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Q' (, 72×3 * THE SHADOW ON THE WALL T H E SHADOW ON THE WALL Žl fromalice } ** M. E. COLERIDGE author of 'THE KING witH Two FACEs, ‘THE FIERY Dawn," Etc. ‘ Indeed we are but shadows; we are not endowed with real life, and all that seems most real about us is but the thinnest substance of a dream—till the heart be touched. That touch creates us– then we begin to be—thereby we are beings of reality and inheritors of eternity.’ NATHANIEL HAw'THORNE. LONDON ED WA R D A R N O LD 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W. I904 All rights reserved --- ****** A. LETTER TO THE READER. GENTLE READER For whom have I written ? For you alone. Do you know what it means, to write for you ? Alas, I can never tell you ! Of the pains and pleasures of writing a story, who except the writer can have any idea º If I tell you, you will say that I wrote it to please myself, not you. Yet all the time it was you who hovered before me, who lured me on, who shook your head and frightened me. It was you that I wanted. If it had not been for you, I should never have written. Well, to the business in hand Out of a strange confusion of real and unreal—of scenes that appear to have happened vi A LETTER TO THE READER as visibly as and far more logically than any event in the writer's experience—of scenes that are only scissors and pasteboard, and bad at that—of characters that come flying out of the blue or in from next door, and talk so that it were no exaggeration to say, as a certain great craftsman boldly said, that he heard the words which they uttered—of characters fancied, or half remembered out of other books, puppets whose hands and feet have not the faintest motion—out of all these there has to come a plot, an infinite number of causes and reasons hollow as those given to a friend who says Why? a set of sayings and doings like enough to human sayings and doings to pass muster. There is only one heart that any one man ever knows—that is his own ; nor does he always know that well. As for other people, he sees what they do, he listens to what they say—on rare occasions he may even divine what they are thinking of ; but if he does it is exceptional, a thing about which he writes to A LETTER TO THE READER vii the papers, an exploration of virgin soil, of which he is proud as a discoverer. How often his dearest friends—and those whom he believes that he knows even better, the people he hates —astonish him Illusion is everywhere; what he does not know he invents, with about as much success as a mediaeval geographer, when he invented that part of the earth which had not yet been mapped out. How, then, if he be not gifted with that fine, double-edged power to notice and to guess, which is the secret of the true masters, how, then, can he write stories at all ? It is plain that he cannot. Critics are down upon the weak points in a trice. Every writer of stories who was not born to write stories, but insists on doing so because of some queer impulse, as unjustifiable as those which lead others to hunt or to fish, lives in continual dread of one particular word. The world finds that word out and slays him with it. If it were not for one particular word, what stories he could write, how he could carry them away viii A LETTER TO THE READER that now refuse to follow, held and restrained by one particular word—no more Impossible ! From what enchanted ground does that one word exclude History is chock-full of im- possibilities. No one would believe them for an instant, if they were not true. There are, no doubt, in everyone's existence at least a dozen impossibilities that have come to pass. Why should they be rigorously shut out from fiction, where impossibilities are so useful ? Grant me but one impossibility—a big one— and I will build on it so many possible events that the most prosaic shall yet desire to know what was the end of it all ! Gentle reader, remember thy gentleness, or thy gentility (I know not which it is, it has been thine for many generations)—be not like him who should be rather addressed as Reader Cruel, Fierce, or Furious ! If this tale seem to thee on the first page fantastic, follow it no further | Let us part friends. It was not written for those who hold that none A LETTER TO THE READER ix can enter the precincts of Burlington House after nightfall. It was not written for those who hold that friendship is less romantic than love—and love is not romantic at all. Rest assured that, whether thou knowest it or not, the wildest impossibilities are probable beside the facts of Nature. I could tell you a story a true story—but you would not believe it. Call this present tale what you will, odd,’ “extravagant,’ ‘devoid of meaning,' but not impossible, gentle reader, oh, not impossible ! CONTENTS !"A GR. I. TEIE RED SPOT - gº sº º º 1. II. THE TALK OF THE VILLAGE – . * - 10 III. WHICH IS THE PICTURE 7 &º * - 14 IV. WHO'LL BUY : – * * - – 35 V. THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN - <- - 56 VI. THE PROPOSAL - sº - * - 70 VII. THE LAST TIME NETTIE DANCED * - 83. VIII. BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET – &=º - 92 IX. THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM – - 110 X. BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS—EXCEPT ONE 122 XI. FLACK'S INDISCRETION * * - 138 XII. THE REASON OF BASIL'S LIFE - * - 151 XIII. CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE-AFFAIR - 169 XIV. THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENEHAM - 180 XV. THE REFUSAL - - - º - 198 XVI, NETTIE RESOLVES * * * - 208 XVII. THE SURRENDER * - ** - 217 XVIII. MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE - º - 233 XIX. VERDICT-INSANE * º - - 241 XX. THE GENTLE HEART - sº * - 257 XXI. IN TIME TO COME * * -- - 264 XXII. CHARLES RACKENHAM WINS - - - 275 - Xi THE SHADOW ON THE WALL I. THE RED SPOT ‘The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.’ VARNISHING DAY was over. The great rooms of the Royal Academy were silent, empty, darkening. There is in dusk a more unwonted sense of desolation than in darkness. It is not in the same way electrical ; it strikes no spark out of clay. A man might have walked through these void spaces and felt thin, flabby, faint- hearted fear steal over him, as he contrasted their oppressive quietude with the busy, cease- less hum that only two hours before filled them with life. The Sun and Moon throw shadows—black, well-defined shadows that witness to the light —but the Borderland, where neither Sun nor I 2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Moon has power, where nothing intercepts the light because there is not light enough to be intercepted, where universal shade creeps over all things and is cast from none—this is the outer realm of that twilight of the mind which we call reverie. ‘And they shall be afraid because of the twilight.” Not without reason did the old Ballad writers limit the rule of the malicious Queen of the Elfin Country to the Border- land between the night and the day. Of the time between the day and the night they did not think so badly. It is much easier to escape unhallowed influences, when all the world is up and dressed and no man of neces- sity alone. Nevertheless, if at that hour anyone should chance to walk companionless in some old ruin —through a deserted ball-room—among the pictures in a gallery—in any place where he cannot but feel conscious that he himself in his own body and soul passes for hundreds of other people who have been there before him —whether centuries ago or whether only a few short moments since—he may an if he will 'get some idea of how he loves his neigh- bour. His worst enemy would be welcome, if THE RED SPOT 3 that person came in the familiar shape of a being with arms and legs. It is the End of the World and he the Last Man left. The first conscious sensation of Adam was fear ; it will be the last and the most powerful in the human heart that beats in the latest of his descendants. This curious emotion, this spiritual terror of spirit is magnified by the presence of any- thing which, from its close association with men and women, has allied itself with their conception of life. The gnarled and bone-like branches of the alder, that horrid caricature of human anatomy, are not so awful as a dressing-gown hung on a peg, as the reflec- tion in a looking-glass, half guessed at rather than seen—as the indistinct lineaments of a picture. Where many pictures are hung together, the impression made upon a single spectator is one of overwhelming melancholy and self- abasement. Into these inanimate things there has passed the best part of countless numbers of men even as he is. Into those receptive surfaces there has gone the seeing of hundreds of eyes, the magnetic energy of straining hands, an exultation born of the striking together of & 1—2 4 : THE SHADOW ON THE WALL form and form through the finer senses; and yet they, “having eyes, see not.’ They tell us what we will, therefore they tell us nothing. The difference between the worst and the best of them is the difference between a blot and a riddle without an answer. They have sucked blood, but they themselves are vampires. Their lifeless immortality will long outlast the mortal life to which they owe it. Nothing short of a direct interposition of force, nothing short of fire and water and powder and shot will get rid of these bits of canvas. They may be murdered, but die they cannot. Say that an artist lived only one-fourth of the years through which his careless scratches will persist,--what might he not accomplish : As it is, he dies when he has measured at the most some three-score-years-and-ten, and leaves behind him nothing except these ghosts of toil. Ghosts are they If the lowest of men be a thing more wonderful than the greatest of men could design—if the lowest of men cannot escape the signature of that Artist Whose work he is—should we not find some- thing divine in the struggle to depict even the image of that image 3 THE RED SPOT 5 Seldom enough we find it. And if we find it seldom, future ages will find it more rarely still. Out of the few pictures that we have loved, they will love but a very few, although they will perhaps make up for it by loving some that we slighted. In every portrait there is, besides the direct significance at which the painter aimed, some- thing of the general significance of his fellow- creatures now and now only; and though the first, if it show clear enough, may be under- stood at any hour of the world’s day, men being more comprehensible to men than Man, the morning only can understand the morning, the night only the night. The baffling imperfection of the record of life, its insignificant deathlessness as opposed to the transitory existence, the scarce less transitory fame, alike of recorders and of recorded—who shall think these thoughts out to their uttermost consequence 2 A solitary man might do so, for whom in all this crowd of pictures there was one, and one only. Yet on that evening he could not have seen it. Already twilight, forestalling Time, had brought every picture to the same dead level. There was no telling Hyperion from a satyr. 6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Nor was the solitary man there. He would have been, if he could have been. He was sitting up in many a London garret that night. He is a young man always, a young man exhibiting for the first time. His hopes are sometimes fears, and sometimes certainties. As he who had never yet worn spurs watched by his helmet and sword and shield the night before, so is this candidate for glory fain to watch by his only title to the same lest the powers of Darkness should work it ill. He dreads he knows not what. Who shall assure him that Burlington House will not take fire that night, and his treasure be lost 7 What can make up to him for the last hours in which he might yet enjoy it, unspoilt by the cold blame, the colder praise, of the critics But the young man was not there. The regulations do not allow of him. A glimmering distinction lingered yet, where the high lights were touched on armour or the still surface of a pool ; even this gradually withdrew itself and the wide Galleries were left in utter gloom. Soft, velvety blackness filled every chamber. The long last night was almost ended. The big clock in the vestibule had but another hour to mark. THE RED SPOT 7 What was it 2 Darkness is always full of sounds. Yes, but that sound was real, intentional, the turning of a handle. All at once, an upright line of pictures, hung one above the other, moved. Into that phantom-haunted desert the young man walked, bearing a light. He shut the door carefully behind him as though he were afraid the pictures would find their way out. Then he stood still and listened. Nothing ! What should there be Not a mouse stirring. And suddenly he wished there were. The quickening sense of something like fear sent blood to his heart. He had never known it before. With it rose, wave upon wave, over- whelming consciousness, the endless life that cried to him from every wall. The mask that he wore fell away. He forgot the thought that had become part of his being. He forgot death. In a moment, startled, horrified at his own forgetfulness he laughed—but not aloud. Shading the candle with his hand, for there is always a draught in these places, he went through six rooms and stopped in the seventh. He did not pause to look at anything on the 8 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL way. He walked quickly. He halted right in front of a portrait numbered 537, and, the light in his hand held so that he might see to the best advantage, he stood gazing as if he would have transformed his own into the painted face before him. Different expressions chased each other quickly across his features— eager Scrutiny—doubt—conviction—a curious reflex of the look in the eyes of the portrait which sat strangely on a countenance that was most unlike it, being thin, angular, Sallow and of a studious cast. Finally grief drove every weaker emotion out—grief without any tears : that grief which hardens and does not veil the eyes. The half-length portrait was that of a very youthful person, in whose features the insolent vigour of brilliant boyhood was still the ruling characteristic. There was something defiant in the pose of the head—in the short nose with its wide nostril, snuffing scornfully at all that was not young, strong and successful—in the full lips and positive square chin. The Serene forehead, the quick discerning eyes, in spite of their uncertain hazel, seemed to promise other and deeper qualities. The eyebrows were of slightly different shades. A little Velvet cap sat jauntily upon the close, thick THE RED SPOT 9 brown hair. One hand gripped a mahl-stick ; of the other which held a clean white palette only the thumb could be seen through the palette-hole, closing resolutely upon a blank sheet of paper. The drawing was bold, yet accurate ; the colour was laid on with lavish recklessness, as if the better to portray the superabundant vitality of the subject. He flattened the rest of the wall on either side, as he stood there relieved upon a background of hard, impenetrable black. ‘Yes,’ said the painter suddenly. Gex was right. It wants that.” From a little box that he carried with him he took a brush ready prepared and laid a single spot of red, like a stain of blood, on the palette. Long he looked, earnestly and long. At length, still shading the candle with his hand, he walked slowly away. II. TEIE TALK OF TELE WILLAGE ‘Coming events cast their shadows before them.’ IT is a far cry from Piccadilly to the quiet meadow-lands—much farther than it seems by the all-connecting, space-annihilating express that rushes through them daily. There, a few miles from the village, lies an old house, named Rackenham Court; just out- side the village, a pretty, whitewashed, vine-clad Cottage ; close within the village, a modest Inn. Between these three places, at the time of which we write, ran an invisible thread, link- ing them together in the history of the young man, though he had never seen them before. He had come, with a friend of his, to stay at the Inn, and Conjecture was busy about him, as she was busy with two young ladies who had often been seen, of late, over the wall of the Cottage garden—and with a very different lady at Rackenham Court. - 10 THE TALK OF THE VILLAGE II The young man at the Inn was an odd creature, Conjecture said ; so much she divined about him at once. He was not sociable like his friend, Mr. George Flack, the rumour of whose budding fame as an artist had already reached Bybrook. He was not the kind of man who would go to Church on Sunday. He was not handsome, though rather distinguished-looking. Having whispered thus much, and grown tired of her own negatives (he had come to the Inn only a few hours before), Conjecture spread her wings and flapped away to the Cottage. Who were these new inhabitants 7 They were not sisters, for they did not dress alike, and the names on the cards left at the Vicarage, after the Vicar's wife left cards at the Cottage, were different. Was it quite proper that they should be living there all by themselves instead of the fuzzy—haired old maid who had rented it ever since the death of the Prince Consort ' Their conduct was un- exceptionable. They behaved, in fact, just like anyone else, except that they kept them- selves to themselves.’ Their bills were paid with regularity, but they were Not at Home when the Vicar's wife called after the business of the cards, nor did they ever return her visit. I 2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL One of them Conjecture soon dropped. She did not appeal to Conjecture. She was just a girl as girls are. About the other, when she walked through the village, her little head high in the air, Conjecture whis- pered often. Yes—well—it was not a thing that one ought to say, perhaps—there had been someone who walked in that way, many years ago, and carried his head in the air after the same fashion. He was never spoken of now, but with an O ! and a serious shake of the head ; nor was he buried among his fathers in the old Churchyard, where so many of the Rackenhams of Rackenham Court had been laid to rest. He died abroad, Conjecture said, with a suggestion that it was a very un-English thing to do. For years before he went, how- ever, he had lived at the Moated Farm and never gone near the Court. A terrible quarrel, she had heard, with the old Squire, his father There was a woman at the Moated Farm—a little boy—but no one knew They vanished some twenty years before. Rackenham Court had been sold ; it was to pay his debts, Con- jecture added ; and went on to say that she wished she had heard either more or less about the people who lived there now. He was a rich brewer, everybody knew THE TALK OF THE VILLAGE I3 where he came from. He was hated by the gentry because he had bad manners—by the poor people on account of the hard bargains that he drove and the relentless fashion in which he evicted tenants who failed to put down their coin on Quarter Day. She was a pretty, fashionable woman, much younger than her husband—nobody knew where she came from. They seldom went out, or received company : he was tormented by vindictive jealousy, Conjecture said. They had one child, but it was a delicate, wailing creature, not often to be seen outside the Park gates. A wild-looking, long-haired fellow in a velvet coat had been spied, once or twice, hanging about them—a former lover of the lady's, Conjecture would have it. She touched her forehead, and Smiled and sighed signifi- cantly. “Mad ' she whispered—‘mad as a hatter l' Thus far Conjecture. We are not bound to agree with her at every point, but she is a use- ful go-between. The number of introductions affected by Conjecture is something wonderful. III. WHICH IS THE PICTURE 2 ‘As the shadow and as the wind.” ON the second Sunday in the Virgin's Month, the two girls who lived at the Cottage were walking along a little path that wound away and away through fields of grass and wild flowers, to end they knew not where. They were very different from each other. Even their white dresses, which looked alike, were white for different reasons—one because white washes, and that is economical in the country—one because the wearer considered that she looked well in white, especially if she added a scarlet flower in her hat, a scarlet ribbon at her throat and carried a scarlet parasol. This one, the elder of the two, was lithe, slender, agile as a fawn, with something of the graceful wildness of a woodland creature about her, even when at rest. Her complexion 14 WHICH IS THE PICTURE P I 5 was clear and pale, her colouring dark, the fearless eyes a shade too restless, the nose too characteristic for perfect beauty. Her hair waved as if the wind had waved it and she went lightly as if borne on the breeze. The younger girl possessed fine features, but they were squarely, somewhat over-solidly set ; the slight figure was not in proportion to the grandeur of the head, nor the nose powerful enough for the strong mouth and chin. She wore her long, bright shining hair in great plaits twisted like a wreath round her head, after a fashion of her own that was not the fashion of the day, and no stray tendril shaded or concealed the high forehead. Her great blue eyes did not undergo the rapid changes that gave an ever varying brilliancy to those of her friend. They were candid as those of a child, deep with a gravity that came near sadness. Long, silken, curling lashes fringed the full eyelids. She moved with a certain steady neatness and precision that carried her swiftly over the ground, though she neither leaped nor ran as the other did. “Nothing will induce me to cross that meadow,” she said. “There are cows in it.’ Her companion sprang to the top of the stile, leapt down to the other side and looked I6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL at her with a mischievous expression in which pity and surprise were struggling vainly with amusement. ‘Oh, Blanche, how can you be so silly Ž I can’t help myself. It's only once in a blue moon that you give me the chance of saying such a thing, you know. You're always saying it to me.’ ‘I never called you silly in my life,” said Blanche, the dignity of her speech unlike the homeliness of her action, as she descended from the wooden bar with force rather than grace. º ‘You always behave as if I were silly, then. You have a way of looking at me that makes me feel as if, whatever I was doing, it were silly, silly, silly, too silly to speak about. You can’t think how glad I am that you are afraid of cows—at least, it's not cows, because there was only one.” She executed a little flourish at it with her parasol. ‘Don’t, cried Blanche. ‘They don’t like scarlet. They’ll be sure to run at you. You have no right to be glad. It's not at all nice to be afraid of things. I know it's foolish, but I can’t help it. I hate those creatures.’ ‘Never mind them | We can get into the wood over there. It's all lovely How WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 17 exquisite the blackthorns are How delight- ful everything is * “Pluffskin, ploffskin, pelican gee, There are no birds so happy as wel” Did you ever see such green trees º' ‘They generally are that colour, I believe. One would think you had never seen a green tree in your life before, Nettie.” ‘I never have, dear. Middle-aged summer green is not the same as green when it's young, and they are brown in winter, and yellow and red in autumn. I have not lived in the country in spring, since I was a baby.' ‘You don’t deserve to live in London,’ said Blanche, sighing. ‘How I wish we were back again There are no cows there, and you can’t have tea, and caterpillars with it, in the garden.’ ‘And you can't go for walks in a wood. And you can be happy enough—yes, quite enough, for it's a jolly old place, after all— but not so happy that you feel frightened.’ ‘Frightened—of what ? ‘Of things changing ! When we are at home in the little cosy flat together, just you and I alone, and I am drawing all day long at 2 I8 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL the Studio—not for any good that I shall ever do, but...because I can’t help drawing—and you are teaching tiresome little girls to sing all day because you want the money for your tire- some poor cousin, I don’t feel frightened. Of course I’m very happy—happier than anybody that I know—but it might change and I should still be happy. If anything changed now, here—it would be dreadful.’ ‘For my part,” said Blanche, ‘I should be very glad if it changed and we went home. The fault I have to find with it is, that it never does change. It's just the same every minute, day in,_day out.’ They had entered the shadow of the copse by this time. Nettie flung herself down upon the first bank of moss that she saw. ‘Is it dry 3' said Blanche anxiously. “You will get rheumatism if it is not. Oh, Nettie, don’t take off your hat I know all sorts of black things will get in. It's such a spiky hat, you cannot help crushing it. Besides, what is the use of catching cold 2 No, thank you, I would rather sit on the stump.’ Nettie lay back, trying the effect of blue sky through the branches. She recollected the child in Hans Andersen that had no play- thing but a leaf, through which it looked at WHICH IS THE PICTURE P I9 the sun. For her, that day, the world was going round to music. ‘Sing !' she said imperiously. ‘The birds do nothing but twitter. They can't sing.’ ‘What shall I sing º' ‘I don’t care.’ ‘Choose ! I would much rather you chose.” ‘The song about the Mignonette then.’ There is a kind of disposition that makes an art of the simplest feelings of nature. Nettie, although she never attempted to put the instinct into words, knew that her happiness was not complete without a touch of some- thing other than itself. If she had been older, she need not have sought it outside her own experience. As for Blanche, she was gifted with the curious dramatic power which now and then, to the surprise of the world, is found con- jointly with a determined truthfulness of character that makes even so much deception as may be inferred from the expression “tact ’ impossible in ordinary life. Her voice, al- though not strong, was clear and sweet, her sincerity compelled the homage that others might have won by means of graceful affecta- tion. 2—2 2O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL * Stell' auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden, Die letzten rothen Astern trag' herbei, Und lass' uns wieder von der Liebe reden, Wie einst im Mai, Wie einst im Mail” So she sang. Nettie lay still, holding her breath. All that she saw, all that she heard was beautiful. For once her eager eyes and ears were satis- fied ; she did not want to let the moment go. ‘Again again l’ she cried. If she had been older, she would have known that we can never do the same thing again. ‘Nettie, Nettie, sit up. There are two men coming along. Put on your hat at once I wish it were not so spiky.’ ‘Who are they said Nettie, without stirring. ‘ George Flack and Mr. Daymer. How very tiresome. What can have brought them here * ‘What fun l’ said Nettie without stirring. ‘I mean I did not mean “What fun *—I meant “How very tiresome !” especially as I suppose we must ask them to tea. I wonder why they have come 3’ * * Set in the vase the fragrant mignonette, And on the board the last red asters lay And we will speak of love, of true love yet, As once we spake in May.” WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 2 I A wonder that would not be satisfied per- haps while life lasted When between men and women the drama of life begins, who can tell whether the first scene be set for tragedy or for comedy ? The Sunshine is as fair, the green leaves are as bright, whether the human creatures of the foreground remember them in days to come with tears or with happy laughter. To the elder of the two young artists now drawing nearer through the wood this chance encounter seemed as unwelcome as it was to Blanche. Though he had never met Nettie before, he knew her at once. Indeed, he had come to England for the purpose of seeing her ; but he had not meant to see her now— not yet—not while the vision of a face, like hers, yet most unlike, hovered between him and every other. Even her attitude as she lay there, an arm thrown carelessly behind her head, came back to him as so familiar that it made a coward of him. He stopped short. “Go on, George,’ he said. “You know these girls, I do not. I should only be in your way. I shall go back to the Inn.’ ‘Nonsense I’ returned George Flack. ‘ One has the most magnificent hair in the world, 22 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL and the other's got a Renaissance nose. They're an awfully good sort. Besides, the one with the hair sings like an angel. I’ll introduce you. Come on. You can't go back now. Miss Lister—Miss Campbell— may I introduce my friend, Mr. Basil Daymer? Please don’t get up ; you look awfully com- fortable.’ Daymer appropriated half of Nettie's mossy couch, and Flack made a pretence of throwing himself down at Blanche's feet, of which she took no notice whatever, having a supreme disdain for the slightest attempt at flirtation. ‘ George and I thought we had come to the Sirens' Isle,’ said Basil Daymer, who had recovered himself. “We heard ladies' voices, and we saw nothing but birds. I wanted him to put cotton-wool in his ears, and walk the other way, but he is obstinate about taking advice.’ ‘How dreadfully disappointed you must have been l’ said Nettie, ‘Don’t you wish we had jays' heads like those queer Sirens at the Academy º ‘I prefer the present arrangement,” said Flack. ‘But may I ask what you are doing here, Miss Lister ? I thought you were in London.’ |WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 23 ‘So we are really. Blanche is there in spirit all day, anyhow. She can’t live any- where else. But she had overworked herself, and I had overplayed myself, and we were both rather ill. Miriam Twining came to the rescue as usual. You remember Miriam 7 She admired your work as much as anyone at the Studio, Mr. Flack. She had a con- venient little cousin with fuzzy hair, who wanted somebody to look after her cottage down here, while she went to a German watering-place that is very famous indeed, only I can’t remember the name of it. So we are looking after the cottage—or, rather, the cottage is looking after us. It has actually got a cook of its own. Don't ask me to describe her. I can’t look at her, because she's too plain. We never had so many regular meals before. I was never so happy in all my life, and Blanche was never so miserable.’ ‘Judging by appearances,’ Daymer said, ‘misery agrees with Miss Campbell.’ ‘I can just stand it,” said Blanche, ‘because we are going back to town for a concert, the end of July. There’s that to look forward to.” ‘We are frightfully ignorant,’ Nettie went 24. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL on. “We don’t know anything about any- thing. We never have a newspaper because Blanche says they're a useless extravagance. Miriam came and packed us off at a minute's notice. I did not even see the Academy more than six times.’ ‘That's no great loss,' observed Flack. “I never saw it again after Warnishing Day : there's only one picture in the Academy.' ‘You painted two,' said Daymer with a grave smile. ‘Which are you thinking of '' ‘Not of myself for once, old fellow !’ Flack laughed. - ‘Well, but which is the picture ?' asked Blanche, who liked to take things in order. ‘Don’t tell, don’t tell, Mr. Flack l’ Nettie cried. ‘Let us all guess in turn. It's much better fun. You shall begin, Mr. Daymer. You look the most like a prophet.’ Daymer shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have guessed already, and guessed wrong. In the depths of his heart, George knows I am right, though—don't you, George º' ‘I know you're making a confounded donkey of yourself, that's all.’ “Go on P cried Nettie impatiently. “Try something else. Guess again. You must. It's the rule of the game !’ WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 25 ‘I will not guess this time. I will be quite certain. There is but one voice about it. All the critics agree. “The Doctor” is the thing that George would give his eyes to have painted.’ “Oh yes, of course P assented Nettie, with an air of innocent and profound conviction. “If ever I saw a meretricious bit of senti- ment meretriciously treated in all my life—— George began, in a voice of thunder. Nettie's shrill laugh rang bird-like among the branches. He saw the trap that had been laid for him, and broke off. ‘An odious bid for popularity 'he went on, a minute later. ‘The British public likes nothing so well as sick kids. Millais found that out long ago. You mark my words— that Medicine Man will be engraved—en- graved vilely and hung in half the Stately Homes of England.’ - ‘The Nursing Homes would have first choice, I should think,’ said Blanche. ‘Why are you so hard on that picture ? The doctor looks like a sentinel on duty. He has to keep the child alive. It is his own life that he is giving it, sitting there while he watches. I don’t see how anybody can do more than that.' ‘I’ve no objection to doctors giving their 26 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL lives for their patients, Miss Campbell—quite the reverse—I should like my own doctor to be the moral of him. What I object to is, that way of painting a doctor. I have no doubt it's the only picture in the Academy— for butchers and bakers and candlestick makers —no doubt at all.’ ‘Count me among the butchers and bakers and candlestick makers 'Blanche said. “Well, we have not found your picture yet. Was it “The Return of Persephone ** ‘Return of fiddlesticks | That young woman returned a dozen times at least while Rossetti was alive. She may stay in Limbo now, and welcome. Did you ever see such a waxwork If I’d no more idea of flesh-painting than the JPresident, I'd take to signboards.’ ‘She was going back to her mother,’ said Blanche, raising her full, plaintive eyes. (She had lost her own mother more than two years before.) ‘I thought it very sweet.’ ‘Oh, if you care about subject—— said Flack, with the unutterable scorn of the artist for the preferences of the ignorant. ‘I think a great many people cared for it,' said Blanche, a little defiantly. ‘It seemed like meeting again, when—when we have lost each other.’ WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 27 ‘Yes,’ returned Flack, and in his tone there was a touch of bitterness. “That's what neeting again, as you call it, is to the Man- chester millionaires that buy Leighton. A classical attitude — that's about all. Old Browning knew better, ‘“Half a pang, and all a rapture"— but no fellow could paint that. No fellow could think it even, nowadays.” ‘Why not ?’ asked Blanche, gently insistent. She did not see that Daymer's eyes were fixed upon her with a most strange expression, but Nettie, who was quick to detect changes of atmosphere, understood that something she could not understand was in the air, and turned back to the more intelligible pictures. ‘That's not what we were talking about,’ she said decidedly. ‘We must be quick. It's getting late, and we have only one guess more. I know what the picture was—that “Dancing Girl” of Sargent’s.’ ‘No,' said Flack. ‘There's a something about her I don’t deny. Excellent pose. And the painting's loose. First-rate work, but There's a But in every decent fellow's voice when he speaks of it.’ ‘What is the reason of that ?’ 28 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Why is it, Basil ' You always know the reasons of things.’ ‘It shows too much of the charm of Woman when she has cast away the charm of Woman- hood perhaps.’ “Fudge | Nobody who cares a twopenny damn for Art talks that sort of stuff. Try, try again, Miss Lister I’ ‘I’m down on my knees before her,’ said Nettie. “I think she's glorious.’ ‘Well, granted | You're right. She is. Sargent's the best of us by long chalks. But there's another picture in the Academy. I would rather have painted that.” * “The Dancing Girl” for me !” said Nettie, true to her point. ‘Yet you are thinking of something else at this moment,” said Basil Daymer, moved, as he looked at her, by an impulse that he could not resist. ‘I was, she said with surprise. ‘How did you know ! I never meant to speak of that one.’ ‘Why not º' ‘Because it made me sad. I hate things that make me sad. It has haunted me ever since. Whenever I’m alone, I go on seeing him.’ WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 29 ‘That's the fellow !' cried Flack. “My wig that's the fellow ! I felt just the same about him, upon my word I did. Go on, Miss Lister. What was he like ' ‘I cannot remember the name. I never heard of the artist. It hung on the line though. It was the portrait of a young man with a letter in his hand and a little velvet cap on his head.’ “I remember,’ said Blanche. “But that was not a letter in his hand ; it was only a blank sheet of paper.’ ‘Yes,’ Flack said, ‘a blank sheet of paper against a clean white palette. White on white. Very rum—splendid though. It would have been the better of just a touch of colour on the palette.’ “But the palette was not quite clean,’ said Nettie ; ‘there was a splash of red on it.’ ‘You don’t say so,” said Flack. “Why, that was just what it wanted—the only thing that it wanted | But I’ll take my Bible oath it wasn’t there on Varnishing Day. Why, I stood and looked at it for the best part of an hour !’ ‘There was that dab of red, I recollect it quite well,” said Blanche. “I did not admire it at all. It was not like colour. It was 3O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL just like blood—as if he had cut his finger. You saw the picture, Mr. Daymer ? “I saw the picture—yes.” ‘I don't know why you thought it sad, Miss Lister,’ Flack observed, veering round so as to face her. ‘I thought it just hit off that rot about “The joy of living.” Would you lend me your sketch-book I’ll show you what I mean in a moment.’ With a few vigorous strokes of his pencil he dashed off a rapid study of the head, and handed it to Nettie. ‘Look there ! Tell me where sadness comes in l No, no, that man was born to get to the top of the tree, and he knows it. I believe he's the only artist living at this moment, except the fellow that painted him. I'd give my 5 * – future chance of being President º' suggested Blanche. Flack winked furiously. ‘Well, if you like — to find out that chap.’ ‘Why?' asked Blanche. ‘Because I could teach him two things, and he could teach me one.’ ‘High praise indeed I said Basil. “I have heard you argue for hours together that no WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 3 I man could, by any possibility, learn anything from another.’ ‘That man is not an ordinary man.’ ‘Then it is only ordinary men that cannot learn from each other ? Extraordinary men can º' Blanche inquired. “Of course,’ Flack said. “I’ll find him out if I’m damned for it (I beg your pardon, Miss Campbell), or I'll find them out, if there are two. But there's only one. The more I think of it, the more convinced I am. The fellow painted his own portrait.' ‘It was not called “Portrait of the Artist by Himself,”’ said Blanche. “It was called “Portrait of an Artist.”” “Was it 7” said Nettie. “I don’t remember. I never look at the titles.’ ‘The painter's name is Rackenham,” said Blanche. ‘H remember because I saw it on so many of the tombstones in the church- yard here the other day. They say that lovely old place we passed out walking belonged to the Rackenham family.’ ‘What makes you think that the painter painted himself, Mr. Flack º' asked Nettie. ‘In the first place, the tremendous audacity of it. It's impertinently like the original, whoever the original may be, that I’ll go bail 32 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL for. It’s a very queer piece of work. You could hardly venture to treat your dearest friend in that way.” ‘Perhaps he was not his own dearest friend,' said Blanche. ‘And if it had been ' Daymer asked. ‘Impossible ! The man who painted that loved the man he was painting, loved him as his own soul, my dear boy—loved the devil in him and everything else. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. In the second place Nettie interrupted them. She had lost her- self in contemplation of the drawing. ‘It is that, and it is not that, she said slowly. ‘The eyes are not right. Give me the pencil.’ She worked away for a minute or two— stopped—hesitated—tore the leaf out. ‘I can’t do it,” she said, ‘I caricature every- thing and I don’t want to caricature that. No—you can’t do it, Blanche. Show me what I mean—you !” She gave the book to Daymer. ‘To hear is to obey,' said he, letting his eyes rest on her for a second longer than usual. ‘That's no more like the man in the picture than it's like the Man in the Moon,’ remarked Flack, looking over his shoulder. “My dear WHICH IS THE PICTURE P 33 boy, what are you about ! You're drawing Miss Lister by mistake l’ ‘There is a likeness l’ ‘I don’t see it.’ ‘You see a good deal, cher Omi, but not quite everything.’ Nettie, who had been chattering to Blanche, did not overhear the little discussion. “Oh yes, that's it !' she said. “How funny it is that Mr. Flack, who draws so much better than you do, should have just missed the eyes | Will you let me keep this º' ‘It is not worthy of such a fate. Let me give you something else, another time.’ ‘My head is much better drawn, I assure you,” said Flack. ‘I have no doubt it is—and I don’t want it. May I keep this, Mr. Daymer ? ‘Why do you make such a fuss about him º' said Blanche. “It is a repulsive face. The man is not a gentleman.’ An expression leapt to the eyes of Daymer that clove the sunny air like a flash, struck the smooth surface of talk as a pebble strikes water. Nettie glanced round. It was Daymer who looked like that. Was it Daymer ? 3 34 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Had the others noticed nothing : ‘You seem to be cock-sure of it, anyhow,' said Flack. “I am rather inclined to agree with Miss Campbell. Only after all, gentle- monly is a word we have made for ourselves. Nature made that fellow a King.’ ‘And Kings need not be gentlemen º' Blanche spoke ironically. “Of course not,’ said Nettie. ‘They are the only people with whom it's optional,” laughed Flack. ‘But whether he be a gentleman or no, I can turn him into a beautiful lady. You were right, Daymer, you've got a horrid bad habit of being right.” He had begun to sketch the outline of a spiky hat when Daymer, laughing loudly, seized the pencil, and drew a series of thick black lines across the face, obliterating it alto- gether. ‘Oh, you have spoiled my picture ' Nettie cried. “What brutes—what brutes men are I’ ‘The church bells are ringing,’ said Blanche. ‘We must go home.’ IV. WELO'LL BUY 2 ‘I walk like a prisoner caught, For behind me goes my shadow, And before me goes my thought.” THEY had some way to walk. At Flack's urgent entreaty, though Blanche demurred at first, they consented to go round by the Inn, and when they reached the Inn, he declared that two ladies could not be allowed to walk as far as the Cottage without an escort. They parted gaily enough at last. Daymer went into the Inn parlour and sat down idle by the window. His eyes noted and numbered, as if for a sketch, the many graceful combinations of form or colour on which they fell. Outside, in a raised bed of earth walled round with weather-worn red brick, so that it looked like an old well, stood a yew-tree, clipped into the suggestion—hardly could it 35 3—2 36 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL be called the resemblance—of a dull green, leafy peacock. How long this vegetable bird had grown there no one knew, but the inhabi- tants were proud of a work of art so very unlike nature. Basil smiled to himself as he thought of this. Beyond was a large open space—the Green they called it; in the midst a pond, and on the further side and almost opposite, the lych- gate of the church, which stood on rising ground, backed by a row of elms. A narrow way, paved in white slabs, bordered with yews that grew as they listed, led to the door. Rose-trees were twining in and out among them—the rosebuds lay pink already against the grim foliage. Nothing broke the straight solemnity of their procession except the long beams of the westering Sun, which darted through and glinted on the water, kindling it into fiery glass. By the side of the pond nearest the Inn stood a group of people, gathered round a young man who seemed by his gestures to be addressing them with feverish eloquence. From time to time he pointed out along the road ; when he did so he made a momen- tary pause and all his auditors followed the guiding finger and gazed in that direction, WHO'LL BUY P 37 These pauses were followed by a groan and by loud cries of ‘Shame !' the sound of which reached Basil, though he could not catch the oratorical words; something about the fellow's movements appeared familiar. Basil gazed more attentively. ‘ Gex I he said to himself. “Gex again. He follows me like my shadow. Gex as an orator too ! Well, I often heard of that before in Paris. Speaks better than he paints, I should think. He could not talk so loud on such an evening, if he had any eyes.” Seething disdain bubbled up in him as he remembered certain passages in the life of the Orator. The burning sky grew softer every moment. Masses of golden cloud were broken into streaks and flakes of crimson. The sun fell fast, while it was yet day. The tradespeople, the farmers and their wives now straggling into church, were disregardful also. They never stopped to look. e ‘Scenery like that ſ’ Basil said to himself. ‘Actors like these ?' Profound contempt for everything human filled him with bitterness. The next moment he felt as if he could not 38 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL endure to be alone. If he had seen but one turn round—wait silently for a moment out- side—look as he himself was looking—it would have stilled his restlessness. He did not want outspoken sympathy. He wanted someone to feel as he did, and to say nothing. George Flack always said some- thing, and that was why Basil, who disliked the actual hearing of what he felt, did not now appeal to him. There had been another who saw—who understood—without words. He noted the old Vicar stepping across from the parsonage, the windows of which shone like flame out of the ivy. ‘How long has he lived there, doing the same thing every Sunday morning and even- ing, and never thinking what he does 3 Would he be any wiser if he did We do what we do.’ He saw the Curate, late from a visit to some outlying cottage, rush with grotesque haste across the Green lest he should not get into the vestry before the bell stopped. There was none of the poetry of motion in his long legs. That would be the talk of the village for a week afterwards at least. What would it matter to anyone if he were late º The Vicar looked at nothing because he saw it WHO'LL BUY P 39 every day. The Curate looked at nothing because he was in a hurry. ‘Yet they will never see the sky again like this—nor the trees—nor the water.’ Presently Blanche came to the lych-gate, a thick Church Service under her arm. It was a foregone conclusion that she would not turn either ; nevertheless he watched. Under the gate she stayed. Was the sea of glass and fire visible to her also } She pulled one of her hat-pins out, stuck it in again, and went on. ‘And all those people are going to church I’ said Basil. The thought amused him. ‘Look here, George,’ he cried, on a sudden. “All those people are going to church.” “We should be better artists, if we were going too,” said Flack, who had caught sight of Miss Campbell. This was not the kind of response that Basil expected. His friend was answering from a different level, and conversation upon a see-saw, one person up in the air, and the other down on the ground, is apt to be frag- mentary. He forbore to ask why, if Flack thought he would draw the better for going to church, Flack did not go. There came about 4O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL his senses the stuffy heat within those walls, the unpleasant smell of gas, the solemn nonsense that seemed to him inseparable from the appearance of a man in a pulpit. ‘Odd that anyone should suppose it makes a better artist l’ he said to himself. He was too restless just then to make a good spectator ; yet he justified his own attitude. ‘I have dropped my penny into the slot,’ said he. “I have a right to see the machine work.’ For him alone the shadows lengthened and lengthened, the sun went down. For him alone the lazy ploughboy, lying flat on the grass, rose up and gazed and yawned and thrust his hands into his pockets and Saun- tered down to join the little group around the Orator. Daymer marked the sleepy awakening of his dull face—the dull anger that crept over it as he listened, brought into it a kind of life that had been lacking before. They were all silent now, even the orator fell silent as he pointed in the direction of a carriage that came bowling along the road to the Inn. There was a groan as it passed, and several of the men hissed, the ploughboy louder than the rest. Afterwards they dispersed, WHO'LL BUY P 4 I one by one, and the orator, tired with his exertions, strolled down to the Peacock Yew and sank on the wooden bench underneath it. Flack observed none of these things, his eyes were vacant. He had seen nothing since he saw Miss Campbell go into church. He was wondering whether her hair, when she un- plaited it, would fall below her knees. “A gentleman to speak in private to Mr. Flack,' announced the landlord. ‘Confound him I said Flack, and got up shrugging his shoulders, and went out. - All that seemed to Basil to be happening a long way off, not in the same room with him- self. He grieved no more because he was alone. He smiled no more because he was alone. He was far away in the sky, part of the dusky air, watching, watching, watching for very life the almost imperceptible changes by which colour on tower and tree was fading Out. ‘I hope I do not intrude. The landlord told me to come in here,' said a melodious voice, with a suggestion of the Irish brogue in it. Basil started. He had had no wish to see the young orator again, nor the lady to whom the melodious voice belonged. Yet the Orator 42 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL was there—inevitably there—just outside ; and here was she close upon him. The whole world, it appears, never is wide enough to part a man from another man—or from a woman whom he does not desire to meet. The woman did not know him, however. He had only come across her once, many months before, in Baris, but there was no mistaking the half- bold, half-furtive air, the eyes of that light shade of Irish gray, inclining to blue. ‘This is the common sitting-room,’ Daymer said politely. “Allow me to relieve you of my presence. No doubt you have come to see Mr. Flack.’ “Not at all. My husband has requested an interview with Mr. George Flack. Where my husband goes I never go, if I can help it. We see too much of each other as it is ; but to- day he will have it so. You looked as if you thought you were by yourself. I could not help feeling that perhaps I had come by mis- take into a private room. I beg your pardon for disturbing you.’ ‘Pray do not apologise !’ Basil placed a chair for her by the table. - ‘May I inquire whether Mr. George Flack is a friend of yours ?’ she said. ‘I am a friend of Mr. George Flack's. He, WHO'LL BUY 2 43 being the famous man of the two, that is perhaps the more correct way of putting it.’ ‘Oh I had no idea that Mr. George Flack was famous. Of course I knew he illustrated papers.’ The lady paused a moment and then continued eagerly. ‘Would you be so kind as to tell me whether he knows anything of an artist—an artist who painted a picture in the Academy—No. 537 ?” ‘I regret that I cannot oblige you,' said Basil. ‘I have never heard him speak of such a person.’ ‘Surely that is impossible,” she cried. ‘I sat next Mr. George Flack at dinner, about ten days ago, and he talked of nothing— nothing but that artist—the whole time.’ ‘I am sorry his conversation was so mono- tonous.” ‘Oh, but it was not at all monotonous ! He never said a word to me till I happened to mention No. 537, and I never said a word to him afterwards because he never gave me the chance ; but I assure you it was not mono- tonous. I felt delighted. I had never found anyone else who shared my enthusiasm about that picture. My husband thinks me quite cracked. He does not admire anything unless twenty thousand people have admired it 44 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL before him, you know. That's not my style. I want that picture for my own, my very own, to lock up safe, where nobody else can look at it.’ ‘Indeed ?” said Basil coldly. ‘Yes, and I’m going to have it too ! My husband has just promised to give it me. And he had lost my catalogue and We passed you on the road to-day and of course I recognised Mr. Flack at once, and knew he must be staying here, and I thought perhaps he would know how to get it for me. So my husband made me drive over with him this afternoon.’ ‘What is the name of the artist to whom you allude 7' asked Basil. She hesitated a moment. ‘You will not say it,' thought Basil. “And I am not surprised at that.” - ‘Oh, I don't know ! It had not got any name. “A Portrait” or some stupid thing of that kind,” she said, as if she thought he had asked the title of the picture. ‘It was No. 537. When once it is mine, I am going to call it “Rejected.” She sighed. ‘It must be a refusal—the letter that man holds in his hand ; I am quite certain of it. Nothing else could explain the mournfulness of his WHO'LL BUY P 45 marvellous eyes.” She stopped an instant. ‘Don’t you think so 2° she added. ‘The artist would be grateful to you, no doubt, for bestowing such an appropriate designation upon his work, but I am afraid he has lost the chance of that honour. When I last saw No. 537, it was marked with a star.’ ‘I think you must be mistaken, she replied, with a shade of annoyance. “I was at the Academy yesterday afternoon, and the picture was then unsold. I only came away at four o'clock.’ ‘What a pity l’ Daymer said sympatheti- cally. “I happened to stroll in at half-past five. Someone must have bought it in the meantime.’ ‘It is too vexatious ! Her face clouded. ‘I would have given anything for that picture. My husband was prepared to offer a thousand pounds !’ ‘How very provoking !' Daymer became still more sympathetic. ‘Can nothing be done º' she cried. ‘Do you know who the present possessor of it is ? If it had been purchased by one of the great picture-dealers, I might still have a chance.’ 46 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘It was bought by a gentleman who is making a small private collection.’ “Do you know him º' she asked, quickly. ‘I have not the pleasure of his acquaint- ance, but from all that I can gather, he must be a very eccentric person. He lives some- where in Bohemia, and he never allows a lady to cross the threshold of his house.’ Her face fell, but cleared again, almost at OY) Cé. ‘More fool he ' she said. “He may take it and welcome. He won’t be able to keep me out. I shall make him give it to me. That will be cheaper than buying it and being always reminded of the price. They say marriages are made in Heaven. Mine was made in the other place. I don't care who knows it. I tell you just as I should tell anyone else. That is a woman's picture. A woman ought to have it. No one but a woman could appreciate it. You feel for me, do you not ? You know what I mean º' ‘Perhaps if I were not a man, I should,’ said Basil. “As it is, I feel for the painter, who has lost so charming an opportunity.’ She fixed her gray-blue eyes upon him, and seemed about to say something further, but just at that moment Flack entered the room, WHO'LL BUY P 47 in company with a short, stout, red-faced, white-haired old gentleman of small stature. ‘Well, my love P said the latter, in a brisk, patronizing voice. ‘Mr. George Flack says I’m quite right. That picture you kicked up such a row about is really not worth sixpence.’ ‘I never said anything of the kind,’ inter- rupted Flack. “I said I did not happen to know the artist.’ ‘Mr. George Flack knows nothing whatever of the artist,’ went on the old gentleman im- perturbably. “I ask you whether, if he were a man of the very slightest distinction, he could possibly fail to be known to Mr. George Flack 2 Not a single review mentioned him either.’ ‘They're all fools,” said Flack, with great decision. ‘That's a point in his favour.’ ‘Well, well, we have all been young ' re- marked the old gentleman blandly, as if the statement cancelled at one and the same stroke the folly of reviewers and reviewed. “My wife still is so. We must have our little fancies, eh? Never mind, Poppets | We’ll find this Mr. Rackenham or Jackenham—or whatever he is, and give him anything you like for his gimcrack.’ 48 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘I sincerely hope you may, for his own sake,” said Flack with some sternness. ‘No, no,' she cried pettishly. “I do not want the thing any more. Pray let us say nothing further about it. I am sick of the subject. And I want to get home before Baby goes to bed.’ ‘Well now, there's a sensible little woman º' said the old gentleman, who was nearly as high as his wife's shoulder. ‘ But she shall have a picture, she shall, all the same. Would you oblige me, Mr. Artist, by saying what figure I can have your big one knocked down to me for 2 Can't say I’ve seen it. Haven’t been to the show myself. This little Woman here does all that sort of thing for me. The Sporting and Dramatic says there's a horse in it that might have won the Derby, and says I to myself, “That's the article for me.” It’ll just do to hang in the hall, eh, Poppets : Well, what's the figure ?' ‘Three hundred,’ said Flack promptly. ‘Eh What One hundred, you mean l' “I said three hundred, sir. I always mean what I say.” ‘You know how to charge, young man. You'll make your way, eh? No false modesty and all that rot. Never you mind—I like it |WHO'LL BUY P 49 myself. Honesty's the best policy, all the world over. Business is business. Bless you, I like you for it. You must come and take pot-luck with us one evening. Pitch me over that ink-bottle, Poppets | What I ain't she going to give her poor old man a kiss, when he's paid for it !” } She drew back scornfully. “I should prefer it, if you would send in the bill after I have returned home.’ ‘Oh, very well, my dear, no offence in the world ! It's all one to yours truly. Only I shall charge interest, you know.’ He winked in an insinuating manner, which made Flack Savagely desirous to punch his head, and handed the artist a card on which were his name and address. ‘We apply to Mr. Secretary, I suppose ? You'll give me a receipt ' That's all right. Now then, hurry up, little one, it's getting late. Much obliged to you, sir.’ ‘I am infinitely obliged to Mr. Flack,' the lady said. The carriage was brought round, and her little old husband trotted out in front of her, to give elaborate directions to the coachman. Daymer and Flack remained within. As she lingered for a moment by the door, 4 50 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL the orator came up to her, and held out his hand. She took it quickly—furtively, the yew-tree hiding them from observation. ‘Can I see you alone º’ he said in French. ‘I have much to tell you. Charles Racken- ham is dead.’ She uttered a faint cry. . ‘I knew—I knew by that picture that something had happened to him. There was a blood stain on the palette. How % When º' ‘I cannot tell you here. When shall I find you ? - ‘I am living with my husband at Racken- ham Court—five miles from this. It kills me to be there. All the people round hate us. The carriage was hissed when we drove in just now. I dare not stir from the doors. If it were not for the child, I should die. Besides, he is jealous. I am watched day and night. I dare not see you while he is at home. But he will have to go to America— he is starting soon. I will let you know. I must go back to the child now. Where shall I write to you ?’ He gave an address in London, bowed, and walked away in the direction of the church- yard. No one had remarked them. She got into the carriage, and drove off in the dusk. WHO'LL BUY P 51 Two or three people hooted again as they went by. Her husband was talking too much himself to notice her silence, nor was it light enough for him to see that she was pale. ‘What a disgusting sight !” said Basil Daymer turning from the window. ‘Vulgar old brute enough, but he came down like a man l’ said Flack. ‘Three hun— my boy—three hun —it's not to be despised.’ ‘By no means—I congratulate you.’ ‘The name of the present proprietor of “The Steeds of the Sun,”’ said Flack, consulting the card that he held in his hand, “is—Sir Wallace Slinkerton, Bart., of Rackenham Court, and 25, Malmesbury Terrace, Belgravia.-S.W. It's enough to make one sick to think he has the initials of Shakespeare.’ ‘Well, the butler and footmen of Racken- ham Court, and 25, Malmesbury Terrace, Belgravia, will be edified by “The Steeds of the Sun,” no doubt. They may even affect the mind of that fat coachman when he comes in to wait at dinner-parties. I sincerely hope that he will not take a fancy to drive like Apollo. It would be different from his present style; but if he does, you will have to face an action for manslaughter.’ “I say, old man, stop chaffing. The woman 4–2 52 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL had a fine figure as well as I could see her in the dark. What did she marry such a brute for 7° “I should have thought that was clear to the meanest intelligence.’ ‘His tin, you mean 2 Well, he don't spend it badly Seriously, Daymer, I wonder whether more men—or more women—marry for money : It's an awfully low sort of thing to do, of course. Do you suppose a woman like that ever cares one jot for any man really ” ‘No, I believe she does not. She takes sides with the men. She's in love with her- self.’’ ‘You could not imagine Blanche Campbell marrying for money, now, could you ? ‘I could not imagine Miss Campbell marry- ing for love. She despises the one as heartily as she despises the other. She might marry a man because she wanted to be a mother to him, though, she likes taking care of things.’ ‘And Nettie Lister º' ‘I do not know.’ ‘You’d better not say that of her or I'll knock you down.—You don't happen to have a Bradshaw handy, do you ? WHO'LL BUY P 53 ‘There is one upstairs. What do you want with a Bradshaw at this time of night º' ‘I want to catch the last train up to London.’ “In the name of wonder—what for 3' ‘I’m going to invest my three hundred.’ ‘You can’t invest it on Sunday night, you heathen l' ‘I can invest it on Monday morning, and I will too. I'm going to buy that picture.’ ‘You’re not such a fool,’ Daymer said softly. ‘Yes, but I am though. You may talk till you're black and blue, Basil, but I must and will have the thing, and what's more, I will have it at once. I can't sleep for think- ing of it. I was there just before they shut up shop on Saturday ; it was all right then, but those people are on the scent of it, and who knows but that woman may change her mind and make the old idiot buy it for her, after all ? However, it's safe till to-morrow morning anyhow, and to-morrow morning it's mine. I’m just going to see first if that red spot is on it. I want to know.’ “Rubbish, my dear fellow ! What busi- ness have you to go buying pictures when this is the first you have ever sold, and you 54 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL could not afford fires in your studio last winter 2' ‘ Probably he won't ask more than a hundred, or a hundred and twenty. He must be quite a young fellow.’ ‘You asked more than double five minutes ago, and you're not very old.’ ‘Well, if he asks, I shall let him have it. In for a penny, in for a pound. But come along, let's get some dinner I must be off. Now I think of it, there's just time to catch the 8.15.’ ‘You won’t get that picture,” said Daymer. ‘Why? ‘It is not for sale.’ ‘How do you know 2° ‘I have a very strong intuition ; and my intuitions in matters of that kind are never wrong.’ Flack looked up quickly to see if Daymer were laughing, but he was quite serious. ‘Oh, well, I have an intuition that it is for sale !' he said doggedly. “I’m going up to see which is right. I shall be back to-morrow evening.’ ‘Very well. I’ll walk with you to the Station. What is your opinion of Truth, WHO'LL BUY P 55 George 3 Do you think people ought to speak the truth always º' ‘I don't know. I speak the truth always because it's less trouble than lying.’ ‘I am inclined to agree with the Dublin cab-driver who said he had too great a respect for the Truth to be trotting her out on every paltry occasion. So far as I can make out, every man with anything in him lies, con- sciously or unconsciously, some time or other. Still, in spite of myself, I have an unreason- ing respect for fellows who always speak the truth.’ “Like me !” said Flack. ‘Yes, my dear friend, like you.’ No sooner had Flack started than Daymer went to the Station Master, and left a tele- gram with him to be despatched as soon as possible. It was addressed to Burlington House, and contained a brief order not to dispose of No. 537. V. TELE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN “Memory—is it a shadow or a substance 2' SoME people hoard the fairy gold of Memory as if it were too dear a possession to be put out at interest. Basil Daymer was one of these. He desired to meet Nettie again ; yet he wanted no new picture to disturb the remembrance of her as he had first caught sight of her the day before, listening in the heart of the wood, her white dress round her on the moss, while the birds, and Blanche, sang. Whatever else she might—and must —become to him, that brief recollection had in it something that would last. Dared he so soon imperil the brightness of it ! A powerful instinct warned him that it was not safe to delay with Nettie, that if he meant to do as he liked with her he ought to strike at once, before she had any suspicion of his design. Still, he had never but once 56 THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 57 found it hard to make anyone do as he wished. The task would be easy enough, most likely, once well begun. . . In favour of himself—against himself—he resolved that he would go and see her that evening, but not until the evening. Mean- while he was free to do as he would. He looked to see that a little old book without which he never went anywhere was in his pocket, and left the house, urged by the same unconquerable restlessness that had wearied him out as he sat idle in the Inn parlour and kept him waking half the night. There was a house in the neighbourhood, with a moat round it, that he wished to visit. He asked his way thither of the ploughboy, who was making ducks and drakes in the pond, for the benefit of a younger admirer, and stared stupidly, as if he did not comprehend. On the repetition of the question, however, the same sullen gleam of wrath which Basil had remarked the night before lit up his counte- nance. There was no house. He lived there himself long ago. The master up at Racken- ham Court had turned his widowed mother out, and taken it to pieces bit by bit, because he wanted the stones to build a lodge some- where else. Yes, the moat was there, sure 58 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL enough. If the gentleman wanted to see it, he must follow the road till he came to a five-barred gate, climb over if it did not chance to be open, and strike across the fields. - The road led past the Cottage where Nettie and Blanche were living, a pretty Cottage, whitewashed and thatched, that stood a little back from the highway, separated from it only by a low wall, and a strip of grass, speckled with daisies. Through the open window Basil could see and hear. The girls were chattering together, as girls will. The rays of the sun smote fiercely down upon the hard white road, the shade of the sycamore that grew inside the wall seemed grateful. Was it strange that he lingered there for a minute or two º "K. He had no strong desire to talk to Blanche, but the sound of her voice was music in his ears, and drew him always towards her. It was the voice of a woman who never raised it passionately nor lowered it sentimentally ; the purity of her accent, and the finished sentences in which she spoke, contrasted well with Nettie's broken, varied, vehement utterance. Through the sheltering branches of the syca- more, he could see them both, as he rested his THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 59 arms on the top of the wall, but they did not perceive him. Nettie had thrown herself into an old- fashioned chair, her back against one of its arms, her knees over the other. Blanche sat at the open window, marking her pocket- handkerchiefs. - “Do you think Raven’s “Blue-Black Mark- ing Ink” really is “the best " ?’ she asked anxiously, as she held up one of them to the light. - ‘No, I think it's the worst.’ ‘You don’t think anything about it, Nettie.” ‘Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. Black and white's not my taste.” Nettie got up and moved away towards the door. “How you can go on writing B.C. B.C. B.C. over and over again, as if you couldn't be yourself unless it came exactly the same each time, I cannot imagine. I should put B.D. for a change. Don’t be shocked. I did not mean to be naughty, only you are so good. Oh, Blanche, it's awfully delicious in the garden I’m dying to go out !' ‘Very well, go ' ‘Won't you come with me ! Do!’ ‘No, I must finish these handkerchiefs.” ‘I wish “Raven's Blue-Black Marking Ink” 6O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL was at the bottom of the blue-black sea,' ob- served Nettie. “You can finish those any time.’ “Any time is no time.’ ‘Come out when you have done, then. You can’t be much longer. I never knew anyone that had so many pocket-handker- chiefs. You must have spent a fortune on them l’ ‘It is the best economy in the end, and they were very cheap,” said Blanche. “You gave just as much for one that was trimmed with lace, and you are quite certain to lose it next time you go to an evening party.’ ‘Oh, very well ! You'll find me down by the river.’ ‘I cannot possibly go out till after luncheon. There is some copying to be done, when these are marked, and all the books to add up, and then I must balance. Nettie, dear, would you mind being punctual : It gives the servants a great deal of extra trouble, when we are late. They never say anything, but I know they do not like it. Miriam's cousin always was punctual.’ * “She always came home to tea,”’ sang Nettie. “You would be a different THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 6I character if I always came home to luncheon. I shouldn’t like it.’ ‘You would be a different character, you mean.” They both laughed. “But seriously,” Blanche said, becoming ironical as she saw her chances of persuasion fail, ‘had we not better put off luncheon 3 You have only got three hours to lie on your back in the dampest place you can find, and look at nothing. I feel sure it is not enough.” * Put off luncheon ſ' cried Nettie. “I should as soon think of putting off Doomsday. I'm very much afraid of the housemaid, as much afraid of her as you would be, if she were a cow, but if there's one person I'm more afraid of than I am of the housemaid, that person is the cook. No, thank you ! If I should be ten minutes late, begin without me.’ ‘You’re more trouble than two,” said Blanche, and put up her face to be kissed. Basil turned away. These girls were happy : one loved the other and was loved ; their love rose up about them like a fence. Not yet would the man who was looking on break through ; for the moment he dared not. He had heard ugly things of the friendship of women, but for himself he knew what the 62 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL friendship of men was like, and he believed in it. He reached the gate, found it open, and took the meadow path. Soon he was walking ankle-deep in grass and field flowers. Daisies had stretched their disks till they could stretch them no further. Buttercups were spreading sheeny petals to reflect the light, so that they shone like myriads of tiny suns. Patches of speedwell hid the earth as though fragments of blue sky had fallen. The bees were hum- ming among the clover. Delicate hemlock spread a dim mist at the foot of some island tree, springing up here and there out of the sea of green, and he noticed the minute silver fur that fringed the early leaves of the beech, as he passed underneath. He wondered whether Blanche liked flowers or not ; prob- ably she thought it a waste of time to gather them. The steady way she had of holding her own opinion and doing the thing she meant to do attracted Basil Daymer. A gate at the far end admitted him to yet another meadow in this land of green pastures. On one side it was bordered by a thick, dark copse of young firs, growing so closely together that the sun could not pierce their boughs. He heard the cooing of the wood-pigeons THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 63 within, as he stayed to rest himself. A hedge- hog came out and looked at him, and went away again. Two squirrels chased each other round the trunk of a gnarled oak set in the hedge. - He thought of Blanche in the dark little room at the Cottage, busy over her handker- chiefs. A vague, idle regret crossed his mind. After all, these women who did not care to go out were the best women. Blanche was a woman on whom one could rely ; but who could rely on Nettie : After a while, the ground sloped down to- wards an open space. He came in sight of a rough, thatched roof, carried by four posts of untrimmed wood. The bark had not been taken off the posts. Moss was growing—little ferns, tiny wild flowers were waving on the roof. At either end a high elm towered above, a royal tree, its upper branches crowning it. On the further side, smooth and sleepy in the morning Sun, glimmered an old moat, dug long ago, that made an island of a garden almost as old. A tattered fruit tree or two, a ragged regi- ment of raspberry and currant bushes straggled across it, over and through a wall of broken brick, adorned with tumble-down battlements at the corners, festooned and veiled in ivy and trails 64 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL of lush green leaves—crumbling into utter ruin here and there—mirrored with exquisite clear- mess in the still waters. Into those unmoving depths had sunk every crack and stem of the sun and storm-tinted fragments of clay—every ringed tendril of the white convolvulus; and they were resting on a floor of blue. The bridge was ruinous and lovely, like the wall. Two solid posts knocked, dragged and stained into the same disarray, defended it. The porch, the bricks of which were held to- gether by huge clusters of ivy, was still almost entire. The strong oak door, studded with rusty mails, had held its own against wind and weather. It stood half open, but the house to which it led, was not. It had been utterly destroyed. Basil could see the Sunny grass beyond. The place charmed him from the first moment, as it lay before him bathed in the shining peacefulness of early summer. It was deserted—but the strangeness of that Waiting site within the ancient walls checked the pure sadness inspired by desolation. Man must have been there lately, and he might come again. Meantime Nature was tenant, em- broidering her thousand fancies in leaves and flowers upon the groundwork raised by human THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 65 fingers. There was an air of silent expecta- tion, the door was ready for someone to pass through. Daymer had never known a home. He fancied what this would be with children hiding under the bushes, calling to each other as they ran this way and that across the bridge. Suddenly he thought that Blanche might very well live there. He stopped to ask himself why he remembered Blanche again. For some time past, living as he did reso- lutely under the empire of one thought, he had made the answer of Dante to all intruders, ‘Another was with me.’ - For once he did not make that answer. A temperament that distrusts its own loyalty shuns any change by instinct. A man who is sure of himself has no reason to do so, and Daymer was surprised, half amused, but in no way alarmed, by the discovery that his imagination had wandered. He stayed an hour under the elms until from out those ancient waters the ancient house arose once more. It rose, and Blanche stood on the threshold, Blanche looked from the windows. He recollected a story of a Christian prisoner, who, whilst playing picquet with • g- 5 66 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL one of his captors, was told that he would be shot in twenty minutes, and finished the game. ‘Twenty minutes more or less,’ he said, with a smile. ‘What does it matter ? I will finish the game too !’ He allowed Blanche to stay on in the house. - It was the past that he had come to see there—not a fanciful future that life would never realise. He had heard of the place from the dead friend who in his early child- hood romped and dreamed there. But nothing is more remote from us than the childhood of one whom we have come to know in youth. Daymer reached the scene only to find that the faint visions of a mere whim were more substantial than recollections that, in the strength of those more recent memories which Overpowered him, he could not command. When, by the burning heat and the position of the Sun, he knew that it was noonday, he left the house alone and, lying down there in the shade, let every feeling glide, one by one, into that calm which holds the matural world while great Pan sleeps. Free from the burden of this encumbering humanity, his mind became like the still waters THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 67 of the moat, a mirror, reflecting only, neither absorbing nor re-creating. The sky was in him ; the sun was of him. With nothing but the thin, invisible air between himself and them—stirring not by a hand's breadth lest he should break the spell—he sucked them in as though he were a blade of grass, endowed with consciousness. Those eyes in which no other eyes are seen alone transmit the images of purest colour and light. As he closed his, compelled to do so by the unbearable bright- ness, he sank away into that death of all except the simplest elements of existence, which is caused by the inflooding of the eternal life of Nature. What is the strength of one poor man against the radiant source of radiance 2 What avails it that nothing human can tempt him to forget, if there contend with him “the body of heaven in his clearness’? Nay, so unequal was the contest, that Basil yielded without suspecting himself of treason. From the least word of comfort he would have shrunk as from an insult ; he could not have borne the faintest suggestion of it by so much as the soft touch of a woman without unutter- able remorse ; yet here he had not only laid down his weapons, he had let in the foe—for he was living—and no shadow of baseness - 5—2 68 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL troubled him. There was no terror in that stillness, it was not the accentuating silence of night. It was not the thronging in of human passion and purpose that had shaken him when he stood in the dark among the pictures. His head reposed more easily on the hard ground beneath it than on a pillow of down. His spirit rested from itself. Mother Earth claimed her own. When his dream of oblivion faded, shadows were stretching the other way. There stood no house upon the island. Only the half- open door remained, leading no whither. He thought he saw Blanche there, her back to him | Even as he was looking she passed beyond, nor, except in bodily presence, was she ever near him again. Something of that other —something of his dead friend—he sought to find, and could not. ‘He was born here, but there is nothing of him.’ The heavy curtain of blankness fell again. Again he thought of Nettie—the likeness, and the difference that was so much greater than the likeness. “But the eyes are the same,’ he said wearily. ‘The eyes are the same.’ 3% :*: 3. >{< 3& THE PICTURE IS FORGOTTEN 69 A little while after, as they were standing by the swing together, Nettie clasped Blanche's arm convulsively. ‘What's that ſ’ she cried, pointing to the window. ‘Mr. Daymer,’ said Blanche. ‘He has come to call, I suppose. What's the matter with you, Nettie 3 You look as if you had seen a ghost l’ ‘Oh, it's nothing !’ said Nettie. “I don’t know why it startled me to see him suddenly like that. I like Mr. Daymer, but somehow or other I don’t trust him '' ‘You take things in such a funny way. If you are very happy, you are always afraid it's not going to last, and if you like people, you are always frightened of them.’ ‘You like Mr. Daymer, don’t you ? “Oh well,” said Blanche, ‘I don’t like men at all ! But he is easier to talk to than most. He’s more like a woman.’ VI. TELE PROPOSAL ‘Clouds—cloudy shadows.’ IF Daymer had chanced to overhear Blanche's last remark, he would not have felt surprised at it. He understood her ; they were alike in this, that as she cared most for a woman, so he cared most for a man. - ‘Where’s Mr. Flack º' asked Nettie, after the usual greeting. ‘It is quite unnatural to see you without him.’ ‘Gone up to Tondon on business. He sold his big picture for three hundred pounds yesterday.' ‘How splendid of him ''Nettie exclaimed. “But was it worth all that ?" said Blanche. ‘Certainly, it is a fine thing. The fellow who has bought it does not know it from a tea-tray, the more's the pity P ‘What does that matter º' cried Nettie. 70 THE PROPOSAL 7I “George Flack has the money. If I could only make money, I wouldn't care what happened. Money is the most adorable thing in the world. I would marry anyone, if only he had money enough.” A shiver of repulsion went down Basil's spine. ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Nettie,’ said Blanche, rather sharply. ‘It’s not nonsense. Money is beautiful houses, gardens, statues, pictures,—a grand piano, everthing that I want. Oh, I want a big house to live in, room to dance, room to sing, room to hang great big pictures I’ “I saw someone who had married for money yesterday,” said Basil, ‘she told me she was not happy.' ‘Did she It must have been her own fault, then.’ - ‘You would make the experiment, if the chance offered 4” ‘Certainly, I don’t want people to make me happy, I want things.