 
 When the storm blew over and the land was quiet again, 
 with all the glory of the summer gone out of it, Greer was 
 called to the village, and when he left it Tryphena Burt 
 had a child at the breast. Rachel came down to the Burts' 
 cottage and left the mother things which she had made 
 with her own hands. 
 " Will you see the boy ? " asked Greer. And to his sur- 
 
450 RACHeL MAk& 
 
 prise Rachel said that she would not. The whistling doc- 
 tor whistled and stared. And whether it was that he had 
 wisdom of his own, or had talked with Steve, he under- 
 stood and cut his whistling short. 
 
 " I'll walk up to your house with you," he said. And 
 when he came to the garden he stopped and turned to her. 
 
 " You are ill, Rachel," he said suddenly. 
 
 But she denied it, palely. 
 
 " I am perfectly well." 
 
 " Then why did you refuse to see Mrs. Burt's child ? " 
 he asked, and Rachel's pale face flushed. But she did not 
 answer, and Greer shook his head and talked almost to 
 himself. 
 
 " A doctor has to be hard," he said, " but he has his 
 griefs even when he does his cold best for the dying, 
 Rachel. For he sees that human beings are fools and 
 choose the difficult, when the easy is at hand. I'm in 
 trouble about you, girl, for I knew your mother. And I 
 had trouble a while ago, for you know I loved John 
 Perran with all his faults. He's gone, and won't come 
 back. For that matter, the boy I knew went when Jose 
 struck him. What has struck you, Rachel ? " 
 
 " Am I so changed ? " she asked. 
 
 Greer threw his hand up and nodded. 
 
 " If I were your father I would take you away." 
 
 "That's where I am going," said Rachel to herself; 
 " that's where I am going." 
 
 " You want a change." 
 
 " The summer's ended. Dr. Greer," she said, " and that 
 will be a change. Will you come in ? " 
 
 Greer stood irresolutely and did not answer. But sud- 
 denly he put out his hand and shook hands with her and 
 turned away. 
 
 " I'll never help her through any trouble," he said. 
 " Damn civilisation and morality, and more especially 
 damn Anthony Perran ! There's trouble coming, coming 
 fast. The man's like a madman, and she's as white as 
 death." 
 
 But Rachel said that now the summer was ended, and a 
 great restlessness fell upon her, and a feeling which was 
 
RACHEL MARR 451 
 
 that of entire impotence in the hands of something which 
 was herself and not herself. She walked in her garden, 
 and its odours pleased her not, and the quiet of her be- 
 loved wood was not satisfying, and the sound of the sea 
 was terrible, and the hills of the uplands too solitary. 
 And when Martha spoke to her she answered at random, 
 and when the old woman followed her in the house she 
 turned upon her in a strange passion till Martha wept. 
 And then Rachel comforted her and went away dry-eyed. 
 
 " I can't let her speak to me," she said ; " since that 
 night in the wood we've never spoken. Now I'll not call 
 to Anthony, for the summer's ended." 
 
 And yet he came not of himself, and when he rode 
 through the village he rode fast and desperately, and men 
 from Pentowan said he never smiled. The women at the 
 farm said that he and his wife rarely spoke, and that 
 Winifred Perran had a look of fear in her eyes, and that 
 she was curiously quiet with them and with everyone 
 about her. 
 
 But when the rain was all over and the dry leaves began 
 to fall Rachel met Anthony riding hard, and called to him. 
 And he did not stop, but said to her, " God help us, dear ! " 
 as he rode on. Yet she could not help him, or herself, or 
 any human thing ; and she went back home, and lay on the 
 bed all day, and next day did not rise. 
 
 " What's this in my heart ? " she cried ; " oh, this bitter 
 hardness ! This is love that was gentle, and it's fierce as 
 death. Oh, my heart! My eyes are dry and my hands 
 hot and my bosom's fire, and my soul is a flame ! " 
 
 Martha came up to her, and sat by her without words. 
 
 " So I used to sit with her mother." 
 
 And seeing Martha's eyes, Rachel took her hand. 
 
 " You dear, you faithful dear ! You've lost your own 
 grief in me, and I give you nothing. Martha, am I beau- 
 tiful still?" 
 
 " You're pale and thin, dear, but there's no such beauty 
 as yours. It breaks my heart ! " 
 
 " Beauty has been no use to me, Martha." 
 
 " It shall be," said Martha. " There's none like yours 
 on earth, and there's power in it, darling ! " 
 
452 RACHEL MARR 
 
 " There's none. My very bosom aches, Martha. 
 
 " I know it, Rachel." 
 
 The woman on the bed reached out and caught Mar- 
 tha's hands, and drawing her close laid her head on her 
 knees. 
 
 " Did you ever feel death was a helper, Martha? Why, 
 it's rest, you know. I'm lonely, Martha. Hold me close, 
 closer." 
 
 The old woman rocked her in her arms. 
 
 " My baby, my baby 1 " 
 
 And Rachel shivered. 
 
 " The doctor said that Tryphena's child was a beautiful 
 boy, Martha. I wouldn't see him. I — I hated poor 
 Tryphena." 
 
