{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_60802/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_60802","id":"gutenberg_60802","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60802","summary":null,"tags":["Brothers -- Fiction","Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction","Inheritance and succession -- Fiction","Legends -- Fiction","Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction","Twins -- Fiction"],"text":"COLIN\n\n                             E. F. BENSON\n\n\n\n\n                           _By_ E. F. BENSON\n\n\n                         COLIN\n                         MISS MAPP\n                         PETER\n                         LOVERS AND FRIENDS\n                         DODO WONDERS--\n                         \u201cQUEEN LUCIA\u201d\n                         ROBIN LINNET\n                         ACROSS THE STREAM\n                         UP AND DOWN\n                         AN AUTUMN SOWING\n                         THE TORTOISE\n                         DAVID BLAIZE\n                         DAVID BLAIZE AND THE BLUE DOOR\n                         MICHAEL\n                         THE OAKLEYITES\n                         ARUNDEL\n                         OUR FAMILY AFFAIRS\n\n\n                  _New York: George H. Doran Company_\n\n\n\n\n                                 COLIN\n\n                                  BY\n                             E. F. BENSON\n\n                   NEW [Illustration: colophon] YORK\n\n                        GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY\n\n\n\n\n                           COPYRIGHT, 1923,\n\n                      BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\n                               COLIN. II\n\n                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\n\n\n\n\n                                 COLIN\n\n_Colin_ comprises the first part only of this romance; it will be\ncompleted in a second volume which will tell of the final fading of the\nLegend with which the story opens.\n\n                                                               E. F. B.\n\n\n\n\n                                 COLIN\n\n\n\n\n                              _Book One_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nNeither superstition nor spiritual aspiration signified anything\nparticular to the Staniers, and for many generations now they had been\naccustomed to regard their rather sinister family legend with cynical\ncomplacency. Age had stolen the strength from it, as from some\nlong-cellared wine, and in the Victorian era they would, to take their\ncollective voice, have denied that, either drunk or sober, they believed\nit. But it was vaguely pleasant to have so antique a guarantee that they\nwould be so sumptuously looked after in this world, while as for the\nnext....\n\nThe legend dated from the time of Elizabeth, and was closely connected\nwith the rise of the family into the pre-eminent splendour which it had\nenjoyed ever since. The Queen, in one of her regal journeys through her\nrealm (during which she slept in so incredible a number of beds),\nvisited the affiliated Cinque Port of Rye, and, after taking dinner with\nthe mayor, was riding down one of the steep, cobbled ways when her horse\nstumbled and came down on its knees.\n\nShe would certainly have had a cruel fall if a young man had not sprung\nforward from the crowd and caught her before her Grace\u2019s head was dashed\nagainst the stones. He set her on her feet, swiftly releasing the\nvirgin\u2019s bosom from his rough embrace, and, kneeling, kissed the hem of\nher skirt.\n\nThe Queen bade him rise, and, as she looked at him, made some\nElizabethan ejaculation of appreciative amazement--a \u201czounds,\u201d or a\n\u201cgadzooks,\u201d or something.\n\nThere stood Colin Stanier in the full blossom of his twenty summers,\nruddy as David and blue-eyed as the sea. His cap had fallen off, and he\nmust needs toss back his head to free his face from the tumble of his\nyellow hair. His athletic effort to save her Grace had given him a\nmoment\u2019s quickened breath, and his parted lips showed the double circle\nof his white teeth.\n\nBut, most of all, did his eyes capture the fancy of his Sovereign; they\nlooked at her, so she thought, with the due appreciation of her majesty,\nbut in their humility there was mingled something both gay and bold, and\nshe loved that any man, young or old, high or humble, should look at her\nthus.\n\nShe spoke a word of thanks, and bade him wait on her next day at the\nManor of Brede, where she was to lie that night. Then, motioning her\ncourtiers aside with a testy gesture, she asked him a question or two\nwhile a fresh horse was being caparisoned and brought for her, and\nallowed none other but Colin to help her to mount....\n\nIt was thought to be significant that at supper that night the virgin\nsighed, and made her famous remark to my Lord of Essex that she wished\nsometimes that she was a milk-maid.\n\nColin Stanier\u2019s father was a man of some small substance, owning a\nlittle juicy land that was fine grazing for cattle, and the boy worked\non the farm. He had some strange, magical power over the beasts; a\nsavage dog would slaver and fawn on him, a vicious horse sheathed its\nviolence at his touch, and, in especial at this season of lambing-time,\nhe wrought wonders of midwifery on the ewes and of nursing on the lambs.\nThis authoritative deftness sprang from no kindly love of animals;\ncleverness and contempt, with a dash of pity, was all he worked with,\nand this evening, after the Queen had passed on, it was reluctantly\nenough that he went down to the low-lying fields where his father\u2019s\nsheep were in pregnancy. The old man himself, as Colin ascertained, had\ntaken the excuse of her Grace\u2019s visit to get more than usually\nintoxicated, and the boy guessed that he himself would be alone half the\nnight with his lantern and his ministries among the ewes.\n\nSo, indeed, it proved, and the moon had sunk an hour after midnight,\nwhen he entered the shed in the lambing-field to take his bite of supper\nand get a few hours\u2019 sleep. He crunched his crusty bread and bacon in\nhis strong teeth, he had a draught of beer, and, wrapping himself in his\ncloak, lay down. He believed (on the evidence of his memoirs) that he\nthen went to sleep.\n\nUp to this point the story is likely enough; a pedant might unsniffingly\naccept it. But then there occurred (or is said to have occurred) the\nevent which forms the basis of the Stanier legend, and it will certainly\nbe rejected, in spite of a certain scrap of parchment still extant and\nof the three centuries of sequel, by all sensible and twentieth-century\nminds.\n\nFor, according to the legend, Colin woke and found himself no longer\nalone in the shed; there was standing by him a finely-dressed fellow who\nsmiled on him. It was still as dark as the pit outside--no faintest ray\nof approaching dawn yet streaked the eastern sky, yet for all that Colin\ncould see his inexplicable visitor quite plainly.\n\nThe stranger briefly introduced himself as his Satanic majesty, and,\naccording to his usual pleasant custom, offered the boy all that he\ncould wish for in life--health and beauty (and, indeed, these were his\nalready) and wealth, honour, and affluence, which at present were sadly\nlacking--on the sole condition that at his death his soul was to belong\nto his benefactor. The bargain--this was the unusual feature in the\nStanier legend--was to hold good for all his direct descendants who,\nunless they definitely renounced the contract on their own behalf, would\nbe partakers in these benefits and debtors in the other small matter.\n\nFor his part, Colin had no sort of hesitation in accepting so tempting\nan offer, and Satan thereupon produced for his perusal (he was able to\nread) a slip of parchment on which the conditions were firmly and\nplainly stated. A scratch with his knife on the forearm supplied the ink\nfor the signature, and Satan provided him with a pen. He was bidden to\nkeep the document as a guarantee of the good faith of his bargainer; the\nred cloak flashed for a moment in front of his eyes, dazzling him, and\nhe staggered and fell back on the heap of straw from which he had just\nrisen.