—Let us come out of this little parlour, it is so narrow and dark and stuffy We always have tea by the swing, and there are still some tea-leaves left. You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Daymer ? There's a rustic bench you can sit on.’ 72 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “Just let me go and get my knitting !' said Blanche. “I won’t be a minute,’ and she ran upstairs. The other two were strolling down to the end of the garden when Blanche overtook them, her cheeks flushed, her large eyes tragic with compassion. She held a little dead bird in her hand. * Nettie Nettie l’ she cried. “Who can have done this? It was lying on the table in our room. It has only been dead a moment. Feel it is quite warm still.’ ‘Oh, did it die º said Nettie, ‘how stupid of it !” She touched the feathers with curiosity rather than tenderness. Daymer’s dislike of her strengthened. “I found it by the river and brought it in,’ she continued. ‘I thought it would be nice to paint. It had such a pretty head. But now it doesn't look a bit pretty. I meant to have given it some bread-and-milk, and asked you to see to it. But I forgot. Throw it out into the road, Blanche. I don’t like looking at it.’ ‘No,' said Blanche, ‘I would rather bury it here in the garden! Go on I will join you directly.” In silence, though not in tears (for it took THE PROPOSAL 73 more than the death of a thrush to make Blanche cry) she accomplished the funeral. When she reached the swing, Nettie was leaning half out of it, speaking eagerly and positively, as people do who are laying stress on what they reserve rather than on what they assert. ‘Yes, I know Mr. George Flack is clever. Of course I know it quite well.’ ‘Why should you protest, then º' ‘Oh, I’m not protesting ! Only he thinks himself cleverer than anyone else in the world.’ “Not he,’ said Basil warmly. ‘He is more sincere than most people, that's all.’ ‘Don’t you think it's rather a pity to be so sincere ! Most people call it conceit.” ‘It’s not conceit,” said Basil. ‘Any artist, even a good one like George Flack, needs armour of some kind. A crab might just as Soon try to live without its shell. Why, you must often have heard things said, even in your Studio, that would kill a sensitive man, if he had nothing to oppose to them ; and every artist is sensitive by nature.’ ‘I wish I had had a brother P said Nettie. ‘Why ’ demanded Basil, turning round On her. 74 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “I should have understood some things that I don’t understand now. Besides, I always longed for a brother. Now Blanche and I are together it's different ; but long ago, when I was a little girl, I used to cry because I had not got a brother.’ ‘Won't you have a cup of tea º' said Blanche, putting some more hot water into the tea-pot. Basil, who was both hungry and thirsty after his long day in the open air, accepted her offer thankfully. Nettie swung to and fro, pondering the character of Man in general, and of Mr. George Flack in particular. “Do you think he's a genius” she asked abruptly. ‘He — who George Flack He has something in him. The next few years will probably decide whether or no he can bring it out. He is a self-taught man—that is as much as to say a wayward one, you know ; and his health is against him. But I shall be surprised if he does not take higher rank than that of a brilliant amateur.’ “Ah !’ said Blanche, with some interest, ‘I thought he was not strong. I heard him cough, the other day.” . THE PROPOSAL 75 ‘He is not the least like a genius. He always catches his train.’ ‘I did not know such weighty issues depended on that,’ said Basil. “I shall be careful to lose mine, if ever I have the pleasure of travelling with you, Miss Lister, even though I should lose your company into the bargain. But perhaps I might not have to make such a sacrifice after all. Do you in- variably catch the express to London º' ‘That's not it,” said Nettie, striking her foot against the ground so as to send the swing a little higher than usual. ‘The question is this. Is Mr. George Flack a genius' Of course if he is, I suppose he can't help thinking he is. But I would much rather he did not. Why does he let his hair grow long º' ‘There you have hit on a serious defect in his character,’ said Basil, ‘I have spoken to him about it before. I will speak to him about it again.’ - ‘Genius is the best thing a man can have,’ Nettie went on. ‘It is what beautiful eyes are to a girl.’ “But if she knows she has beautiful eyes, at least, if she lets anyone see that she knows, that spoils it all directly.” ‘I am glad you put in a saving clause. 76 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “If she lets anyone see.” That's where the secret lies. But I defy her not to see for herself-at least if she possesses a looking- glass. Of course there may be Nymphs, and Shepherdesses who have never heard of such a thing, but as a rule Nature provides running streams, even in Arcady. Now a young man's own works are to him what her mirror is to a girl. If he have genius, he sees the reflection of it in them. He cannot help it any more than she can. But he-forgive the plainness of my speech—he being more frank than she, and far less skilled in the interpretation of the ways of the world, forgets that he must never let anyone see that he sees. It comes to what I said just now. He is more sincere than the rest of us.” ‘He may be quite mistaken,’ said Nettie. “Some girls think they have beautiful eyes when they have nothing of the kind.” “No one who has any eyes at all makes that mistake. They say that Good Queen Bess smashed every mirror she came across when she was young.’ Nettie, who had not been well educated, always fought shy of historical allusions. ‘I once told Mr. Flack,' she said somewhat irrelevantly, “that he would never paint a THE PROPOSAL 77 really good picture till he had known a great sorrow.’ ‘Indeed Have you endured profound affliction lately, and painted much better in consequence º' - Daymer threw into his question all the scorn of a professional in grief for one who does not know grief's alphabet. His dislike of Nettie was changing to a sterner emotion. Blanche felt it and grew indignant. Nettie felt it, and it distressed her, and made her wish to defend herself. “Oh no l’ she said. “I have never lost any- one that I loved—I never knew anybody that died—except my aunt.' Her face clouded. ‘That was a happy release, I suppose ?' ‘No, no,' cried Nettie. “Indeed, indeed, I was not glad.” She looked at him entreatingly. “Do you think I am altogether hard-hearted and cruel ? Don't you believe me ! Basil smiled. “Of course. If it were possible to call her back to life again by one word, you would do so, would you not ?’ ‘What is the use of talking about things we cannot do º said Blanche, from behind the woollen walls of the coverlet she was knitting. ‘Oh, here comes the second post, and there is 78 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL a letter for you, Nettie ' She took it from the trim little white-capped maid. “It is Miriam's hand. Perhaps it's to say that her cousin is coming home, and we can go back to London.’ Nettie opened it dreamily, for she was thinking of something else, but the very first words awoke her. * News | News ' she cried. ‘Guess what has happened P. She waved the letter over her head. ‘Three cheers | Three cheers I never wanted anything so much.” ‘An engagement 2 Not Miriam, is it !” ‘Yes, yes! It's dear old Miriam. She says she can’t make it out, -and she doesn’t know why she did it, she doesn't know why he fell in love with her, she can’t believe that it's going to last,-she wants me to be a bridesmaid.’ ‘In the general uncertainty of all the rest, that must be an immense comfort to you,' remarked Basil. ‘Oh, Blanche, Blanche | Are you not longing to see him ? * Not at all,” said Blanche. “I would much rather not see him, and I’m sure I wish he had never seen Miriam.’ ‘Who is the happy man º' asked Basil. THE PROPOSAL 79 ‘A Mr. Dorian. It's a lovely name, is it not ? Of course it is a dead secret. You must not tell anybody. Mrs. Gilbert Dorian,’ said Nettie, taking the name and holding it out at arm's length, so to speak. ‘How funny it does sound ! They used to talk of him at the Studio, don’t you remember 3 She never says what he is, though. What should you think he is, Blanche º' ‘I don’t know.’ ‘He will be Miriam's husband soon enough, and we shall have to know, whether we wish to or not.’ ‘Yes. He will never let her come and see us. He will always be there, if we go to see her. She will have to give up painting to order his dinner. She won’t care about any- thing except fashionable bonnets, to please him. I call it very tiresome. But they all go and do it. I suppose you will be the next.” ‘Oh, I shall never marry—unless I meet that very rich man with the big house and the grand piano | It would bore me to death.’ ‘That's just what Miriam always said. For goodness' sake, don't say it again, Nettie You will be engaged this evening, if you do.’ ‘Oh, but Miriam was really in love with Mr. Dorian I knew that long ago.” 8O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL * How 2° ‘By the way she never spoke of him.’ ‘That was an ingenious way of discovering it,” said Daymer. “You are a dangerous person to keep secrets from, Miss Lister.’ ‘Why did you not mention it, if you knew º' ‘Why should I? It spoils those stories to talk about them.’ ‘I know someone that you would marry this very moment, if he asked you,' said Blanche, mischievously. ‘You know more than I know myself, then.’ ‘I am afraid I must repeat my question,' said Basil. ‘Curiosity is supposed to be a feminine failing, but on this occasion it is too strong for me, especially as I have not been blessed with Miss Lister's extraordinary capacity for thought—reading. Again I ven- ture to ask, who is the happy man º' * No. 537.’ - “Oh l’ said Nettie, ‘you are quite wrong. I would not marry him if I could. He is either dead or dying.’ ‘Why? The utterance of the word shook Nettie, as the strange flash of expression on Daymer's THE PROPOSAL 8I face had shaken her, down in the wood. But the second time is never the first. She pulled herself together, and answered readily, though she avoided Basil's eyes. ‘Oh, I don’t know ! He looks as if he lived too fast to live long. I hate people to be ill.’ “If he is dead,” said Daymer, resting his elbow on the table and his head on his hand, and gazing fixedly into her eyes, “will you marry the man who painted his portrait º' “Of course I will,’ said Nettie gravely. Then, as if aware that the conversation was taking too serious a turn, she added in a lighter tone, ‘ that is, if he is rich. He must be rich.” ‘I can’t think why you talk like that, Nettie,’ said Blanche, sensitive about the im- pression she produced. ‘I wish you wouldn't. You don't care a bit about money really.” ‘Yes, I do,” said Nettie rather defiantly, ‘I never give it away.” ‘You always lose it, then. You never have any. And I don't know why you want to marry a genius. Genius is very uncom- fortable to live with.” - ‘I daresay it is. But after all, it's the only thing that does live, really. It would 6 82. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL be like a little bit of eternity. I don't know, though. When I saw that picture the other day, that was one of the things that made me sad. It was so wonderful, so full of life. But it won’t last. All the world will go, and that will go too. It is only a little paint. It may last hundreds and hundreds of years, but it will die in the end. It seems so horrible that it should die. I thought that once when I saw a great portrait by Velasquez.” “But Velasquez himself is alive,’ said Blanche. Nettie's hold on the ropes of the swing loosened, and she let her hands fall in her lap. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘Velasquez is alive, I suppose.’ VII. TEIE LAST TIME, NETTIE DANCED ‘The ear was filled with whispering music, and the shadows danced in tune.' WHEN Daymer reached the Inn, he found that Flack had just arrived. “Sold I he exclaimed, without waiting for his friend to begin. “I was a fool, I know. Don't tell me you said I was, for my temper won't bear it. Well, where have you been hanging out, old boy ; Been to see those Blessèd Damozels down at the cottage, yet ! Awfully nice girl, Miss Lister | Rum little thing, Blanche Campbell—I can't make her out.’ “She's very simple,’ Basil said. “I rather like her. She always knows what she is about.’ After supper, as they were strolling up and down outside the Inn, Flack took the pipe from his mouth and returned to the charge. 83 6—2 84 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Awfully nice girl, Miss Lister.’ ‘My dear fellow, you have the argument completely to yourself. I never said she was not nice.’ “But Blanche Campbell is awfully nice, too, although she is the rum-est creature.” “A very charming girl indeed,' assented Basil. ‘If I had been able to get that picture,’ said Flack, after a pause, ‘I should have given it to her—to Nettie Lister, you know. She wanted it. I’m thinking of getting married, Basil. It's awfully lonely, the way we live, at the best of times, and then there's some- thing about women that teaches you how to colour. Besides, I’m three hundred pounds to the good. It seems a pity to waste the three hun.’ ‘May I suggest,” said Basil, ‘that one swallow does not make summer ?’ ‘That other thing ought to go for nearly as much. It's just as good. It is all very well for you to talk, B. You don't mind living alone. Now, I can't stand it. But you would be a much better artist if you got married, take my word for it ! Any woman might be glad to accept you. You may not be a genius exactly, but you're the best old THE LAST TIME NETTTE DANCED 85 fellow going. Why don't you ask Blanche Campbell ?” ‘Because I proposed to Miss Lister and was accepted this afternoon.’ ‘I don't approve of joking about such sub- jects,” said Flack drily. “Nor do I.’ ‘Then what do you mean º' ‘Every word that I say.” Flack dashed his pipe to the ground with such violence that it broke in the crash. Daymer went on calmly enough : “I shall tell no one else at present. It is a secret. Nor will she say anything, even to Miss Campbell. You will oblige me, George, by not mentioning it, either to her or to me, or to anyone whatever until I give you leave.’ George's eyes flashed fire. ‘What do you mean by treating me in this way ?’ he cried. ‘If I had known—if I had even suspected But no, you never gave me so much as a hint—and then you steal a march upon me in my absence. A shabby trick and no mistake To think that I trusted you !’ Daymer was really distressed. ‘My dear George,’ he said. “Shall such a 86 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL little thing as that come between us? Is any woman worth it !” He had never appealed to Flack as he did at that moment. Something that was dumb with despair looked from his eyes. ‘Is any woman worth 9. * ‘Hang it !” said Flack. “No At least she is—but she shan't.” And he touched his friend's hand. Alas, how seldom crisis makes ‘a swan-like end, fading in music'ſ The harmony between these two was quivering still upon the verge of discord. Not knowing what to say, Flack turned and went into the house. Glad to be left alone, Basil Daymer wandered away to the dark, empty, deserted churchyard, and, sitting down upon a tombstone, gave himself up to thought. All the conditions of the morning reversed themselves. As the sharp, dreaded consciousness of self had melted away into the blessedness of light, so now, in the dark, the hard strength of his isolation deepened and grew. He was himself, himself alone, no living creature shared life with him. The one who had been more to him than himself was gone Even the shadow left, the picture for which he had lived and laboured when life and labour were worthless for any other end, was but a THE LAST TIME NETTIE DANCED 87 shadow. George Flack's friendship, the one thing that remained was gone, or all but gone, though they were reconciled for the moment. If he really cared about Nettie, it could not stand the strain. ‘Well, they can marry afterwards !” he said to himself. He was profoundly tired of everything. To fulfil the unspoken promise that he looked upon as sacred by a formal marriage with Nettie—to leave her at once—and, leaving her, to leave life also, but with credit, not as a dis- honoured man—this was the problem that lay before him. He could not yet find the solution ; but step by step it was growing clearer. There might be difficulty, he had thought, in winning Nettie to consent. He could not tell her the circumstances; if he did, she would refuse. He could not and would not make any pretence of love. After what she had said this evening, however, it was clear that she did not require love. He had only to tell her that it lay in him to paint a picture, and, above all, that he was rich. She would yield. He thought himself that she liked Flack. Dead friendship—love impossible ; that was the sum of Basil Daymer's existence. The 88 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL buried bones that lay around him were not more indifferent to the things of this world than was he at that moment. At length, driven by that restlessness which is often the only form of change that grief knows, he stood up and strolled round to the further side of the churchyard, where a thin hedge divided it from the orchard behind the Cottage. & As he went, a strain of music reached his ears. He felt sure that it came from the Cottage. Was it Blanche who was playing : Yes. He leaned against the wall once more and listened. To Nettie art was joy ; actual sorrow spoke to her in the tones of harsh and hateful prose. But all the poetry that dwelt in Blanche was set to sadness ; and Nettie sometimes com- plained, because the only music that she played woodenly and without expression was the quick music of dancing feet. She had no sympathy with rapid motion. Now as her little, slight, firm fingers pressed down the keys, she drew from them a sound the plaintiveness of which surpassed all plain- tive words. What subtle charm is there in sadness undefined, the object of it unknown 7 As THE LAST TIME NETTIE DANCED 89 Daymer listened, he was soothed almost to the point of forgetfulness, now by the healing of an anodyne, and now as one is soothed who sees another weeping over some sorrow for which he has no tears. Only too soon it ended. He passionately longed for more. Even this passing strain had almost brought him the strange relief of tears. He set that will of his, which, in an instant, had overborne Flack's resistance but a little while ago, to force the sweet musician to continue. If she had had any idea that she was help- ing a fellow-creature in his pain, Blanche would have played till she could play no longer. As it was, she thought that Nettie ought to go to bed, and closed the piano. The wild entreaty of the man without was dumb because his lips could not utter it. Nevertheless, the shadows did not close again round him—at least, not yet ; for still he leant upon the wall and felt, although he might not hear, an echo. The lights went out in all the windows, excepting one. A low wind murmured through the trees and Sank. Quietly the night went on its way and all things rested. • 90 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL He had been standing there some time when, out of the darkened house, a small white figure flashed upon his sight. It was Nettie—risen from her bed, come to see how the world fared, when all the men and women left it. She reached the middle of the lawn and stood arrested, her face thrown up towards the sky, the maiden light of the moon in her first quarter falling upon it, her hands raised and the palms flung back and lightly curved, as though she would have caught the rays while they fell. Daymer remembered a statue he had seen, a Greek boy praying in the same attitude, not on bent knees, not with clasped fingers—in confidence, in rapture of thanksgiving. Then she began to move ; she could not help it. She had come out, not knowing what she sought ; but what she found was joy more wonderful to her than all the humming, shining and singing happiness of day. The silence was alive. This she knew first, and next she knew that it was rhythmical. She bent towards the only other thing that moved, her shadow, and rose again, and to and fro she swayed and threw her arms above her head and let them fall, obeying that strange measure. He watched THE LAST TIME NETTIE DANCED 9I her dancing with delight. Her motions filled the garden with airy music, too fine for any mortal ear. As she yielded to an impulse growing stronger within, her feet moved faster, faster, and ever faster till she was caught in the swift whirl of her own noiseless mirth, and, choosing to fool herself, turned suddenly grotesque, and mocked the uncouth actions of some half-savage creature, hopping and leaping on the grass. There was a savage in him too that night. Was nothing sacred ? Was nothing beautiful with a beauty that lasted ? Was there in every man—in every woman—an animal, a thing that owned no law An uncontrollable desire to laugh seized Basil. He threw him- self down on the ground at the foot of the tree, and tried with might and main to stifle it. He could not. He heard what he never thought to hear, the sound of his own voice laughing at all those things in which he had believed. It rang out, sharp and clear, upon the night. The moment after, silence resumed her reign—dead silence. He got up, staggered to the wall, and looked over. Nettie was gone. VIII. BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET “I looked and saw your heart In the shadow of your eyes.' ‘I AM going back to London,’ Flack announced the next morning. Daymer glanced at him for a moment. ‘Well,” said he, ‘I will follow in a day or two.’ - Some time after, Flack made the same remark, Daymer the same reply. The third time Daymer smiled a little, but Flack was always perfectly serious. Summer went gliding on, week by week. A fragile glory of wild roses trailed over every hedge. Wild roses were de rigueur in a sketch that he was eager to finish, Flack said. They were often at the Cottage. Some– times they went out walking and sketching ; sometimes in the evening Blanche played or sang. Daymer was always one apart ; even if BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET 93 they started together, he would stroll away. Once the rest came on him unexpectedly as he lay under a hedge, deep in the little brown book that was always with him. Nettie asked him for the title, but he put it back in his pocket and would not tell her. Flack had been prepared to find him undemonstrative ; but to treat the lady to whom he said he was engaged in this way was carrying undemonstrativeness to the verge of neglect. He never on any occasion sought to be alone with her. Moreover, although he did not put this to himself distinctly, George had without doubt expected to find a change, however slight, in Nettie's manner towards Basil ; and there was none. In vain he set it down to his own inexperience of these matters; he could not even thus delude himself into the belief that she had altered. Was he best pleased or disappointed ? A question, surely, to which there could be but one answer—yet, so perverse is youth, that he was half annoyed because when he had thought to feel jealousy, he experienced nothing but a flat kind of surprise. Nettie behaved to him just as she did to his brother artist. The most skilful student of character 94 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL (in male attire) could not have told which she preferred. In time he reflected that all women are said to be born actresses, and ascribed his friend's enigmatical conduct, in like manner, to an undeveloped instinct for the stage. “There was always something melodramatic about B.,’ he said to himself. “That sort of fellow acts in real life, and if he doesn't happen to find a mystery ready to his hand, he makes one for the fun of the thing. There's no con- ceivable reason why he should keep it a secret else. He has enough to live on, and no parents. But he was just as dark about going to Paris long ago, and what he did when he got there, I don't know to this day. Why did he never tell me, I wonder º' But Flack soon left off wondering. He was not fond of riddles, and having settled the problem by declaring there was none, he ceased to think about it. However, it was not long before he discovered or thought that he dis- covered a clue to the real state of Nettie's affections. As regarded the younger artist, Daymer was just what he had always been—a friend who veiled the dryness of good advice in mockery, whose praise could not stifle because it was given in ever-varying forms, underneath BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET 95 which Flack sometimes had to exert all his ingenuity to detect anything except criticism. The praise of one friend by another is indeed a delicate art, and one that many people spend their lives without acquiring, although there are few of the methods of love which, in reality, deserve so much attention. Praise, wrongly administered, is to some natures chaff only, but to others rank poison. “Queer stuff we are l’ said Flack one after- noon, angling for compliments because he was conscious that he had not been getting on. ‘When other people butter me up I feel as if I’d done enough, but when you say the thing's decent, I want to do better.’ ‘Why not do better then º' asked Basil. ‘That last sketch of yours is abominable. The cows might as well have come out of Noah's Ark, and the South Sea Islanders themselves could not have contributed a more primitive view of a green field.’ Flack set up the sketch in question on the mantelpiece, and contemplated his work from a safe distance. To have it attacked always restored his self-respect. ‘It depends on the point of view. You're too near,’ he observed. ‘There's plenty of good stuff in it. The cows don't stand out 96 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL a bit for one thing, and I defy you to say that grass is tight, for another. Lots of people would think no end of it.’ ‘May be.’ “If you think this is bad, you must think pretty well of the fellow who's going to beat it, that's all I’ve got to say.” ‘You think pretty well of him yourself, don't you ?” said Basil, and they both laughed. There was something about the naïf self- absorption of George which was refreshing to the other young man. Besides, he could play on George, he knew the stops of him, and pulled them in and out at pleasure. He experienced, pleasantly enough, the reverse of what he felt with Nettie, in whose society he was himself an instrument, one on which she never ceased to play, and never ceased to play wrongly. The post coming in at that moment, Flack tore the wrapper from the solitary newspaper that was brought him, and sat down to devour it. He was a great reader of papers, perhaps because he seldom read anything else. He took no note of the books that other people read, and Daymer, when alone with him, often pulled out the little work which was his true companion, confident that Flack, BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET 97 quite unlike Nettie Lister, would not so much as ask its name. He did so now, and had begun to lose himself in its well-known yet never wearying cadences, when he was roused by the sound of a cry. He looked up quickly. Flack was leaning back in his chair, lips and cheeks colourless. The paper had fallen from his hand. He could not speak ; when Daymer picked it up, he pointed to a short paragraph. ‘We regret to hear that a most promising young English artist, Charles Rackenham, died suddenly in Paris, a short time since. Mr. Rackenham's work, though known only to a few, showed great originality and force.” Daymer went over to the window, threw up the sash, and set the door wide open. Flack happened to be sitting just between them,--he had a delicate chest, and was nervous about cold. ‘Shut the door l’ he gasped. Basil did so ; then he came over and laid his hand on Flack's shoulder. He could ex- press thoughts for which there are no words in his touch, when he was feeling deeply, and Flack, susceptible enough to such influences, responded. Colour came back to his cheeks and he sat up. º 7 98 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘To think I never saw him " he began incoherently. “He might have done anything, anything ! I can't help it. I know you think me a donkey, B., but you never admired him as I did.' Daymer took away his hand. ‘Did you know him º' asked Flack. But his friend was studying the announce- ment and did not answer. ‘Aren’t you going over, to tell Nettie Lister 2' He had to repeat the words twice before Basil said curtly : ‘Why? “She’ll be awfully shocked, if she sees it all of a sudden l' ‘It is most unlikely that she will see it. Miss Campbell does not allow her to buy papers, you know.’ ‘Well, if you're not going, I am l’ said Flack. “It is an awful shame to let a girl run the risk of a shock like that. Good-bye.” * No | Wait a moment l’ said Basil slowly, as if it cost him something to make up his mind. ‘I will go too.” & They found Nettie at a round table in the summer-house. Trailing branches of honey- suckle were falling half across the entrance, BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET 99 and breaking the sunshine into shreds and patches over her dress and on her hair. A blank sheet of paper lay before her, and an old worm-eaten book in a thick cover. ‘Why, what's the matter with Mr. George Flack º’ she cried, shutting it up with a bang. ‘He looks as melancholy as if the British Matron had praised his best picture.’ ‘Don’t chaff a fellow. See here !’ said Flack, and handed her the paper. Nettie had no memory for names ; she read without understanding. ‘Charles Rackenham | Who is that ?’ ‘The man that painted No. 537.’ “Oh I said Nettie, thoughtfully. ‘Then I was right after all. It is a portrait of himself. That makes it certain.” Flack sighed. ‘You never saw him, did you ?” said Blanche gently. * No.’ ‘I think it is best so,” said Nettie. ‘Per- haps he would never have painted another picture so good as that.' ‘He might have painted more.’ ‘He put his whole life into it. If he had no more to give, why should he live any longer ? 7—2 IOO THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “Upon my word, I don't know, Miss Lister,’ said Flack humbly. ‘Only I wish he had.' ‘I’m glad he is dead,” she went on, thinking aloud. ‘He can never spoil his fame now. He will never be forced to bear the laughter of people, nor their hateful pity. When I think that I shall have to turn into a little ridiculous old lady, with wiry hair, and dead eyes and ears, and feet that hobble and an ugly cracked voice, why, I could jump into the river ! Why should we live to be our own shadows ' If it is lovely, lovely to be young, even for me who cannot do anything but live, what must it not have been to him : He lived and painted. He could not have borne to grow old. He died in Spring too.” ‘It seems to me hard luck on a fellow to die in Spring,” said Flack. “I shouldn’t like it any better myself in Summer—or in the Autumn,” he added candidly. ‘I hate Autumn ! I hate middle-aged men. How can you talk of Spring as if it were like any other season of the year ! How dare you ? It's holy.” She paused, recalling some experience. “When I saw the soft cloud of almond blossom over the Smoky boughs, the other day, I–– She stopped again. “I cried,” she said, with tears in her bright eyes. BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET IOI They were all silent for a moment. ‘That is a London Spring, Miss Lister ; for country folk it means primroses and the violet. Only for poor Cockneys like you it is written on leafless almond trees.’ ‘Have they no leaves º' she said. “I never noticed that. It’s all pink and black then º' * Yes.’ What had she said, this girl whom the passing beauty of the almond blossom moved more than the death of a man 2 Was she right ! Was she wrong To Daymer the silence grew unbearable. ‘Perhaps that's why I like it. Always in the Spring when I am happier than at any other time—when I am just in love with all the world—when it’s all rose coloured—I think about dying. It seems as if there were nothing else different—holy enough—to think about. But it frightens me. Why are we always afraid when we love things º' - ‘I am afraid really,” said Flack, ‘I don't care who knows it. I hate a thunderstorm. I always go into the cellar. It's awful hard luck on that young fellow. Suppose it had been me !’ ‘We can easily see whether it's going to be () I O2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL you next,’ Nettie observed, with a mischievous change of mood. ‘Ilook at this funny book I found in Miriam's cousin's library | It's as old as the hills. “To the sacred Majesty of Ring Charles. Printed for Tho. Sawbridge, at the Three Flower de Luces in Little Britain, 1680. Quincunacial Verities.” The man who wrote it was called Philoster. It’s all about the stars, and how to draw horo- scopes, and that kind of thing. I was just trying to draw mine when you came.’ ‘You don't seem to have got very far, re- marked George, glancing at the white paper. ‘Well, but I can’t begin, that's the worst of it ! I was in despair when you lifted the honeysuckle. I was trying to recollect when I was born But I do not know anything more than the day; and if you don’t know the hour, you might as well never have been born at all, according to this.’ ‘It is needless to cast your nativity,” said Basil. ‘You have the same horoscope as Shakespeare's Beatrice.” ‘What was that ?’ asked Nettie. ‘“A star danced, and under that was I born,”’ he quoted. ‘I never mean to dance again.” BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET IO3 ‘Why not º' ‘The other night, when I was dancing, I heard someone laugh—it was dreadful, she cried, putting her hands to her ears, as if to shut out the sound. How did you know I was fond of dancing 7 she went on presently in a different tone. “You are a magician, Mr. Daymer. You know everything ! I am quite sure you know when you were born.’ ‘The clock was striking midnight on the 31st December, twenty-five years ago.” ‘You are not so old as I thought you were, but you are older than the rest of us,’ Nettie said, ‘Hurrah 1. We can draw your horoscope now, this very minute. What fun I will put in the signs, and you shall find out how they come, and what they mean, because I can’t work the arithmetic. You must make a great big circle first, and then divide it into twelve Houses. This is the table of them, and here's the Ephemeris, the thing that tells you what o'clock it was in the sky when you cried for the first time. Were you born under Saturn ? I should think you were. Your eyes are so dark.’ ‘No,' said Basil, who had been jotting down some rapid calculations. “As far as I can make out with the assistance of this ancient {\ IO4. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL classic, Mars, at that witching hour, was Lord of the Ascendant.’ * ‘Oh, draw it properly, cried Nettie. ‘That looks like a bill from the baker’s.’ ‘Very well. The thing shall be done in style if you wish it. Prove yourself Giotto at once, George, draw me a perfect circle. Now then, Abracadabra !’ George took a fountain pen from his pocket with great deliberation, looked to see that it was properly charged, aimed at the paper a moment, screwing his eyes together, and swept a large black circle round the very centre. ‘Bravo cried Nettie, ‘What's that ?’ Daymer had begun to fill it in with cabalistic signs. ‘The Hyleg, the Sun, afflicted by Mars ” ‘What does it mean º' ‘Well, it would mean ill health, only that Mars is in Scorpio. That accounts for my swarthy complexion, without the interference of Saturn. The Lords of the Fourth and Tenth Houses are, it appears, my father and mother. My father is combust with Mercury. That's a very ill sign indeed. The Moon is in the Fourth House ; the Native frequently changes his residence. Venus joins Mars, that's the reason I am a painter. What a BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET IO5 simple affair it is Breakers ahead She's afflicted by Saturn ; that does not look well for courtship. On the other hand, Jupiter in the Seventh House promises lasting felicity.’ ‘How beautiful P said Nettie. “Don’t you wish it were true : It's all so vast up there. If we felt the rays of stars were part of everything that happens, how great our little affairs would be It must be true ; all beauti- ful things are. What are you doing now !" ‘I think I am in cademte domo, but what this last conjunction means, I do not know. Fourth period of seven years, Mars is posited in the Twelfth House in conjunction with the Moon from an angle, and Saturn is in the same aspect of the Sun. Took it out in the book, George.” “Rubbish I can’t find it.’ ‘Here, give it to me, then “Mars posited in the Twelfth House in conjunction with the Moon from an angle, and Saturn in the same aspect of the Sun. The Native dies very sud- denly and violentlie by some foul and dispro- portionate means.” " ‘No, no 'the girl cried vehemently, snatch- ing the book out of his hand. ‘It’s horrible ! Don't let us go on. It's not true ! It can’t be l’ IO6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL She let the book fall and covered her face with her hands. She shook in every limb. Flack, turning, caught in Daymer's eyes a look of terror that he had never seen before. It stamped itself upon his memory, for Daymer's face was a mask ; those moments were rare indeed when he was off his guard. As it was, he recovered himself at once. ‘Good-evening, Miss Lister I he said, rising as if nothing unusual had occurred. ‘I have brought my task to a satisfactory conclusion, and it is time for us to depart. We shall hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again some time to-morrow.’ Nettie put out her hand; he felt it trem- bling in his. - ‘Good-night,” she said, and turned away. As they were on their way back to the Inn, Flack thrust his arm through Daymer’s in that familiar and caressing manner the absence of which Basil had felt, and felt not a little, since his return from London. ‘I say, old fellow,’ he began, rather abruptly, ‘when I was painting “The Death of Pictor Ignotus’ I thought I was quite sure to kick the bucket directly I got it done, you know.’ ‘Did you ?’ said Basil in an absent tone. ‘Well then, I didn’t, you know.’ BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET Io'7 Daymer made no remark. Perhaps the statement was too obvious. ‘It’s all rot, that beastly horoscope busi- ness.’ Still no answer. ‘I thought you funked it !’ “Oh I did you ?’ Basil said, waking out of his dream, whatever it was, and speaking with considerable emphasis. George Flack felt that never in all his life had he been such a fool. ‘It was nonsense,' Daymer said after a while ; ‘I made it up—to please her.’ ‘Well, you did play it low down l’ said Flack. He withdrew his arm, and walked on into the house, with the stiff, erect carriage of a man who does well to be wroth. Basil sat down wearily on the seat under the yew. In his heart he assented. He had not believed in Nettie's power to care for any man. At first her freedom had, in the same breath, disgusted and relieved him. Afterwards, when he saw her alone, dancing to the moon, full of the joy that youth and perfect innocence alone can give, he had been conscious of a wonder, of a momen- tary delight, that swept him off his feet. & IO8 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL Were there still maids like this, maids to whom the dreadful earth was Eden : He had kept himself from reverting in thought to that night. He had dallied with the time—paused —hesitated—waited. If so much as a fleet- ing wish to stay by the side of the girl arose in him, he had checked it instantly, and left her. He could not reproach himself on this head. He had done nothing to win her affection. He had gone on, deliberately assert- ing that she had none to bestow. Still, when he claimed her for himself, things must be different. She might (he did not think she would) be happier, in her possession of the world's wealth, later on, and at least she would have that on which she had set her heart ; but after all she would be chained, though never so lightly—it would be his hand that had flung the chain. He was jealous for her of the last moments of her freedom. Yet, for a little while, she should rejoice When Flack proposed to tell her of the death of Charles Rackenham he had accom- panied that impetuous person, from a strange dislike of being absent, with a strange dread at his heart of the indifference with which Nettie Lister would receive the news. She had been even more indifferent than he BASIL SURPRISES A SECRET IO9 supposed she would be. All life, except her own, was mere sport to her, he said to him- self. She had no heart at all. Half curious, half defiant, he had pretended to foretell his own fate, and And what ? What was the meaning of that agony of fear and grief in her eyes } Was there no way of escape for her ? And none for him 3 The question was, like every cry from the depths of the heart, a prayer of his whole being. Oh, if he could but find some way to die without dishonour ! A few hours later, when he heard a voice, hoarse with hurry and excitement, under his window, he felt no doubt that his prayer had been answered. IX. TEIE BET WITEI CELARLES RACKENEIAM ‘And they learn little there, except to know That shadows follow them where'er they go.” ABOUT the time that Flack and Daymer were strolling back to the Inn, the shadows of the evening lay long and thin round Rackenham Court. - Within, in a low, long, shadowy room like a corridor, looking to the north, the woman who had wanted to buy No. 537 sat waiting. Her baby lay asleep in a little chamber built out over the porch. She had sent away the nurse, and now and then she rose and looked through the half-open door to assure herself that the child was safely, soundly, asleep. At such moments there was a look of mingled fear and love on her face, as if she felt some threatening horror near, that would have amazed even those who knew her. She seemed to be keeping guard like a 110 THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM III hawk over her young. No bird, however, in dread of natural, visible, enemies, had ever such a task. She let her arms fall at her side, and for a moment, gazing at the great elms and seeing them not, she wished, with fiercely feminine impatience, that she had any- thing that could be fought with to fight. There was nothing. Only a shadow—the mere shade of a shadow—for the man was dead. Up to the last quarter of an hour she had shrunk from the coming of the young orator, with whom she had made an appointment ; now she began to long for it. Whatever he might say or do, he was alive. As she had thirsted to be alone, so now she thirsted to be not alone ; for there was that in the silence which terrified her. “Do not keep me in suspense, she said, as he entered the room. “Tell me, Gex, tell me at once. How did Charles Rackenham die º' ‘It is not known,' he said, seating himself as near her as he dared. ‘For my own part, I believe there is only one person who knows.’ ‘And that is º' “His friend, Basil Daymer.’ “But if it is not known, he may yet be alive,” she said, in a low, troubled voice. ‘What makes you sure that he is dead º' II 2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘The picture at the Academy.' * No. 537 ?’ “Ah you saw it !” “I wanted it more than anything upon earth. I shall have it too, -some day I shall have it.’ “Had Rackenham been living, he would have finished that picture himself. But Basil Daymer finished it.’ ‘What makes you think he did not ? It bears his name.’ ‘It is not his touch. It is Basil Daymer painting as like him as can be. They were always able to imitate each other until you could not tell which was which. But this is Basil Daymer. I could swear it was Basil Daymer. He forgot to put the dash of red that always was in Charlie's work.’ “But there is a spot of red on the palette. I saw it myself.” ‘It has been added,” said Gex, ‘I happened to see the picture as I was taking in a por- trait of my own that was rejected afterwards —the portrait of you. There was no red that day. Except for that, it was Charlie— Charlie to the life. I waited. I even doubted a little—though I felt certain all the while. Still I said to myself that Charlie might come— THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM 113 that if he were in this world he would come, to put the last touch to his work. He never came. At the last moment —just before Varnishing Day—I wrote to Basil Daymer. “It wants a drop of blood,” I said. When I went, on the first Monday in May, the drop of blood was there. That same night—though he did not see me—I saw Basil in London.’ ‘Charles Rackenham may be there too. London is a big place.' Gex shook his head. * No one will ever see Charles Rackenham again.' ‘Why—why are you so certain º' He remained silent. ‘I have seen him, she cried feverishly. ‘And if I shut my eyes, I see him. And in my sleep I see him. And now, and here, I see him.’ ‘There is another who sees him always. That is Basil Daymer. Basil Daymer, and Basil Daymer alone, knows how he died.’ “But there was nothing, nothing in the papers. No one spoke of his death. They said he had gone to England.’ “He has never been seen in England. All his London friends believe him to be in Paris. 8 II4 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL His death was in the papers yesterday, but casually, as if people in France had heard of it before.’ ‘What shall you do?’ “I shall make Basil Daymer tell me. That is why I am staying here.” ‘Why did you not make him tell you in Paris 2' ‘It was impossible. He would see no one. He went away, and I could not trace him. As soon as I had come to London, one of my friends told me that he had returned to the old address. I have him now. I shall not lose him again. He is made of iron and ice, but I will force him to speak.’ A cry sounded from the room within. She rose hurriedly and came back with the weeping little one in her arms. As she rocked it and murmured sweet words to it, the faint wail quickly sank away. In proportion as the child was soothed, an infuriated frenzy sprang up in the man sitting beside her. ‘How could Mammy think of leaving you ? she said unsteadily to the child “I was bewitched, I think. But I was mad with misery and horror. You do not know—you never can know—what my life is.’ “Does he beat you ? THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM 115 ‘ He kisses me—that is worse.’ She drew herself up, shuddering. ‘They all hate him,' she went on in a whisper. ‘They hate me because of him. I live in terror. He got a threatening letter the other day from someone whose father he had ruined, someone who said he would never rest till he had brought calamity on this house- hold.’ - ‘Ah !' said Gex. “That frightened him º' ‘He said it was all nonsense — no one would ever dare. But the servants hate him. Not one of them is faithful. He has made me promise to stay here while he is in America. Terror without ; I cannot stir beyond the doors, I should be insulted. Terror within ; Charles Rackenham's face is here, there, everywhere. He ought to have lived here, the house is his. I cannot endure it. You know—everyone knows. My husband got it from Charles's father by a fraud, when he was too young to know what he was doing. I am taking the child away to London to-night, in an hour's time. I shall be back before he returns. Hush, darling P for the fretful wail of the baby had begun again. Gex sat brooding, his eyes on the floor. ‘What happened about the wager ?’ she 8—2 II6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL asked, ‘the wager that you were certain you could win if I helped you—the wager that was to save you from ruin 3’ ‘I do not know.’ ‘You do not know Ż’ “I shall not hear for some time yet.’ ‘How can you ever hear now, if he is dead º' “I shall hear,’ said Gex stubbornly. ‘I do not understand all this. You never explained it to me. I have a right to know, I think. The worst misery began, the day I let you out of our house in the gray twilight just before the dawn. What was the bet 2' ‘His fortune to mine (I have none, as you know), that Daymer had more power over him than he had over Daymer. He took the bet at once—said he would prove it, alive or dead. If I am right, I shall be a rich man on the 1st January. I have staved off my creditors till then.’ - * How could he make such a bet 2' she said, with an impatient movement of her hands. ‘He was annoyed, because I proved to him that I was right and he was wrong about Daymer. I had an oath in Heaven that I would get him out of Daymer's clutches. I would have sold my soul to do it. I swore to him that Daymer would believe any ill of him THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM 117 He was certain of Daymer—sure that, what- ever happened, Daymer would never think he was in the wrong. I knew the fellow. I knew that he cared more for his little petti- fogging notions of virtue than for anything else. He was easily taken in. I made an artist friend keep him out watching the first gray light over the Seine, till early morning, till all the clocks were striking seven. As he passed down the long street where you lived, on his way home, he saw you let someone out at your door. I had borrowed Charlie's hat and his long cloak, without his knowledge. I could walk just like him. You know the way he went, as if the world belonged to him º' Gex rose, and strode the length of the room. ‘I know, she said. “You are the same height. The hat and cloak too —shuddering —‘I do not wonder that he was deceived. He was taken by surprise of course—off his guard.’ ‘He had no idea of any plot. I was gone in a flash.’ ‘Charlie never knew * she said slowly, fixing her eyes on him. “You promised me that neither he nor anyone else should ever know. It was on that condition I let you come. You are quite sure he never knew º' w II.8 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘He never knew. I told him that I had convinced Daymer. That was true. That Daymer was convinced, he saw for himself soon enough. His pride could not endure it. He was a proud fellow always. I stung him again. “In spite of everything that has hap- pened,” I said, “Daymer has more power over you than you over Daymer.” He vowed that he would prove the contrary before the year was out, Clive or dead—those were his words.’ ‘You must have wanted money very badly,’ she said, with a strong touch of scorn. ‘Did you never want it yourself ' She put her hands before her face to hide the burning blush that rose to her cheeks. ‘Unkind, ungenerous, to remind me ! If I wanted money once, I have paid for it since.” ‘I wanted his money—you spoke the truth; but I wanted the man more. I would have lost that, and more than that, gladly, if I could have made him break with Daymer. Even from the money point of view, it would have been worth much more than that. Daymer is a fool, a Puritan. He could never have painted freely, boldly, in the grand style, with a fellow like that always at his elbow, a Conservative, a Reactionary. You could have maddened, intoxicated, inspired him. THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM 119 Rackenham for Art—the real thing—or else the money for the Cause, the great Cause of the rich against the poor—of the oppressed against the oppressor. Either way, it was worth trying. But Rackenham would have been worth more to me than the money.’ “I see,” she said. “Either the man or the money would have been worth more to you than the woman. I was only a counter in the game. What I might feel went for nothing. I wish that I had never listened to you, Gex. Why did I let you bring him to me? Why did I give him my heart, when all he gave me was a little flattery 7 I wish that I had never played. Wretched as I was before, I am more miserable now. If he had lived he would have done anything for me, I know he would. I thought he must be dead that day he did not come. Or else I thought you had grown jealous again, and made him believe that I was false. He deserted me—he left me without a word—and now I cannot forget him.’ ‘I am here,” said Gex. ‘You !' she shrank away from him with disdain. “You have not even spirit enough to burn this horror of a house down, if it would save my life.’ I 20 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Gex stood up. ‘Good-night !” he said abruptly. His manner alarmed her. A suspicion that she had entertained before flashed back into her mind. Was he in his right senses 7 .# Just at that moment the child broke into another fit of weeping. He did not wait till she should be free to speak to him again, but left the house as quickly as he could. Yet, an hour later, he was still lingering about the avenue. A closed carriage was driven quickly past him. He supposed that it was taking the mistress of Rackenham Court away, but he was wrong. The child had fallen ill, her departure was put off, and she had sent for help. He let himself out at the gates, but re- turned, after an interval, with the ploughboy whom his fiery eloquence had moved on the night when Basil Daymer sat watching at the window of the Inn. He pointed to the house in front. ‘You remember,’ he said impressively, “how your mother was turned out of the Moated Farm—how the Moated Farm was laid in ruins º' The fellow nodded. ‘You remember how you were ground THE BET WITH CHARLES RACKENHAM I2 I down—thrashed—starved—dismissed on a false charge º' The fellow modded. ‘You know what to do now when the clock strikes eleven—the great clock in the gateway there ? You remember everything that I have told you ? You can rely upon the groom to let you in. I shall be back at midnight.” X. BASIL DISAPPOINTS EIIS FRIENDS—EXCEPT ONE ‘What says Delius . . . when he has been censured for his fear of shadows 2 ‘‘‘Who knows but they come leering after us to steal away the substance 3’’’ THAT night Nettie, dreaming uneasily, woke feeling that she had been awakened, disturbed by some unwonted sound. She sat up in her bed and listened. Far off she heard the long, wild whistle of the train speeding northward. It was like the cry of the night's loneliness, and she shuddered. It died away, and all was still. She sank again upon her pillow, only to start from it once more after a brief interval of waiting. There was some sound, some human sound upon the air, faint and far distant, pausing, rising again, coming nearer. ‘Blanche ' she said, ‘Blanche l’ ‘What is it ! A burglar—or a mouse ? 122 BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 123 “Neither. It is something outside the house, a long way off.” ‘It is a mouse,’ said Blanche excitedly, ‘I heard it scrabble.’ ‘It’s no more a mouse than you are.’ ‘Then I don’t care,” said Blanche, and went to sleep again. Nettie sprang from the bed, flung the window open and leaned out. The moon rode high. She had spread her light over the whole heaven, making the stars look small and dim. Everything lay in pro- found peace. Again that cry, coming nearer. Nettie could see nothing ; the great tree barred her view. She glided noiselessly from the room, and opened a window in the passage, that looked out over the garden across the fields. Just where she knew they were cut in two by the high road to TLondon, she caught sight for an instant of a black object, flying along between the hedges. ‘A man 'she said to herself. ‘He's riding. He's shouting as he rides. He must pass through the village. He must come by this house.’ She hurried on her clothes and ran down to the gate, to see what she might see. Hardly I 24 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL had she reached it, when the beat of galloping hoofs fell on her ear, growing louder and louder. The sound that she had heard at first grew fiercer, more distinct, almost articulate, and in a flash the rider passed her, screaming * Fire l’ Nettie, quick as a squirrel, climbed up into the sycamore, and balancing herself on one of its thick branches, held back another with her hand, while she gazed after him. She saw the lights kindling rapidly in window after window as he went by, she heard the rumour that suddenly arose. A minute or two and the whole village was awake, astir with excitement. Her heart beat fast in sympathy ; she hated the quiet of the stars. She longed to be down there among them all, bustling, asking, hearing, exclaim- Ing. A minute or two more, and the whole of the rustic population, armed with lanterns and torches, streamed past her along the road. She dared not question them ; their faces looked grim and Savage in the intermittent gleaming of the lights. She could not recog- nise a single friend. Some of the women were BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 125 weeping as they ran along, or calling out hysterically. One carried her child in her arms. The men laughed, swore, chorused the monotonous cry of the single horseman until it seemed to Nettie that even the tree in which she sat was shouting ‘Fire l’ At last, amid the Babel, she distinguished a noise as of the rolling of wheels. The people scattered to right and left. Someone was driving furiously right through the midst of them. A working man held up his lantern, so that the light streamed all across the road. By its assistance she recognised George Flack and Basil Daymer, seated in the one chaise which the Inn commanded. Daymer was holding the reins. ‘Here !' she cried out appealingly. ‘Here !’ He drew up in front of her, so suddenly that the horse stumbled. Her voice came from the upper air. ‘Take me with you,' she pleaded. ‘Where are you?' ‘Jump in, Miss Lister,’ Flack exclaimed. ‘It’ll be no end of a fine sight. Good gracious, what a lark I’ ‘What are you thinking of, George ' said Basil sternly. I26 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘You can’t refuse her. What can it matter, when you are going too !" Flack sprang out, and motioned to Nettie to take his place. She waited for no second invitation. Daymer had raised his whip. Another minute, and they would be off She let herself drop lightly from the bough to the wall, from the wall into the vacant place beneath, and laughed, exultant. From the open window she had left but a few moments ago, a soft white cloud came flying. * Nettie Nettie ' cried the despairing voice of Blanche. “Put that cloud round you ! You will catch your death of cold.’ Flack seized it, threw it over her head, and leapt into the seat behind. But Nettie scarcely heard and heeded not at all. Daymer was urging the horse as though he had to win a chariot race, and she was whirled along breathlessly on the wind of that wild impulse. Whenever they passed a group of dwellings or a solitary cottage, Flack roared out ‘Fire P as if his life depended on the noise he could make, and Nettie, growing bolder as the rush of air in her face strengthened and strung her nerves, joined in the cry, and made a silvery echo of it. She BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 127 was aflame herself. Her cheeks were scarlet ; not blood but fire ran in her veins. Her heart danced in her bosom. . As they tore on, ahead of all the rest, she lost the sense of space and time. Fire | Fire | The world was fire. The damp night breezes glowed with it, the dark was alive with it. They reached the river. They dashed straight through instead of wait- ing to go round by the bridge. “I say, old fellow,’ Flack sang out, ‘mind your eye there !' The drops of water fell in showers from the wheel. It seemed to Nettie they were sparks of fire. - On, on they flew, and Basil never spoke, never so much as turned his head. She felt that he had disapproved of her coming, that he had only taken her because she insisted. She did not care, she was enjoying herself too keenly. He was driving her as she loved to be driven, with the recklessness of some blind force of Nature. He could not but enjoy it too. No one could drive like that solemnly and in cold blood. She would have liked to meet his eyes, she knew the fire was in her own. Suddenly, high up, above the tops of even the tallest trees, she saw a tongue of I 28 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL flame shoot to the sky,_and her heart stood still. Whither was she going 2 What would she behold 7 A burning house—a house that men and women lived in—that they would never live in any more. A house that had taken them in and sheltered them from the cold, and now was turned to a devouring monster, slaying its children with its fiery breath. Was this what she had come to laugh at 2 What madness led her hither ? Too late ; too late to think 1 she could not turn back I] O.W. Someone was riding just behind them. His horse's heels kept pace with theirs. When they stopped he stopped also, jumped off, flung the reins over a railing and sped away across the fields. Basil sprang down from the chaise and rushed after the horseman. ‘Come along ! We are in good time. They can’t have put it out yet. There ought to be some fine effects. I will tie up the chaise here. We can go in by the little side- gate. You had better get out, Miss Lister,’ Flack said cheerfully. ‘We must walk up the avenue; there is no one to open the big BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 129 gates and they’ve never had the gumption to leave the key. Basil needn't have gone such a break-neck pace after all. He was racing that fellow behind, I suppose. He won't catch him up now. We shall be there as soon as they are.’ Nettie made some vague answer and hurried on, her one thought to overtake Basil. The horoscope was in her mind. He too had thought of it as he drove. No one was at the lodge. The servants and tenants on the estate were gathered together, in frightened knots and groups, upon the lawn. The engines had not arrived, and they were powerless to stop the destruction of their master's abode ; nor did they seem very anxious to do so. - ‘There's a magnificent sight for you ! said Flack, as if he had invented it himself. They had just emerged from the shade of the trees into the garden. The beautiful old Manor stood burning before their eyes. The roar and crackle of the flames half deafened those below. They curled and twisted round the turrets, making their way through every chink and crevice, wreaths and columns of smoke forcing their way alike through windows, doors, and chimneys. For the last time before 9 I 30 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL it fell to earth, the house put on a robe of gold and crimson, wherein it shone like some enchanted palace of The Arabian Nights. Hundreds of years these walls had stood, braving the wind and storm. They were the oldest in all the country round. Now they were doomed, they had already lost touch with common reality, they were become a blown- about fantastic mass of twining, circling and ascending light, girdled and blent with dark- IléSS. Nettie shuddered. “Never you mind l’ Flack said to her. ‘Lucky for me the Academy’s not closed yet, ain’t it ! That fiery furnace over there would have made short work of “The Steeds of the Sun.” But the people are all right. Not one of them got a scratch. The vulgar old head boss is away—gone to America to see his cousins or something. I asked that game- keeper. Splendid strong fellow ! Living image of plus AFneas / Do you see that woman wringing her hands over there ? To you see that man tossing his head and shout- ing : There's nothing on earth to shout about. He's doing it for pure love of the business. My wig if I don't knock the public down with this next year, my name's BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 131 not George Flack | Where the dickens is Daymer ? He oughtn't to miss this show for a thousand pounds.’ ‘He must have gone round some other way,” said Nettie. ‘There he is, close to the house.’ She was right in her conjecture. He was standing opposite them, at some little dis– tance, close to the burning door. Beside him stood the man who had ridden along by the chaise. They were separated from everyone else by a trench or ditch, with sloping sides to it. ‘He oughtn't to stick himself down there,’ said Flack confidentially. ‘It’s not safe. The stones and things might just smash him to bits, you know. Daymer l’ he shouted, making a hollow of his hands, ‘Daymer, I say ! Come here !’ But Daymer, fascinated by the sight which glared upon him now for the first time in all its grandeur, took no manner of notice ; and at that moment the attention of everyone was distracted by the appearance of a woman upon the same spot. Whence she came, no one, in the hurry of the moment, attempted to dis- cover. She seemed the very daughter of the fire, rushing impetuously through the clouds of 9—2 I 32 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL smoke, clad only in the light robe which she had hastily flung round her, her hair flying in the wind, her face at once disfigured and glori- fied with passion. A cry of horror burst from the spec- tators as they recognised in her the mistress of the house ; they had believed it to be empty. ‘My child My child P she cried. “My child ! Where is my child Will no one save my baby ? The room over the porch There ! There !' * She threw herself on her knees before Basil. Was it—could it be the languid, lackadaisical woman with whom he had talked in the Inn parlour ! Confusion over- took his senses. He moved instinctively towards the door. On a sudden he caught sight of Nettie, who, not knowing what she did, had flown down to the edge of the ditch, and stood there, bending and straining forward. The flame lit up her face. Her eyes were wide with entreaty, her lips half open. Did he know ! Did he hear the cry that she would not utter ? He stopped, as though he had seen some- thing against which he could not proceed, covered his eyes with his hand—then reso- BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 133 lutely drew back, and stood there, rooted to the spot. - A low groan rose from the onlookers. He was the nearest person. Clearly, it was he who should have attempted the rescue of the child. Flack turned away, but Nettie could not. - At once the young man, standing beside him, took off his hat, bowed scornfully to Daymer, who gave no sign, and went alone. ‘It’s death ! It's death!” wailed a woman. There was an interval of perfect silence. Even the mother's shrieks were hushed. Nettie dared not breathe. The figure disappeared into the rolling gulf of flame. She did not see him, her eyes were still fixed upon Daymer. The women all around began to sob. . At the end of a few moments he staggered forth again, carrying the child in his arms. Frantic shouts of applause burst from the ID.GI). “Hurrah Hurrah P thundered Flack. ‘Live to curse me for having saved it !’ whispered Gex, as he gave the baby back to its mother. To the astonishment of those who did not catch the flash of recognition on her features, she flung up her arms wildly, instead I34 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL of putting them out to take it, and reeled as though she would have fallen. Daymer made a step forward, as if to go to her assistance. With a yell that rang in Nettie's startled ears for many a long night after, both men and women rushed towards him. ‘Coward | Coward | Coward I’ She and Flack were left behind and alone. It seemed as if they would have torn Daymer to pieces. Without the quiver of a muscle he stood still, waiting for them. They wavered and sank back again, un- certain what course to pursue. Instantly, he saw his advantage, and followed it up. ‘Stand back l’ he said authoritatively. They fell into two ranks, leaving a wide space between. Hisses and curses accom- panied him as he strode through. ‘We had better go home,’ he said to George, with quiet composure. ‘The chaise is at the bottom of the avenue.’ ‘Thanks,’ said Flack coldly, ‘I’d rather walk. Miss Lister, may I have the pleasure of escorting you ? ‘No,' said Nettie. She left his side and went over to Basil. BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 135 ‘I asked you to bring me,’ she said, ‘I will go back with you.’ He made a sign of assent, but did not offer her his arm. - As they went down the avenue, she won- dered how she had ever walked so far. The strain had been too great, her nerves were Overwrought. It was all she could do, not to sink down upon the ground and beg to be left there. She felt as if she hated the whole world, yet underneath her misery there was a strong, rebellious, defiant sense of joy. She, she alone, was standing by him. She had no conception that anything in her own act had hindered him from attempting the rescue. How long the avenue was Would it never come to an end ? Ah, here was the chaise at last ! She could have borne it better if Daymer had spoken, but he said nothing. They went almost as fast as they had come, and yet the distance between Rackenham Court and the village seemed intolerably long. The glory of the night was gone. It was the dead, dark hour before the dawning. She felt benumbed and stiff with cold,—sore, miserable, indignant, half afraid. It seemed to her now, I 36 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL that she had gone expecting to witness the triumph of her companion—for that very reason indeed—and that, in some unaccount- able way, she was herself responsible for his defeat. He had not wished to take her. When she saw the wild mother, heard her cries, she had felt only as if she were looking on at a play. Her agony had been, lest he should go. When he did not, the rapture of thanksgiving in her breast passed all words. The cries came then, the hisses—— And now %, When they reached the gate, Basil, to her surprise, got out, made fast the reins to the sycamore bough and walked with her to the door. She unlatched, it and was about to wish him good-night, when at last he broke silence, as if some power beyond his own were forcing the words out of him. His voice was rough and harsh ; yet she had never liked the sound of it so well. & ‘You do not despise the man whose lot it is to cross your path,’ he said, ‘and for that I am grateful to you. But—if I have any influence at all, if I have any—even the slightest—power to change your feelings, I conjure you to hate him.’ BASIL DISAPPOINTS HIS FRIENDS 137 Nettie stood up to her full height in the doorway. He had fixed his eyes upon her, as his wont was when he commanded ; but, for the second time in his life, the eyes into which he gazed looked back defiance at him. ‘I will not,’ Nettie said ; but then her voice quivered, and she hid her face in her hands. “I cannot l’ |XI. FLACK'S INDISCRETION ‘Life's but a walking shadow.’ “BASIL DAYMER's gone up to London,’ said Flack when he called at the Cottage, early the next morning, to ask how Nettie felt after her midnight adventure. “At least I suppose that's where he's gone. He is a rum cove, he is l’ ‘Gone !” said Nettie. She had not expected this. She had thought that Basil Daymer would come later on, by himself. “Do you know that horoscope business was all bosh He told me so. He hocus-pocussed the whole thing. The stars never could have worked out like that. I wonder I didn’t run it down at the time. He's a confoundedly good play-actor.” Nettie looked as though she did not hear, or did not believe. 138 FLACK'S IN DISCRETION I 39 ‘Why did he go?' asked Blanche. ‘I don’t know.’ ‘I know,” said Nettie suddenly, ‘and I will tell you. He went because you despised him l’ ‘I did nothing of the kind, Miss Lister. Any man may show the white feather once in a way, and be none the worse for it after.’ - ‘What ſ’ said Nettie. “You really thought he did not go into that burning house, because he was afraid '' ‘What else could have kept him back º' ‘I don’t know. I know it was not because of that, he stayed.’ Flack thought rather wistfully, that it must be some consolation in life to have a woman to make excuses for you, whatever you did. He remained silent, but he was not convinced. The worst of a woman’s convictions is, that they are never founded upon the fact that two and two make four. Having just implied that she understood him better than anyone else, Nettie went on to state that she did not understand Mr. Daymer at all. Flack began to suspect a lover's quarrel; he had no knowledge of this kind of thing, and alarm sprang up in him. I4O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘There's nothing particular about him to understand, is there 3’ he said awkwardly. ‘I do not agree with you at all. I think he is one of the most bewildering people I have ever met. Where do you put him as an artist º' * Flack whistled. His critical sense got the better of any tact that he supposed himself to possess. - ‘Oh, nowhere !’ - “But that's just what I think,’ said Nettie. ‘When he is so much, why can he do so little? But once, I don’t know why, I thought it must have been he who painted No. 537.’ If they were going to talk again about No. 537, Blanche had had enough of it. She went away to give an order in the kitchen. “Painted No. 537 He could as soon have ridden to Cork on a shaved pig. But now you put me in mind of it, Miss Lister, there's something I wanted to tell you about that picture. Hang it, I wanted to tell B. too ! What business has he to go off like a Jack-in- the-Box º Charles Rackenham is dead, you know. I met a fellow in London—that fellow that saved the child at Rackenham Court last night—and he said he'd just come over from Paris. Charles Rackenham died long before FLACK'S INDISCRETION I4 I that picture went into the Academy in his name.’ ‘How very strange I said Nettie. ‘Well, I always felt there was something strange about that picture | I hope you won’t find out the explanation.’ ‘By Jingo, but I will though I’ ‘Don’t tell me what it is then I don’t care to understand things; it makes them common- place directly. To go back to the person we were talking about—ever since we first knew him, he has been studying, studying, always studying to understand Art. So he says, at least. What is the use of all this study, when it never results in anything You are his friend—have you ever seen a picture of his in your life º' Flack pondered. ‘Well,” he said at last, ‘I can’t say I have.’ ‘Then how dare you say that you put him nowhere 3’ ‘He knows the reasons of things too well. Those theoretical chaps are never any good at practice ; they have no instinct. Besides, I’ve seen sketches of his. He can't sketch any more than a woman,’ said Flack hotly. “But then he knows that as well as you do.’ Nettie Smiled and paid him in his own coin. I42 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘I have seen a sketch of his too ; I liked it better than any of yours.” “Of course,' Flack said, with a tinge of bitterness. ‘Why “ of course,” I should like to know º' Flack felt that he had gone too far, and became confused. Confusion, with him, was only a synonym for recklessness. “Of course, if you're engaged to a fellow, you think his things better than another fellow’s.’ Nettie stood up ; it struck him that he had never thought her tall before. ‘What do you mean º' “I beg your pardon,’ said Flack. “I’ve put my foot in it. I think I’d better go.” ‘You will certainly not go, Mr. Flack, before you have told me what led you to speak as you did just now.’ ‘I can't tell you,” said Flack desperately. ‘I know I oughtn't to have said it. Of course, it was because of you he funked that fire last night. I forgot you didn't—I didn't—he didn't—’ ‘He didn’t what ?’ Flack was silent. ‘He did not propose to me, I suppose you mean,’ she said haughtily. ‘He was so sure \ FLACK'S IN DISCRETION I43 of his conquest, that he thought it quite pos- sible to dispense with that. I can assure you he was mistaken.’ “But,' said Flack, ‘that day in the wood— the horoscope—you went back with him after the fire—surely you—— Nettie flushed crimson ; her eyes sparkled with indignation. Flack, who had never seen her angry before, was terrified ; the girlish charm had vanished ; who was this tall and beautiful and outraged young woman 3 ‘You seem to believe that in this instance the usual order was reversed—that I proposed to Mr. Daymer. Do not scruple to say it ! I like candid people. No doubt he thinks so too !’ ‘I can’t stand this any longer,’ said Flack, rising. ‘I can't, upon my soul | You know —you must know, what you are to me, that, if it had not been for Daymer, I— Oh, hang it, I’ve put my foot in it again You'd better let me go, Miss Lister.’ “By all means, if you wish it,” said Nettie, with the air of an offended Queen ; and Flack got himself out of his chair in one struggle, and out of the door (which he banged) in a second, and out of the garden in a third. I44 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL He went, as fast as he could go, to the Post Office, and sent a telegram. The gate had scarcely closed, when Nettie burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Her happy-hearted innocence was gone ; her dignity had vanished. She wept and wept as if she would have wept herself away, but whether because she was angry, or sorry, or both, she could not have told. She only knew that all her little world was drowned, that she had lost her landmarks, that no rainbow shone over the waters. Rebellious instincts struggled within her. Fierce maidenly pride was fighting hard ; it fought the harder since it had been wounded ; it fought the harder because the night before it had been conquered. She heard Blanche's footsteps, and rushed Out of the house to escape her. A tingling sense of shame caused her to dread the look of human sympathy. She wanted to be alone— to feel that she was free. She ran as if she would have outrun thought, until she reached the wood. Even then memory pursued her. * Not here, not here where I saw him first l’ She plunged deeper and deeper in, only slackening the pace when she reached an aisle among the tangled boughs that she had never FLACK'S INDISCRETION I45 found before. Here she stopped for a moment, out of breath, panting, looking fearfully round as if the trees might on a sudden turn to IT GI]. ‘I am my own, she whispered, pressing her hand to her heart to stay the flutter there. “I belong to no one.’ She said the words, but they brought no reassurance. As she sank down upon the moss, burying her hot face in her hands, the cry that burst from her was a wild, longing cry of regret that what had been could never be again. ‘If I lived thousands of years, he could not unsay those words. If there were never another grief in my life, I could not think I had never heard them. Nothing can take it out. . Nothing can ever be the same.’ Like a mere child (for she had not slept all night and the violence of resentful distress was beginning to wear her out) she sobbed herself to sleep, and slept for hours. When she awoke, the cooing of the wood- pigeons was just the same. The sun came slanting through the branches as at other times. The twilight fell, the first star twinkled out, the soft air fanned her cheek. Q | 0 I46 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL The whole world was the same. Lying there by herself, her breast still heaving after the passionate sobs that had shaken her, at last she believed it. Nettie's nature was very natural ; the earth, the green trees, and the sky, were never dumb to her. She lay still for a while, more weary than when she fell asleep, and yet at peace, recon- ciled. She had wept and slept away the indignity of her own anger. Presently she sat up ; bathed her face in a brook, arranged her disordered hair, and, turning her face from the sun, walked slowly in the direction of the Cottage. What a long way she had run, and had not known that it was far ! The way that seemed so short to her flying feet dragged itself out to miles on her return. She yearned for Blanche's welcome. She felt as if she had gone, running, to a far country and lost all sense of home. It was long before she reached the gate. Blanche, anxious and unhappy, stood wait- ing there, and gazing down the road. ‘Where have you been 3 I began to think that something must have happened, dear ! I waited ever so long, until it seemed no use to wait any longer. You took nothing with you, FLACK'S INDISCRETION 147 You have had nothing to eat Oh, Nettie, you look so tiny and white ” ‘I fell asleep in the wood, and slept and slept,” said Nettie. “I was tired, I think, after last night. I’m so sorry you were frightened. I did not mean to frighten you, Blanche.' Surprised by this unwonted humility, Blanche put her arms round the neck of the wanderer and was further taken aback, to feel tears on her hand. ‘Come in and drink some coffee, quick I put it by the fire to keep hot. You are as cold as ice, darling.’ She did not often use that word, and the sound of it warmed Nettie and comforted her. She smiled ; but it was such a sad little smile that Blanche felt it to be not much better than crying. “Never mind ' she thought to horself. ‘She will tell me about it when we are going to bed. I will not question her now. Look I’ she went on aloud, ‘I told cook to make some of the little cakes that you like. To please me, dear one !’ Thus she coaxed her to eat. So Nettie drank the coffee to please herself and ate the little cakes to please Blanche, and © 10—2 148 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL sat there, consoled and soothed, almost as if George Flack had never told her that she was engaged to Basil Daymer—that Basil had been afraid to enter the burning house because of her. Such pretty, kindly things are food and drink, when a friend provides them ‘Blanche is the same, she thought. ‘Blanche is always the same. Perhaps, some day, I shall forget.’ Blanche watched her with quiet satisfaction until the milk-jug was empty, and there was only a little cake left. ‘By the way,’ said she, “there's a note for you. Mr. George Flack called again, and said he was very anxious you should have it at once.’ She laid it down on the table, and went into another room to light the lamp. She had not seen the sudden change in Nettie’s countenance, and when she came back, Nettie was gone again. Peering into the moonlit garden, she caught sight of her at the swing, and ran down. Nettie was seated on the edge, clasping one of the ropes with both her hands as if she fancied it were her only support. ‘Well | What was in the note 3’ ‘It was not a note—it was a telegram.’ FLACK'S IN DISCRETION I49 ‘What was in the telegram, then º' Nettie repeated it. ‘Flock reports misunderstanding. Deeply grieved. Will explain if you will kindly meet me Thursday—Academy—5.30.-before No. 537. “BASIL DAYMER.’ ‘What a telegram ” said Blanche. ‘It must have cost a fortune. I suppose he remembered that we were going up to town for that Concert, the day after to-morrow.’ ‘So we are I forgot.’ ‘What was the misunderstanding º' ‘Oh, it was just a-misunderstanding !’ ‘I can't help thinking,’ pursued Blanche, ‘that Mr. Daymer had something to do with that picture himself.” Nettie did not seem to be attending. She seized the ropes, set one foot on the board, pushed the other against the ground to give the swing an impetus, and swayed slowly to and fro through the air. ‘I wonder whether he painted No. 537 ?’ “Oh no ſ” said Nettie. ‘He could not do it. He could no more do it than—what was that Mr. Flack said about a pig riding to Cork º' ‘He was the one person who could sketch it, if you remember.’ I5O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Yes, yes, go on ſ' - ‘He asked you once, if you would marry the man who painted it. I think he's going to ask you that again. Nettie, Nettie, don’t swing so high It makes me giddy. It will turn over the bar, and you will fall, and break your neck,-and then you will be sorry ! Oh, just to please me, don’t You will not go to the Academy, will you ? “Oh yes, I shall P “But you do not mean to accept Mr. Daymer ? “Oh no, I don’t l’ “But if you go, he will think you do.’ ‘That's just what I mean he should think I' “Is it right º' said Blanche. But Nettie sent the swing yet faster through the whistling air, and sang, for all her answer, a vulgar little song that she had picked up some- where in the streets. ‘For it may be me, and it may be you, But the world says, We must drop her It’s too, too true, you must bid adieu To all that is right and proper l’ XII. TELE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE “Death—a shadow from the rock, Eternity.’ HoT and sultry was the air of London when IBasil Daymer reached it. There was thunder coming ; atmosphere and sky were alike loaded and lifeless. He went about his business heavily. Flack's erratic telegram startled him for a moment ; but on the whole he was not reluctant to avail himself of the chance that it offered. Blanche had said that she and Nettie intended to come to town for a Concert, the next day but one. He must speak to Nettie Lister some time—as well then as later perhaps. All the next morning he sat in his studio, busy with documents and papers, except for one brief interval when, not greatly to his sur- prise, Flack dashed into the room. ‘I can't stay,” said he, very much out of breath. ‘I’m keeping a hansom at the door. 151 I52 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL There's a train back in half an hour, and I cannot miss the evening effect. I’m just in the middle of a sketch that's going to be a big thing. But I don't understand you, B. I can’t work for not understanding you. Are you cracked 2–or is it Miss Lister She says she's not engaged to you at all. She came down on me like a hundred of bricks. I don't know what you said in the wire you sent me to give her. I only read the one you sent me. I’ve had no message since. I'm afraid to go there again. You've got to make my peace. I can't stand it.’ ‘What did Miss Lister say ? Flack—speaking with some irritation, as one who had an excellent right to be annoyed —gave a highly-coloured account of his yesterday's conversation, in which Nettie's remarks lost nothing of their vigour. Daymer looked at the clock, and observed with relief that there were only a few minutes to spare. ‘I cannot speak to you now, he said quietly. “After to-morrow Miss Lister will be able to account to you for her conduct in her own words.’ He had almost added, “Trust me so far, George ' but sudden remembrance of the way in which Flack had turned away the night before, kept him back. THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I53 “I’ll be hanged if I can make out either of you !’ said Flack sullenly ; and he went. Some time after Basil walked to the Station nearest his lodging, and took the next train going East. He was weary and sick at heart. All day he had been trying to think, to outline afresh a position that had seemed clear at first, and tolerable on account of its clear- ness, though it was now become shadowy and confused. More than the sensitiveness of vanity mingled in him with pride that seldom allowed him the relief of confidence. He took his own counsel and went his own way. Nevertheless he could not forget the groans and hisses of the night before, the tone of Flack's voice as they spoke together after- wards. When first the cry of fire rang through the silence, he had felt that his prayer was answered. Here was a way, a way of escape with honour ! Nettie's unconscious eyes for- bade him. She stood, the incarnation of all that he had loved, and held him to the spot. Therefore he could not think, and he had striven in vain. His mind recoiled from the effort, as the body, overcome by lassitude, sinks down exhausted in the fruitless en- I54 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL deavour to move some obstacle too heavy for its strength. An overwhelming sense of despondency vanquished everything else. It was not the keen, poignant anguish which, like sharp pain, stings every nerve into activity. He had said to himself before, that the worst was fathomed, and he had never till now become aware that the lowest level of all, for the human spirit, is scarcely the worst that cannot, but rather the worst that can be borne. He had only two fellow-travellers, a man who sat with his legs up, snorting instead of breathing, and a woman—a nurse or deaconess —dressed in a neat uniform, with a long dark blue veil attached to her bonnet. Wherever he happened to be, and in whatever frame of mind, Basil observed, observed instinctively and superficially, even if he were not giving his mind to it, almost as women do. He noticed this person now. He liked her bright brown eyes, but there his liking stopped. The mouth was crooked, drawn up perpetually to one corner ; he did not feel sure of it. Pre- sently she looked across, and addressing herself to the shorter, inquired genially : ‘Shan’t you be glad to find yourself in your bed ” THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I55 “When I’m there,” said the snorter, ‘ I shall sleep my last sleep.’ ‘You’ll be worse off then, than you are now,' she rejoined with an agreeable smile, drawing her mouth up sideways. “Ah, but you see I don’t think so I the smorter said. The woman left the train at Victoria, the man at St. James's. * Good-bye, Sir l’ he said huskily. “Sorry to part, but there's a lot of people got to be wiped out of this world, and I’m one of 'em " * Good-bye,’ said Basil politely. “I shall be wiped out some day too, you know.’ He had an odd kind of sympathy with the man, and took his part against the Woman instantly, but the carriage seemed to be cleaner when he had relieved it of his presence. Daymer himself got out, some stations further on, and consulted the ticket-collector as to the best way of reaching a place called Old Saddlers' Alley. It appeared to lie far from the direct route anywhere ; buses avoided it, and the omniscient guards on Tram Cars had never heard of it. For about an hour and a half he trudged along in the brown mud, the gray rain falling I 56 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL in torrents, through a neighbourhood every detail of which spelt out the letters of the word Want. The wretched houses were mere flat, shapeless, colourless fronts that scarcely concealed, rather suggested, the squalor within. Sordid, revolting ugliness, unrelieved by even a vestige of character, enveloped all things. Involuntarily, he contrasted the quiet country night with this chaos of noise and gas-lit sleeplessness, miscalled by the same name. The sharp faces, the harsh voices, hurt eyes and ears which of late had conveyed to their owner's brain nothing that, outwardly at least, was not soft and harmonious, excepting O]]Cé. The beggars were returning after their day's harvest. Every other man whom he met was blind and minus a leg or an arm, perhaps both. He began to feel as if he had not got the proper complement of limbs and senses in his own person. The hideous things and fragments of things hung up in the butchers' shops were not so horrid as these broken bits of mortality. A vague recollection came across him of illustrations to Dante's ‘Hell,’ which he had seen as a child—of the lowest circles—of heads frozen in the midst of a lake of ice— THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE 157 of broken boughs with fingers at the end of them. ‘No,' he said, ‘it’s not so bad as this.’ Tipsy men reeled by him. One lay pros- trate across the road. Nobody took much notice. That was too ordinary a sight. People “in drink’ were as common as people in rags. ‘What right have I to say that I am wretched ? I have enough to eat and drink. I can pass the beer-shop without going in.' The reflection did not make him much happier. The faces of the men had death in them ; the faces of the women that life in death which—so says the dramatist of corrup- tion—is to be feared rather than death itself. Woman | Did the word that described Nettie describe these ? ‘There is nothing but destruction that can heal all this,’ he thought. Once or twice, wet to the skin, tired and sickened, he almost gave up the quest in despair, for he had lost his way in the dirty and frightful labyrinth, and knew not whither he was going. Nevertheless, after a moment's hesitation, he always resumed the search. There are some efforts that we cannot make twice. It was difficult enough to continue Q I58 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL now that he had begun ; to begin again would be impossible. At length, worn out with seeking, he came upon Old Saddlers' Alley. It was less dreadful, and therefore still drearier than many of those through which he had passed. A fight was going on in front of a public-house at one corner. The com- batants were women—a ring of men stood round, applauding. Upon the outskirts of the crowd a child, which had just been knocked down by another child, wailed bitterly. The windows of a house at the opposite corner, which was larger than any one of the others, were lighted up. As Daymer paused to look at the number on the door, uncertain whether this was what he had come to find, two or three voices within struck up a tune : ‘Jerusalem the golden, With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest.’ Yes; this must be the place. Had the people singing no sense either of humour or of horror ? Now that he had found the goal of all his wandering, it was as much as Daymer could do, not to turn back. All men had thought him a coward the night before ; THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I59 only the remembrance that he did not yet think himself one, enabled him to stay. He waited, impatiently and nervously, until the congregation had dispersed. It was not a large one ; the Devil over the way was preach- ing far more attractive sermons upon the text of Rum. Then he knocked, and asked if he could see Mr. Wentworth. “Father Wentworth is at home,” said the young man who opened the door, in tones which left no doubt that he was not of the class of beings who usually perform that office. He led Basil Daymer into a little whitewashed room, and left him there. The walls were lighted only by a jet of gas, and they contained nothing but a square table, a chair or two, and one picture, hanging over the empty fireplace. As Daymer sat down to rest, he examined it with some curiosity. It was a print of Guido’s “Ecce Homo.” ‘To think that a man should sacrifice friend- ship, life, everything, and believe that He looked like that ſ’ All the misery that he had witnessed and passed by scarcely moved him to deeper gloom than the sight of that print. After all, the other would pass away. This, in its half-eternal power to harm, and to delude, would remain. I6O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “ Unjust, unjust It was a Judas who painted that. It betrays Him.” He began to wonder how the eyes of the reverent and the true could be consoled by such irreverence as this ; but in the course of the next few minutes his reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the ecclesiastic whom he had come to see. It was by no figure of speech, that the people amongst whom this man chiefly moved used to say, ‘The sight of him is meat and drink to me !' It was a face that had fed the hearts of many. The strength of fasting lay in its thin features, and the still greater strength of combative prayer. About the mouth was to be seen that strange blend of severity with suavity which marks the true ascetic. His movements were abrupt, in times of great excitement so abrupt as to appear fantastic ; he had a curious gesture of folding his arms tight over his breast, as if he stood alone against a crowd, of extending them widely, as though he were stretched on an invisible cross. The vulgar laughed at him for it ; being profoundly unselfconscious, he cared for their laughter no more than he would have cared for their praise. The stupid said that it impeded his usefulness; the frivolous THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I6I wondered whether his mother was an Italian ; the thoughtful, while they regretted it, reflected that an instinctive adoption of symbolism is often the weakness of a strong nature, which would find words of adamant too feeble for its expression. Men had often deceived him, but still he kept his trust in Man. Perhaps it was for this reason, that no one who heard him speak could doubt that he was happy, and no one who had looked at him could doubt that he was sad. Those grand extremes, from which the bourgeois virtue of moderation protects an ordinary person, stood to him in the place of temptations; his mercy and his scorn were alike boundless. Often and often they led him into error ; oftener still, instinct proved itself more truthful than reason. He had the fellow-feeling which alone makes it wondrous to be kind. The actor's power of mimicry was his also, and he did not scruple to use it. He knew when to win by veiling, and when by laying bare his own character. In his young days, he had possessed a voice of rare beauty and compass; now, though he did not appear old, it was already worn, and at times, harsh. He 11 I62 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL & managed it as badly as he managed his arms, raising it almost to a scream, letting it fall almost to a whisper, never sparing it, singing with tremendous energy all out of tune and much too fast. Such was the one man living whose influence Daymer acknowledged. He wore a black gown and cape resembling that of the Jesuits, although he did not belong to their communion. Love of significant attire was quite sincere in him ; and Daymer, being an artist, took it for granted and was neither amused nor disturbed by it. The bond between them was singular. He had, on one occasion, saved Basil's life. Whether Basil was grateful for it or not, he had never quite made up his mind ; but he was sensitive about anything which appeared to him in the light of an obligation. Wentworth showed no emotion of any kind. ‘You said that you wanted me,’ Daymer remarked, beginning at the end, as though time enough had been lost already. “I have come to see whether you do, or not.’ ‘I want only two sets of men,” said the priest, ‘those who love their lives and those who despise them. If you are not of either class, don’t come to me.’ THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I63 ‘You ought to know better than mos people to which of the two I belong.’ - Wentworth was silent. ‘I do want you,” he said at last. ‘I have work for you. But it is work which I allow no one to undertake, unless he can answer certain questions to my satisfaction.’ Daymer looked up quickly. ‘I think you forget the terms of our bar- gain, he said. “When you found me with a pistol in my hand, and took it from me, you required me to promise that I would never again try to kill myself. I did not make the promise, because, though I was yielding to delirium, to a momentary temptation to flinch from my duty by attempting it then, I did not recognise in anyone the right to forbid it so soon as that duty should be fulfilled.’ “Is it fulfilled '' * Not yet, but it will be soon. In the course of a few months, I shall have regained liberty of action. I do not forget, however, that, upon your assurance that you needed, for certain details of your work, men who were not only prepared but determined to die, I pro- mised to give you the power of destroying that which you had saved. If you do not choose to exercise it, well and good. I will 1 l—2 I64 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL destroy it myself. If you do, you must take the gift for what it is worth, and rest content with the statement that I have done nothing which renders me unworthy of falling in a good cause. I will not be catechized.’ It was a rare event for anyone to say ‘I will not " in that room. Most people said, ‘I cannot' or ‘I will.’ ‘You are right,” said Wentworth, with half ironical approval. “I have no business to inquire. Besides, the Catholics have a great pull over us there. The men they send abroad do not return. We need such men in the Church, but we have very few. I shall be glad of your services. I have found no one hitherto who could undertake the work.’ ‘I cannot preach,” said Basil. ‘The work that I mean has nothing to do with sermons or Sunday School lessons, Went- worth said, with a smile. ‘My colleagues would disapprove of my interest in it alto- gether. I don't care. I belong to the Church Militant. The False Prophet must be con- quered, and England will see it in the end ; but not before her own sons have shown her the way. I have one friend, who is doing what he can, to defend Christ against Mahomet. He wants another English fellow THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE I65 who would work hard, and be ready to leave his bones out there. The Sultan's officers are invincible, because “the insurgents,” as they call them, have no organization. They are miserable stuff, poor wretches, but they're Christians, and Christians ought to stand by Christians ! It takes a man who would reso- lutely refrain from attacking, but would know how to defend himself at need, and how to advise others. He would have to ride between the rebel camps—to make peace whenever he could—to accompany convoys of food and stores—to carry messages—to help the sick and wounded—never to embroil himself with the authorities, never to let his name be known.—You have, I think, a certain power of making people do what you want º' * Yes.’ - ‘I can see that, by the way you yield, and by the way you command.—You can ride 3' ‘Yes. I rode hard at one time of my life, in Spain.” ‘Are you a fair marksman º' ‘Yes,’ Basil spoke with curious intensity. ‘Are you good at languages º' ‘I have been taken for a Frenchman—a Spaniard—an Italian.’ ‘Your health 2' I66 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Excellent.’ “Do you happen to have any knowledge of medicine !' - ‘I have some practical knowledge of it. At one time I thought of becoming a doctor.” ‘Done P said Wentworth. “When can you start 2' - ‘I might be able to start, the day after to-morrow ; that is why I came here to-night. On the other hand, I may not be able to leave England before the 1st January.’ ‘I will give you my friend's name and address—and a note to him.’ Wentworth took up a pen and wrote quickly, in a fine, delicate hand, like a lady's. ‘It is a curious thing,” said he, as he drove the quill along, ‘that, when I found you in Paris, I was on an errand to young Racken- ham, who had written to my friend to propose going out to him in August. It was a great blow to me when you told me that he was dead. I had come to arrange matters with him—to see if he was the right sort of man. Curious that you should be led to take his place | No doubt it is better that you should go. These things are all providential.’ Basil's heart stood still for a moment. THE REASON OF BASIL’S LIFE 167 Wentworth was writing busily, and noted no change. ‘There,' said he, adding a few brief instruc- tions. ‘That will make you independent.’ ‘Thank you. I shall be ready to go as soon as possible. Good-bye.” ‘Good-bye,' said Wentworth. But when he saw that Basil had risen and was about to depart, the inconsistency of the man appeared at once. He had allowed the young artist to enter himself for certain death ; he could not let him leave the room without seeking to change the look of death on his face. ‘My dear fellow,’ he said gently, ‘what has made life a burden to you ? Is it something that you have done º' * Yes.” “If it were to do again, would you do it 2' For the fraction of an instant Basil hesi- tated. Raising his eyes to Wentworth's, he said, his voice not shaking : ‘With the help of God, yes, I would !’ Wentworth returned his glance. ‘Then be a man,’ he said. “And if you die, die Smiling.’ Basil did not answer. He covered his face I68 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL with his hand. When the priest saw it again, the look of death was gone. So soon as the door was closed, Wentworth turned passionately to Guido's print over the mantelpiece. “They think it hard,” he cried. ‘They think it hard to bear. For me no martyrdom, no moment of torture, and after that unutter- able joy. I give what is not given to me. For me long years of waiting, slow, lingering, bitter, unheroic death !’ The fierce, repressed rebellion that he had felt in Daymer's heart and exorcised, seemed to have passed to his own. Yet, as he gazed upon the picture, it sank, as it had often sunk before. His own words echoed back to him. ‘Then be a man / And if you die, die '72 on a P Smiling . XIII. CELARLES RACKENEIAM'S LOVE AFFAIR ‘Where the shadows of the night lie thick.’ BASIL had left behind him, in the bare white- washed room, a heavy load of oppression. The power outside himself that restrained him on the night of the fire, was justified. He had been refused one task, but he was reserved for another. He was taking his comrade's place in the breach. It was a curious form of absolution that he had received ; nevertheless his heart felt the lighter for it, and he walked quickly. There was someone in the world besides a girl, who did not look upon him with con- tempt. There was work in the world, work other than that strange handicraft, now so fully charged with the being of one who was gone, that he scarcely felt as if it were his own fingers that drew. The date at which he could begin was fixed, and this enabled 169 I70 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL him, for the first time for many months, to look forward instead of back. He was not very far from his lodgings, when he became convinced that somebody was following him. The streets were quite deserted, he could not hear the sound of footsteps; but when- ever he looked round, the figure of a man appeared, always at about the same distance. If he stopped, it stopped too. If he quickened his pace, it ran,—as if it had been his own shadow detached from him. He tried both these expedients without much hope of getting rid of it, rather as a mathematician proves over again for his own satisfaction a problem, the solution of which is well known to him. - At length he altered his tactics, and went towards it, choosing to be the pursuer rather than the pursued. For some time the figure kept at the same distance in front of him, but he had chosen for his manoeuvre the first of two streets leading into a cul-de-sac, and the other, not perceiving this, on account of the darkness, was checked in his retreat by a stone wall. The place was too narrow for him to attempt escape. He CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE AFFAIR 171 faced round therefore, and waited until Daymer came up. - “We cannot well talk here,' observed the latter, speaking as if they were in the midst of a conversation, though as a matter of fact they had not addressed each other for many months. ‘There is no room to sit down, and I am tired. We are within a few minutes of the Embank- ment. Are you willing to accompany me so far ” Gex, for he it was, bent his head, and they walked on together. As they passed under one of the lamps, Daymer noticed how thin and haggard he looked. He seated himself upon the stone parapet, and Gex did the S8,DO €. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘this is not the first time that you have dogged my footsteps by night. What do you want with me !' The young man took an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to his interlocutor. Daymer dropped it contemptuously into the running stream below. ‘What more ?' he said. ‘You will not accept my challenge º' The young man spoke with some excitement. ‘Certainly not.’ ‘Coward ' rejoined the other. I72 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Daymer made no reply. The flowing of the river alone filled up the pause. ‘You fight only when it is for your own advantage.’ . ‘Quite true. Only when it is for my own advantage. You are a bad shot. It would be no advantage whatever to me, to kill you.’ ‘No, I am not your friend.” Again Basil made no answer. He balanced himself carelessly on the edge of the parapet ; one touch from the other man would have sent him over. ‘And yet I am your friend,’ the other con- tinued. “I am the visible form of that spirit which watches you always. That spirit lives in me. I am all that is left of it. I obey its commands. I will follow you whithersoever you go, and track you in your most secret paths.” “Very well. If it is any satisfaction to you, pray do ſº ‘You may face it out as you like. You have already owned that it is torture to you, or you would not have brought me to bay to- night. My life continues, only to remind you of that life which you destroyed. Coward, I say !’ The word did not sting Basil as it would CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE AFFAIR 173 have stung him a few hours earlier. Never- theless, he saw once more Flack turning away from him. ‘You have the right to say so since last night,’ he said at length, slowly, in the voice of one pronouncing judgment. Gex made an eager movement forward. ‘I told a lie,' he cried. ‘I know you are not a coward. Why did you hesitate 2 You saw—you saw something º' Daymer looked up, surprised. “I saw Charlie's eyes,” he said. ‘And nothing else ? - “Nothing else.” The young man drew a deep breath. ‘You were right about the picture,” said Basil. ‘It wanted a spot of red.’ ‘How dare you speak like that ?" the other cried, his utterance choked with passion. “How dared you paint that picture of yours ? How could you live to paint it ! When I see it, I think you must be more or less than the rest of us. What are you ? “A very common man,’ said Basil, pitching a little stone that lay beside him into the Water. ‘That is not true. He was no common man. You must have known him as you o I74. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL know yourself to paint him as you did. You have an angel in you and a devil.” ‘So have all men, if it comes to that.' The other hesitated a moment, then he burst forth. ‘You took him from me. You who had everything, you took the little that I had. There is no sin that he could not have made me commit, and yet he never loved me. You, whom he loved, you must have loved him once.’ Daymer remained silent. The young man's eloquence invariably rendered him dumb. Those who have sounded the depths of truth cannot fathom the shallows of it. His distaste for rodomontade was indeed physical. “I see no sense in prolonging this conver- sation any further,’ he observed, after a short interval. “I am sorry for you. You did not understand Charles Rackenham, and, when he was most himself, I think he despised you as I do. You had it in your power to annoy him with your affection. You have it in your power to annoy me with it still. I am not concerned to deny that this is so. It was for this reason that I conquered my dislike of speaking. You have told me that your aim is merely to follow me about with dog-like CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE AFFAIR 175 hatred, in the same way in which you once followed about Charles Rackenham, at the prompting of some spaniel emotion or other, which you were pleased to call love. I have no objection to the process. The indefinite- ness of it was tiresome. Now that we under– stand each other, all is well.’ ‘You do not understand me yet.' ‘I must be singularly dense,” Basil said. ‘Will you kindly give your explanation in as few words as possible % It is getting late.’ ‘I do not follow you only to feed my hate, but to satisfy it. I have nothing left in life now, except that. This is the reason you are living still. When I have taken from you something that you love as well as I loved what you took from me, I will leave you—not till then. I thought you loved your life. I was mistaken.’ He came nearer. ‘There is something that you love now.’ ‘I wish I knew what it was ſ” said Basil, and laughed again. ‘Last night I saw you when the fire was raging. It was I who set fire to that house.’ ‘Indeed. May I ask why Ž' ‘It ought to have been Charles Racken- ham's. Charles Rackenham lies cold in the 176 • THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ground. The beast that owns it now is grind- ing down the poor. He is ruining them. He ruined Charles's father. He ruined me.’ ‘You will not make things better.’ “I shall have given a warning. I have punished one that the laws could not punish. The great poets are on my side. Who thinks the Ghost in “Hamlet” was wrong to tell his son to kill his brother ? ‘You hold that you were justified in trying to kill that woman º' ‘No, no,” said Gex hastily. “I believed that I had seen her go. I am not a coward.’ ‘That I know. You saved her child at the risk of your life.’ ‘It was not at the risk of my life,' said Gex, as though the words were forced from him. ‘I knew the house. There was a secret staircase that the fire had not reached. It was quite safe—easy.” In the short pause that followed Basil heard again the groans and hisses of the crowd. ‘You are playing a fool's game,’ he said bitterly. ‘Will that beast of a fellow be any kinder to the poor because you have burnt his house down Will Charles rest better in his grave º' ‘Ah !' cried Gex, a gleam of ugly triumph CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE AFFAIR 177 lighting his face. “I said that I would make you say it—that I would make you say he was dead.’ Basil sat silent. ‘I have no fear of you now. The last time he was seen alive, he disappeared with you. I saw you when you would have baulked me as you have baulked me all along—when you would have saved the child of that woman. I marked the eyes that stopped you. They were not his.’ ‘They were. But even if you had guessed rightly, what of that ? - ‘You do not love the girl' ºv * No.’ * “Love that permits no one loved not to love ſ”’ quoted Gex. ‘If you do not love her now, you will love her soon.’ “Never.’ - ‘When you do, cried Gex, fixing his wild eyes on Basil until the latter, despite himself, felt a touch of pity, ‘you will understand some things that you do not understand now. You will know what it cost me to give that woman up to Charles. One word before you go How did you learn the story ! How did you know that she had made up her mind to fly with Rackenham : Who betrayed the secret 2' I 2 178 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘ He himself.” There are words that seem to carry in them a sentence of death. Gex shrank together as if he had been struck. - ‘To have him for Art—for the people—I gave the only thing for which I cared—that woman. I threw her in his way. He knew nothing of life. You—monk that you are— would never have shown him. He told you, did you say ?” “He told me just in time. I saved him from the ruin that you would have brought upon him through her,’ said Basil. ‘He was infatuated—he was in her power ; but I am convinced that he cared nothing for her really. It is the only thing that can explain his con- duct. He was too weak to break with her himself, but I waited till I was quite sure. I saw him steal from her house before the dawn We have talked long enough, I think.’ He rose abruptly and vanished into the blackness, with no sign of farewell. Still the slender, bowed figure sat watching, watching by the river. He sat there for a long time; he heard the clocks of different churches strike away, one by one, the hours of night. The low-hung, burnished moon CHARLES RACKENHAM'S LOVE AFFAIR 179 looked like the lit dial of a clock; dimly scrawled on its face were the blurred figures of time. Now and then a dragon wreath of smoke hid it from view. Soon the damp, heavy air would freshen and grow quick because of morning. Soon the deep solitude that sleep makes round itself would be broken by men and women whom the morning had sent abroad. Horror of things in his own likeness came upon him—horror of the familiar aspect of the world —of the clear light. He looked down into the dark, troubled water. Even that would soon sparkle ; underneath, it kept the night always. And yet he could not spring ; his legs and feet became as lead. ‘I will see that picture once more,’ he said. ‘Only once more. I will see him once more with that girl, and know whether he spoke the truth. To-morrow—after to-morrow, & vous, Madome ſ' |He lifted his hat to the river. 12—2 XIV. TEIE SAVING OF GEIARLES RACKENEIAM ‘Life's but a walking shadow.’ Soon after five o'clock the next evening, Basil entered the doors of the Academy. He had not set foot there since that strange night in April, and with a startled sense of unreality he found himself once more amid the same surroundings. He recollected the life, the passion that had vibrated from the walls of each great empty chamber in turn— how they had seemed to him to be crowded with airy, fiery forms of human energy and power. They were not empty now. Groups and clusters of people in flowery bonnets and silky shining hats had gathered before the principal pictures, and there were wanderers everywhere, even in those less favoured spots on which the critic had failed to turn his bull's-eye. It seemed as if they I80 º THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 181 had murdered that vitality which the pictures could not communicate. As he watched their languid gestures, he began to wonder how he could possibly have thought that any of these flat bits of canvas at which they were gazing represented the beauty of motion. The waves no longer dashed and splashed upon the shore. The ship stuck in mid ocean. The birds flew heavily, as if on wings of stone, across the stony sky. The light swing of the dance was but a petrified arrangement of models. tº He recollected also the deep and solemn pathos that surprised him, when he thought of the enduring life of all those lines and colours as compared with the swift death of the hands that had woven them into harmony ; he recollected how little and yet how great a thing ambition had appeared, and the curious awe that overcame him at the fancy that he might even then be standing among a multi- tude of painted sepulchres, holding the bones of human sentiment and nothing else. Then he had flashed the light in the face of his own portrait of Charles Rackenham and had been fortified by the proud consciousness that here, at least, was life—here, at least, all had not been given and nothing received. I82 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL The fancy of the night had become the dead weight of the day. He stood in the midst of a collection of tombs. He dared not face the work that he had come to see. Those knots of idle spectators afflicted him with numbness. If they had taken life from all the rest, why might they not have taken it from that also } He had believed that there was a difference. Was it wise to put that belief in peril 2 If he lost this, what would remain to him º' Therefore he lingered long, before he plucked up heart enough to go and see whether it were the same and not the same, strolling listlessly hither and thither as chance directed him. w ‘I don’t think I like it much,' observed a mild-looking young person to an older lady, who was standing in front of ‘The Return of Persephone.’ ‘That's not my idea of Perse- phone. Such a thin, fishy little creature and who ever had cheeks that colour º' ‘Oh, my dear !’ said the governess in horrified tones, ‘why it's the picture of the year ! Sir Frederick Leighton, you know !’ Before ‘The Doctor’ a couple of young men were studying their catalogue. “My wig I said one of them. THE SA VING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 183 ‘Don’t fool!' rejoined his clerical companion sharply. ‘Real fine art this is. There's some use painting a picture like that. It's got a moral to it !” “Poor little dear !' said a stout lady, leaning upon his arm. “Do you think it's going to get well now % But I suppose it must be going to get well you know, unless it's going to die l’ ‘I neither know nor care,’ said the Curate impressively. ‘It’s the struggle between Labour and Capital. Look at the poor man's horse ! Look at the poor man's wife Look at the poor man's child !’ Daymer had heard enough of this, and went further. In front of “La Carmencita’ he waited a moment. “She's a very ugly woman,’ observed a lady's voice, close to, his elbow. “And by-the- bye, Edward, Lady Slinkerton is coming to dine before the Opera. You really must take me home. I can’t enjoy pictures if I haven t written the menus beforehand ; and we must order the ices for Wednesday on our way back.’ The remembrance of these three pictures— of Blanche's picture, of Nettie's picture—of the return of the maiden lost—had been I84 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL singularly vivid in Basil's mind, ever since the conversation in the wood. Now he felt as if someone had thrown a sheet of blotting-paper across them. The clock struck. He turned into the Seventh Room and sat down opposite No. 537. He could not see it well. A lady was standing between him and the wall. For some minutes she stood still. As she turned slowly away, she held her handkerchief to her face and he knew that she was weeping. Never in all his life before had he felt glad to see a woman cry. Now such exultation filled his heart at the sight of it, that he scarcely remembered in what strange circumstances he had seen her last, on the night of the fire. He turned to look at that which had made her weep. A clear voice hailed him, as he was gazing Once more into those deep uncertain eyes, and raising his own from the picture, they fell full upon Nettie. So startling was the likeness, that he could not master himself sufficiently to speak. ‘Well,” said Nettie with a light laugh, ‘you are as much surprised to see me as if you had never asked me to come ! What a surprising THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 185 person you are, Mr. Daymer But I have something to tell you, that will—I bet you anything you like—surprise you in your turn.' ‘That is a pleasure which I did not antici- pate.’ - ‘What do you think it is º' ‘I am not such an adept at guess-work as you are.’ ‘Well then I said Nettie, ‘I am going she stopped dead. Often and often as she had rehearsed this scene, her courage failed her at the last moment, and she forgot her part. Only six words to say ; and she had said them over and over again ; triumphantly, indifferently, with every varying mood of expression, in every sort of attitudé, probable or improbable —but always to one listener—the man before her. Now the simple fact of his presence disconcerted her, and she broke down. How- ever, she tried again. ‘I am going to “Be married ?' suggested Basil. “Oh no, no ſ' she cried, and the colour left her cheeks in a moment. It had never entered into her calculations, that Basil would finish the sentence for her. She had imagined any- to 5 I86 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL thing rather than this. It baffled her com- pletely. A hundred whirling thoughts went through her head. What had Flack meant ' There must be some mistake. This could not be the man who said she was engaged to him. If not, what had she done 2 If so, what was she doing now Ż She began to talk at random, with no object except to force an explanation one way or the other. ‘I did not mean that. At least, of course, it comes to that. But not like that.” She spoke as if she had been accused, and were pleading in self-defence. ‘Mr. George Flack told me the day before yesterday. I’m going —going to be engaged to Mr. George Flack. But I wanted to ask you what you thought about it. You know him better than I do. Do you think I am right º' * No I’ ‘Why Ž asked Nettie, suddenly recovering a certain amount of composure. She had expected Basil to say No. ‘Because you have given your word to someone else.' ‘What do you mean To whom ? “To the man who can make you rich ; to the man who painted the picture before us. THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 187 Flack is a poor man. I am very rich, Miss Lister; it was I who painted that picture.’ He looked her steadily in the face, her troubled eyes fell before his and he smiled. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, with heightening colour. ‘ I do not see the jest. You know quite well that I was not in earnest. But now I am.’ Again he turned from her to the picture. Her eyes followed his. “Do you think of this as you thought of it once before ?' he said gently. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘it always is the same. Yes, it is just the same.’ Her voice changed and grew calm. “Do you see a likeness to anyone that you know Ż’ - * None.