 And Martha said nothing, for she understood. 
 
 " I wouldn't see him, Martha, I wouldn't. I wish I had 
 — now." 
 
 She whispered: 
 
 " I can see the baby now, Martha, with his little hands 
 and his dear little mouth. He's all like a sweet crushed 
 rose. Martha ! " 
 
 " Yes, darling." 
 
 "Martha!" 
 
 But Martha did not understand, and Rachel pushed her 
 away and lay back upon the pillow and hid her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 And then Martha's heart opened and she went down to 
 Tryphena Burt's and spoke to the mother herself. And 
 Sam's sister came back with her carrying the baby, who 
 was very big and very quiet, and lay still with open eyes 
 and clenched hands. 
 
 " I'll take him up myself," said Martha, and she went 
 upstairs with him to Rachel. And Rachel sat up in bed 
 and her loosed hair fell down over her shoulders and 
 bosom, and she cried aloud and tears came to her eyes. 
 She held out her hands and took him and laid him against 
 her heart. Then she turned her head to Martha. 
 
 " Go away, Martha, go away ! " 
 
 And Martha sat outside weeping, while Rachel spoke 
 to the baby, and crowed over him and pressed him against 
 
RACHEL MARR 453 
 
 her white bosom, while the tears ran down her face as she 
 kissed him. 
 
 " Oh, baby, baby ! " she said ; and those were all the 
 words she had, but sharp pains ran through her body and 
 there was a dry fire in her bosom, though there was 
 sweetness in her hands and the warmth of the child's clear 
 flesh was a dreadful comfort. And presently her tears 
 ceased and the tumult of her body was calmed until the 
 baby pressed with his little hands against her bosom and 
 made her cry out to Martha. Then she said with wild 
 eyes: 
 
 " Take him away now, Martha, to a happy woman in a 
 cottage. I'll never nurse my own, never, never." 
 
 She locked the door after Martha was gone and paced 
 the room until at last she grew utterly weary. Then she 
 lay down again, and slept and dreamed as she had often 
 done of her own children of the pinewood, and the vision 
 renewed itself in the wood as it had been, and she was 
 intensely, exquisitely happy. But then her heart became 
 like a mother's when her children are born to die; for 
 these, the gifts of God ungiven, these promises of God 
 unfulfilled, grew wan thin ghosts and most unhappy. And 
 when she called to them they heard her not, and when 
 she would gather them to her mother's breast they were 
 thin air or the dead leaves of a dead and ghostly tree. 
 And as she looked upon them they peaked and pined and 
 were as shadows, and they faded away into the night and 
 left her utterly alone. She woke herself by passionate 
 sobbing and found that the shadows of the evening were 
 about her house. She clad herself and went downstairs 
 and sat with Martha for an hour without speaking. And 
 when Martha went to bed she walked in her garden, 
 which was already wan with the touch of autumn. 
 
 " When will he come ? " 
 
 She stood by the verge of the garden where it looked 
 upon the little valley where the stream and the wind in 
 the sedges murmured, and on the opposing slope of the 
 hill that hid Pentowan. 
 
 " He said, ' Give me the summer,' and the summer is 
 consumed, and the harvest is gathered, and the wind has 
 
454 RACHEL MARR 
 
 strewed half the leaves upon the stubble and the mown 
 grass," she cried, "and my heart is consumed too, O 
 G6d ! " 
 
 She left her garden, and entering the meadows took the 
 path to the little bridge across the stream. And when she 
 came to the water she heard Sigurd howl strangely as if 
 he knew she had gone from him and was alone. The 
 night was dark about her, and her soul was dark, and she 
 knew not what she did, only knowing that she was drawn 
 onward by something that rebuked her very will and 
 made her its instrument, as love and hate make men their 
 instruments. Yet at this moment it seemed to her that 
 she did not love Anthony, but almost hated him. For it 
 was as if his spirit had her by the hair, and indeed the hair 
 upon her head moved and the flesh crept upon her bones. 
 
 And after midnight she came to the farm and stood 
 outside the grey stone wall, touched with moss and lichen, 
 which held the grey house where her beloved lived. Far 
 across the valley she heard Sigurd howl. Then she called 
 to Anthony, using such incantations as women make in 
 their minds when their hearts are lonely, and their arms 
 lack sweet comfort and their very souls are barren and 
 cry out. As she stood there she heard the desolate cry of 
 curlews and strange birds of the night on the upland, and 
 the cold murmur of the selfish sea, and the faint wailing 
 of the rhythm of the wind. And no one but the birds and 
 the sea and the wind answered her, though still she spoke 
 to him, feeling now no bitterness against him because her 
 nearness to him told her how it came that his great heart 
 was shut in stone and bound in the very cloths of death. 
 She used such sweet words to him as she would have used 
 to a child, and told him that God's men lived for life and 
 not for death; and that death was a thing not to think 
 upon, as the natural heart of man declared and as all 
 sweet women knew, since they were chiefly concerned in 
 the giving of life. 
 