\n\nThe darkness was thick and impenetrable round him, but at the moment a\ndistant flash of lightning blinked in through the open door, showing him\nthat the shed was empty again. Outside, save for the drowsy answer of\nthe thunder, all was quiet, but in his hand certainly was a slip of\nparchment.\n\nThe same, so runs the legend, is reproduced in the magnificent Holbein\nof the young man which hangs now above the mantelpiece in the hall of\nStanier. Colin Stanier, first Earl of Yardley, looking hardly older than\nhe did on this momentous night, stands there in Garter robes with this\nlittle document in his hand. The original parchment, so the loquacious\nhousekeeper points out to the visitors who to-day go over the house on\nthe afternoons when it is open to the public, is let into the frame of\nthe same portrait.\n\nCertainly there is such a piece of parchment there, just below the title\nof the picture, but the ink has so faded that it is impossible to\ndecipher more than a word or two of it. The word \u201cdiabolus\u201d must be more\nconjectured than seen, and the ingenious profess to decipher the words\n\u201cquodcunque divitiarum, pulchritud\u201d ... so that it would seem that Colin\nthe shepherd-boy, if he signed it, must have perused and understood\nLatin.\n\nThis in itself is so excessively improbable that the whole business may\nbe discredited from first to last. But there is no doubt whatever that\nColin Stanier did some time sign a Latin document (for his name in ink,\nnow brown, is perfectly legible) which has perished in the corroding\nyears, whether he understood it or not, and there seems no doubt about\nthe date in the bottom left-hand corner....\n\nThe constructive reader will by this time have got ready his\ninterpretation about the whole cock-and-bull story, and a very sensible\none it is. The legend is surely what mythologists call \u00e6tiological.\nThere was--he can see it--an old strip of parchment signed by Colin\nStanier, and this, in view of the incredible prosperity of the family,\ncoupled with the almost incredible history of their dark deeds, would be\nquite sufficient to give rise to the legend. In medi\u00e6val times,\napparently, such Satanic bargains were, if not common, at any rate not\nunknown, and the legend was, no doubt, invented in order to account for\nthese phenomena, instead of being responsible for them.\n\nOf legendary significance, too, must be the story of Philip Stanier,\nthird Earl, who is said to have renounced his part in the bargain, and\nthereupon fell from one misfortune into another, was branded with an\nincurable and disfiguring disease, and met his death on the dagger of an\ninjured woman. Ronald Stanier, a nephew of the above, was another such\nrecusant; he married a shrew, lost a fortune in the South Sea bubble,\nand had a singularly inglorious career.\n\nBut such instances as these (in all the long history there are no more\nof them, until credence in the legend faded altogether), even if we\ncould rely on their authenticity, would only seem to prove that those\nwho renounced the devil and all his works necessarily met with\nmisfortune in this life, which is happily not the case, and thus they\ntend to disprove rather than confirm the whole affair.\n\nFinally, when we come to more modern times, and examine the records of\nthe Stanier family from, let us say, the advent of the Hanoverian\ndynasty, though their splendour and distinction is ever a crescent, not\na waning moon, there can be no reason to assign a diabolical origin to\nsuch prosperity. There were black sheep among them, of course, but when\nwill you not find, in records so public as theirs, dark shadows thrown\nby the searchlight of history? Bargains with the powers of hell, in any\ncase, belong to the romantic dusk of the Middle Ages, and cannot find\nany serious place in modern chronicles.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut to quit these quagmires of superstition for the warranted and\nscarcely less fascinating solidity of fact, Colin Stanier next day\nobediently craved audience with the Queen at the Manor of Brede. By a\nstroke of intuition which does much to account for his prosperous\nfortune, he did not make himself _endimanch\u00e9_, but, with his shepherd\u2019s\ncrook in his hand and a new-born lamb in his bosom, he presented himself\nat the house where the Queen lodged. He would have been contemptuously\nturned back with buffets by the halberdiers and yeomen who guarded the\nentrance, but the mention of his name sufficed to admit him with a\nreluctant alacrity.\n\nHe wore but the breeches and jerkin in which he pursued his work among\nthe beasts, his shapely legs were bare from knee to ankle, and as he\nentered the porch, he kicked off the shoes in which he had walked from\nRye. His crook he insisted on retaining, and the lamb which, obedient to\nthe spell that he exercised over young living things, lay quiet in his\narms.\n\nSome fussy Controller of the Queen\u2019s household would have ejected him\nand chanced the consequences, but, said Colin very quietly, \u201cIt is by\nher Majesty\u2019s orders that I present myself, and whether you buffet me or\nnot, prithee tell the Queen\u2019s Grace that I am here.\u201d\n\nThere was something surprising in the dignity of the boy; and in the\nsweet-toned, clear-cut speech, so unlike the utterance of the mumbling\nrustic, and the Controller, bidding him wait where he was, shuffled\nupstairs, and came back with extraordinary expedition.\n\n\u201cThe Queen\u2019s Grace awaits you, Mr.----\u201d\n\n\u201cStanier,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cMr. Stanier. But your crook, your lamb----\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us do her Majesty\u2019s bidding,\u201d said Colin.\n\nHe was ushered into the long hall of Brede Manor, and the Controller,\nhaving thrown the door open, slipped away with an alertness that\nsuggested that his presence was desirable there no more, and left the\nboy, barefooted, clasping his lamb, with a rush-strewn floor to\ntraverse. There was a table down the centre of it, littered with papers,\nand hemmed in with chairs that suggested that their occupants had\nhurriedly vacated them. At the end was seated a small, bent figure,\nconspicuous for her ruff and her red hair, and her rope of pearls, and\nher eyes bright and sharp as a bird\u2019s.\n\nColin, sadly pricked on the soles of his feet by the rushes, advanced\nacross that immeasurable distance, looking downwards on his lamb. When\nhe had traversed the half of it, he raised his eyes for a moment, and\nsaw that the Queen, still quite motionless, was steadily regarding him.\nAgain he bent his eyes on his lamb, and when he had come close to that\nformidable figure, he fell on his knees.\n\n\u201cA lamb, madam,\u201d he said, \u201cwhich is the first-fruits of the spring. My\ncrook, which I lay at your Grace\u2019s feet, and myself, who am not worthy\nto lie there.\u201d\n\nAgain Colin raised his eyes, and the wretch put into them all the gaiety\nand boldness which he gave to the wenches on the farm. Then he dropped\nthem again, and with his whole stake on the table, waited, gambler as he\nwas, for the arbitrament.\n\n\u201cLook at me, Colin Stanier,\u201d said the Queen.\n\nColin looked. There was the tiny wrinkled face, the high eyebrows, the\nthin-lipped mouth disclosing the discoloured teeth.\n\n\u201cMadam!\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWell, what next?\u201d said Elizabeth impatiently.\n\n\u201cMy body and soul, madam,\u201d said Colin, and once more he put into his\neyes and his eager mouth that semblance of desire which had made\nMistress Moffat, the wife of the mayor, box his ears with a blow that\nwas more of a caress.\n\nThe Queen felt precisely the same as Mistress Moffat, and drew her hand\ndown over his smooth chin. \u201cAnd it is your wish to be my shepherd-boy,\nColin?\u201d she asked. \u201cYou desire to be my page?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sick with desire,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cI appoint you,\u201d she said. \u201cI greet and salute you, Colin Stanier.\u201d\n\nShe bent towards him, and neither saint nor devil could have inspired\nColin better at that moment. He kissed her (after all, he had been\noffered the greeting) fairly and squarely on her withered cheek, and\nthen, without pause, kissed the hem of her embroidered gown. He had done\nright, just absolutely right.