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, “but you do | Think I’ Again he looked steadily at her. ‘It is, it is like me,’ she said at last. ‘Oh, tell me, tell me who it is ? I cannot look again. I am frightened. What does it mean ' Why have you brought me here 3 Who is it º' ‘Do not tremble so. He is dead,” said Basil. I88 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘He is here,' she cried, ‘I know he is. Why does he look at me like that ? ‘You never saw him—but he had seen you once.’ - ‘Where 7° ‘I do not know.’ ‘Won't you tell me what you do know º' she said fiercely. ‘I found it out when we were studying together in Paris; he had just returned from England. One day, among his drawings, I came upon a sketch of you.’ * Yes 7° ‘It is a long story.’ ‘It won't seem long to me.’ ‘The sketch was so different from all his other work, that it aroused my curiosity. No one would have known it for his. It caused in me the same sort of surprise that it would cause in most people—in Flack, for instance —to hear that I had painted this portrait. Besides, there was a mystery about it. He would not tell me your name.’ “Go on, please I’ Nettie said, trying to restrain her impatience. “I began to tease him. Even then, slight as the sketch was—a mere chalk outline—I could trace the likeness. I told him that he THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 189 had fallen in love with himself. “It is myself!” he said. I laughed. I did not know you then. “Nonsense I’’ I told him laughing, “it is impossible that the world should contain a duplicate of you in petticoats. This is mere fancy work. Confess, you have not seen the girl 7" He looked round at me in his odd, quick way, and said, “It is intoler- able to me that you should never have seen her, but you will see her one day.” He showed other people everything that he did, but that sketch he showed only to me.’ ‘He was your great friend ?’ Nettie said, ‘Tell me !’ Something in her manner of questioning gave Basil strength to go on. ‘Perhaps I ought to try and make clear to you the relation between us. Rackenham had no right to the name he bore. He was proud. He felt that.” There was a slight hesitation before Daymer continued. ‘We were more to each other than men usually are. Alike in childhood and in boy- hood, we had known what it was to suffer from neglect—misunderstanding. We had been outcasts and pariahs. When we first came across each other in France, he was unpopular 190 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL on account of his reckless, defiant manner ; I was avoided and distrusted because of the reserve of mine. It did not take him a day to understand why I had turned cynic ; it took me very little longer to learn the secret of what looked like self-assertion in him. Thenceforward we went together. I was content.’ ‘And he 7' ‘Content was not in him. He never rested —excepting in the thought of you. I found that out, soon after I had noticed the sketch. He would pin it up on the wall after a hard bout of work, when he wanted to steady him- self. My Sister was written underneath it.’ Nettie was listening as though her very eyes listened instead of looked, but here she turned them away from Basil, and stretched her hands out to the picture. ‘Brother My brother that I longed for, where are you ? ‘He is dead,” said Basil, his face averted from her. He dreaded to hear her speak again. “Safe l’ she said to herself. In the long pause that followed, her thoughts came nearer his. He no longer feared her next word. THE SA VING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 191 ‘I thought, she said, in troubled, excited tones, ‘I thought you were going to tell me that he was wicked—that he was wicked like my father. You saved him. Tell me how.’ ‘It was like this. He had a horror of living as his father lived, the mere slave of a woman. His father had brought him up to that. He had never had anything to do with women. He was afraid of nothing in the world except the power of women. He told me once that he had never willingly, of his own accord, sought to know one of them. He went to England—saw you by chance— found that you were his sister. Everything changed.’ ‘Why did he never tell me ! Why did he never come to see me !' ‘I do not know. He was proud. He hated the person with whom you were. She had insisted, he told me, that you should never see anything more of your father—she had changed your name and never let you know what it really was—had declared that you should not even know of your father's existence, nor that you had a brother alive.’ Nettie's face hardened instinctively. ‘She always told me that I was the only child—that my father died soon after my I92 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL mother, whose heart he broke, when I was quite a tiny thing. When she died, a little money came to me from my mother, and then —it was two years ago—I set up house with Blanche. We’ve been so happy since. But I was miserable as long as she lived.’ ‘Charles saw that you were not happy with her. Of course he did not know what happened after. He came back determined to work, to earn money, to make a home for you. I–I came to care for the picture of you too—in another way.” Every line of Nettie's figure softened, yielded; her eyes filled with bright tears. But he did not see. ‘You will think it presumptuous of me,’ he said, so calmly that she drew back into herself, ‘ but I thought that I might perhaps—in time —when I had worked—well, that we might have lived together, all three He spoke of it once or twice. We were happier even than before, he and I. That was before Gex came.’ ‘ Gex 7” “I beg your pardon, I forgot that you did not know. Gex was one of the students, a wild hare-brained fellow, the tool of the Anarchist set. He was the first, except myself, to discover that Charles had genius. THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 193 He used to flatter Charles, and talk nonsense to him about “the Cause.” Charles listened because he liked the flattery. Gex declared that no one could ever be a great artist unless he made love to women. Charles listened to that too.” ‘And you?” ‘I knew very little about him. In fact, whenever he came in, I went out, for I detested the fellow. I was ambitious for Charles. I felt sure there was a great artist in him and I loved Art more austerely than he. He did fine things easily. I, with labour and toil, never satisfied either myself or others. I could never draw even those forms of beauty that my eye beheld. As for him, he could do anything—only he could not do it always, nor for long. Life had opened her doors too wide. He heard the clatter of the market-place as well as the hymns of praise in the Temple. It was I who spurred him on—I and you—it was I who held him back and kept him out of trouble, not from any peddling care about virtue for its own sake, but because I knew that dissipation would spoil his work.’ ‘I think people ought to be good—because of God,” said Nettie. Basil Daymer was less surprised than she I 3 I94 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL was, to hear herself speak. He bent his head. . - ‘And then—— ?’ she said quickly, afraid to linger. ‘There came a change. His work was not what it had been. For a while I tried to conceal this even from myself, but in the last instance there was no ignoring it. He himself was changed, was changing every day. Only one thing, his affection for me, remained the same. He had gone through some awful experience and he was hiding it—yet he con- tinued to make me feel that I was still his friend. I had not been accustomed to sue for confidence. For a long while I held out. At last, unable to bear it any longer, I forgot my pride, I implored him to tell me what had happened. He refused—not angrily (for he knew that it cost me something to ask) but once for all. Then I set to work to find out for myself, as I had warned him that I should.” ‘You found—— ?’ - ‘That Gex had put in practice what he preached. Things were bad enough anyhow, but upon one point my knowledge was not clear. If Charles could deny that, recovery might be possible. I entreated him to put me THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 195 out of suspense. He refused. The refusal was, of course, a tacit admission of guilt. One morning I saw him leave a certain house before daylight.’ “After that ?’ “When I spoke to him about it, he was silent for a long time, then he looked up and said : ‘“I leave Paris with her to-night.” ‘I turned suddenly to the sketch of you on the wall.’ ‘He laughed. - ‘I never knew before what it was to feel anger drive the blood to the heart, so that I almost fell to the ground ; but I spoke. “You shall not go.” * “If I am alive to-night, I shall go,” he returned. ‘I do not know what came over me. * “ Not while I live,” I said. “You shall fight me before you do.” ‘He was standing at his easel, just as you see him there, and he held a sheet of blank paper in his hand. ‘“All right,” said he. “Perhaps that's just as well. We've lived too close to say Good-bye, ou revoir. There's not room for both of us in this little world.” ‘He looked at me—as he is looking now— 13—2 I96 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL wrote something on the paper—and put it into an envelope. * “There,” he said, “That is the most precious thing I have. I shall leave it here for you.” ‘He opened his desk. ‘“Had you not better give it to me now 2° I said. “What if I never come to find it !” ‘I laid my hand on the envelope. ‘ He snatched it from me with a look that I cannot forget. I had not seen it on his face before. I did not understand it at the time. I have thought since, it was fear. ‘“No,” he said, “do not open it on any account. Keep it until you are married, and give it to your wife on the night of your wedding. It is my present to her. Don't forget.” - ‘I promised lightly. ‘“Here is the key of the drawer,” he said, “ have it about you. I may as well know where it is, in case the Devil wins and virtue goes to the wall. Now let us make our wills.” ‘It was my turn to laugh. ‘“I have nothing to leave,” said I. “You are welcome to my clothes, but they will be too small for you.” “To my surprise, he insisted. The wills THE SAVING OF CHARLES RACKENHAM 197 were made—signed—sealed—in the presence of witnesses. He had arranged for every- thing beforehand. All his friends were warned that he was leaving Paris for a time. “A village far away in the Forest,” he said. “An accident out shooting ! Nobody knows us there. The survivor can settle it easily enough. Four months later, when the Exhibitions open and people might begin to wonder, there is a notice in the papers to the effect that a promising young artist died at Some place that no one has ever heard of.” ‘I listened in a dream. He was in wild spirits, talking as if he would never stop. It was the last day of the year. Under the leafless trees of Fontainebleau an hour before night fell, we met. His bullet grazed my arm. Mine found his heart. I knew the way there.” XV. TEIE REFUSAL ‘The Land whence the Shadows fall.’ ‘HE never sent her a word ' said Nettie, pleadingly. Basil made no answer. ‘You went back to Paris Ž’ An indescribable feeling possessed her, that she must not allow hesitation at this point. The last words had been spoken as she had heard him speak once in the wood, once at the Cottage, in a tone that came from silence and went towards it. Her question had the desired effect. His voice altered and grew indifferent. ‘Yes, I went back to Paris. When the will was opened, I learnt that Charles had died in possession of a large fortune, bequeathed to him by his father, with the proviso that he was neither to give nor to leave any of it to any woman whatever. “Women have had 198 THE REF USA L r I99 enough from me during my lifetime,” the testator wrote. “No woman is to benefit by my death.” The entire fortune was left to me by Charles on condition that I married a certain lady, not specified by name. This lady I was to identify by means of a sketch to be found in the secret drawer, the key of which Charles himself had given me. If, for any reason, the marriage did not take place within a year from the time of his death, the money was to go to someone else.' ‘Let it go ' said Nettie, throwing back her head. - ‘Impossible.’ ‘Why? ‘Because the man to whom in that case it is left y * Hush ' she sank her voice in a whisper, ‘someone is listening to us.” ‘Where 7° . ‘I don’t know, but I feel sure someone is watching.’ She turned her head, but the spy—if spy it were—had been too quick for her. All that she saw was the back of a man studying the pictures on the opposite wall. ‘Look behind you,' she said, “but don't look as if you were looking ! Oh no, you need 2OO THE SHADOW ON THE WALL not Here he is. It is—it is the man who was at Rackenham Court, the night of the fire.’ Gex came forward. He looked first at the portrait, then stared insolently at Nettie for a moment, and faced round upon Daymer, whose features altered so that Nettie could scarcely recognise him. She quailed as she saw the encounter of eyes. It lasted but an instant. The artist lifted his hat and passed on. ‘Yes,’ Daymer said, drawing a long breath, ‘that is the man.’ ‘He looks like a conspirator.” ‘Why, so he is ' Daymer said. “It was he who set fire to Rackenham Court. His creed is blood, his only notion of strength, violence. They would be very fond of him on the other side of the water, if he had money. The more destructive spirits could make him do anything that they liked. He has physical courage too. Well, that is our heir, your heir and mine !’ ‘The air is thick with shadows. I can see nothing. There must be some way out of this.’ -- ‘There is none. If there had been, do you think that I would have troubled you ? THE REFUSA L 2O I ‘I cannot believe it. He had no right to make a will like that." “He had every right. Your father left the whole of his fortune to Charles, and left it at his disposal, if he never violated the secrecy enjoined upon him, if he neither gave nor be- queathed any of it except to a man. Those conditions had been observed. The money was his, to do what he liked with.” ‘What will that man do with it !” “Blow up women and children, I suppose.’ ‘It is absurd—horrible. The lady was not named. How do you know º' ‘I opened the drawer of which I told you. There I found the sealed envelope. Under- neath it lay the sketch of you—nothing else.' “Go on. Tell me more. Did you come to England at once º' ‘No. Day and night I worked at that picture. No one knew where I was. I kept the door locked, and went out only after dark. No one saw it. I shall never paint again, I have never touched a brush since, but for once I knew what it was to paint. He painted it, not I. He lived in me till it was finished. My own life was in abeyance. It was I that had died, his soul was mine—mine from its deep conviction to its lightest, most transient 2O2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL impression. George Flack was right when he said that an artist painted himself in that picture. I should have lost my senses but for that. I should have gone mad, if the strain had continued. It was becoming good to me to feel that reason tottered. I dared not con- template the horror of a return to ordinary existence. I was mad, I think, when I signed Rackenham's name to that picture. I should have destroyed myself, if it had not been for j * For whom 7” ‘For Father Wentworth, as they call him, a priest. He was on his way through Paris at the time. Someone had given him an introduction to Charles—I have only just learnt for what purpose—and not being able to find Charles, he routed me out. J. betrayed nothing. I was as business-like as usual. But when we came to say good-night, he held my hand and looked into my face and said —“Are you so free to die º’’ I don’t remember what I said. He took my revolver away with him. After he was gone, the words rang in my head. (I heard them again, the night of the fire, where I saw Charles's eyes again, saw him in you.) But I fell ill after that. I don’t remember clearly what happened until one day, the end THE REF USA L 2O3 of April, I got a letter, unsigned, bearing the London postmark.’ * Yes º' ‘There were only half a dozen words inside, “It wants a drop of blood.” I believe Gex must have sent the thing. It was like one of his devices. He thought that I could not be in time. But he was right in what he said and wrong in what he thought. I caught the next train, rushed up to London, bribed right and left, got in a few hours before the Academy opened—left the drop of blood there on the palette.’ ‘Yes,’ said Nettie, he was right. It fetches up the colour.’ She spoke with a certain assurance. This little visible, undeniable, disconnected fact steadied her ; it was something that stood still in the midst of a reeling world. “He had some reason to hate you,' she said slowly. “Has he ever tried to harm you in any other way ? “Not that I know of. He told me last night that he had meant to take my life, but he is the only person—almost—who pays me the compliment of thinking that I do not care much about it. As soon as he made that precious discovery, he gave up the idea. He 2O4. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL warned me that he would do all he could to harm anybody for whom I cared—but that was an idle threat.’ “I see,' said Nettie, turning pale. “You care for no one—now.’ Daymer looked again at the picture. He did not speak. Nettie was fighting painfully for breath. ‘You were very good to me on the night of the fire,’ he said gently. “I do not forget.’ ‘I was not good,” said Nettie. She stopped. ‘I could not help it.’ ‘I wish to ask you to give me a still further proof of your confidence,’ he said, still more gently. “I propose that you should consent to a formal marriage with me, within the year. People would say I had no right to ask you to trust yourself to me so far as that, but you could believe in me even when I seemed to be a coward—you will not doubt my faithfulness now.’ He leant forward, and looked her full in the face. ‘As another, a happier man will one day promise never to leave you, so do I promise, by the memory that I hold sacred, that I will leave you when once I have given you the THE REFUSA L 2O5 right to that money. Tell dear George Flack this Make him understand as a woman can. Tell him to wait.’ ‘You,” said Nettie, ‘you dare propose this to me !’ She had started to her feet ; her voice was low as she flashed the sentence out like a dagger. ‘It is for you to accept or refuse it.’ ‘If I refuse 2' ‘You will not refuse. You saw that fellow, you knew him at once for what he was, Would you put the weapon into his hand 7° ‘I know nothing about him,' she said. “All that is nothing to me.’ ‘You think so now, but you are wrong. Will it be nothing to you, when you read of lives lost in some hideous, foolish work of destruction, which you might have prevented ? Responsibility for human life is an intolerable wretchedness. I know. Remember, I have killed a man º' Involuntarily she shrank away from him. Again he smiled. ‘You understand. Could you bear to shrink from yourself as you have just now shrunk from me !’ 2O6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Forgive l’ Nettie said, covering her face with her hands. ‘I could not forgive any woman who did otherwise.’ He waited until she had regained composure, and then went on : ‘The marriage is a mere formality. You think perhaps that it would limit your free- dom. Let me assure you that it will not do so.” ‘You must have strange ideas of freedom.’ ‘It is no fancy but a fact—as certain as though it had already happened. Do you remember one day out in the garden—you were sitting in the honeysuckle arbour—you made me draw my own horoscope ž Most of it was mere rubbish. I think you knew at the time that the last words of it were true. My life will not be long. A little while after your marriage you will be free. I have the stars on my side.’ Slowly Nettie raised up to him a face on which resolution upheld her pallid flag. ‘You may have the stars on your side. You shall never have me.’ ‘Is that your last word * ‘No, If I could marry you—be life to you —I would.” THE REF USA L 207 ‘You are kind indeed,” said Basil quietly. ‘You think that there is life to be saved, but there is none. All that I was is there !' He pointed to the picture. ‘It is my last word then,” said Nettie, ‘I will not marry a shadow.’ XVI. NETTIE RESOLVES ‘It is hard for flesh and blood to fight shadows.’ EvKRYWHERE-in the streets as she moved along —on the stairs of her own home as she mounted them—into the little straight room that she shared with Blanche—one face followed Nettie, one speechless voice persecuted her. She shut her eyes not to see, and saw more intolerably. She fought as one who knew that she would be overpowered. That face, that voice, showed one way clear before her. In vain she struggled ; not to be free—that she could never be again, but not to be taken captive that day, that very night. The dead calm outside con- trasted with the battle in her heart. The gray sky lay brooding over the gray roofs. The smoke could scarcely climb the heavy air. Not a sparrow twittered. ‘There is a storm coming !' she said and 208 NETTIE RESOL VES 2O9 leaned far out over the window-sill, longing for the crash of thunder, the glare of light- ning, the sudden onset of wind and rain, to cry aloud for her, to deafen the clamour of the hot tumult that blanched her cheek, clenched her bloodless hands, dried and burnt tears before they could fall. The striking of a clock made her start and shudder. How fast the moments were flying ! Blanche would be back directly. They would have to go to the Concert. She stood up at last—took from the cupboard a favourite new dress on which she had spent some time and thought—a dress of a pale gold colour that went well with her hair—put it on, her fingers trembling as she fastened it. She clasped an amber necklace that she was fond of round her neck, she drew her dainty gold shoes on to her feet. She sought among her store of ribbons one that should be a perfect match ; but there was none. In the end she chose a little scarlet bow and tried it against her dark locks in the looking-glass. A quick thought made her fling it away, and as she did so, she chanced to strike against the mirror, which fell noisily to the ground. At that moment Blanche opened the door. ‘What is the matter ? 14 2 IO THE SHADOW ON THE WALL “Nothing. Only I’ve broken the looking glass. It’s very bad luck.’ ‘It’s very good luck, I think,’ observed Blanche. ‘That one never would swing pro- perly ; now we can get another. Oh, Nettie, I do like your new dress How it becomes you ! You will wear it to-night, of course 2 I thought it would be pretty, but I never knew it would be so pretty as this " Nettie smiled, but said nothing. When Blanche came back with a dustpan and brush to sweep up the fragments, she was still sit- ting, her hands before her, on the edge of the bed. ‘What is it, Nettie : you don’t really mind such a stupid thing. Did you meet Mr. Day- mer ? Was it very bad º' ‘I told Mr. Daymer that I would not marry him,” said Nettie, as if she were weighing the words in scales. ‘I am so glad I said Blanche. ‘That's a good thing over. We shan’t have him here any more. He always made you unhappy.” ‘Indeed, Blanche, Nettie cried eagerly, ‘you are not right about that. He never made me unhappy.” ‘You had a funny way of showing your happiness, then I said Blanche. ‘Well, we NETTIE RESOL VES 2 II needn’t think about him ever again. What a comfort that is '' She folded up the subject, as it were, and put it away, resuming after a minute or two. ‘Oh, Nettie, is it not delicious to be at home again 7 All the lovely street sights and sounds !’ ‘There is plenty of noise. I’m afraid I am not so fond of it as you are.’ ‘You are tired, of course, Blanche said, in- stantly full of solicitude. ‘Take off your dress for a few minutes, and lie down and rest Don't come to the Concert to-night.” “Oh yes, I want to go I want to go especially ' & ‘Why You were just coming to please me. There's nothing new except the Madrigals. You know “Wie einst im Mai" by heart. You were tired after the last Concert, I remember. Do stay at home !’ ‘I must go,' Nettie said, with a touch of irritation. “I must hear music.’ She remained there, seated on the bed, while Blanche returned to the sitting-room. A great desire not to talk was upon her. The very light seemed to her full of noise, and she drew down the blind. Within her, flame was burning. The past 14—2 2 I 2 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL had withered up, the future was not. Only she saw one face, one face alone ; and death was in it. She fought one power, one power alone ; and she fought divided against herself. ‘I will ſ” she said at last ; and then, her heart beating as if it would break her breast, * No | No | No P and then again, ‘I will P The distant tolling of a bell struck on her €8,Y’. Held upright by the fire within, her hands clasped together, her eyes closed, she sought help. The peace of resolution came to her after that. She drew up the blind, lest Blanche should notice anything, and went back to the sitting-room. Blanche was not there ; she had gone to give some directions to the little maid, and Nettie, seeing the piano open, sat down by it and touched the keys. ‘Who can that be 7 said Blanche to her- self, as she stopped outside in the passage to listen. ‘Nettie only plays a chord now and then.’ w Something smote her heart with a pang that she could not understand. NETTIE RESOL VES 2I3 * Nettie ' she cried, when it was ended, ‘I never knew that you could play like that ſ’ “Nor did I l’ said Nettie. ‘What was it that you were playing º' ‘The song you sang, that day in the wood.’ “Oh no, it was not that ſ’ said Blanche. ‘It was something different.’ ‘It was something that I shall not play any more,' said Nettie, as she rose and wandered away to the window. ‘You are very odd,” said Blanche laugh- ing. ‘I never can tell what you mean to do next.” “I shouldn’t mind about what was to come next,’ said Nettie, ‘if I only knew what it was that I had done last !’ She was careful not to put too much mean- ing into her words, and again Blanche laughed. She felt happy in her return to the familiar pleasures and activities of the duteous life that she loved. “Should you mind waiting a few minutes ? she presently enquired. ‘I want to run round the corner, and see if Miriam has come back, before supper.’ Nettie agreed. ‘Perhaps—perhaps I shall leave when the 2I4. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL first half of the Concert is over. At least I would, if you would promise not to come too.” ‘Very well,” said Blanche. ‘The last part is all Bach. I don't know whether you would care about that—it was the Madrigals that I wanted you to hear. You will go and lie down, won't you ? Nettie made no response. When Blanche was gone, she took up a hand-mirror, and looked at herself steadily for some time. She was comparing her face, feature by feature, with the portrait at the Academy; and in the end she shook her head. * No 1 she said, with decision. ‘If I had loved that, I could never bear this. Too like —and too unlike. And yet I will " Suddenly, with a grim dash of contempt, she divested herself of her shining dress, tore off her shining necklace, and hid them both away again, took out instead a plain gray muslin, fresh indeed, but rather old, and not well made—and clad herself in that, without a single ornament. ‘Nettie P cried Blanche, aghast when she beheld the change. “You are not going to wear that muslin Why, dearest, it never suited NETTIE RESOL VES 2 I 5 you, at any time ! Only the other day, you said you wouldn’t wear it again until you had had it done up. What are you thinking of? ‘I’m thinking that I’ll wear it to-night. I’ll never wear it again if you don’t like it.’ ‘It makes you look so ill,’ said Blanche, regretfully. ‘Well, I suppose there's no time to change now ! But ' [she could not endure that Nettie should look less than her best], ‘couldn’t you just put on your necklace your little blue brooch 3 one of these red flowers that you brought up with you ? Persuasively, she stretched out her hand to a vase upon the table. But Nettie pushed it away. ‘No, I don’t want a flower. They all die so quickly. Don't, Blanche I would rather not.’ ‘Has anything worried you ? ‘No, no | Let's talk about the Madrigals | I'm longing to hear them with you.’ ‘I do so want you to enjoy it,” said Blanche. “I have looked forward to that for months. It is lovely to be going to a Concert with you, Nettie. The country's all very well, but don't you like to feel that we are together at home again : All the old things on the walls look so nice. It's quite different. 2I6 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL I feel as if you were more my own, here, somehow. I can’t understand what it is that makes you long in that way for trees and flowers. Here we are both so happy.” ‘Yes,’ said Nettie absently, “here we are both so happy. Ah, there's the thunder l’ XVII. TEIE SURRENDER “There is one light—one only—that casts no shadow.’ THAT might, as Daymer sat alone in the high, barren studio with reference to which he was careful never to desecrate the word home, he thought a great deal about Nettie Lister. The wind howled drearily outside. It was as cold as it knows how to be in London, when summer has set her face towards the autumn, and as he was not in the habit of smoking by himself, he had not even so much of fire as is implied in that occupation, to warm him. For once, however, he did not feel the cold, for he was only alive in thought. He was accustomed to know beforehand, by an intuition that rarely played him false, the line of conduct likely to be followed by anyone whom he desired to influence. Nettie puzzled him ; he had not got from her what he ex- pected to get. It was just as if, when he had 217 218 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL mixed yellow and blue, red had resulted instead of green. The fault, he was inclined to think —as people who succeed much oftener than they fail are generally inclined to think—must be his own. Where had he been remiss 2 At what precise point had he begun to err in his reading of this girl's character ? He went back to his first impression. At the School of Art, whither he had gone one day, that he might see Miss Lister, he had observed, as he went in, a number of drawings pinned up against the wall, as is the custom at the monthly competition of students. The master had set as a subject ‘The Man who lost his Shadow.’ There was only one sketch that made any effect on Daymer. Rough and unfinished as it seemed, there was a style about this one that interested him, and when he found that it bore the signature of Nettie Lister, he looked at it more atten- tively. He could see it now, standing out from the others. It revealed just enough talent to make him sigh, when he came to the conclusion that it revealed nothing else. There was none of that charm which some- times animates a woman's work, even when it is bad, and takes the edge off criticism. The THE SURRENDER 2 IQ drawing was not conscientious, it had none of the delicacy and refinement that result from long practice ; and yet there was a certain daring, a certain felicity of touch that com- manded rather than asked admiration. Effec- tive—that was all. The artist herself he had not seen ; she had left London that day. When he found her afterwards in the wood, he felt the same blend of admiration and dislike. Her resem- blance to Charles Rackenham offended instead of attracting him. He thought that he detected the same slight, superficial likeness in her conversation and it annoyed him all the more, because, had life been different, it might have charmed him. He was angry with Nature, he thought, for doing over again, imperfectly, what she had once accomplished in perfection. He saw once more her broken, sudden, graceful movements as she leaned back or forward among the trees, the vivid sunlight touching her. All that she said about the picture surprised him even then, some strange intuition must have struck fire in her ; but, except for this one thing, she had behaved as he expected her to behave. He made up his mind that she was cold-hearted, that she had 22O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL no feeling—only sensations—that she was ready to sacrifice everything to her love of excitement and pleasure, that she was brilliant, shallow, vain. There would be little difficulty in persuading her to consent to a marriage, no remorse about leaving her afterwards. At any rate she did not pretend to want affec- tion ; her candour was the best gift that she owned. The scene changed to the summer-house. Once more he saw the tracery of shadows from the trailing, floating honeysuckle, upon the wall behind her ; and as the scene changed, she changed also. There was that in her face when she snatched the musty old book away from him that he dared not recall with the full force at his command. In that momentary flash it had seemed to him that he beheld another, and that other a girl, on the very edge of a precipice down which he had fallen. Among all the difficulties of the task that it was given him to fulfil, he had never con– sidered the difficulty that might arise from such a coil as this. He deemed himself immeasur- ably above every woman that he had seen, or else immeasurably below her. So long as he felt sure that Nettie had no depth of character, so long he felt sure of his power over her ; as THE SURRENDER 22 I soon as he began to believe in her, his faith in himself was shaken, he began to doubt his own ability to succeed. Yet he struggled against this weakness with might and main. He contrived to bewilder himself with so- phistry, to argue against the plain evidence of his senses that this could not be. Charles's sister | Charles whom he had killed ! No | It was the morbid state of his own brain, acting on the unwonted display of emotion by Nettie, that had suggested this unbearable thought. In Blanche, he said to himself, such distress would not have astonished him for a moment ; and all women, notwithstanding certain ap- pearances to the contrary, were tender-hearted at bottom. Besides, if Nettie were not tender- hearted after all—and the word, he felt con- strained to admit, hardly fitted her, she was superstitious, and he had observed that super- stition has the same effect sometimes on women who are insensible to the softer passions. Thus he had played with truth until the night of the fire. There was but one word —one word only—that could explain her con- duct then ; and he had fled. Yet, as before, he shrank from defining that word. 222 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Not that, anything except that He went back to the old train of reason, If this girl were an empty-headed, heartless creature, it seemed to him lawful to carry out the purpose for which he had come. He had meant to propose for her, as soon as they were well enough acquainted to make it appear natural—to marry her—to leave her at once to the enjoyment of her brother's wealth—to have conveyed to her, as soon as possible, some intimation of his death, which the chance business of the horoscope would enable her the more readily to accept. He made no doubt that she, on her part, would consent. She longed for wealth. That much he knew ; and he was rich. She loved herself, and no one in the world except herself. That much he thought he knew also. He could easily invent some tale to account for his departure, the formal marriage once con- cluded. A fit of hysterics would be the worst trouble that the news of his death could cause this creature of moods and fancies. Young, rich, pretty, the world would then be at her feet, and her transient connection with him would have brought her nothing but that increase of fortune which she so much de- sired. THE SURRENDER 223 The indefinite fear that she did care for someone beside herself, had altered the com- plexion of things, and plunged him into sore perplexity. Her face as she stood at the door of the Cottage and said “I cannot began to haunt him almost as persistently as Racken- ham's. He could not but dread lest, if he asked her to marry him, she would accept his proposal from the one motive for which it seemed to him a hateful violation of truth that it should be accepted. The question was how to avoid this 3 How, at the same time, to fulfil the provisions of the will ? He had pondered over the riddle for some time ; only when Flack forced his hand had he found strength at last for the determination to tell her everything. In that case, there could be no suspicion of treachery. When she knew all, it would be impossible for her to consent to anything except a nominal marriage. If she had ever really cared about him—and he tried to persuade himself, even at this pass, that she did not care—she had known him for so short a time that the sentiment could not have taken deep root ; it would pass away as the memory of a tale that is told. On the other hand, the mock marriage would be so much for her own advantage, that 224 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL a mere instinct of repulsion, however strong, could hardly turn the scale against it. This was the sage conclusion to which he had come, when he went to meet Nettie in Poom VII. She had been horrified, as he had known she would be horrified, repelled as he had felt that she would be repelled. In spite of all that special pleading about criminal responsibility, the thought of which made him smile (for he was conscious of the absurd aspect of it now, though neither of them had seen this at the time) she refused to listen to the terms proposed by him ; and why she had refused, he could not understand, since it was clearly not on account of the death of her unknown brother, and she was going against his wish when she did so. The feeling that came uppermost was, after all, relief. Daymer had done all that he could. If it had been, practically, a mistake to tell her, it was the mistake of an honourable man. The money was none of Charles Rackenham's earning, he said to himself. That altered the position of affairs. If it were squandered, it mattered so much the less. For himself there was freedom. As to her caring, he had been mistaken, grossly mistaken ; she was greater of heart also than he had thought. Money THE SURRENDER 225 was nothing to her ; all through he had been mistaken. Now that no pretence of it could be, as he sat there alone and comfortless, his fancy showed him for a moment the picture of some– thing that might have been. He could never think of his friend and of Nettie at the same moment; perhaps this was why she represented, all unconsciously, a kind of treachery to him, and he had not, before this evening, allowed himself to dwell in peace on his recollections of her. But now that she had declined to have anything further to say to him, she, who could not lawfully be his in deed, might lawfully be his in thought, and the grace of her figure, and the flashing brightness of her glances, and the swift changes of her resonant voice, came back to him as if he had loved these excellences in her. His memory was strong and faithful, and now he let her have her way and wander where she had been sternly forbidden to walk. Picture after picture she unveiled before him—beauty that his eyes had registered, not his heart. More and more exquisite grew the dream, until it wanted nothing except to be a dream no longer. His admiration of it did not hesitate upon the border—no artist's could— 15 226 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL it passed into the keen, instinctive longing for embodiment. Believing that he should never see her again, he suffered himself to wish for her—to long for her—to claim her. Why was she not here 2 Nay—but she was here. He had never seen her before so plainly as he did now. There came a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ he said, or seemed to say. Were the words spoken clearly enough for anyone outside to hear ! He had scarcely taken in the sound itself as being louder than his own thoughts. A moment—the twinkling of an eye—and Nettie stood before him. She was as colourless as her dress. Nothing about her shone, not even her eyes. He noticed this before he noticed anything else, for as a rule she loved gay colours and little gleaming ornaments—and it contributed to give her the semblance of a mere vision. ‘Why do you wear gray, Miss Lister º’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘It does not become you.’ ‘I don't want it to become me,’ said Nettie, straightening a bow that she had crushed. ‘I am going to do something that does not become me.’ ‘You cannot do that,’ he said. “Sit down. Tell me why you have come.’ THE SURRENDER 227 She had let her cloak slip to the ground. He picked it up and hung it over the back of a chair. ‘We must be quick, she said breathlessly. “I left Blanche at a Concert. I said I was tired—yes, that's quite true !' She pressed her hand to her head. ‘I said I would go home. She won't be coming for half an hour. But I must get there first, for fear she should be frightened. I frighten her often, when I don’t mean to ; but to-night she was not a bit frightened.’ ‘Why should she be º' ‘Oh, I don't know ! We are always frightened about one thing or another. Every- body is. You are frightened,’ she said sud- denly. ‘ Of what ?” She rested her elbow on her knee and her head on her hand and fixed her eyes on him. ‘You are afraid to live ; as much afraid to live as most people are to die. I thought you were the bravest man in the world, but now I think you are a coward.’ ‘Life had been made impossible to me. You know how. If you had done what I have done, would you dare to continue it !” ‘I would’, she said, ‘You did what seemed 1 5–2 228 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL to you to be right. But you have taken a life from the world ; you owe a life to the world. And you have taken from me a life that was all mine. You owe me yours in- stead. I claim the debt. Do you not see that that was what my brother meant } You wanted not to pay it. You want to cheat me —to cheat him. You shall not do so, if I can help it.’ ‘Too late l’ he said, ‘I have promised.’ ‘You could not promise what was not your own,’ cried Nettie. “Your life is mine— mine !’ She laid her little hand on his. She had never before made it the channel of her will, that virgin force was still intact, the whole strength of it undivided, free to stream out from her. The touch of the soft fingers sent through his veins a flood of passionate excite- ment. He turned upon her almost in anger. ‘You do not understand,’ he said. “I can- not love.’ It was the first moment since Rackenham's death that he had felt he could, ‘I do not want your love,’ she cried dis- dainfully. “I want your life—your life.’ Something in the way she pronounced the word awoke it in him. THE SURRENDER 229 ‘I have promised,’ he said, with dogged determination. But though upon his lips the words were strong, in his eyes she saw resolution waver- Ing. ‘What have you promised, and to whom * He did not answer. ‘I do not care what words you said,” she cried. ‘You break a promise deeper than all words, if you keep it—and you betray his trust. You wrong the friend whom you killed rather than let him wrong himself.” ‘I cannot live without him,' Daymer said almost inaudibly, turning his head away. Yet that he could say this—to her—gave Nettie confidence. ‘Look round at me,’ she said imperiously, “I want to see you. I cannot speak unless I see you.’ As their eyes met, another thrill of fire struck Basil trembling. Hand to hand, she had wrestled, eye to eye she would conquer. Her bodily touch had shaken him. Now through the eyes her rushing spirit touched his and overthrew it. Yet in the very moment of victory she failed, her eyelids fell, her voice died. ‘My life I’ he whispered. 230 THE SHA DOW ON THE WALL A silence fell between them. They had forgotten where they were ; they did not mark the flight of time. All boundaries were broken down. No bark of temporal thought crossed with its definite form the limitless ocean of joy on which they floated. They were past hope and beyond fear. The earlier days, the present, the days that must come after, were merged in one. The shadows were gone at last, the light, the darkness. Before they knew, and how they knew not, their lips were touching. When Nettie spoke, her words were but another, a lower echo of his. ‘My love P It seemed to her that she said it without speaking. It seemed to Basil that he felt rather than heard. It was but another link in the chain of that silent harmony, and when they could bear this no longer, and craved the human music of each other's voices, it made the transition to actual speech less violent. ‘Why did you not come to me before ? If you but knew how I longed 7 ‘Why did you never see me till to-night ! I was there all the time. How long ago it seems. But you hated me then P ‘And if I did not love, how could I do anything but hate you ? Now there's the THE SURRENDER 23 I strength of both. Tell me—did you hate me ' ‘What shall we do?’ she said abruptly. “Do not let us see each other again till we are going to be married. It would be always —every night—good-bye.” ‘It will be good-bye then.’ ‘I do not mind. I can wait.’ ‘I am going a long way off—where there's fighting—I am going East to a war that never ceases, for a people that cannot be saved. I am not coming back.’ ‘I will come with you,' Nettie said, lifting her head like a bird. ‘I don’t know what I was afraid of; something dreadful and dark. This is the East; it is light ! Don't tell me not to come too ! I can, indeed I can.” ‘No, no l’ said Basil hastily. ‘You could not. You are young—happy; all your life is before you.’ “Do you think that I have never been terrified at that thought º' she said, her voice sinking to an awestruck whisper. ‘I have seen people when they were old, I have always known that I could not bear it. How did you dare to call me happy : I was never happy till to-night.” 232 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL He did not try to argue with her then ; he only drew her more closely to him. ‘It is getting late,' she cried, ‘I must go.” But Daymer laid a detaining hand on her aICIO. ‘I forbid you,” he said. His heart beat out a strange melody. “Remember I shall not see you again till our wedding day. I shall not see you again after that.” He took her hands and held them as if he could never loose them. He fed his eyes on hers with the wild hunger of a starved spirit. All fear seemed to be taken from her; yet she was humble, and blushed girlishly. ‘I can let you go now,” he said reverently. ‘You are mine always.” XVIII. MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE “In this day-and-night world even the light of joy casts a shade.” NoTwiTHSTANDING all Nettie's precautions, Blanche had reached home before her. Time goes differently for different people. The moments that had been life and death and life again to Nettie, were but so many spaces marked off upon the clock to Blanche. ‘Did you lose yourself º' she said severely, as she made fast the door. “I was beginning to think that something must have happened to you, Nettie. I got back quite ten minutes ago. Where have you been º' ‘I don’t know.’ “I suppose the cabman took the wrong turning. Those hansom drivers are so care- less. I knew you would never remember to tell him. I ought to have gone with you.’ 233 234 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Yes,’ said Nettie, ‘the cabman took the wrong turning. It was very stupid of him.’ Her eyes shone, but Blanche did not notice it. She was looking for a tin of biscuits in the little sideboard, where they habitually kept those makeshift provisions on which a feminine establishment depends. The ugliness of the tin offended Nettie as a rule, but on this night it might have been a silver casket for anything she knew. ‘Are you better, darling º' Blanche said sweetly, as she put it down on the table and poured some cold water out of a jug. ‘Quite well again. No thank you, I don't want anything to eat.’ ‘Would it not be wiser to take something now 2 If you don’t, you will feel hungry in the middle of the night, and then you won't let me come down and get it, and then you will meet all the blackbeetles in rows.’ “No thank you, dear.’ ‘I don’t believe you heard what I said.’ ‘Yes, I did, “meet all the blackbeetles in rows,”’ repeated Nottie, as if she was saying a lesson. |Planche ate two brown biscuits in silence, and they went upstairs together. The room in which they slept was plainly MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE 235 furnished, but they had hung upon the wall, as girls will, pictures and photographs, and bits of china, and every one of these was not itself alone but a sentiment or a jest. When Nettie saw them, a sudden feeling of tenderness beset her, a kind of pitying amusement at herself, as if she were looking at toys that she had played with when she was a baby, and never could play with again. Was she much older since she had left the house º Or had she been where youth and age are not ? She sat down edgeways upon her low white bed and medi- tated. Blanche in the meantime, moved quietly about, putting her crystal beads away in a nest of cardboard and cotton-wool, folding her simple dress before she laid it carefully in the drawer. ‘Have you wound up your watch, Nettie 3’ ‘I forgot. Be an angel and wind it for me !’ ‘It always goes too fast—or else it stops,’ said Blanche critically. ‘To-night it's much too fast. Shall I put it back º' ‘Yes, I don’t want to-night to be over.’ Blanche raised her large eyes questioningly, but she was quite accustomed to answers that were beside the mark, and not accustomed to 236 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL get explanations of them, so she was the less surprised when none offered itself. ‘You have the loveliest hair in the world, Blanche,’ said Nettie, as her friend unplaited, one by one, the long, soft dark-bright tresses and let them fall below her knees. “I wish mine were longer.’ ‘You need not,’ said Blanche, “It takes me twenty minutes every morning to do it up.’ ‘You shouldn't do it up ! It's beautiful when it's all loose like this. No one ever sees it but me. What a pity P ‘Would you like me to go and sit with it down my back in a shop window, in Regent Street, as an advertisement 2 I should get a guinea a day, if I did.' Nettie seemed to be pondering the matter. ‘You never asked me about the Academy,” she said at last. ‘I thought perhaps you would rather not tell.’ ‘Oh, but it's just the other way ! Ask me Some questions.” “Is it a secret 2' * Yes.’ ‘Then please do not tell me. I always dislike hearing secrets.” -* MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE 237 ‘I don’t think you're a woman at all, Blanche. ‘You’re not vain and you have no curiosity. How can you be a woman º' “I should not like to be a man,’ said Blanche. “They're not so nice as women nearly. They are much more selfish.’ Nettie made no remark. She watched the brushing and combing of the great masses of hair thoughtfully. ‘Don’t you ever mean to be married, Blanche 3’ “‘Nobody asked me, sir, she said.” “If Mr. George Flack asked you 5 ‘What are you thinking about, Nettie : He never so much as knows whether I am in the room or not.’ ‘I know. I—I am sorry for him.’ “So am I,’ said Blanche, significantly. ‘You couldn’t, could you ? I know I couldn’t either.’ ,” * Had we not better wait to talk about it till he has really asked one of us whether we could ºf ‘He did ask me.’ ‘And you said No 2' ‘No, I didn’t ſ’ ‘Nettie Then you said Yes º' * No l' 238 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Then if you did not say Yes and did not Say No, what on earth did you say ?’ ‘I did not say anything. I told him he had better ask you.’ “Ask me whether you were going to accept him º' ‘Yes.’ “Poor man l’ said Blanche suspending her brush for an instant, ‘how he will hate me ! I think you might have told him yourself, Nettie.’ ‘I would,” said Nettie, ‘if I had thought it was going to be No. But I thought it was going to be Yes—and oh, Blanche, Blanche, I couldn't say it ! I want to ask you about something. Do you mind if I put out the candle It's easier in the dark.’ She had thrown herself down on the pillow. Blanche came softly over to her and felt for her hand ; she was one of those whose sym- pathy is expressed in little acts that are more eloquent than words. Brokenly, with many hesitations, Nettie told the whole story, leaving out only Daymer's promise. Instinctively she kept that to herself. Still Blanche did not say anything. ‘I am so happy,” Nettie said at last. “Why should I be allowed to be so happy, Blanche º' MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCE 239 She heard a low sob coming out of the darkness. ‘What is it, dear !' she cried. ‘Have I hurt you ?’ ‘No,' said Blanche, as she fought with the rising tears, don't mind me. It's very selfish, but I can’t help it, Nettie darling. We’ve been so happy here together. But I know I must not want to keep you. I want you to have everything that you want, really. You know I do ſº Again the sentence finished because she could not speak. Nettie sprang out of bed and on to Blanche's knee, putting her arms 'all round her. ‘Blanche, dear, dont | don’t ſ' she said en- treatingly. She had never known Blanche cry before, except when her mother died. ‘I can’t leave you. I won’t. We won’t be married till December—till the very end of Decem- ber. That's ever so far off—ever, ever so far off, you know.’ In her distress, all that she thought of was to comfort Blanche. It seemed to her cruel and terrible that what was joy to her should mean sorrow for the only other being she loved. ‘It’s ever so far off!' she repeated. 24O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Yes,’ said Blanche, her voice still quiver- ing. “You can't very well get your trousseau before that. You will have so many things to buy. Don't mind me any more to-night, dear ! I can’t help it. I will be glad indeed, I will—to-morrow.’ They clung together for a few moments, and then she helped Nettie into bed, and tucked the coverlet all round her. ‘Good-night,” she said, bending over for the last kiss, “don’t think any more about it now, darling, and whatever you do, don’t lie awake I’ XIX. VERDICT INSANE ‘Life a right shadow is, For if it long appear Then it is spent, and death's long night draws near. Shadows are moving light.” A LETTER addressed to Nettie lay on the breakfast table next morning. Thus it ran : ‘I am leaving you. I cannot trust myself near you ; I cannot trust myself to write to you, nor to hear from you. If it is granted me, I shall be less unworthy even to look upon you when I return. Write to me to Paris, to the address that I enclose ; but not for three months' time. I will answer then. I shall meet you again in London on the 30th of December. The last day of the year will be the first of life to me.’ On the other side of the paper was written — 241 | 6 242 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Last night I dreamt of him for the first time. He stood pointing to the East.’ ‘Bad news º' asked Blanche, who saw Nettie change countenance and wondered that a letter which looked so short should take such a long time to read. ‘It is only that he has gone over to Paris. I hope—I hope he will be safe l' ‘Safe P echoed Blanche. ‘Why should he not be safe 2' ‘I do not know,” said Nettie. “I think I am a goose. I feel as if the sea wanted to drown him ; and the lightning wanted to strike him, and everybody that goes by in the street wanted to shoot him. I must be a little goose, Blanche P ‘You must indeed, dear ! He won’t be any safer in Paris, because you are not eating a morsel of breakfast in London. It's no good staring out of the window either, because, if he is there, he can’t be here.” It was doubtful whether Nettie heard this conclusive reasoning. She had grown very deaf in the course of the last twelve hours. Blanche made one or two unsuccessful efforts to attract her attention, and at last, conscious that her thoughts were sounding in her ears VERDICT-INSANE 243 more loudly than any words that fell upon them, she took up some needlework and said, in a tone intended for those thoughts: * Well ?” Instantly Nettie heard. ‘Well,” said she, ‘I suppose I ought to tell Mr. George Flack.’ “Of course you ought. There's no sup- posing about it that I can see,' said Blanche sternly. Nettie glanced up at her. “I’ll send him a note, and ask him to come to tea, it's easier to speak than to write.’ Writing appeared to have become as difficult as hearing, for she was a long while over the note, seeking inspiration in the sky as often as not and never finding it. As the hours went on, her evident restlessness increased. Once or twice she was about to speak, but Blanche, dumbly miserable at the shadow that had fallen between them, gave her no help, and she broke off again. For the rest of the day she moved about in a dream. She gazed at books with out seeing them, listened with the deepest attention to the most unimportant remarks and said nothing, shut the windows that she meant to open wider, and opened wider the door that she intended to shut, until at last 16—2 244 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Blanche took pity on her in good earnest, and said, sighing : “Had you not better go out for a walk, dear one º' ‘Won't you come with me?’ Nettie asked, twining both arms round her neck. * Not for worlds !’ ‘Where shall I go then º' ‘Down on the Embankment. The air is good, and as it is quite straight, you could not lose your way if you tried.’ Obedient Nettie left the room to put on her hat. For the first time in her life, she liked being told what to do ; but Blanche's spirits went down several degrees. They went down several degrees further when Nettie looked in on her before she started, and said : ‘I think I will go and buy myself a new hat. I want a new hat badly.” ‘You will never come back in time for tea, if you go so far.” ‘I don’t feel as if I could come back in time for tea. I don't feel as if I could tell George Flack. Would you mind telling him for me !’ ‘I think you might tell him yourself,’ said Blanche. ‘After all, he asked you to marry VERDICT-INSANE 245 him. That is supposed to be a compli- ment.’ ‘I cannot,’ said Nettie. ‘If I cannot speak of it—of Basil—even to you, --how can I speak of it to him I cannot, Blanche. I feel as if it would all go, if I talked about it.’ Tears rushed to her eyes. Blanche, who so seldom cried herself, became wax at the sight of tears in another. ‘Don’t, don’t, dear !' she cried, ‘I will tell him, of course I will tell him. I am sorry I was cross. Only, do not stay away a very long time ! It is rather hard on him to come expecting to find you,-and then he will find nothing but me. And to have to hear that Come back before he goes '' Nettie promised, and vanished. The new hat passed from her mind as soon as she reached the foot of the stairs, and she did as Blanche had suggested, and strolled down to the river. It was very quiet ; there were not many people under the trees at that hour ; and she sat peacefully enough and gazed at nothing while much water flowed under the bridges, and the great gulls, with softly flapping wings, flew by. Over the low fringe of trees on the further side lay a pearly silver sky, half seen, half guessed at behind 246 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL faint flakes of gold. These melted into pale red—into buff—drifted away and left the evening star. More clearly than the outward veil of this deep, vast tranquillity, she saw Basil, Basil always and Basil only, every man, everything against him, she only for him against the world ; but she felt stronger than the world. ‘He has gone to the East, she said to herself, ‘to that place where the fighting is. He will come back, I know he will come back to me.’ Long she sat there, thinking those long thoughts that have neither beginning nor end. ‘You forget me,’ said a harsh voice in her ear. There, close beside her on the bench, sat the man whom she had seen at the Academy, the man whom Basil called Gex. ‘Ah !’ said he, ‘I have been waiting, not ten minutes, nor yet twenty. I cannot wait any longer.’ He let her see a pistol that he held. ‘Tell me,’ he cried, laying his hand roughly on her arm, does Basil Daymer care for you ? The insolence of his look terrified her more than the threat. VERDICT INSANE 247 ‘He is mad. If he should fire—if I should be disfigured so that Basil You had better let me go,' she said, quite quietly. ‘There is someone just behind. Look '' There was no one, but she threw such con- viction into her voice that he loosened his hold. She seized the moment, shook him off, and darted across the road just in time to avoid a hansom that had been driven round the corner of the adjacent street at such a furious pace that she did not see until it was close upon her. What happened in the second of her turning, she never knew. There was a loud report—a crash—something reeled and fell over. There, in the middle of the road, lay her pursuer. A crowd gathered immediately, as it will gather always in London, at a moment's notice, even in quiet places. ‘Who is he 7° ‘What was he doing º' ‘Fired orf a pistol, did yer say ? ‘Hush, hush | Make room there for the lady I' ‘Let the genl’man out ! There's someone inside l’ ‘By Jove, Miss Lister l’ said Flack, extri- cating himself as best he might from the ruins 248 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL and coming up to her, his face very white. ‘You here What an awful spillº Glad it wasn't you I bowled over !’ ‘Is he much hurt º' said Nettie. “How dreadful Oh, Mr. Flack, do find out !'; ‘Bad job l’ said one of the bystanders in the telegraphic language of disaster. ‘Can't speak. Leg broke l’ ‘Perhaps it's only his arm,” said another. “Got a pistol, he had. Fired it orf just before.’ ‘Mad, poor chap ! Mad as a hatter | Best take him to the Lunatic Asylum.’ ‘Look in his pockets,’ suggested someone else. ‘There might be an address.’ ‘T)on’t you do nothink of the kind, Jim. I wouldn't go near a madman, not if I was you. Maybe 'e've got that pistol yet.' Nettie heard the voices coming from far, far away. Not one seemed to be anywhere near her, they were full of hard curiosity. ‘Oh, won't you look º’ she said. “These people will do nothing.’ Flack, and one or two of the others, dragged out the man and searched his clothes; but there was no clue as to his name or his home, to be found. ‘The queer thing is, I’ve seen him some- VERDICT INSANE 249 where,” said Flack, in a dazed manner. “But for the life of me, I can’t think where.” ‘Yes, yes, I saw him yesterday at the Academy, I remember now. But I do not know where he lives. Basil—Mr. Daymer would know.’ ‘It’s no go We must do something quickly. I’ll run round to Daymer afterwards. The Hospital first, I suppose. Is it a long way off? Pity unspeakable swept over Nettie's heart. This quiet, dreadful thing lying before her crushed and colourless, breathed but a moment before the same air with herself, moved on the solid earth, felt the sunshine. She had come very close to that battle which all fight once, and once only, so close, that she could not yet draw breath evenly nor check the frantic flutter of her heart ; but this man had fallen, never to rise again. ‘I will go with him,' she said. “Call a cab, some of you ! This gentleman will come too.” ‘No, no,' said Flack, protesting. “I’ll take him. Why should you come 2 Why on earth should you come ' He tried to force her back. ‘Let me go, please !' she said imperiously. ‘I can make him more comfortable.’ 250 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Flack yielded because it seemed impossible to do anything else. ‘Rum thing,” he observed parenthetically, “I was on my way to your house, when the cab bowled over !’ Nettie made no answer. Between them they supported their charge as best they could, while he was being driven to the Hospital. The matter-of-fact tone of every- one about the place calmed her nerves at once and restored her to herself. Gex moaned as he was laid upon a bed, grasped Nettie's hand and held it as in a vice. She tried in vain to get it free, ‘May I stay with him º' she asked. ‘He looks pretty bad,” said one of the nurses. “Oh yes, you can stay till the doctor comes I’ Flack waited downstairs until he heard the verdict. ‘Well ?” he said anxiously, as he saw the nurse coming towards him. ‘It’s a bad case, but the Doctor's not been yet,” she said cheerfully. ‘The young lady would like to speak to you, sir. Step this way, please !' There were tears in Nettie's eyes as she came into the waiting-room. Flack envied the man when he saw her. VERDICT INSA NE 25I ‘I cannot get away just now,” she said. “The Doctor will not be free for some time. He has no one. He clasps and clasps my hand. Will you go to Blanche for me ! I should be so glad if you would. She knows you are coming. She will not be surprised if I am late. But I do not want her to be frightened. Do not tell her about this Do not let her come. I shall be back so soon, it's not worth while. Wait for me there !’ ‘May I come and fetch you ?’ asked Flack. ‘No–no thank you.’ ‘I understand,’ he said jealously. “You want no one except Basil Daymer.’ ‘He is far away. If he were here—if he were here— Oh, go and see Blanche, she will tell you !’ ‘It’s of no use for me to see Miss Campbell, she never seems to see me,’ said George grimly. “But you see her,’ said Nettie, ‘I have seen you looking at her as if you saw nothing else in the world.’ - ‘That was only her hair.’ ‘Her hair is nothing to—to herself,’ said Nettie, with the utmost seriousness. ‘Blanche is like no one else in the world.’ ‘I always thought she was a kind of angel,’ observed Flack. 252 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘No, no,' said Nettie, as warmly as if her friend's character had been impugned, “she's not, she's a kind of woman, that's all. It's a very rare kind. If Blanche ever cares for any- one, she will care for ever and ever.’ “I say,” said Flack, very gravely, was that why you told me to go to her ? “You don’t mean to say there's any hope for a fellow like me in that quarter, do you ? ‘Oh, I don’t know !" said Nettie, with a mysterious smile. “While there is life there is hope, everywhere. Go and see '' Flack went, like an arrow from a bow ; and the door had scarcely closed upon him when, for her, he ceased to exist. - She had been sitting by the wounded man for some time, lost in the bright wilderness of her own thoughts, when she felt the keen, painful sensation of returning life tingle back to her own numb fingers from the deathly fingers that clasped them. They were quite alone. The man opened his eyes and gazed at her. ‘You !' he said. “You, that I meant to shoot l’ Nettie wondered dimly what she should do or say. She felt convinced that the man must be mad, yet she did not feel frightened. VERDICT INSANE 253 Her whole being was steeped in happiness, and she had no room for any other emotion except— ing full, warm pity. She did not even recollect what Basil had told her of the wild passion of revenge that possessed Gex. ‘Did you bring me here ?' “Do not talk. You have been hurt and you must rest. Lie down and go to sleep !’ “No sleep for me,’ he said fiercely. “I dream—I always dream. Did you know that I meant to shoot you ? “Never mind about that,’ said Nettie. ‘You did not do it.’ - ‘You brought me here 7° * Yes.’ ty - She answered him only in a word—hoping to soothe him into silence. He seemed to muse. ‘I could not do it now,” he said, abruptly. ‘I am glad you could not, she said, looking down at him with a radiant smile. ‘We will be friends now, won’t we ?' ‘No,' he said. “No l—not that, but dear enemies. I have one friend, and one only. He’s not here. You have a friend whose name is Daymer, have you not ?’ - ‘I have.” Even in that place, Nettie said the words out with pride. This was a different man 254 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL from the poor lunatic by the river. It scarcely astonished, though it pleased her, that he should know. Wonder had dulled the sense of wonder, some time since. ‘Do you care very much for him º' ‘Indeed I do.’ She answered softly, as to her own heart. ‘I had a friend whom I loved more than life I’ “Ah, them,' said Nettie, bending a little lower, ‘you know what it is ' ‘You are good l’ he cried, in broken tones. ‘If I could spare you, I would. But I cannot —I must not. With the dead we are bound to keep faith. Why did you give your love to that demon 2 My friend was Daymer’s friend He killed—he murdered him '' ‘I know,' Nettie said, steadily. ‘You know º' he cried, the wild light in his eyes dying down in dull amazement. You know and yet—ah me ! You never knew the other. Still the portrait was like him. There he is—there he is by the door Now do you see how like it was 4' ‘Yes, yes,” said Nettie, and, striving to humour him, she fixed her eyes upon that vacancy which, to his failing eyes, was filled with all that he had loved. She shuddered VERDICT INSA NE 255 as she spoke the words. What was that shadow on the wall ? ‘You see him º' Gex went on. ‘You must care more for him than for the other. He never could have lived like Daymer, could he He never did what Daymer thought he did, though. I told him that Daymer would believe any ill of him—that was the first part and then I laid a bet with him, my fortune to his, that Daymer had more power over him than he had over Daymer. He never knew that I took his hat and cloak, and came out early from her house one morning, when I had set on Daymer to go by that way. The fool believed it was Rackenham.—You won't tell, will you ? ‘No, no, lie still l’ “I shall never lie still again ; I cannot ; not till the bet is proved. It was Daymer who stopped the thing. She would have gone away with him that night. If she does not come now, she will be too late. How dark it is—how very dark it is '' Nettie disengaged her hand, stepped quickly to the window and drew up the blind. The full light of the western sun streamed in upon him as he lay. ‘Dark I he murmured. ‘Dark, dark I’ 256 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Then, for the first time, she felt the awful— ness of death. . Again he fumbled for her hand, and lay more quietly when she had placed it in his. Soon afterwards he fell into a kind of stupor. The nurse, coming in, saw that a great and sudden change had taken place, and pitying Nettie's youth, her evident inexperience, made a pretence to draw her out of the room. A few moments more, and the death struggle began. In half an hour she came to tell Nettie that it was over. Nettie burst into tears. ‘You knew him well, the nurse said kindly. ‘No, no l’ she sobbed, “it is not that. Only —only—I am so happy, I feel so sorry for him.’ She felt sorry for a caged bird that she saw outside the Hospital, and longed to set it free. Whence came this universal pity that she experienced for everybody, for everything on earth, except herself and Basil '! Yet she walked homeward in the dusk as if it were some strange celestial sunshine. XX. TEIE GENTLE EIEART ‘One by one the shadows are flying.’ WE must go back again, for things happen, not in succession, but altogether and all at once all over the world. ‘I daresay it is good for me !’ Blanche said to herself when Nettie had gone out. She was of the order of those to whom self- mortification is not an empty word, and she made the remark with the miserable resignation that usually accompanies it. * ‘I had better find out what it is like to live alone, she went on, as she set about her little preparations for tea with a heavy heart. ‘By- and-by it will be just like this always—only Nettie won’t be coming back in an hour.’ ‘There are no fresh flowers. She forgot about them, I suppose. Well, I cannot help that now ! At any rate, I will throw these away. How dreadful the room does look 257 17 258 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL without her l Nothing lying about ! It is just as if she had never been in it to-day.” The unwonted tidiness of every little object depressed her much, and the arrival of Flack, who was punctual in spite of everything that had happened to delay him, depressed her more. Secretly she did not feel much confi- dence that Nettie would reappear in time to see him ; and she held herself to be in no good humour for a prolonged tâte-à-téte. ‘I am sorry that you find only the worse half of our house at home,” said she. To which Mr. George Flack made such an unexpected answer that she looked up half angrily. ‘It’s all Nettie, she said. “It’s only Nettie that makes it nice. I mean—she’ll come back to-night, but by-and-by she won't come back any more. Nettie's going away.” She had not meant to say it like this, but suddenly, at sight of the sudden sympathy in his face, all that was in her heart burst out. ‘I’m very glad, you know, she went on bravely. “It isn't that I’m not very glad. I always knew she would—some day. And— and of course I don’t think Mr. Daymer's worthy of her, but then I shouldn’t have THE GENTLE HEART 259 thought anybody in the whole world was worthy of her—so that does not matter.’ ‘And what's going to become of you ?” said Flack, drawing his chair nearer. If she had been as clear-sighted as usual, she would have noticed that he did not appear to resent the intelligence as she had thought that he would. ‘Oh, I don't know ! I have not thought ! It does not matter. I don't feel as if anything mattered now.’ “But it does matter,’ said Flack. ‘It matters very much.' - ‘It only matters because I’m stupid. I’m not always making friends like Nettie. I only get fond of things when I take care of them ; and there will be nobody to take care of now.’ - ‘Look here !’ said Flack, ‘couldn’t you come and take care of me !' Sad as she was at the moment, Blanche smiled and shook her head. ‘What wages do you give 7" said she. ‘I know you wanted to engage Nettie before.’ ‘Because I thought I should never be able to engage someone else,’ said Flack with des- perate effrontery. “It was you that I wanted all the time. I always thought your hair was the most stunning thing in the world. Beats 17—2 26O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL the Venetians. Only I knew you would never leave her. But now “But now you are sorry for me,’ said Blanche. ‘I’m amazingly sorry for myself,’ said Flack, with an accent of strong conviction. “I should be twice the painter I am, if I’d proper food to eat, I know that. Look here —just look at my clothes '' He held out, for her inspection, a coat-sleeve which had, no doubt, seen better days. ‘I can mend that, at any rate ſ' said Blanche, her spirits faintly reviving. ‘Just let me get my needle and thread It won't take a minute.’ But Flack withdrew the sleeve regretfully. ‘I couldn’t let you do that. It wouldn’t be proper. I couldn't let anybody do it who wasn't engaged to me.’ - ‘I call that great rubbish,' said Blanche, with a slight accession of cheerfulness. “Your housemaid's not engaged to you, I suppose. She ought to be ashamed to let you go about like that. Give it to me at once. I can’t have people coming here in rags.’ ‘It’s awfully good of you,' said Flack. “But it would be just as bad again to-morrow, don't you see ? I’m going to the dogs alto- THE GENTLE HEART 26I gether. I believe I’m going to die. I’ve got a very bad cough, and I’ve got no Christian belief.” ‘Why don’t you go to church and get it then º' said Blanche simply. ‘I would, if I could go to church with you,' said Flack. - ‘Well !” said Blanche, after a moment's con- sideration, ‘I suppose you'd better go to please me than not go at all. Will you come next Sunday morning º' “I’ll come in a jiffy. I’ll come this instant, if you wish it.’ ‘There's no Church to go to, this instant,’ said Blanche. ‘Of course if there were, I should wish it. I shall send you some lozenges for your cough. And now I think you had much better give me your coat-sleeve. I could mend it better, by the way, if you didn't mind taking your coat off.” ‘That's more impossible and more improper still,’ said Flack. ‘How can I take off my coat before a young lady who is not engaged to me ! I should be lost to all sense of pro- priety.’ ‘It seems to me,’ said Blanche, “that I have seen you playing tennis in your shirt-sleeves. I never fainted at the sight.’ 262 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘You’re not at all like what I thought you were,' said Flack. * Not half so nice º' ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. I think perhaps you're really nicer.’ ‘You’d better not think that, I’m really horrid.” “Miss Lister doesn’t seem to think so.” - ‘Oh, Nettie’s used to me, that's different Besides, she's a woman.’ “Of course I’m not a woman l’ said Flack meditatively, as if he might, by reflection, find out some way to alter this vexatious fact. Blanche fetched her workbox, a small, neat, white workbox, adorned by Nettie with an odd combination of scarlet dragons and dolphins. ‘Now !" said she, threading her needle. When Nettie entered some time afterwards, she found no one in the room, but two chairs were standing close together by the little round table. She put her head on one side and considered them deeply. What had they been saying to each other ? They did not look as if they had quarrelled. “If Blanche had refused him, his chair would have been pushed back. Besides, if she had refused him, she would have felt THE GENTLE HEART 263 anxious about my being late ; but now she does not know.’ Presently Blanche half opened the door. ‘Nettie, she said, ‘Mr. George Flack is going to be married.’ ‘To you ?” said Nettie. ‘Yes. He wants someone to mend his clothes.’ ‘Couldn't you come inside 7' asked Nettie. ‘It would be easier to talk. Blanche, Blanche —I’m very glad—but—he's not a bit like Basil. I’m very sorry too !’ ‘You had need be. I’m very sorry for myself. I never meant to be married.’ ‘It won’t be for years yet, I suppose ?' said Nettie, with deep commiseration and some remorse for her own part in having helped to unite Blanche to any man in the world who was not Basil. ‘This day month, at the church round the corner.’ XXI. IN TIME TO COME * No shadow of Self is here.” IT was later in the year. In the same little sitting-room of the flat a bright fire was burning, giving out all the sunshine hoarded in the hundreds of years since the black lumps of coal had been green trees in a forest. The same friendly pair of chairs stood before it ; and in them sat the same people. The same—and not the same. The two who had sat there before were gone. The two who sat there now were like to them in face and figure, and yet there was that subtle little change out of which grows the vast and happy change that comes of happy marriage. Blanche sat as upright, as unbend- ing as before ; but sometimes she would lean forward slightly as she had not leant in her maiden days, and when her husband looked 264 IN TIME TO COME 265 at her she turned to him as if a voice had spoken, with the innocent deference of a child. As for his attire, it had improved so much that the greater number of his friends declared that they would never have believed George Flack could look so handsome, and the rest shook their heads and said he would be ruined as an artist. He looked very much stronger. There was a new gentleness about him. Every minute he turned to Blanche, to be opposed, to be caressed, to be agreed with. He did not know which he liked best. On principle, and for his good, Blanche generally opposed him. o ‘Why did you not arrange those flowers instead of leaving them in the jug º' he asked. Her conduct was full of delightful enigmas; he knew little about the ways of women. ‘For reasons of my own,” said Blanche, and then, relenting : ‘Nettie would not like it. She always likes to settle flowers her- self.” ‘They won't take much settling—only a dozen asters and a bunch of mignonette. If I'd got flowers from abroad, I’d have got something better than that.' For all her answer Blanche began to sing softly under her breath : 266 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘Stell' auf den Tisch die duftenden Resenden, Die letzten rothen Astern trag herbei, Und lasst uns wieder von der Liebe r Wie einst im Mail’ ‘Oh, I understand P said Flack. “At least I don't understand, but I suppose it's all right. Rum reasons for things you girls have I shouldn't have thought they'd want a dismal little song like that, the first night. I say, how jolly those sparks are Did it ever strike you, Blanche, that it's a queer thing, that about man being born to trouble as the sparks fly upward ' They look so jolly, you know.’ ‘They fly into the dark,” said Blanche. ‘Perhaps that's it.’ ‘I wonder where that friend of Daymer's went.’ |Blanche sat silent. ‘Nettie's brother l’ she said at last. ‘It’s a most extraordinary thing that Daymer should have painted that portrait ! I was looking at it again while you were lighting the fire in the studio. It's alive.’ ‘I wish they had not got it there.” ‘Why? ‘I feel as if it gets in Nettie's way. Mr. Basil Daymer only liked her because she was like that.' IN TIME TO COME 267 ‘You couldn't be near Miss Lister long without liking her for her own sake.’ ‘You must not call her Miss Lister any more, George. Do try to remember that she was married this morning.’ ‘I hope she will be happy tº said Flack, rather gloomily. “She will never be so happy as we are—do you think so º' Blanche sat upright, and a look of intense conviction deepened upon her face. ‘Yes,’ she said. “Yes, I think so.’ ‘Then why didn't she go to meet him at the Station yesterday ? Why did she send me instead º' ty “If you were a woman, you would know,' said Blanche. “And as you are a man, I shall not tell you.’ ‘I’d a vile time of it, anyhow,” said Flack. ‘Thought I was going to have the dis- tinguished pleasure of bringing Basil's dead body down to Miss Lister at Bybrook.’ ‘What do you mean : You never told me. Was he looking ill ?” “Oh no those brown people are always the same. He just looked brown. It was what happened afterwards.’ ‘Why did you not tell me !' ‘Because you said you must go round to 268 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL the studio to get things ready ; there was no time after that. And then you fell into a very good pose, and I was busy drawing you in my head. You must remember I’ve been away from you one whole night and half a day besides. Did you ever miss me for five minutes ? - “Of course not. I was too glad to be rid of you. You talk more rubbish than any man I ever met. Do go on ' ‘Well ! When Basil jumped out of the train, he just looked at me and said, * “Is she dead º' * “She 2 Who 3’’ said I.” “Oh George, how could you ? ‘I didn’t know. I couldn’t think what he meant. ‘“Nobody's dead that I know of,” I said—and he went staggering back against a truck until I thought he was going to die himself. I dragged him into the Refreshment Room, and soused him with brandy-and-water, and after a long while—it was five minutes by my watch—he came round. It seems he left Paris a day earlier than he intended, because he had business somewhere else, so he never got Miss Lister's letter, and then, when she wasn’t at the Station to meet him, he thought 2 IN TIME TO COME 269 ‘Yes,’ said Blanche. “I thought just the same when your train was a quarter of an hour late to-day. But you explained ? You told him that Nettie wanted to see him first at the Cottage 7 “Oh yes! As soon as I heard him say, “Are we in time for the 6.45 !” I knew he was all right. After that he was quite jolly —made me tell him all about our wedding, the whole way down. I only hoped Miss Lister would be at Bybrook Station when we got there. I thought perhaps he'd faint again if she wasn’t. However, he didn’t seem to expect that—took it like a lamb. She wasn't at the gate of the Cottage when I left him, either.’ * Well ?” ‘Well you would have been, wouldn't you ? ‘If I would have been, Nettie wouldn’t have been,” said Blanche. “Everybody's not made alike | She did not want us—or any- one else—at the wedding ; only Miriam, who didn’t know Mr. Basil Daymer at all. I am so glad it was fine, the earlier part of the day. I know she wanted to go with him to the little wood.’ “Go to a little wood on a day like this Why, in the name of wonder ? 270 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘You have no more memory than a sieve,’ said Blanche. “Don’t you remember that it was there you introduced them to each other ? ‘Did I? Well, I should have thought she would meet him at the Station, anyhow. After he's been in such danger too ! Think— he might never have come back to her l’ “All that was a long time ago,' said Blanche. “Just after our marriage. How long ago it seems Does he look like a hero º' ‘Looks exactly the same. Queer that he should be just one of the biggest heroes out— and nobody know it except that Jesuit clergy- man fellow I met by chance in the East End and he, not from Basil himself! I suppose Miss Lister knows 7 She always did know, by the way—even that night of the fire, when I thought he showed the white feather. I meant to have begged his pardon for that, buttered him up, no end—somehow I forgot it. He was so exactly himself. Queer, you know, his getting out there just in time to save a whole village-full ! If he'd been a day later, they'd have smashed up. Just as if he'd known beforehand—and yet he couldn't have known.’ ‘ He was sent,” said Blanche. IN TIME TO COME 27I ‘Sent 2 Who sent him º' inquired her husband cheerfully. Blanche made no reply ; and he felt rather profane. ‘Well,” he said, catching her thought by intuition, “there does seem to be a long sight more of that kind of thing than I thought for. Any ordinary fellow would have been killed.’ ‘It is wonderful, Blanche said. “I used to think him cruel—cruel to Nettie. That was one reason why I did not like him. I think he is cruel to her still. One can’t say anything, because of course he was sent, and if you're sent, you must go. But in general, a married man has no business to run risks of that kind.” ‘He was not a married man when he did it.’ ‘He was worse than a married man—he was engaged. It's much worse for a girl when she's only engaged. I should have minded dreadfully if anything had happened to you before ; but if you died now, I shouldn't mind a bit.” ‘Wouldn't you, dear º' said Flack. “Then I shall try to live a little longer. It might look ugly if you were so very indifferent—as if we had not got on together, you know. Not that you need have the slightest fear of 272 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL my setting up for a hero. I’m not built like that.” ‘I wish he were not going away to-morrow. It's hard on Nettie.” ‘Oh, he'll come back soon enough I said Flack easily. ‘You might have been much fonder of me if I’d gone away the morning after we married Absence makes the heart grow fonder " ‘You wouldn’t have dared to do it. Good- ness, what a state your clothes were in Now, go and wash your hands, or we shall be very late for dinner. I’m sure I hope Nettie had something to eat before she started. But Miriam would see to that. We shall hear about it to-morrow, when she comes to us. We shall have her all the time that he is away, all the time until he wants her. It seems too good to be true, to think of getting her back.’ ‘You might have put me first,’ grumbled Flack. ‘You need not think I should do anything so bad for you,' said Blanche ; but she softened the tartness of this reply in a manner that prevented her husband from finding it hard. She wanted to tell him something ; but it was something for which she could not find IN TIME TO COME 273 a word ; and while she was still seeking, he left the room. . ‘Oh, it's jolly to be at home !' he said, an hour later, putting his long arm round her waist and stretching out his long legs over the fender, as he lounged in an easy-chair, sipping the glass of whisky-and-water that Blanche prescribed because, she said, he had a tendency to gout. Blanche smiled, and thought to herself humbly and proudly, ‘He shall always say that ſ’ ‘There's only one thing that I want now,' he continued. She became extremely anxious. ‘What is it, dear ! Didn't I put enough sugar º' ‘It isn’t sugar,” said Flack. ‘It’s a little girl—a little girl just like you.’ ‘Oh, well, there's going to be a little girl—or a little boy I said Blanche demurely. “I think —I think Nettie will like it.’ Flack gazed at her, delighted—alarmed—as much astonished as if an utterly impossible thing had come to pass. “But it must be a little girl, Blanche,’ he said. “Remember A little girl just like you.’ “But, you see, I want a little boy,” said I 8 274 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL Blanche. “And if he were like you, I shouldn't mind—though of course he'd be very ugly if he were like you.’ ‘I couldn’t do with it,” said Flack. “I don’t feel old enough to be the father of a boy.’ ‘Perhaps there 'll be both,’ said Blanche. “Just think, how nice Two babies—and only the trouble of one ! ‘I think I'd rather have one to begin with,’ said Flack. “I want a little girl, my dear. I want to see what you were like long ago.” XXII. CHARLES RACKENEIAM WINS ‘What went before Will be the time of promise, shadows, dreams ; But this, full revelation of great love.’ OUTSIDE, the air was deadly cold. Within, in the studio where Nettie had come to speak with Basil five months before, it was very still, very dark. The fire was burning with the fierce, restrained glow of heat that does not spend itself in flame. The lamp had not been lighted. The shadows lay in thick masses on the floor and all the substance of the wall was turned to blackness. The reality of the material objects about the room was, in a manner, confused and lost. Two people, close together, with eyes and ears for each other only, their hands touching, may yet stand far apart—so distant are the nearest lives within the round of mortal 275 18—2 276 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL existence Basil, as he led Nettie in and shut the door behind her, saw nothing but the red gleam and moved as in a fiery star. Nettie looked where the shadows lay deepest, saw where a picture stood upon an easel, and shivered as though with cold. Neither of them cared to speak. She threw herself down by the hearth. ‘Come, shall we go º' Said Basil at last, bending over her so that he touched her hair. ‘Not yet.’ ‘Not yet Think of to-morrow.’ ‘No,' she cried, ‘I will not think of it. To- night's to-night. Where is the little book that you were always reading 2 Give it to me !’ ‘I had forgotten that,’ he said, smiling, as he took it out of his pocket and gave it to her. She did not even glance at the title, but flung the book into the fire. Then she looked up at him, and almost smiled to see him laugh- ing, but grew grave again instantly. ‘What was it !” she asked. ‘A collection of Sonnets—they are by a man whose friend was more to him than any— thing else.' “More than his wife 2' CHARLES RACKENHAM WINS 277 “More than his wife I’ ‘Who was the man º' ‘Shakespeare.’ ‘How glad I am that I burnt it !' she said, a glimpse of mischief in her eyes. ‘You need not have been jealous. Since I have had these to read,” he showed her two letters, “I have not once opened it.’ She rose up quickly and drew the covering from the picture. ‘Stand there,’ he said. How like you are I thought it was the only sight I could not bear to see. Now I shall often see you stand- ing like that—side by side with him—when I am far away.” ‘You speak as if I were not going too,” she said tremulously. “I have got everything ready. ‘Oh, let me follow you !’ ‘I could not take you there, dearest. The place to which I am going is no place for WOIO €I). “Then stay !' she cried, and leaning over the picture, she pleaded passionately. “It was he who sent us to each other. He meant us to live, to live together. Why should he come between us º' ‘That first night,” Basil said simply, ‘I thought I had forgotten all the past. I do 278 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL forget it now, beside you, Nettie. I dare not. It holds the future.’ “Never mind the future ' she cried impetu- ously, “let it be now, now, now, and for ever !’ As she spoke, she raised towards him hands that were crushing and hurting each other with wild entreaty. “Dearest, my dearest, why must you go 2 Do you not love me more ?' * Yes.’ ‘Why then º' He waited until his voice was steady. ‘I dare not build my faith to you on faith- lessness.’ ‘Why do you say those dreadful words : Oh, do not leave me, do not, do not leave me ! I am not strong enough to stand alone.’ ‘Hush dear !' he said, gently, ‘you make it hard. If I could yield, you—even you— would be the first to despise me.’ She shook her head. ‘You believed in me when nobody else did ; you alone. Now, if all the world honoured and praised me and I deserved your scorn, could I endure that ? You think you would not feel—that you could shut your eyes. Love never shuts his eyes, Nettie. Who should know this, if I do not ?’ CHARLES RACKENHA M WINS 279 ‘You are not a woman. It is only men who feel that.” ‘And you, the truest woman on earth, could love a man who did not ? No, I have shed blood, I must pay the price of it. I have kept away from you all this time, that I may pay it and not falter. Blanche will be with you, dear.’ “But if you—if you die º' |Basil drew his wife down beside him on the sofa. ‘Look,’ he said pointing to the picture, on which the flames, leaping and crackling among the pages of his book, now cast a rosy glow. ‘That is well painted, is it not ? A good solid piece of work, technically speaking, that will last. When this hand of mine is dust, it will be as fresh as it is now. When you have closed your eyes and see no more the light of the sun, those will be just as bright. Answer me this Has it more life than we have 7 Do you believe that we shall die º' ‘No,' she said, vehemently. ‘We might live as you say we could, if it were not for that. If it ended in sleep that had no ending for both of us, why we might lie down side by side when we had sucked out all the sweetness of life, and fear, as we hoped, 28O THE SHADOW ON THE WALL nothing. I have been so base as to wish that we could do so.’ ‘Wish it again ' she said, so low that he could scarcely hear her. ‘I will, if this is your command. It was you who first brought back to me what he had taught me long ago—it was you who made me certain that love is not the earth— that love lasts. It is yours to take back again. Will you have me heart and soul, all that I have, all that I am, for the little life here, or for the long life after ? Choose ! And if you bid me stay, I will stay.” “Go l’ she said faintly. Great happiness had she known, and he great sorrow ; until that moment they had not sounded the depths of either. ‘Now, dearest, come !' he said impatiently. ‘Think / We have but a few hours left. I start to-morrow.’ ‘You will write to me !’ ‘As long as I can hold a pen. You know where Wentworth lives. Send your letters to him. I shall be able to tell you more very soon.’ ‘What shall I do with this?' She pointed to the picture, CHARLES RACKENHA M WINS 28I ‘Keep it as long as you live, dear one. You and I meet in it. Look at me sometimes there.” ‘And after ?’ * Flack knows.’ ‘How strange,' she said, after a pause. ‘I seem to see you in it. The real you, I mean. Nothing could be more unlike than the features.’ ‘I have seen you in it ever since we met in the wood. I would have painted you, if I could. I could not, for it was done already.’ ‘Is there no other picture of yours that I could have º' ‘I never painted any other. I have no gift. Flack must have told you that often.’ ‘Why should you ? It has the world in it.’ - ‘ He had the world in him,” said Basil. ‘He was the world to me. Oh, Nettie, Nettie, if you had known him '' Such longing filled his eyes that Nettie felt as though, in that one moment, he had travelled leagues away from her. Anxious only to call him back, she said quickly : ‘There is one thing you have not told me— and you promised to tell me all.’ 282 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL ‘What is it 2' ‘Where is the sealed envelope that lay in the drawer Ž' She had a kind of hope in it, and that hope, being her last, was a strong one. Basil recoiled as if he had been stung. ‘I had forgotten l’ he said, putting his hand to his brow. “How could I forget 2' She gave a little sad laugh. ‘I may laugh now. You go to-morrow, but I made you forget him.’ ‘Yes,’ he said, “but it was you that remembered. This is the last night of the Old Year—a time for remembering, people say.” ‘It must be nearly twelve o'clock. We shall hear the bells soon.’ Thus they dallied. Her eyes fell upon the flowers, and with a little cry of joy, she bent over them. ‘Flowers | Blanche must have brought these. They have been lying before the fire. They'll fade. They'll fade too soon ſ' Hur- riedly she poured water into the little china jug that Blanche had left ready. Basil watched her. ‘They will be with you longer than I shall,' he said. CHARLES RACKENHA M WINS 283 Nettie left the flowers and stood before him. “If you weary of waiting “I shall never be tired of waiting.’ Then Basil tried to say a thing harder to him than death. “If, by-and-by, when you are older, you think it is better not to wait—do not wait. Give someone else all that you would have given me.’ Could this be the same voice that, only a few months before, who had calmly advised her to marry again } She laid her hand in his, and looked at him. ‘Oh, Basil '-she broke off suddenly, ‘I wish we could die to-night ! We are too happy. You have been good. You have done always what you knew was right. Only one thing was wrong. We must be good because of God; not just for pride. I have been selfish—I am not good enough to be so happy. I’ve not remembered enough what Blanche remembers always.” She went and knelt by the table. After a moment Basil rose and knelt beside her. They did not speak. Humbly they asked to be forgiven and guided. 284 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL When they got up from their knees, they held each other fast embraced—two fires that rushed together to make one flame. As he loosed his arm reluctantly and stood away from Nettie to look at her, Basil remem- bered. - ‘Open it ! Read it now !” he said, as he drew the envelope from its hiding-place and laid it in her hand. On the outside of it was written in firm square characters, ‘For the Wife of Basil Daymer, Esq. On the Night of her Wedding.’ She looked curiously at the seal. ‘I know what is on that,’ said Basil hoarsely. “Tard ouble qui bien aime ’— an old French motto. I was fond of it. Open the letter. Come ! She broke the seal. He watched her with keen eyes as she unfolded the paper within ; but he gathered nothing from her face while she read. The letter was very short. It ran thus – ‘Tell Basil that he saved me after all—that I was innocent. - * C. R.’ CHARLES RACKENHA M WINS 285 * Well ?” ‘Don’t read it !” Nettie said, holding it to the flame. But she had not been quick enough. He snatched it from her ; only the edge of the paper was singed. For a moment, as he read, she saw in his face such joy that never again, in all her life, could she know fear. His eyes met hers and smiled. He made a movement as if he would have sunk upon his knees, put his hand to his breast, staggered and fell. Nettie flung her- self down beside him and laid her hand upon his heart. But it had ceased to beat. She took him in her arms and sat for a long while, quite still. There was no re- bellion in her now. Over and over again she whispered to her- self, “Mine, mine !’ All she longed for was that the darkness round about them would last, that she might keep him to herself undisturbed. She had no feeling that they were divided. While she sat there before the portrait, the gleam of the fire growing less and less and the shadows folding them in more closely, the sound of bells fell upon her ear, borne softly 286 THE SHADOW ON THE WALL on the tranquil air, ringing for joy. The sound was light also ; pure spiritual light, without form, colour or shade. And so that night of perfect music passed, and quietly over the quiet sky, the dawn of the new morning broke. - THE END BILLING AND SONs, LIMITED, PRINTERs, GUILDFORD A Y 7"/7A2 S 4 AVA. A U 7 //OA’. THE KING WITH TWO FACES. By M. E. COLERIDGE. Aighth ſm/ression. Crown 8vo. 6s. ‘One of the very rare novels which yield so much pleasure that it almost stifles criticism. Miss Coleridge's quality is that of perfectly original brilliancy in roniantic narration. Her style is at once placid and spirited, full of colour without heaviness and luxury, correct, rapid, adequate, with no tedious research of “the word,” or preciosity. Her imagination is wonderfully vivid; for scenes and moments, colour, form, atmosphere, are all felt and conveyed in her pictures, which are not too numerous, and are never tedious.”—Times. THE FIERY DAWN. By M. E. COLERIDGE. Crown 8vo. 6s. ‘‘‘The Fiery Dawn” is steeped from end to end in the magic atmosphere of enchant- ment. The story has the glamour of a very beautiful and brilliant dream. It reproduces with singular charm the intoxicating effect upon an ardent and enthusiastic nature of the new wine of the Romantic movement. We never remember to have encountered a book richer in engaging characters.”—Søectator. A&MCAE/AAC/D B A GO Z”.S. LA 7TES 7" AVO WAEE. LOVE’S, PROXY. By RICHARD BAGOT, AUTHOR OF ‘CASTING OF NETS,’ ‘Don NA DIANA,' etc. 6s. ‘Mr. Bagot has written a strong character, novel, which will appeal to all who are concerned with the finer issues of fiction.'—Daily Chronicle. ‘Mr. Bagot has already won a high reputation as a novelist, and his new book will certainly help to maintain it.'—Daily Mai/. T H E N E Blu LY CO AT. By J. MEADE FALKNER. Sixth Zmpression. 6s. ‘This novel has deservedly attracted notice, even amid the competing mass of the annual output of fiction. It owes its distinctive character, not only to that rarest of features, a perfectly original plot, but also to a still more essential quality, the author's grasp of his subject, and command of narrative power in developing it.”—Tablet. RED POTTAGE. By MARY CHOLMONDELEY. Thirteenth Impression. Crown 8vo, 6s. LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, W. SELECTED 6S. NOVELS. Tºy Richard Bagot. LOWE’S PROXY. DONNA DIANA. CASTING OF NETS. THy Mary Cholmondeley. RED POTTAGE. Tøy Mrs. Jidgtº)ick. * THE BERYL STONES. THE THOUSAND EUGENIAS. CYNTHIA’S WAY. SCENES OF JEWISH LIFE. TRy F. F. Mcntrésor. - THE CELESTIAL SURGEON. Tºgy Morley Roberts. THE COLOSSUS. LORD LINLITHGOW. Tºy M. E. Coleridge. THE FIERY DAWN. THE KING WITH TWO FACES. TRy J. Meade Falkner. THE NEBULY COAT. MOONFLEET. Tºy T)orothea Conyers. THE BOY, SOME HORSES, AND A GIRL. [6//, /moression. PETER’S PEDIGREE. TRy Edéward McNulty. MAUREEN. Tºy L. Lockhart Lang. THE WULGAR TRUTH. Tºy Eleanor Alexander. THE RAMBLING RECTOR. TEy Edith Rickert. THE REAPER. Tây Etta Courtney. CHECKMATE. LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 & 43 MAl)1)OX STREET, W. Telegrams : 4 I and 43 Maddox Street, ‘Scholarly, London.’ Bond Street, London, W. October, 1904. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books. -º-º-º- a wº w THE REM.INISCENCES OF SIR HENRY HAWKINS (ſºlow ILO to jStampton). Arranged by RICHARD HARRIS, K.C., AUTHOR of ‘ILLUSTRATIONS OF ADVOCACY,” “AULD ACQUAINTANCE,’ Etc. Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. With Portraits. 30s. net. “Hawkins'—to use the more familiar name of the best known and perhaps most popular English judge of the nineteenth century—was called to the Bar at the Middle Temple in May, I843, and after “sixty years' hard labour' in the practice and administration of the Law has been prevailed upon to give the world the benefit of his exceptional experience of life in all its phases. These two volumes of reminiscences are packed with good stories—legal, racing and miscellaneous—for Sir Henry was as keen a sportsman as an advocate—and he has come in contact in his time with every grade of Society and occupation. He enables the reader to form an idea of what a ‘big practice' means, of the destructive effects of his own cross-examination, of the eccentricities of a British jury; and his tales of Tattersall's, Crockford's, the Ring, theatricals at Knebworth, the Barnstaple election, and last, but not least, of his beloved four- footed ‘Marshal,’ Jack, make a most interesting and attractive book. LONDON: EDWARD ARNOLD, 41 and 43 MADDOX STREET, w. 2 Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books JERUSADEM UNDER THE HIGH - PRIESTS. jfive Lectures on the Seriod between Thebemiab allo the ſºleW) CC8tallleht. By EDWYN BEVAN, AUTHOR of ‘THE HOUSE of SELEUCUs.” Demy 8vo. 7s. 6d. Readers of Mr. Bevan's brilliant work on the Seleucid dynasty will welcome this new and, in its way, not less important volume of history from his pen. Originally written in the form of lectures for popular audiences, the book aims rather at giving a clear and Con- nected sketch of what is certainly known about a crucial period in the history of our religion—a period of which it must be confessed most people are extremely . ignorant—than at investigating the obscure problems which beset the specialist. The subjects of the lectures are: (1) The End of the Persian Period and the Mace- donian Conquest; (2) Hellenism and Hebrew Wisdom ; (3) Judas Maccabaeus and his Brethren ; (4) The Hasmonaean Ascendancy ; and (5) The Fall of the Hasmonaeans and the Days of Herod—a list of subjects sufficient to show the value of the book to everyone who finds any interest in the Bible. FINAL RECOLLECTIONS OF A DIPLOMATIST By the RIGHT HON. SIR HORACE RUMBOLD, BART., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., Demy 8vo. 15s. net. Sir Horace Rumbold begins the third and concluding series of his ‘Recollections’ in the year 1885 at the point to which he brought his readers in the volumes already published. He describes his life as Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to Greece from 1885-1888, and to the Netherlands from 1888-1896. In the latter year he was appointed Ambassador to the Emperor of Austria—an exalted position which he retained until his retirement from the Diplomatic Service in 1900. The conclusion of these ‘Recollections’ presents a set of Diplo- matic memoirs as Comprehensive as they are interesting. Sir Horace Rumbold has known nearly all the famous personages of his time, and the personal touches and pleasant anecdotes with which he illuminates their characters render the volumes excellent reading. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books 3 THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR. By T. COWEN, LATE SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT of the ‘DAILY CHRONICLE.' Demy 8vo. With Illustrations from Photographs. This book will probably be the first instalment of the great mass of literature which may presently be expected from the seat of war. After tracing the course of events leading inevitably to the outbreak of hostilities, Mr. Cowen describes with great completeness the nature of the country, both in Korea and Manchuria, over which the struggle has been waged, and then devotes himself to a brilliant and graphic account of the actual conflict both by land and sea. [In preparation. EDWARD AND PAME LA FIT Z – GERALD. jščing gome £iccount Of their ILive3 Compilco from the Letterg of Çboge wbo ſknew Cbem º By GERALD CAMPBELL. Demy 8vo. With numerous Portraits. 12s. 6d. net. Since Thomas Moore's ‘Life of Lord Edward FitzGerald' was published in 1831, one or two further memoirs have appeared, mainly founded upon that work, ‘Edward and Pamela FitzGerald' differs from these in several particulars. Its author, one of the rebel leader's great-grandchildren, who has had access to a number of family letters and papers, has endeavoured, after giving a picture of the home-life of the FitzGerald family, to concentrate his attention on those years during which Lord Edward was gradually becoming entangled in the coils of the Irish Rebellion. After dealing with the reasons which led him to adopt the cause of the revolutionary party, and the circumstances of his arrest and death, the book proceeds to consider more particularly than has yet been done the history of Lord Edward's wife, Pamela, the reputed daughter of the Duc d'Orléans and Madame de Genlis. 4 Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books ALESSANDRO SCARLATTI: HIS LIFE AND WORKS. By EDWARD J. DENT, FELLow OF KING's College, CAMBRIDGE. 8vo. With Povlyait. To most musical people Alessandro Scarlatti is little more than a name, and even musical historians have been singularly cautious in their references to him. He is, however, a very important figure in the history of music, on account of his influence on the formation of the classical style—i.e., the style of Handel, Bach, Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. His numerous works have almost all remained in manuscript, although he was quite the most celebrated composer of his time (1659-1725), and the difficulty of obtaining access to them has no doubt prevented musicians from studying him in detail. For this biography special researches have been made in the principal libraries of Europe, and much new material has come to light. Besides the story of Scarlatti's life, derived in great part from hitherto unpublished diaries and letters, a careful analysis is given of his most important compositions, considered specially in their relation to the history of modern tonality and form. The book is copiously illustrated with musical examples, and includes a complete catalogue of Scarlatti's extant works, with the libraries where the manuscripts are to be found. STUDIES IN VIRGIL. By TERROT REAVELEY GLOVER, FELLow AND CLASSICAL LECTURER OF ST. John's College, CaMBRIDGE, AUTHOR OF ‘LIFE AND LETTERS IN THE FourTH CENTURY.” Demy 8vo. Ios. 6d. net. This book does not deal with questions proper to an edition of, or a commentary on, Virgil. As little space as possible is given to matters of pure scholarship, philology, or archaeology, but an attempt is made to realize as clearly as may be the literary and poetic value of Virgil's work by showing the poet's relations with his age and environment, his conceptions of the questions peculiar to his time and country, and of those common to all times and countries, and his own peculiar sense of the direction in which the answers of these questions are to be sought. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books 5 ON THE ROAD TO LHASA. By EDMUND CANDLER, SPECIAL Correspondent of THE ‘DAILY MAIL" witH THE TIBET MISSION. Demy 8vo. With Illustrations from Photographs. A special interest attaches to this account of the Tibet Mission, the progress of which has been watched with such intense anxiety by the British public. Mr. Candler was the first Englishman to be wounded in the sudden attack made on the Mission at Guru in the early days of the expedition, but was fortunately able to resume his work in a remarkably short time, and to be present at the entry into Lhasa. FLOOD, FELL, AND FOREST. By SIR HENRY POTTINGER, BART. Two volumes. Demy 8vo. With Illustrations. 25s. net. Few men probably know their Norway better than Sir Henry Pottinger, and fewer still have described it, from the point of view of sport, better than he has done in this book, in which the expe- rience of a life-long sportsman and the graceful literary touch of a skilled writer are combined with the happiest effect. Whether the Subject be elk-shooting, salmon-fishing, or camping, Sir Henry abounds in interesting anecdotes and valuable information, and his book cannot fail to give pleasure to all lovers of the rod and gun. PAGES FROM A COUNTRY DIARY. By PERCIVAL SOMERS. Large Crown 8vo. With Photogravure Illustrations. 7s. 6d. These extracts from the diary of a country gentleman form a delightful record of the various occupations and amusements which fill the time of the good old-fashioned type of Englishman who is content to find his work and his pleasures within easy reach of home. The author is a true sportsman, as well as a man of enlightened views, and his graphic and humorous descriptions, adorned with many anecdotes, of his occupations indoors and out of doors throughout the year, will appeal to all who are fond of nature and the tranquil charms of country life. 6 - Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books ECONOMIC METHOD AND ECONOMIC FALLACIES. By WILLIAM WARRAND CARLILE, M.A., AUTHOR OF • THE Evolution of MoDERN Money, ETC. Demy 8vo. Cloth, Ios. 6d. net. In this work the keynote of the first two parts is the stress laid on the essential character of the distinction which exists between the methods of investigation that are appropriate in physics and those that are applicable in sciences, such as economics, which belong, in truth, to the mental sphere. It is, in the author's view, to the ignoring of this distinction that the present dominance, in the Uni- versities, of the mathematical economics is due. Another outcome of the same erroneous line of thought is, he contends, the current view as to the insignificance of money in economics. In the third part the author brings his general line of reasoning to bear on the Fiscal Problem. While he is an uncompromising Free Trader he would throw overboard those Free Trade arguments that ignore the national point of view in favour of the cosmopolitan. POLITICAL CARICATURES, 1904. By F. CARRUTHERS GOULD. Supey Voyal 4to. 6s. net. Also an Edition de Luxe of IOO large-paper copies, numbered and signed, f2 2S. net. The cordial welcome with which the volume of cartoons for 1903 was received by the public will, it is believed, be repeated in the case of this further selection of Ioo pictures, which is uniform with the last. The principal topic handled by the eminent caricaturist of the Westminstey Gazette during 1904 is, of course, the Fiscal Question, but nearly every other subject of public interest is treated by him in his inimitable manner. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books 7 THE WHITE MAN IN NIGERIA. By GEORGE DOUGLAS HAZZLEDINE. Demy 8vo. With numerous Illustrations and a Map. Ios. 6d. net. The author of this graphic account of life in Northern Nigeria was for some time Private Secretary to Sir Frederick Lugard, the High Commissioner, and was thus in a position to learn the truth about many important controversial questions. He has endeavoured, how- ever, in these pages to avoid controversies and to confine himself to representing the country, the people, and the administration as they appeared to him when he was still fresh to them. The result is a brightly-written book which will not only be useful to those who contemplate following in the author's footsteps, but will convince, it is believed, all who take an interest in such things that the control of the country is well worth retaining, even at an apparent financial loss for a few years. SUNSHINE AND SENTIMENT IN PORTUGAL. By GILBERT WATSON, AUTHOR OF 'THREE Rolling Ston ES IN JAPAN." Demy 8vo. With numerous Illustrations. 12s. 6d. net, This book might almost have been entitled ‘Three Rolling Stones in Portugal,’ for, as in the author's previous story, there are three principal heroes, who travel through the Country (as soon as their original enterprise of digging for the bones of mammoths in caves attracts them no longer), and a most fascinating heroine. The book is full of vivid and humorous descriptions of the party's open-air life in Portugal, and the reader will envy Mr. Watson's good fortune in meeting, wherever he goes, such charming creatures as Columba. COMMONSENSE COOKERY. JBagéo on ſiſyooetin Engliab ano continental |\tíncipleg worked out ill ºctaíI. By COLONEL KENNEY-HERBERT. Large Crown 8vo. New and Revised Edition. 7s. 6d. 8 Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books OUTLINES OF THE SYNOPTIC RECORD. By the Rev. BERNARD HUGH BOSANQUET, Vicar of THAMES DITton ; And R. A. WENHAM. Crown 8vo. 6s. The authors have aimed at producing a concise historical commen- tary on the Synoptic Gospels, based on the ascertained results of modern criticism. An introductory chapter deals with the Synoptic Problem, and on the facts set forth therein are based the plan and arrangement of the book. The narrative follows mainly the Gospel of St. Mark, and the substance of the teaching of Jesus is introduced at suitable points. To attain conciseness, the discussion of doctrinal and Christological questions has been avoided, and the narrative of the fourth Gospel has been introduced only so far as is necessary in order to elucidate or supplement the Synoptic outline. ENGLISH ESTATE FORESTRY. By A. C. FORBES. Demy 8vo. With Illustrations. Probable price, 12s. 6d. net. Forestry is a subject the importance of which is by no means adequately recognised in this country. It is, indeed, seldom that one finds an owner of woodlands who has a competent knowledge of the scientific theory and practical possibilities of timber-planting. Mr. Forbes's book will be found a most valuable corrective of the prevailing happy-go-lucky methods. Dealing first with the rise of economic forestry in England, he traces the evolution of the modern plantation, and considers the present condition and possible develop- ments of estate Sylviculture. Then, after discussing the various kinds of trees and how to grow them, he devotes a number of most interesting chapters to the principles of forestry and the details of woodland work. POULTRY KEEPING AS AN INDUSTRY FOR FARMERS AND COTTAGERS. By EDWARD BROWN, F.L.S., SECRETARY OF THE NATIONAI. Poultry ORGANIZATION Society. Crown 4to. With copious Illustrations. New Edition. Revised throughout and much enlarged. 6s. net. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books 9 THE WALLET SERIES OF HANDBOOKS. MR. EDWARD ARNOLD has pleasure in announcing the publication of a series of handbooks, ranging over a wide field, which are intended to be practical guides to beginners in the subjects with which they deal. The first five volumes, of which descriptions are given below, may be regarded as typical of the scope and treatment of the whole series, which is published at Is. net per volume, paper, and 2S. net cloth. ON COLLECTING ENGRAVINGS, POTTERY, PORCELAIN, GLASS, AND SILVER. By ROBERT ELWARD. . Each subject is first treated historically, and then many valuable hints are given with the object of putting the collector on his guard against forgeries and worthless specimens generally. DRESS OUTFITS FOR ABROAD. By ARDERN HOLT, AUTHOR OF ‘FANCY DRESSEs Described,” “GENTLEMEN's FANCY DREss AND How ro CHOOSE IT,” Etc. After preliminary general advice on the outfits required by ladies and gentle- men for prolonged tours and voyages, the author, who is a well-known writer on this important subject, describes the actual dress requirements of both sexes at a very large number of places in all parts of the world, having regard to the climatic and social conditions prevailing at each. ELECTRIC LIGHTING FOR THE INEXPERIENCED. By HUBERT WALTER. In this volume the art of lighting a house of moderate size with electricity is discussed for the benefit of the person who is anxious to do the thing well and cheaply, but who has no practical knowledge of the many little details which have to be considered in order to get a good result. All technical matters are explained in the simplest possible manner. HOCKEY AS A GAME FOR WOMEN. - By EDITH THOMPSON. The ever-increasing popularity of Hockey among the fair sex renders necessary an authoritative treatise on the game from the feminine point of view. The author is an acknowledged mistress of her subject, and deals exhaustively with the whole theory and practice of the game. WATER-COLOUR PAINT ING. By MARY L. BREAKELL ('PENUMBRA ), An enormous amount of experienced advice on the practice of a most fascinating art is compressed into this small volume, which will be found invaluable, not only by beginners, but also by more advanced students. IO Mr. Edward Arnold’s List of New Books M Y S P O R T IN G H O L ID A Y S. By Sir HENRY SETON-KARR, C.M.G., M.P. Demy 8vo. With numerous Illustrations. 12s. 6d, net. Sir Henry Seton-Karr has all his life been accustomed to devote his spare time to sport in all its forms, and, fortunately for those who love to read a well-told fishing or shooting story, has kept a record of many of his most interesting adventures in Norway, Scot- land, and the Far West. He differs from many sporting writers in mentioning the ‘misses ' with no less frankness than the “hits,’ and his bright and amusing pages give a vivid picture of the vicissitudes of the sportsman’s “luck.” There is a valuable chapter on sporting rifles and their use. GHOST STORIES OF AN ANTIQUARY. By MONTAGUE RHODES JAMES, Litt.D., DIRECTOR OF THE FITzwilliam MUSEUM ; FELLow AND LATE TUTOR OF KING's CoLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. Crown 8vo. With Illustrations. 6s. Those who know the extensive and miscellaneous character of Dr. James's researches in various fields of learning will not be sur- prised to find him appearing as the author of a volume of “Ghost Stories.’ Originally written for domestic entertainment only, they certainly succeed in producing that dreadful feeling of growing horror which belongs to the best kind of ghost stories, told in the right way. ENGLAND IN EGYPT. By VISCOUNT MILNER, HIGH COMMISSIONER For SouTH AFRICA. Eleventh Edition. With additions summarizing the course of events to the year 1904. Crown 8vo. 6s. The great and far-reaching change in England's position in Egypt effected by the signature of the Anglo-French agreement has rendered necessary a further addition to Lord Milner's work, tracing the course of events from 1898, when the book was brought up to date by a chapter by Sir Clinton Dawkins, to the present time. This important task has been carried out by Sir Eldon Gorst, K.C.B., late Financial Adviser to the Egyptian Government, who describes in a masterly chapter the recent results of British rule in Egypt and the Soudan, and the hopeful possibilities of the future. Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books II NEW FICTION. Crown 8vo. 6s. each. THE CELESTIAL SURGEON. * By F. F. MONTRESOR, AUTHOR of “Worth WHILE, Etc. PETER’S PEDIGREE. By DOROTHEA CONYERS, AUTHOR of “THE Boy, SOME HoRSEs, AND a GIRL. With Illustrations by Nora K. Shelley. THE SHADOW ON THE WALL. By MARY E. COLERIDGE, AUTHOR of “THE KING witH Two FACEs,’ ‘THE FIERy Dawn,’ Etc. SCENES OF JEWISH LIFE. By Mrs. ALFRED SIDGWICK, AUTHOR of ‘CyNTHIA's WAY,” “THE THousAND EUGENIAS, AND OTHER Stories,’ ‘THE BERyl Ston Es,’ Etc. THE RAWIBLING RECTOR. By ELEANOR ALEXANDER, AUTHOR of ‘LADY ANNE's WALK.’ THE REAPER. By EDITH RICKERT. CHECKNIATE. By ETTA COURTNEY. I2 Mr. Edward Arnold's List of New Books THE EVOLUTION THEORY, By AUGUST WEISMANN, PROFESSOR of ZooLogy IN THE UNIVERSITY OF FREIBURG. Translated by J. ARTHUR THOMSON, PROFESSOR of NATURAL HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN. Two volumes, Royal 8vo. With many Illustrations. 32s. net. The importance of this work is twofold. In the first place, it sums up the teaching of one of Darwin's greatest successors, who has been for many years a leader in biological progress. As Professor Weismann has from time to time during the last quarter of a century frankly altered some of his positions, this deliberate summing up of his mature conclusions is very valuable. In the second place, as the volumes discuss all the chief problems of organic evolution, they form a trustworthy guide to the whole subject, and may be regarded as furnishing—what is much needed—a Text-book of Evolution Theory. The book takes the form of lectures, which are so graduated that no one who follows their course can fail to under- stand the most abstruse chapters. The translation has been revised by the author. HOUSE, GARDEN, AND FIELD. 'El Collection of $500tt ||latute 5tuoie.g. By L. C. MIALL, F.R.S., PROFEssoR of BioLogy IN THE UNIVERSITY of LEEDs, AND FULLERIAN PROFESSOR of PHYSIOLOGY IN THE ROYAL INSTITUTION. Crown 8vo. With numerous Illustrations. 6s. 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