 And though she knew it not, she drew him from his 
 tired sleep and set him praying, and praying in vain, and 
 set him in revolt, not wholly in vain, and made him look 
 QUt of the windovy towards her house and the dark wood 
 
RACHEL MARR 455 
 
 which hid it. And he too heard Sigurd howl mournfully, 
 and his thoughts turned fiercely upon tied men that their 
 souls treat like dogs. And he said : 
 
 " Does she cry to me ? " 
 
 For one moment of the mournful night the night was 
 not mournful. For he forgot that he would come back to 
 this prison house even if he yielded to the great desire 
 within him. And he said again what he had said in her 
 garden, when he stood beneath her window : 
 
 " I'll call her dear, and utterly beloved, and my soul's 
 red heart ! " 
 
 And as he heard the wail of the wind he knew that the 
 summer was ended, and Rachel went back to her house as 
 if she had held him to her bosom, for something com- 
 forted her. But Anthony walked his solitary room for an 
 hour, and his wife sat up in her lonely bed listening to 
 him. Once when she heard his door crack she crept out 
 of bed and put a cloak about her and took her shoes, and 
 opening her own door looked upon the landing. She 
 heard far Sigurd howl quite plainly, and shivered, for 
 there were times when she dreamed of the dog as he was 
 when he hurled her upon the ground, and destroyed half 
 her hold upon the man whose agony she heard at mid- 
 night. And if she never cried out in these dreams it was 
 because Sigurd had her by the throat. But when she 
 woke she often wept bitterly, because she was not 
 happy. 
 
 IX 
 
 The next morning Anthony saddled his horse early and 
 rode up through Morna Church Town and many miles 
 further. As he left no orders and no word of where he 
 was gone, his men stared at each other in wonder and 
 went off to work with as much amazement as if the stars 
 had fallen or as if the world turned no more upon its axis. 
 But for him, as he rode, Pentowan was nothing but a 
 house where a woman dwelt, and the farm was lost out of 
 sight, and work was foolishness, and the fruits of the earth 
 
4S6 RACHEL MARR 
 
 and of labour were the foolish desire of men that were as 
 ghosts. For he could help himself no more, and went for 
 help, knowing as he did so that any aid was vain, because 
 he believed no longer deep within him that man had any 
 free will or power to move beyond that implanted in his 
 body at his birth. Nevertheless he called to God, and 
 prayed, and rode onward quietly, meaning to confess his 
 trouble to an old minister who had been a friend of his 
 father's. 
 
 The day was fair, and the sky, though clouded, was 
 very blue, and the far-off sea as he looked down upon it 
 was blue and purple ; and the uplands were wonderful in 
 colour because of the moving shadows and sunlight. As 
 he rode his mind eased itself a little, and came into closer 
 harmony with the earth and with the air and the sun ; for 
 now, since free will was a myth, his soul struggled less 
 within him, and for the moment he accepted the ministra- 
 tion of the air and sun more sweetly. For this is often 
 the nature of despair, and he knew that whatever he did 
 this day would be done by something not himself. And 
 it seemed to him that God was someone very far with- 
 drawn, and he wondered a little dully at the fierce strange 
 prayers which had once been kindled in his heart. 
 
 So he rode thinking of Rachel, and many things she 
 said came back to him, and he saw her a thousand times 
 like a lily in a pool. And words that old Steve had 
 roared at him came back, and phrases out of his own 
 prayers, and wild blasphemies of John's uttered when his 
 brother laughed at man and God. And one thing that he 
 remembered Steve to have cried out when he was preach- 
 ing to the village came to him again and again. " I used 
 to talk of one sinner and ninety-nine just persons," said 
 Steve, " but that was when I thought the world was 
 mostly order. Now that I see order's thp rarest flower, I 
 think of ninety-nine sinners, poor dears, and one just 
 person, damn him ! " Was there one good man, even 
 one? And if God's just person could crush love, was 
 his love great, or his love of God wrought out by his own 
 hands? Or was he not the only sinner? 
 
 And still Anthony rode in the sun and the shadow, and 
 
RACHEL MARR 457 
 
 the early autumn was like a peaceful summer, and the 
 woods within the valleys were crowned with russet and 
 gold. But he saw the pinewood on the slope of the hill 
 and cool waters at midnight, and Rachel asleep in the 
 wood. 
 
 When he came within a mile of where the man whose 
 advice he wanted had his habitation, he got down from his 
 horse and walked. But presently he halted upon a gorse- 
 clad common outside the village, and loosing his horse he 
 lay down upon the grass. He stayed there for an hour. 
 When he rose he walked into the vilage and came to 
 the cottage that he sought, and outside of it the old man 
 whom he knew sat in a great chair. But he was dim of 
 sight and did not know Anthony, and Anthony looked 
 upon him and turned away sighing. He led his horse a 
 little further to the village green and stood thinking, 
 though what he thought he could not have said. He came 
 out of his reverie to find half a dozen children staring at 
 him curiously, and he laughed a little strangely, as such 
 children would think. Then he mounted his horse again 
 and rode back the way he had come, going quietly enough, 
 with a quiet mind until he saw Morna House, and then he 
 fell into a tremble and a sweat, and his heart dreaded 
 Pentowan, and the sweat upon his brow was like ice. 
 But inside his mind there was a voice which said, " To- 
 night," and he shook to hear it, and it seemed to him that 
 going to Pentowan now instead of to Rachel's was some- 
 thing upon the side of his account with God. And then 
 he said to himself : 
 
 " If I go to her again it will be to speak to her for the 
 last time. I shall go back to my wife; yes, yes, I shall 
 go back." 
 