\n\n\u201cYou bold dog!\u201d said the Queen. \u201cStand up.\u201d\n\nColin stood up, with his arms close by his side, as if at attention in\nall his shapeliness and beauty, and the Queen clapped her hands.\n\nThe side door opened disclosing halberdiers, and through the door by\nwhich Colin had entered came the Controller.\n\n\u201cColin Stanier is my page,\u201d she said, \u201cand of my household. Summon my\nlords again; we have not finished with our Spanish business. The lamb--I\nwill eat that lamb, and none other, at the feast of Easter.\u201d\n\nWithin the week Colin was established in attendance on the Queen, and\nthe daring felicity which had marked his first dealings with her never\nfailed nor faltered. His radiant youth, the gaiety of his boyish\nspirits, the unfailing tact of his flattery, his roguish innocence, the\nfine innate breeding of the yeoman-stock, which is the best blood in\nEngland, wove a spell that seemed to defy the usual fickleness of her\nfavouritism. Certainly he had wisdom as far beyond his years as it was\nbeyond his upbringing, and wisdom coming like pure water from the curves\nof that beautiful young mouth, made him frankly irresistible to the\nfiery and shrewd old woman.\n\nFrom being her page he was speedily advanced to the post of confidential\nsecretary, and queer it was to see the boy seated by her side at some\nstate council while she rated and stormed at her lords for giving her\nsome diplomatic advice which her flame-like spirit deemed spiritless.\nThen, in mid-tirade, she would stop, tweak her secretary by his rosy\near, and say, \u201cEh, Colin, am I not in the right of it?\u201d\n\nVery often she was not, and then Colin would so deftly insinuate further\nconsiderations, prefacing them by, \u201cAs your Grace and Majesty so wisely\nhas told us\u201d (when her Grace and Majesty had told them precisely the\nopposite) that Elizabeth would begin to imagine that she had thought of\nthese prudent things herself.\n\nThe Court in general followed the example of their royal mistress, and\nhad not Colin\u2019s nature, below its gaiety and laughter, been made of some\nvery stern stuff, he must surely have degenerated into a spoilt, vain\nchild, before ever he came to his full manhood. Men and women alike were\nvictims of that sunny charm; to be with him made the heart sing, and\nnone could grudge that a boy on whom God had showered every grace of\nmind and body, should find the mere tawdry decorations of riches and\nhonour his natural heritage.\n\nThen, too, there was this to consider: the Queen\u2019s fickle and violent\ntemper might topple down one whom she had visited but yesterday with her\nhighest favours, and none but Colin could induce her to restore the\nlight she had withdrawn. If you wanted a boon granted, or even a\nvengeance taken, there was no such sure road to its accomplishment as to\nsecure Colin\u2019s advocacy, no path that led so straight to failure as to\nset the boy against you. For such services it was but reasonable that\nsome token of gratitude should be conferred on him by the suppliant,\nsome graceful acknowledgment which, in our harsh modern way, we should\nnow term \u201ccommission,\u201d and Colin\u2019s commissions, thus honestly earned,\nsoon amounted to a very pretty figure. Whether he augmented them or not\nby less laudable methods, by threats or what we call by that ugly word\n\u201cblackmail,\u201d is a different matter, and need not be gone into.\n\nYet, surrounded as he was by all that might have been expected to turn a\nboy\u2019s head, Colin remained singularly well-balanced, and whatever tales\nmight be told about his virtue, the most censorious could find no fault\nwith his prudence. The Queen created him at the age of twenty-five\nKnight of the Garter and Earl of Yardley, a title which his descendants\nhold to this day, and presented him with the Manor of Yardley in\nBuckinghamshire, and the monastic lands of Tillingham on the hills above\nthe Romney Marsh. He incorporated the fine dwelling-house of the evicted\nabbot into the great and glorious mansion of Stanier, the monks\u2019\nquarters he demolished altogether, and the abbey church became the\nparish church of Tillingham for worship, and the chapel and\nburying-place of the Staniers for pride.\n\nBut, though the Queen told him once and again that it was time her Colin\ntook a wife, he protested that while her light was shed on him not Venus\nherself could kindle desire in his heart. This was the only instance in\nwhich he disobeyed Gloriana\u2019s wishes, but Gloriana willingly pardoned\nhis obduracy, and rewarded it with substantial benefits.\n\nOn her death, which occurred when he was thirty, he made a very suitable\nmatch with the heiress of Sir John Reeves, who brought him, in addition\nto a magnificent dowry, the considerable acreage which to-day is part of\nthe London estate of the Staniers. He retired from court-life, and\ndivided the year between Stanier and London, busy with the embellishment\nof his houses, into which he poured those treasures of art which now\nglorify them.\n\nHe was, too, as the glades and terraces of Stanier testify, a gardener\non a notable scale, and his passion in this direction led him to evict\nhis father from the farm where Colin\u2019s own boyhood was passed, which lay\non the level land below the hill, in order to make there the long,\nornamental water which is one of the most agreeable features of the\nplace.\n\nHis father by this time was an old man of uncouth and intemperate\nhabits, and it could not perhaps be expected that the young earl should\ncherish his declining years with any very personal tenderness. But he\nestablished him in a decent dwelling, gave him an adequate maintenance\nwith a permission to draw on the brewery for unlimited beer, and made\nonly the one stipulation that his father should never attempt to gain\naccess to him. The old man put so liberal an interpretation on his\nbeer-rights, that he did not enjoy them very long.\n\nThis taint of hardness in Colin\u2019s character was no new feature. He had\nleft the home of his boyhood without regret or any subsequent affection\nof remembrance: he had made his pleasurable life at Court a profitable\naffair, whereas others had spent their salaries and fortunes in\nmaintaining their suitable magnificence, and, like the great Marlborough\na few generations later, he had allowed infatuated women to pay pretty\nhandsomely for the privilege of adoring him, and the inhumanities, such\nas his eviction of his father, with which his married life was\ngarlanded, was no more than the reasonable development of earlier\ntendencies. Always a great stickler for the majesty of the law, he\ncaused certain sheep-stealers on the edge of his property to be hanged\nfor their misdeeds, and why should not the lord of Tillingham have\nbought their little properties from their widows at a more than\nreasonable price?\n\nThough his own infidelities were notorious, the settlements of his\nmarriage were secure enough, and when he had already begotten two sons\nof the hapless daughter of Sir John Reeves, he invoked the aid of the\nlaw to enable him to put her away and renew his vow of love and honour\nto the heiress of my Lord Middlesex. She proved to be a barren crone,\nand perhaps had no opportunity of proving her fruitfulness, but she was\nso infatuated with him that by the settlements she gave him\nunconditionally the Broughton property which so conveniently adjoined\nhis own.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo go back again for a moment to that obscure matter of the Stanier\nlegend, it appears that on the day on which each of his sons came of\nage, their father made them acquainted with the agreement he had made on\nbehalf of himself and the heirs of his body, and shewed them the signed\nparchment. They had, so he pointed out to them, the free choice of\ndissociating themselves from that bargain, and of taking the chance of\nmaterial prosperity here and of salvation hereafter; he enjoined on them\nalso the duty of transmitting the legend to their children in the manner\nand at the time that it had been made known to themselves.\n\nNeither Ronald, the elder, nor his brother Philip felt the least qualm\nabout the future, but they both had a very considerable appreciation of\nthe present, and on each occasion the parchment was restored to its\nstrong box with no loss of validity as regards the next generation.\nRonald soon afterwards made one of those prudent marriages for which for\ngenerations the Staniers have been famous; Philip, on the other hand,\nwho presently made for himself at the Court a position hardly less\nbrilliant than his father\u2019s had been, found celibacy, with its\naccompanying consolations, good enough for him.\n\nThis is too polite an age to speak of his infamies and his amazing\ndebauches, but his father was never tired of hearing about them, and\nused to hang on the boy\u2019s tales when he got leave of absence from the\nCourt to spend a week at home. Ronald was but a prude in comparison with\nthe other two, protesting at Philip\u2019s more atrocious experiences. His\nnotion, so he drunkenly tried to explain himself (for his grandfather\u2019s\npleasures made strong appeal to him) was that there were things that no\ngentleman would do, whatever backing he had, and with a curious\nsuperstitious timidity he similarly refused to play dice on the\nCommunion table in the old monastic chapel....\n\nFor full forty years after the death of the Queen, Colin, Knight of the\nGarter and first Earl of Yardley, revelled at the banquet of life. All\nthat material prosperity could offer was his; his princely purchases,\nhis extravagances, his sumptuous hospitalities were powerless to check\nthe ever-swelling roll of his revenues; he enjoyed a perfect bodily\nhealth, and up to the day of his death his force was unabated, his eye\nundimmed, and the gold in his hair untouched by a single thread of\nsilver.\n\nAs the years went on, his attachment to this stately house of Stanier\ngrew to a passion, and however little credence we may give to the\nlegend, it is certain that his descendants inherit from Colin Stanier\nthat devotion to the place where they were born. No Stanier, so it is\nsaid, is ever completely happy away from the great house that crowns the\nhill above the Romney Marsh; it is to them a shrine, a Mecca, a golden\nJerusalem, the home of their hearts, and all the fairest of foreign\nlands, the most sunny seas, the most sumptuous palaces are but\nwildernesses or hovels in comparison with their home. To such an extent\nwas this true of Colin, first Earl, that for the last ten years of his\nlife he scarcely left the place for a night.\n\nBut though his bodily health remained ever serene and youthful, and\nyouth\u2019s excesses, continued into old age, left him unwrinkled of skin\nand vigorous in desire, there grew on him during the last year of his\nlife a malady neither of body nor of mind, but of the very spirit and\nessence of his being. The compact that he believed himself to have made\nhad been fully and honestly observed by the other high contracting\nparty, and as the time drew near that his own share in the bargain must\nbe exacted from him, his spirit, we must suppose, conscious that the\nimprint of the divine was so shortly to be surcharged with the stamp and\nsuperscription of hell, was filled with some remorseful terror, that in\nitself was a foretaste of damnation.\n\nHe ate, he drank, he slept, he rioted, he brought to Stanier yet more\ntreasures of exquisite art--Italian pictures, bronzes of Greek\nworkmanship, Spanish lace, torn, perhaps, from the edges of\naltar-cloths, intaglios, Persian Pottery, and Ming porcelain from China.\nHis passion for beauty, which had all his life been a torch to him, did\nnot fail him, nor yet the wit and rapier-play of tongue, nor yet the\nscandalous chronicles of Philip. But in the midst of beauty or\ndebauchery, there would come to his mind with such withering of the\nspirit as befel Belshazzar when the writing was traced on the wall, the\nknowledge of his approaching doom.\n\nAs if to attempt to turn it aside or soften the inexorable fate, he gave\nhimself to deeds of belated pity and charitableness. He endowed an\nalmshouse in Rye; he erected a fine tomb over his father\u2019s grave; he\nattended daily service in the church which he had desecrated with his\ndice-throwings. And all the time his spirit told him that it was too\nlate, he had made his bed and must lie on it: for he turned to the God\nwhom he had renounced neither in love nor in sincerity, nor in fear of\nHim, but in terror of his true master.\n\nBut when he tried to pray his mind could invoke no holy images, but was\ndecked with pageants of debauchery, and if he formed his lips to pious\nwords there dropped from them a stream of obscenities and blasphemy. At\nany moment the terror would lay its hand on his spirit, affecting\nneither body nor mind, but addressing itself solely to the immortal and\ndeathless part of him. It was in vain that he attempted to assure\nhimself, too, that in the ordering of the world neither God nor devil\nhas a share, for even the atheism in which he had lived deserted him as\nthe hour of his death drew near.\n\nThe day of his seventieth birthday arrived: the house was full of\nguests, and in honour of the occasion there was a feast for the tenants\nof the estate in the great hall, while his own friends, making a\ncompany of some fifty, sat at the high table on the dais. All day\ndistant thunder had muttered obscurely among the hills, and by the time\nthat the lights were lit in the hall, and the drinking deep, a heavy\npall had overspread the sky.\n\nLord Yardley was in fine spirits that night. For years he had had a\npresentiment that he would do no more than reach the exact span\nappointed for the life of men, and would die on his seventieth birthday,\nand here was the day as good as over, and if that presentiment proved to\nbe unfulfilled he felt that he would face with a stouter scepticism the\nother terror. He had just risen from his place to reply to the toast of\nthe evening, and stood, tall and comely, the figure of a man still in\nthe prime of life, facing his friends and dependents. Then, even while\nhe opened his lips to speak, the smile was struck from his face, and\ninstead of speech there issued from his mouth one wild cry of terror.\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d he screamed, and with his arm pushed out in front of him as if\nto defend himself against some invisible presence, he fell forward\nacross the table.\n\nAt that moment the hall leaped into blinding light, and an appalling\nriot of thunder answered. Some said that he had been struck and, indeed,\non his forehead there was a small black mark as of burning, but those\nnearest felt no shock, and were confident that the stroke which had\nfallen on him preceded the flash and the thunder: he had crashed forward\nafter that cry and that gesture of terror, before even the lightning\ndescended.... And Ronald reigned in his stead.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy the patent of nobility granted to Colin Stanier by Elizabeth, the\nestates and title descended not through heirs male only, but through the\nfemale line. If an Earl of Yardley died leaving only female issue, the\ngirl became Countess of Yardley in her own right, to the exclusion of\nsons begotten by her father\u2019s or grandfather\u2019s younger brother. It was\nperhaps characteristic of the Queen to frame the charter thus--she had\ndone so of her own invention and devising--for thus she gratified her\nown sense of the capability of her sex, and also felt some phantom of\nposthumous delight in securing, as far as she could, that the honours\nthat she had showered on her favourite should descend in direct line.\nBut for many generations her foresight and precaution seemed needless,\nsince each holder of the title bore sons only, and the line was straight\nas a larch, from father to son. By some strange arbitrament of fate it\nso happened that younger sons (following the unchaste example of Philip)\ndied in legal celibacy, or, if they married, were childless, or became\nso in that generation or the next. Thus the family is unique in having\nto this day no collateral branches, and in this the fancifully disposed\nmay be prone to see a certain diabolical observance of the original\nbond. No dowries for daughters had to be provided, and such portions as\nwere made for younger sons soon rolled back again into the sea of family\naffluence.