 And if he heard a voice say " Fool " he listened not to 
 it, and he saw Rachel's arms about his knees. And he 
 lifted her up and bade her good-bye, and then again he 
 saw her by the wood, and beheld the crucifix fall from 
 her bosom. And then they were in the boat, and she 
 showed him the steel blade in the white cross which 
 seemed so strange a thing to be there. Yet it was not so 
 strange as dreadful, for the blade of it had cut them asun- 
 
4S8 RACHEL MARR 
 
 der. If any voice said " Fool " to him it was said to him 
 for his folly before he married. 
 
 " I married Winnie ! And there's Rachel, Rachel ! " 
 
 He came back to the farm at sundown and stabled his 
 horse himself, and taking some dry bread from the kitchen 
 went down to the sea. For the air of the house choked 
 him, and the sight of Winnie was more bitter than ever. 
 He knew there was an uncleanness which clings closer 
 than the flesh. And it was God's will that no river should 
 cleanse him from it but the river of death. 
 
 But when it grew dark he swam in the sea, and the cool 
 embrace of the water made him saner, and he went back 
 to the farm like a man walking in a dream. He said he 
 would not go to Morna, but before midnight he rose from 
 his sleepless thoughts and went downstairs quietly. Yet 
 he went not so quietly but that he woke Winnie in the 
 next room ; and when she saw that his door was open and 
 his bed empty she threw on her clothes with trembling 
 hands and followed him into the night, with anger in her 
 heart, and jealousy and all the passions of the soul which 
 hurt. 
 
 And this night Sigurd did not howl, although Rachel 
 walked in her valley. For he was with her when she met 
 Anthony by the bridge, and yet when they turned again 
 towards Morna he did not follow, but lay upon the bridge 
 with all his hackles bristling and a low fierce growl deep 
 in his throat, for the wind blew from the west, and his 
 ears were keen, and even before he saw one that he laiew 
 he heard her running down the hill. 
 
 X 
 
 The autumn night was as heavenly as any of the sweet 
 days of summer before the storm which reddened all the 
 woodland save the pines. No breath of wind was swift 
 enough to stir a branch, and yet there was a sensible sweet 
 motion of the air from the sea which just overbore the 
 land-breeze of a warm midnight. The sky was faintly 
 clouded on the horizon, but from above one shining planet 
 
RACHEL MARK 459 
 
 to the zenith the heavens were deep and clear. Nature 
 slept, but slept so lightly, with such kindly happy breath- 
 ing, that the earth itself seemed a living creature resting 
 by the immeasurable plains of ocean. 
 
 But none of the sweet influences of the Pleiades and the 
 shining sisterhood of the heavens poured themselves on 
 those whom the vast obscurity of the hour separated from 
 the sleeping world. Rachel's heart, even as she moved in 
 the darkness of the sloping fields with no other companion 
 than her dog, found no balm in the silence in which she 
 was lapped. And, as she went wondering, the silence 
 opened to her and was silence no more, but an audible 
 intense rhythm of nature itself breathing. And some 
 creatures of the world woke and slept again, and woke 
 and called and slept once more, and a myriad hum of un- 
 seen life still endured like the faint far music of the great 
 tides sweeping through the gateway of the seas. 
 
 There were hours now that she prayed, not to any saint 
 or to any dear lost Madonna, but to the starry heights 
 which symbolised in the darkness the faint far light of 
 God. The Sibylline oracles within herself gave her 
 strange interpretations and obscure ; the kingdom of God 
 in her heart was desolated by passions which should have 
 been so beautiful. But still her strength endured, and out 
 of her destroyed pride a great and stubborn pride grew 
 once more which walked upon the path of death like any 
 martyr moving to the kindled fires. She went as one self- 
 moved by great necessity. She was not herself, and yet 
 she was more. All unhappy women, all who loved in vain, 
 or loved in tender folly, or made disaster out of love, or 
 found love the sister of death, or knew that their heritage 
 was barrenness, went with her as she moved, prayed with 
 her as she prayed, and cried out in anguish for the shame 
 of man, and of themselves. 
 
 In the darkness of her mind she saw her lover. It was 
 to him she prayed. And she hated him as she loved him 
 ' — even as she loved that which was God and hated the 
 folly of His world. 
 
 " When will he come ? " 
 
 It seemed to her that he must eorae. She stayed at the 
 
46o RACHEL MARR 
 
 little bridge and called to him in her inmost soul, and then 
 she called aloud, and out of the shadows a shadow grew, 
 and she cried out in terror as if he were a dim and wan- 
 dering ghost. 
 