\n\nThe purchase of land formed the main outlet for the flood of\never-increasing revenue, and as surely as Lord Yardley entered upon his\nnew acreages, mineral wealth would be discovered on the freshly-acquired\nproperty (as was the case in the Cornish farms, where the Stanier lode\nof tin was found), or if when, at a later date, as in a mere freak, he\npurchased barren fields fit only for grazing, by the sea, it was not\nlong before the Prince Regent found that the Sussex coast enjoyed a\nbracing and salubrious air, and lo! all the grazing-lands of Lord\nStanier became building sites. Whatever they touched turned to gold, and\nthat to no an\u00e6mic hands incapable of enjoying the lusts and splendours\nof life. Honours fell on them thick as autumn leaves: each holder of the\ntitle in turn has won the Garter, and never has the Garter been bestowed\non them without solid merit to carry it. Three have been Prime\nMinisters, further three ambassadors to foreign countries on difficult\nand delicate businesses; in the Napoleonic wars there was a great\ngeneral.... But all these records are public property.\n\nLess known, perhaps, is the fact that no Lord Yardley has ever yet died\nin his bed or received the religious consolation that would fit him to\ngo forth undismayed on his last dark, solitary journey, and though each\nin turn (with the sad exception of Philip, third Earl, and his nephew,\nthe recusant Ronald) has lived to the comfortable age of seventy, swift\ndeath, sometimes with violence, has been the manner of his exit. Colin,\nfourth Earl, committed suicide under circumstances which made it\ncreditable that he should do so; otherwise strange seizures,\naccompanied, it would appear, by some inexplicable terror, has been the\nmanner of the demise.\n\nAnd what, in this brief history of their annals, can be said of the\nlegend, except that from being a terrible truth to Colin, first Earl, it\nhas faded even as has faded the ink which records that mythical\nbargaining? It is more than a hundred years ago now that the Lord\nYardley of the day caused the parchment to be inserted in the frame of\nhis infamous ancestor, where it can be seen now every Thursday afternoon\nfrom three to five, when Stanier is open, without fee, to decently-clad\nvisitors, and the very fact that Lord Yardley (_temp._ George III.)\nshould have displayed it as a curiosity, is the measure of the\nincredulity with which those most closely concerned regarded it. A man\nwould not put up for all the world to see the warrant that he should\nburn eternally in the fires of hell if he viewed it with the slightest\ntremor of misgiving. It was blasphemous even to suppose that worldly\nprosperity (as said the excellent parson at Stanier who always dined at\nthe house on Sunday evening and slept it off on Monday morning) was\nanything other than the mark of divine favour, and many texts from the\nPsalmist could be produced in support of his view. Thus fortified by\nport and professional advice, Lord Yardley decreed the insertion of the\ndocument into the frame that held the picture of that ancestor of his\nwhose signature it bore, and gave a remarkably generous subscription to\nthe organ-fund. Faded as was the writing then, it has faded into greater\nindecipherability since, and with it any remnant of faith in its\nvalidity.\n\nYet hardly less curious to the psychologist is the strange nature of\nthese Staniers. Decked as they are with the embellishment of\ndistinction, of breeding, and beauty, they have always seemed to their\ncontemporaries to be lacking in some quality, hard to define but easy to\nappreciate or, in their case, to miss. A tale of trouble will very\nlikely win from them some solid alleviation, but their generosity, you\nwould find, gave always the impression of being made not out of love or\nout of sympathy, but out of contempt.\n\nTheir charm--and God knows how many have fallen victims to it--has been\nand is that of some cold brilliance, that attracts even as the beam of a\nlighthouse attracts the migrating birds who dash themselves to pieces\nagainst the glass that shields it; it can scarcely be said to be the\nfault of the light that the silly feathered things broke themselves\nagainst its transparent, impenetrable armour. It hardly invited: it only\nshone on business which did not concern the birds, so there was no\ndefinite design of attraction or cruelty in its beams, only of\nbrilliance and indifference. That is the habit of light; such, too, are\nthe habits of birds; the light even might be supposed by sentimentalists\nfaintly to regret the shattered wing and the brightness of the drowned\nplumage.\n\nBut, so it is popularly supposed, it is quite easy, though not very\nprudent, to arouse unfavourable emotion in a Stanier; you have but to\nvex him or run counter to his wish, and you will very soon find yourself\non the target of a remorseless and vindictive hate. No ray of pity, so\nit is said, softens the hardness of that frosty intensity; no\ncontrition, when once it has been aroused, will thaw it. Forgiveness is\na word quite foreign to their vocabulary, and its nearest equivalent is\na contemptuous indifference. Gratitude, in the same way, figures as an\nobsolete term in the language of their emotions. They neither feel it\nnor expect it: it has no currency. Whatever you may be privileged to do\nfor a Stanier, he takes as a mite in the endowment which the world has\nalways, since the days of our Elizabethan Colin, poured into their\ntreasuries, while if he has done you a good turn, he has done so as he\nwould chuck a picked bone to a hungry dog: the proper course for the dog\nis to snatch it up and retire into its corner to mumble it.\n\nIt would be strange, then, if, being without ruth or love, a Stanier\ncould bestow or aspire to friendship with man or woman, and, indeed,\nsuch an anomaly has never occurred. But, then, it must be remembered\nthat Staniers, as far as we can find out from old letters and diaries\nand mere historical documents, never wanted friendship nor, indeed,\ncomprehended it. Their beauty and their charm made easy for them the\ncreation of such relationships as they desired, the assuaging of such\nthirst as was theirs, after which the sucked rind could be thrown away;\nand though through all their generations they have practised those\nsuperb hospitalities which find so apt a setting at Stanier, it is\nrather as gods snuffing up the incense of their worshippers than as\nentertaining their friends that they fill the great house with all who\nare noblest by birth or distinction.\n\nGeorge IV., for instance, when Prince Regent, stayed there, it may be\nremembered, for nearly a fortnight, having been asked for three days,\nduring which time the entire House of Lords with their wives spent in\nnoble sections two nights at Stanier, as well as many much younger and\nsprightlier little personages just as famous in the proper quarter. The\nentire opera from Drury Lane diverted their evening one night, baccarat\n(or its equivalent) beguiled another, on yet another the Prince could\nnot be found....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNot so fortunate, perhaps, save in being the mistresses of all this\nsplendour, and invariably the mothers of handsome sons, have been the\nsuccessive wives in this illustrious line. For with whatever natural\ngaiety, with whatever high and independent spirit these ladies married\nthe sons of the house, they seemed always to have undergone some gloomy\nand mysterious transformation. It was as if they were ground in a mill,\nand ground exceeding small, and as if the resulting powder of grain was\nmixed and kneaded and baked into the Stanier loaf.\n\nEspecially was this the case with her who married the young Lord Stanier\nof the day; long before she succeeded to her full honours she had been\ncrushed into the iron mould designed for the Countesses of Yardley. In\npublic, dignity and stateliness and fine manner would distinguish her,\nbut below these desirable insignia of her station, her character and\nindividuality seemed to have been reduced to pulp, to have been frozen\nto death, to have been pounded and brayed in some soul-shattering\nmortar. Perhaps when first as a bride she entered through the glass\ndoors which were only opened when the eldest son brought home his wife,\nor when there was welcomed at Stanier some reigning monarch, her heart\nwould be all afire with love and virgin longing for him with whom she\npassed through those fatal portals, but before the honeymoon was over\nthis process that tamed and stifled and paralysed would have begun its\ndeadly work.\n\nFor the eldest son and his wife there was reserved a floor in one of the\nwings of the house; they had no other establishment in the country, and\nhere, when not in London, the family dwelt in patriarchal fashion. When\nno guests were present, the heir-apparent and his wife breakfasted and\nlunched in the privacy of their wing, if so they chose; they had their\nown horses, their own household of servants, but every evening, when the\nwarning bell for dinner sounded, the major-domo came to the door of\ntheir apartments and preceded them down to the great gallery where, with\nany other sons and daughters-in-law, they awaited the entrance of Lord\nYardley and his wife. Then came the stately and almost speechless\ndinner, served on gold plate, and after that a rubber of whist,\ndecorous and damning, until Lady Yardley retired on the stroke of ten,\nand the sons joined their father in the billiard-room.\n\nSuch evenings were rare (for usually throughout the shooting season\nthere were guests in the house), but from them we can conjecture some\nsketch of the paralysing process: this was the conduct of a family\nevening in the mere superficial adventure of dining and passing a\nsociable evening, and from it we can estimate something of the effect of\nparallel processes applied to the thoughts and the mind and the\naspirations and the desires of a young wife. No Stanier wanted love or\ngave it; what he wanted when he took his mate was that in obedience and\nsubjection she should give him (as she always did) a legitimate and\nhealthy heir. She was not a Stanier, and though she wore the family\npearls like a halter, she was only there on sufferance and of necessity,\nand though her blood would beat with the true ichor in the arteries of\nthe next generation, she was in herself no more than the sucked\norange-rind.\n\nThe Staniers were too proud to reckon an alliance with any family on the\nface of the earth as anything but an honour for the family concerned;\neven when, as happened at the close of the eighteenth century, a\nprincess of the Hohenzollern line was married to the heir, she was\nground in the mill like any other. In her case she shared to the full in\nthe brutal arrogance of her own family, and had imagined that it was she\nwho, by this alliance, had conferred, not accepted, an honour. She had\nsupposed that her husband and his relations would give her the deference\ndue to royalty, and it took her some little time to learn her lesson,\nwhich she appears to have mastered.\n\nA hundred years later the Emperor William II. of Germany had a reminder\nof it which caused him considerable surprise. On one of his visits to\nEngland he deigned to pass a week-end at Stanier, and though received as\na reigning monarch with opening of the glass doors, he found that his\ncondescension in remembering that he was connected with the family was\nnot received with the rapture of humility which he had expected. He had\nasked to be treated by the members of the family as Cousin Willie, and\nthey did so with a nonchalance that was truly amazing.\n\nSuch, in brief, was the rise of the Staniers, and such the outline of\ntheir splendour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nBy the middle of the nineteenth century the fading of the actual deed\nsigned by Colin Stanier had scarcely kept pace with the fading of the\nfaith in it: this had become the mildest of effete superstitions. About\nthat epoch, also, the continuity of Stanier tradition was broken, for\nthere was born in the direct line not only two sons but a daughter,\nHester, who, a couple of centuries ago, would probably have been\nregarded as a changeling, and met an early fate as such. She was as\nlovely as the dawn, and had to the full, with every feminine grace\nadded, a double portion of the Stanier charm, but in her disposition no\nfaintest trace of traditional inheritance could be found; instead of\ntheir inhuman arrogance, their icy self-sufficiency, she was endowed\nwith a gaiety and a rollicking gutter-snipe enjoyment of existence,\nwhich laughed to scorn the dignity of birth.\n\nBeing of the inferior sex, her father decreed that she should be brought\nup in the image of the tradition which ground so small the women who had\nmarried into the family; she must become, like her own mother, aloof and\ncalm and infinitely conscious of her position. But neither precept nor\nexample had the smallest effect on her: for dignity, she had\nboisterousness; for calm, buoyant, irrepressible spirits; and for\nself-control, a marked tendency to allure and kindle the\nsusceptibilities of the other sex, were he peer or ploughboy.\n\nAlone, too, of her race, she had no spark of that passionate affection\nfor her home that was one of the most salient characteristics of the\nothers.\n\nShe gave an instance of this defect when, at the age of fifteen, she ran\naway from Stanier half-way through August, while the family were in\nresidence after the season in London, being unable to stand the thought\nof that deadly and awful stateliness which would last without break till\nJanuary, when the assembling of the Houses of Parliament would take them\nall back to the metropolis which she loved with extraordinary fervour.\nPart of the way she went in a train, part of the way she rode, and\neventually arrived back at the huge house in St. James\u2019s Square, now\nempty and sheeted, and persuaded the caretaker, who had been her nurse\nand adored her with unique devotion, to take her in and send no news to\nStanier of her arrival.\n\n\u201cDarling Cooper,\u201d she said, with her arms round the old woman\u2019s neck and\nher delicious face bestowing kisses on her, \u201cunless you promise to say\nnothing about my coming here, I shall leave the house and get really\nlost. They say a healthy girl can always get a living.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh, my dear,\u201d said Cooper, much shocked, \u201cwhat are you saying?\u201d\n\nHester\u2019s look of seraphic ignorance that she had said anything unusual\nreassured Cooper.\n\n\u201cWhat am I saying?\u201d asked Hester. \u201cI\u2019m just saying what I shall do. I\nshall buy a monkey and a barrel-organ and dress like a gipsy and tell\nfortunes. But I won\u2019t go back to that awful Stanier.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s your papa\u2019s house,\u201d said Cooper. \u201cYoung ladies have to live\nwith their families till they are married.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis one won\u2019t,\u201d said Hester. \u201cAnd I believe it\u2019s true, Cooper, that we\nown it through the power of the devil. It\u2019s a dreadful place: there\u2019s a\nblight on it. Grandmamma was turned to stone there, and mamma has been\nturned to stone, and they\u2019re trying to turn me to stone.\u201d\n\nPoor Cooper was in a fair quandary; she knew that Hester was perfectly\ncapable of rushing out of the house unless she gave her the desired\npromise, and then with what face would she encounter Lord Yardley, how\nstammer forth the miserable confession that Hester had been here? Not\nless impossible to contemplate was the housing of this entrancing imp,\nand keeping to herself the secret of Hester\u2019s whereabouts. Even more\nimpossible was the third count of giving Hester the promise, and then\nbreaking it by sending a clandestine communication to her mother, for\nthat would imply the loss of Hester\u2019s trust in her, and she could not\nface the idea of those eyes turned reproachfully on her as on some\ntreacherous foe.\n\nShe hesitated, and the artful Hester noted her advantage.\n\n\u201cDarling Cooper, you wouldn\u2019t like me to be turned to stone,\u201d she said.\n\u201cI know I should make a lovely statue, but it\u2019s better to be alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh, my dear, be a good girl and go back to Stanier,\u201d pleaded Cooper.\n\u201cThink of your mamma and the anxiety she\u2019s in about you.\u201d\n\nHester made \u201ca face.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s silly to say that,\u201d she said. \u201cMamma\nanxious, indeed! Mamma couldn\u2019t be anxious: she\u2019s dead inside.\u201d\n\nCooper felt she could not argue the point with any conviction, for she\nwas entirely of Hester\u2019s opinion.