 " Anthony, Anthony ! " 
 
 He took her in his arms, for he was as one in a dream, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " I called him," said Rachel, " and he is here ! " 
 
 Every instinct within them sent them further from the 
 hidden farm above. But though Sigurd licked Anthony's 
 hand he lingered behind them and was lost in the darkness 
 of the night. 
 
 " This — this must be farewell," said Anthony. 
 
 And Rachel was two creatures, herself and the strange 
 heart of all women. And that which was not herself 
 smiled, for the soul within knew that the man talked 
 folly. 
 
 " I called him and he is here ! " 
 
 She triumphed strangely, and her voice grew firm, and 
 there was such a ring of joy within it, joy strained and 
 yet triumphant, that he shook and held to her like one 
 afraid. 
 
 " You are my life," he said. "Oh, this is dreadful. 
 You are my life." 
 
 He spoke not to her, but to his deity, and his deity was 
 now some pagan thing, some most intolerable fetich which 
 could be moved by suffering and could inflict it and be 
 urged to cease by some further sacrifice. 
 
 " She's so beautiful, O God ! If there is any way of 
 pain, any long endurance! Think of her loving-kindness, 
 and my torture. I'll endure such torture if she is given 
 peace. I've been an agony these years, an agony raw, 
 bleeding. She's now lost to heaven, but surely nearer 
 than when 1 lost her. Her beauty burns me ! " 
 
 He forgot God and all but Rachel. 
 
 " Your beauty burns me, Rachel ! " 
 
 They were near her garden. 
 
 " Your garden's Paradise, but I'll not come in." 
 
 He fell trembling again, and took his hands from hers 
 and held them behind him. 
 
RACHEL MARR 461 
 
 " I'll not go in, Rachel. Say I'm not a man, say I'm 
 dead. There's nothing but endurance." 
 
 He turned against Pentowan and cursed the spot most 
 awfully and prayed again. 
 
 " God, shall my soul rot there ? Shall I come clean to 
 heaven. Oh, oh, I must ! " 
 
 He caught Rachel in his arms and spoke. 
 
 " You are most intolerably dear to me, girl. I dream 
 of you, that's my share of you; I adore you. There's 
 been no beauty in my eyes but yours since — since, oh, 
 God, since I married! The heavens are beautiful with 
 your beauty, and the green earth, girl, is fertile with 
 you, and I'm sick of heart for you, because you could be 
 mine, and I've swum a thousand leagues in the great seas 
 with you. God, God ! listen to me. Where you tread is 
 beauty ; and sorrow, that isn't mine, flees where you come. 
 All people love you, and little children, and the old, and 
 men, and I, I most of all. 
 
 She put her arms about him and laid her head upon his 
 shoulder and called him dear names and the tears ran 
 down her face. 
 
 " And I must go ! Oh, the path of love's not for me. 
 I'll live solitary, I am solitary." 
 
 He took her shoulders in his hands and shook her. 
 
 " I am solitary." 
 
 He fell into a silence and lost himself. And then he 
 woke and they were in her garden, under the shadow of 
 the trees and the darkened house. 
 
 " Your house — the house that holds you ! It's blessed 
 and a curse." 
 
 "Anthony!" 
 
 "My beloved!" 
 
 She fell upon her knees beside him and he heard her 
 speak, and the voice was the voice that he called Tempta- 
 tion, for she declared that God did not require the utter- 
 most of man. 
 
 " Oh, am I so evil ? This is my heart speaking, An- 
 thony, it cries like a starving child in me. And my heart 
 is like a mother's heart when her dear ones suffer. Is 
 God less than His creature, less than a child, less than a 
 
462 ^ RACHEL MARR 
 
 mother? I'll not believe that. I can believe in a God 
 that helps His creatures. I ache with your suffering — I 
 think of it, I live it. Think of all that's been done 
 against me, Anthony! I can't speak names, but you 
 know. And I'd have worshipped idols with you and shed 
 my blood before them ! " 
 
 She took him by the knees. 
 
 " My heart's for you, Anthony ; it was born for you. 
 I'll not have you suffer — you shall live. With you 
 I'll thank God. I'll not live like this — I cannot, I 
 cannot ! " 
 
 She sprang to her feet and caught hold of him and 
 sobbed without tears. 
 
 " I feel this suffering ; not mine, but yours. I ache with 
 it, I'm unclean with it — it stings like a serpent. God's 
 not against our love. I'm not old, I'm young! Have 1 
 any beauty left? Anthony, there are other countries. 
 I'm mad, I know, but am I shamed? Not, O God, if I 
 know my dear lover is in hell, while an evil woman feeds 
 upon his heart that loves me ! " 
 
 She writhed against him and held him close, and he felt 
 the sweet warmth of her body and the trembling of her 
 hands which clutched him. 
 
 "There's darkness where you are not — gaping darkness, 
 dearest," she murmured ; " there's darkness like a great 
 beast waiting; there's madness and death! There's 
 death in my house, sleeping — death in this wood, waiting, 
 waiting ! " 
 
 "Give me death, O God," he prayed; "must I go back, 
 must I go back once more ? " 
 
 He caught her tight and kissed her lips and cheeks and 
 hair, and then he stood away from her, and turned towards 
 the abhorrent place where his home lay. 
 