\n\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ve had no tea, Cooper,\u201d said the girl, \u201cand I am so hungry.\u201d\n\n\u201cBless the child, but I\u2019ll get you your tea,\u201d said Cooper. \u201cAnd then\nyou\u2019ll be a good girl and let me send off a telegram....\u201d\n\nWhat Hester\u2019s future plans really were she had not yet determined to\nherself; she was still acting under the original impulse which had made\nher run away. Come what might, she had found the idea of Stanier utterly\nimpossible that morning; the only thing that mattered was to get away.\n\nBut as Cooper bustled about with the preparations of the tea, she began\nto consider what she really expected. She was quite undismayed at what\nshe had done, and was on that score willing to confront any stone faces\nthat might be-Gorgon her, but her imagination could not picture what she\nwas going to do. Would she live here _perdue_ for the next six months\ntill the family of stone brought their Pharaoh-presence into London\nagain? She could not imagine that. Was it to come, then, to the\nthreatened barrel-organ and the monkey and the telling of fortunes? Glib\nand ready as had been her speech on that subject, it lacked reality when\nseriously contemplated in the mirror of the future.\n\nBut if she was not proposing to live here with Cooper, or to run away\ndefinitely--a prospect for which, at the age of fifteen, she felt\nherself, now that it grimly stared her in the face, wholly unripe--there\nwas nothing to be done, but to-day or to-morrow, or on one of the\nconceivable to-morrows, to go back again. And yet her whole nature\nrevolted against that.\n\nShe was sitting in the window-seat of the big hall as this dismal debate\nwent on in her head, but all the parties to that conference were agreed\non one thing--namely, that Cooper should not telegraph to her mother,\nand that, come what might, Cooper should not be imagined to be an\naccomplice. Just then she heard a step on the threshold outside, and\nsimultaneously the welcome jingle of a tea-tray from the opposite\ndirection. Hester tiptoed towards the latter of these sounds, and found\nCooper laden with good things on a tray advancing up the corridor.\n\n\u201cGo back to your room, Cooper,\u201d she whispered; \u201cthere is some one at the\ndoor. I will see who it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh, now, let me open the door,\u201d said Cooper, visibly apprehensive.\n\n\u201cNo! Go away!\u201d whispered Hester, and remained there during imperative\npeals of the bell till Cooper had vanished.\n\nShe tried, by peeping sideways out of the hall window, to arrive at the\nidentity of this impatient visitor, but could see nothing of him. Then,\nwith cold courage, she went to the front-door and opened it. She\nexpected something bad--her mother, perhaps, or her brothers\u2019 tutor, or\nthe groom of the chambers--but she had conjectured nothing so bad as\nthis, for on the doorstep stood her father.\n\nThat formidable figure was not often encountered by her. In London she\npractically never saw him at all; in the country she saw him but once a\nday, when, with the rest of the family, she waited in the drawing-room\nbefore dinner for his entrance with her mother. Then they all stood up,\nand paired off to go in to dinner. In some remote manner Hester felt\nthat she had no existence for him, but that he, at close quarters, had a\nterrible existence for her. Generally, he took no notice whatever of\nher, but to-day she realised that she existed for him in so lively a\nmanner that he had come up from Stanier to get into touch with her. Such\ncourage as she had completely oozed out of her: she had become just a\nstone out of the family quarry.\n\n\u201cSo you\u2019re here,\u201d he said, shutting the door behind him.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Hester.\n\n\u201cAnd do you realise what you\u2019ve done?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve run away,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t mean that,\u201d said he; \u201cthat\u2019s soon remedied. But you\u2019ve made me\nspend half the day travelling in order to find you. Now you\u2019re going to\nsuffer for it. Stand up here in front of me.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke he drew off his fine white gloves and put the big sapphire\nring that he wore into his pocket. At that Hester guessed his purpose.\n\n\u201cI shan\u2019t,\u201d she said.\n\nHe gave her so ill-omened and ugly a glance that her heart quailed. \u201cYou\nwill do as I tell you,\u201d he said.\n\nHester felt her pulses beating small and quick. Fear perhaps accounted\nfor that, but more dominant than fear in her mind was the sense of her\nhatred of her father. He was like a devil, one of those contorted\nwaterspouts on the church at home. She found herself obeying him.\n\n\u201cNow I am going to punish you,\u201d he said, \u201cfor being such a nuisance to\nme. By ill-luck you are my daughter, and as you don\u2019t know how a\ndaughter of mine ought to behave, I am going to show you what happens\nwhen she behaves as you have done. Your mother has often told me that\nyou are a wilful and vulgar child, disobedient to your governesses, and,\nin a word, common. But now you have forced your commonness upon my\nnotice, and I\u2019m going to make you sorry for having done so. Hold your\nhead up.\u201d\n\nHe drew back his arm, and with his open hand smacked her across her\ncheek; with his left hand he planted a similar and stinging blow. Four\ntimes those white thin fingers of his blazoned themselves on her face,\nand then he paused.\n\n\u201cWell, why don\u2019t you cry?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cBecause I don\u2019t choose to,\u201d said Hester.\n\n\u201cPut your head up again,\u201d said he.\n\nShe stood there firm as a rock for half a dozen more of those bitter\nblows, and then into his black heart there came a conviction, bitterer\nthan any punishment he had inflicted on her, that he was beaten. In\nsheer rage at this he took her by her shoulders and shook her violently.\nAnd then came the end, for she simply collapsed on the floor, still\nuntamed. Her bodily force might fail, but she flew no flag of surrender.\n\nShe came to herself again with the sense of Cooper near her. She turned\nweary eyes this way and that, but saw nothing of her father.\n\n\u201cOh, Cooper, has that devil gone?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cEh, my lady,\u201d said Cooper, \u201cwho are you talking of? There\u2019s no one here\nbut his lordship.\u201d\n\nHester raised herself on her elbow and saw that awful figure standing by\nthe great chimneypiece. The first thought that came into her mind was\nfor Cooper.\n\n\u201cI wish to tell you that ever since I entered the house Cooper has been\nsaying that she must telegraph to you that I was here,\u201d she said.\n\nHe nodded. \u201cThat\u2019s all right then, Cooper,\u201d he said.\n\nHester watched her father take the sapphire ring from his waistcoat\npocket. He put this on, and then his gloves.\n\n\u201cHer ladyship will stay here to-night, Cooper,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd you will\ntake her to the station to-morrow morning and bring her down to\nStanier.\u201d\n\nHe did not so much as glance at Hester, and next moment the front door\nhad closed behind him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHester arrived back at Stanier next day after this abortive expedition,\nand it was clear at once that orders had been issued that no word was to\nbe said to her on the subject of what she had done. She had mid-day\ndinner with her governess, rode afterwards with her brothers, and as\nusual stood up when her father entered the drawing-room in the evening.\nThe awful life had closed like a trap upon her again, rather more\ntightly than before, for she was subject to a closer supervision.\n\nBut though the apparent victory was with her father, she knew (and was\nsomehow aware that he knew it, too) that her spirit had not yielded one\ninch to him, and that he, for all his grim autocracy, was conscious, as\nregards her, of imperfect mastery. If he had broken her will, so she\nacutely argued, she would not now have been watched; her doings would\nnot, as they certainly were, have been reported to him by the governess.