 " Give me death, now, now ! Here, give me death I 
 Strike me dead this hour, O God! Oh, I'm lost; she's 
 lost to me ! There's no help for her or me ! " 
 
 He struggled with himself, with his body, with his soul, 
 with the Angel of the Lord, with the emissaries of the 
 pit. 
 
 " I'll give her up ! I'll call her utterly beloved — I think 
 
RACHEL MARR 4^3 
 
 upon God, and I think upon her white bosom ! Rachel, 
 Rachel ! " 
 
 But when he called she did not answer, and he turned 
 and saw her staring at the sombre shadows of the pines, 
 and he ran to her and took hold of her ; and cried out that 
 she was all the world to him. 
 
 And she pointed to the deep paths of the pines and tried 
 to speak, but could not, for she stammered. But her eyes 
 were unutterably strange, and a soft light was in them, 
 and suddenly she broke from him and ran into the deepest 
 shadows, and he followed her, remembering how he had 
 run in the same wood long ago. And as he ran the passion 
 in him grew, as passion grows in darkness and the great 
 natural secrecy of deep woods, and he was a living flame, 
 burning in the night, so that he found her sobbing by 
 her own tree. And she reached out her arms to him 
 with a cry and held him close, and she laid the carven 
 crucifix, warm from her bosom, by the roots of the pine 
 that covered them from the starry heavens. 
 
 XI 
 
 She told him the secrets of the woodland, and the pas- 
 sions of it, and her heart was his to see ; and still he held 
 back part of his. She spoke of the dear dead, and of her 
 household, and the sweet old woman who loved her, and 
 being glad to show the natural goodness of her soul, she 
 spoke of her own love for living things, and the warm 
 aspect of the world ; and he said nothing of his own soul, 
 and part of his heart was not hers. She told him of 
 her love in moving accents, in most moving words, and 
 every inarticulate sob was a gift beyond all price; and 
 he wept not, nor did he say such things as lovers say, but 
 he was drunk with the scent of the flowers of passion. 
 And still he held part of his soul from her. For it cried 
 out and howled like a creature of the wilds, in an arid 
 plain of hell, trapped in fire. 
 
 She spoke to him of her visions, and sighed to think of 
 them. And he heard her hidden voice sing like the music 
 of a quiet brook in shadow. She called him the dearest 
 
464 RACHEL MARR 
 
 names, lamenting for him and for his griefs. And God 
 for her was a great spirit of goodness, speaking in the 
 kindly winds and in the fertile meadows, but mostly in the 
 love of lovers, and the affection of those who love chil- 
 dren and are good to the beasts of the field. And where 
 two true lovers are there is God in their midst, and where 
 kindness is there is God also, and where man tortures him- 
 self from that place God Himself must flee. 
 
 And for him God was a jealous God, who ordained 
 strange things to try human hearts beyond their nature. 
 And part of his heart and all of his fear he kept for 
 heaven. But Rachel did not know this, and was happy; 
 for dear women are blind and the nature of man is be- 
 yond them, being strange learning even for the wise. 
 
 And once as she spoke she discerned a frightful trem- 
 bling in his limbs. But again he took her hand and lis- 
 tened to the voice of her heart and the music of her un- 
 speakable love. And the wind breathed more audibly 
 about them, and there was an increasing song of the tide 
 upon the rocks. In every sound there was something 
 calling to him. In Paradise he feared God. 
 
 And then he trembled again, and fell into a great shake 
 and withdrew himself from her suddenly, so that she cried 
 out to him. But he did not hear her, or her voice was a 
 woodland whisper against thunder. 
 
 And he said: 
 
 " O God, have I to go back ? " 
 
 She heard the beating of the very wings of death, and 
 her heart grew cold with terror and an old thought 
 renewed. And in this garden of the passions, in this 
 bitter garden of most bitter herbs, she heard him wrestle 
 with himself and the dark angels of his soul. 
 
 "O God!" 
 
 He spoke in audible strange whispers, and every word 
 he spoke she heard. And there was no anger in her, only 
 a vast all-embracing pity, and a removed and quiet sorrow 
 for the life she could not live, which was even now but a 
 vision melting before the dawn. As he cried out and 
 struggled she put on part of immortality, in that she was 
 of no age, neither old nor young, but full of help and 
 
RACHEL MARR 465 
 
 courage and quietness of spirit. Passion folded itself 
 within her like a flower, but love smiled upon death, and 
 she reached out her hand to death. And she saw nothing 
 more in the pine shadows, nor did anything cry out to her. 
 For she beheld the man only, and she perceived that with- 
 out help there could be no victory for him, but only 
 shame and the acceptance of shame. 
 
 " He might say now that I had brought this worst of 
 all things upon him. And it would be true." 
 
 For this she should help him. 
 
 He cried out : 
 
 " I must go back to her ! " 
 
 Oh, the dreadful thing she was I 
 
 Rachel took him in her arms, kneeling by him as he 
 knelt, and he spoke. 
 
 " Not I, not my heart, not my body, not my hands, 
 Rachel, for they desire you. Not my brain and my eyes 
 and mouth, for they desire you. Not my mind, nor my 
 spirit, nor my soul, oh, God, for they desire you, dear. 
 I'm driven, driven, driven. It's folly, it's madness. 
 Would I had never seen you, Rachel, would that I had 
 been blind and deaf to you ! I'm going back to her ! " 
 
 He took hold of her hand. 
 
 " Here's the deep shame ! Am I a man, and who begot 
 me? I go back to shame, I must. Rachel, I'd rather 
 die, and I cannot die ! " 
 
 She took him close in her arms, and now her tears ran 
 down her face. She comforted him like a Madonna of 
 the sorrowful woods: for this was her child of the pine- 
 wood, and she was already an immortal while he spoke 
 of sin and the years of time and of death. 
 
 " Infinitely blessed are you," said Rachel, " and I am 
 not ashamed, nor do I regret. I say that God is merciful, 
 say it even now. Be calm, Anthony, there is still time 
 for us ; the dawn is not coming." 
 
 He leant against her bosom. 
 
 " I'll remember," he said ; " and after death we may be 
 forgiven. Rachel, pray when I am gone." 
 
 " I'll pray," she said. 
 
 " I must go," he cried, " I'm called ! " 
 
466 RACHEL MARR 
 
 And she kissed his brow. 
 
 " Give me till the dawn, Anthony," 
 
 And again he cried out that he must go back, and she 
 smiled over him, saying, " Kiss me." And then he cried 
 out to God and to Christ softly. 
 
 " He came to bring peace and a sword," said Rachel ; 
 and even then in the east stars paled a little. She loosed 
 her hair over his eyes and he kissed it, and the tears 
 ran down his face. 
 
 " If it could only be that God would slay me now, 
 Rachel, I could die," he said. 
 
 And Rachel knew that God had many instruments 
 and moved in dark woods, and on dark waters towards 
 His ends. 
 
 " There is a way," she said, " for he shall not go 
 back." 
 
 And when he stirred again she said : 
 
 " Wait, dearest, my beloved ; it is not dawn, and there 
 is another way." 
 
 But in the east the lesser stars were extinguished like 
 candles on a great altar. And what wind there was died 
 away, and the world was very still. She heard her own 
 heart, and a look of infinite bitterness passed over her, 
 and then she was one with the night, accepting all things, 
 and ready. As she held him she felt his heart beat. 
 
 " Do I know God now ? " she breathed. She kissed 
 him softly and called him her beloved, her child, her dear 
 child, and all that any happy woman can call him she 
 worships. And he was still, with his head upon her 
 knees; and some of the quiet of the dying night passed 
 into him, and some of her great and wonderful peace 
 and even some of her acceptance of the deep energies of 
 the world of God. 
 
 "You love me?" 
 
 "If I could die so!" 
 
 " I'm happy, Anthony ! " 
 
 "Is that the dawn?" 
 
 " It comes, dear, but not yet. Are you happy, my 
 beloved?" 
 
 "If I could die so!" 
 
RACHEL MARR 467 
 
 She bent over and kissed him tenderly, and in the faint 
 light of the growing dawn, which put the great stars out 
 one by one, her face was sweet and wonderful and as 
 strong as death. 
 
 She reached out her hand and took the crucifix. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 The theme of the new novel is one which will give Mr. 
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 Cameron of Lochiel 
 
 Translated from the French of Philippe Aubert de Gasp6 
 
 by Prof. Charles G. D. Roberts. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth decorative .... $1.50 
 
 The publishers are gratified to announce a new edition of 
 a book by this famous author, who may be called the Walter 
 Scott of Canada. This interesting and valuable romance is 
 fortunate in having for its translator Professor Roberts, who 
 has caught perfectly the spirit of the original. The French 
 edition first appeared under the title of "Les Anciens Cana- 
 diens" in 1862, and was later translated and appeared in an 
 American edition now out of print. 
 
 Patriotism, devotion to the French-Canadian nationality, 
 a just pride of race, and a loving memory for his people's 
 romantic and heroic past, are the dominant chords struck 
 by the author throughout the story. 
 
 Castel del Monte 
 
 By Nathan Gallizier. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth $1.50 
 
 A powerful romance of the fall of the Hohenstaufen dy- 
 nasty in Italy, and the overthrow of Manfred by Charles of 
 Anjou, the champion of Pope Clement IV. The Middle Ages 
 are noted for the weird mysticism and the deep fataUsm 
 characteristic of a people believing in signs and portests 
 and the firm hand of fate. ' Mr. Gallizier has brou(^ out 
 these characteristics in a marked degree. 
 
6 L C. PACE AMD COMPANY'S LIST OP HEW FICTION 
 
 Slaves of Success 
 
 By Elliott Flower, author of " The Spoilsmen," etc. With 
 
 twenty illustrations by different artists. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth $1.50 
 
 Another striking book by Mr. Flower, whose work is a|- 
 ready so well known, both through his long stories and his 
 contributions to Collier's, the Saturday Evening Post, etc. 
 Like his first success, " The Spoilsmen," it deals with politics, 
 but in the broader iield of state and national instead of 
 municipal. The book has recently appeared in condensed form 
 as a serial in Collier's Magazine, where it attracted wide- 
 spread attention, and the announcement of its appearance 
 in book form will be welcomed by Mr. Flower's rapidly in- 
 creasing audience. The successful delineation of characters 
 like John Wade, Ben Carroll, Azro Craig, and Allen Sidway 
 throws new strong lights on the inside workings of American 
 business and political "graft." 
 
 Silver Bells 
 
 By CoL. Andrew C. P. Haggarb, author of "Hannibal's 
 Daughter," "Louis XIV. in Cpurt and Camp," etc. With 
 cover design and frontispiece by Charles Livingston Bull. 
 
 Library i2rao, cloth $1.5° 
 
 Under the thin veneer of conventionality and custom lurks 
 in many hearts the primeval instinct to throw civilization 
 to the winds and hark back to the ways of the savages in the 
 wilderness, and it often requires but a mental crisis or an 
 emotional upheaval to break through the coating. Geoffrey 
 Digby was such an one, who left home and kindred to seek 
 happiness among the Indians of Canada, in the vast woods 
 which always hold an undefinable mystery and fascination. 
 He gained renown as a mighty hunter, and the tale of his 
 life there, and the romance which awaited him, will be heart- 
 ily enjoyed by all who like a good love-story with plenty of 
 action not of the "stock" order. "Silver Bells," the Indian 
 girl, is a perfect "child of nature." 
 
Selections from 
 
 L. C. Page and Company's 
 
 List of Fiction 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS 
 Captain Ravenshaw ; or, the maid of 
 
 Cheapside. (40th thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan 
 London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists. 
 
 Library izmo, cloth $1.50 
 
 Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we 
 had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and 
 comedy. The beggar student, the rich goldsmith, the roisterer 
 and the rake, the fop and the maid, are all here : foremost 
 among them Captain Ravenshav? himself, soldier of fortune 
 and adventurer, who, after escapades of binding interest, 
 finally wins a way to fame and to matrimony. 
 
 Philip WinWOOd. (70th thousand) a sketch of 
 the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of 
 Independence, embracing events that occurred between and 
 during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London. 
 Written by his Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant 
 in the Loyalist Forces. Presented anew by Robert Neil- 
 son Stephens. Illustrated by E. W. D Hamilton. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth $1.50 
 
 "One of the most stirring and remarkable romances that have 
 
 been published in a long while, and its episodes, incidents, and 
 
 actions are as interesting and agreeable as they are vivid and 
 
 dramatic." — Boston Times. 
 
 Tlie Mystery of Murray Davenport. (30th 
 
 thousand.) By Robert Neilson Stephens, author of 
 " An Enemy to the King," " Philip Winwood," etc. 
 Library i2mo, cloth, with six full-page illustrations by H. C. 
 Edwards $1.50 
 
 "This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. 
 Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of 
 thi» praise, which is generous." — Buffalo News. 
 
 " Mr. Stephens won a host of friends through his earlier volumes, 
 but we think he will do still better work in his new field if the 
 present volume is a. criterion." — N. Y. Com. Advertiser. 
 
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY'S 
 
 An Enemy to the King. (6oth thousind.) From 
 
 the " Recently Discovered Memoirs of the Sieur de la 
 
 Toumoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth |i.5o 
 
 An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing 
 the adventures of a young French nobleman at the Court of 
 Henry III., and on the field with Henry of Navarre. 
 
 " A stirring tale." — Detroit Free Press. 
 
 "A royally strong piece of fiction." — Bestan Ideas. 
 
 " Interesting from the first to the last page." — Breaklyn Eagle. 
 
 " Brilliant as a play ; it is equally brilliant as a romantic novel." — 
 Philadelphia Press. 
 
 The Continental Dragoon : a romance of 
 
 Philipse Manor House in 1778. (43d thousand.) Illus- 
 trated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 Library 1 2mo, cloth li.So 
 
 A stirring romance of the Revolution, the scene being laid 
 in and around the old Philipse Manor House, near Yonkers, 
 which at the time of the story was the central point of the so- 
 called " neutral territory ". between the two armies. 
 
 The Road to Paris: a story of adventure. 
 
 (25th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth $1.50 
 
 An historical romance of the 1 8th century, being an account 
 of the life of an American gentleman adventurer of Jacobite 
 ancestry, whose family early settled in the colony of Pennsyl- 
 vania. 
 
 A Gentleman Player : His adventures on a 
 
 Secret Mission for Queen Elizabeth. (38th thou- 
 sand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 
 Library i2mo, cloth $i-5o 
 
 "A Gentleman Player" is a romance of the Elizabethan 
 period. It relates the story of a young gentleman who, in the 
 reign of Elizabeth, falls so low in his fortune that he joins 
 Shakespeare's company of players, and becomes a friend and 
 prot^gtf of the great poet.