\nThat was meat and drink to her. But from being a mere grim presence in\nthe background he had leaped into reality, and with the whole force of\nher nature, she hated him.\n\nThe substance of the Stanier legend, faint though the faith in it had\nbecome, was, of course, well known to her, and every morning, looking\nlike some young sexless angel newly come to earth, she added to her very\ntepid prayers the fervent and heartfelt petition that the devil would\nnot long delay in exacting his part of the bargain.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTwo years passed, and Hester became aware that there were schemes on\nfoot for marrying her off with the utmost possible speed. The idea of\nmarriage in the abstract was wholly to her mind, since then she would be\nquit of the terrible life at Stanier, but in the concrete she was not\nso content with her selected deliverer. This was the mild and highborn\nMarquis of Blakeney, a man precisely twice her age, of plain, serious\nmind and irreproachable morals. He adored her in a rapt and tongue-tied\nmanner, and no doubt Hester had encouraged him with those little smiles\nand glances which she found it impossible not to bestow on any male\ndenizen of this earth, without any distinct ulterior views. But when it\nbecame evident, by his own express declaration made with the permission\nof her father, that he entertained such views, Hester wondered whether\nit would be really possible to kiss that seal-like whiskered face with\nany semblance of wifely enthusiasm.\n\nHad there been any indication that her pious petition with regard to the\nspeedy ratification of the Stanier legend as regards her father would be\ngranted, she would probably have recommended the mild Marquis to take\nhis vows to other shrines, but her father seemed to be suffering no\ninconvenience from her prayers, and she accepted the rapt and\ntongue-tied devotion. Instantly all the bonds of discipline and\nsuppression were relaxed; even in her father\u2019s eyes her engagement made\nher something of a personage, and Hester hated him more than ever.\n\nAnd then the vengeance of winged, vindictive love, more imperious than\nher father, overtook and punished her, breaking her spirit, which he had\nnever done. At a dance given at Blakeney Castle to celebrate the\nengagement, she saw young Ralph Brayton, penniless and debonair, with no\nseal-face and no marquisate, and the glance of each pierced through the\nheart of the other. He was the son of the family solicitor of Lord\nBlakeney, and even while his father was drawing out the schedule of\nmunificent settlements for the bride-to-be, the bride gave him something\nmore munificent yet, and settled it, her heart, upon him for all\nperpetuity.\n\nShe did her best to disown, if not to stifle, what had come upon her,\nand had her marriage but been fixed for a month earlier than the day\nappointed, she would probably have married her affianced bridegroom,\nand let love hang itself in its own silken noose and chance its being\nquite strangled. As it was, even while her room at Stanier was silky and\nshimmering with the appurtenances of a bride, she slipped out one night\nas the moon set, and joined her lover at the park gates. By dawn they\nhad come to London, and before evening she was safe in the holding of\nher husband\u2019s arms.\n\nOn the news reaching Lord Yardley he had a stroke from which he did not\nrecover for many years, though he soon regained sufficient power of\nbabbling speech to make it abundantly clear that he would never see\nHester again. As she was equally determined never to see him, their\nwills were in complete harmony. That brutal punishment she had received\nfrom those thin white hands two years before, followed by the bondage of\nher life at home, had rendered her perfectly callous as regards him. Had\nhe been sorry for it, she might have shrugged her pretty shoulders and\nforgotten it; for that cold pale slab of womanhood, her mother, she felt\nnothing whatever.\n\nThis outrageous marriage of Hester\u2019s, followed by her father\u2019s stroke,\nwere contrary to all tradition as regards the legend, for these\ncalamities, indeed, looked as if one of the high contracting parties was\nnot fulfilling his share of the bargain, and the behaviour of Philip,\nLord Stanier, the stricken man\u2019s eldest son, added weight to the\npresumption that the luck of the Staniers (to put it at that) was on the\nwane--fading, fading like the ink of the original bond. Instead of\nmarrying at the age of twenty or twenty-one, as his father and\nforefathers had done, he remained obstinately celibate and ludicrously\ndecorous. In appearance he was dark, heavy of feature, jowled even in\nhis youth by a fleshiness of neck, and built on massive lines in place\nof the slenderness of his race, though somehow, in spite of these\naberrations from the type, he yet presented an example, or, rather, a\nparody, of the type. But when you came to mind, and that which lies\nbehind body and mind alike, that impenetrable essence of individuality,\nthen the professors in heredity would indeed have held up bewildered\nhands of surrender. He was studious and hesitating, his mental processes\nwent with a tread as deliberate as his foot, and in place of that swift\neagerness of the Stanier mind, which, so to speak, threw a lasso over\nthe mental quarry with one swing of a lithe arm, and entangled it, poor\nPhilip crept on hands and knees towards it and advanced ever so\nimperceptibly nearer. In the matter of mode of life the difference\nbetween him and the type was most marked of all. Hitherto the eldest son\nhad married early and wisely for the sole object of the perpetuation of\nthe breed, and having arrived at that, pursued the ways of youth in\ncopious indiscretions which his wife, already tamed and paralysed, had\nno will to resent. Philip, on the other hand, living in the gloom of the\nhouse beneath the stroke and the shadow that had fallen on his father,\nseemed to have missed his youth altogether. Life held for him no\nbubbling draught that frothed on his lips and was forgotten; he\nabstained from all the fruits of vigour and exuberance. One family\ncharacteristic alone was his--the passionate love of his home, so that\nhe preferred even in these conditions to live here than find freedom\nelsewhere. There he dreamed and studied, and neither love nor passion\nnor intrigue came near him. He cared little for his mother; his father\nhe hated and feared. And yet some germ of romance, perhaps, lay dormant\nbut potential in his soul, for more and more he read of Italy, and of\nthe swift flowering of love in the South....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt seemed as if the hellish bargain made three hundred years ago had\nindeed become obsolete, for the weeks and months added themselves\ntogether into a swiftly mounting total of years, while a nightmare of\neclipsed existence brooded over the great house at Stanier. Since the\nstroke that had fallen on him after Hester\u2019s runaway match, Lord Yardley\nwould have no guests in the house, and with the constancy of the\noriginal Colin, would never leave the place himself. Grinning and\nsnarling in his bath-chair, he would be drawn up and down its long\ngalleries by the hour together, with his battered and petrified spouse\nwalking by his side, at first unable to speak with any coherence, but as\nthe years went on attaining to a grim ejaculatory utterance that left no\ndoubt as to his meaning.\n\nSometimes it was his whim to enter the library, and if Philip was there\nhe would give vent to dreadful and stuttering observations as he\nclenched and unclenched the nerveless hands that seemed starving to\nthrottle his son\u2019s throat. Then, tired with this outpouring of emotion,\nhe would doze in his chair, and wake from his doze into a paroxysm of\ntremulous speechlessness. At dinner-time he would have the riband of the\nGarter pinned across his knitted coat and be wheeled, with his wife\nwalking whitely by his side, into the gallery, where the unmarried\nPhilip, and his newly-married brother and his wife, stood up at his\nentrance, and without recognition he would pass, jibbering, at the head\nof that small and dismal procession, into the dining-room.\n\nHe grew ever thinner and more wasted in body, but such was some\nconsuming fire within him that he needed the sustenance of some growing\nand gigantic youth. He was unable to feed himself, and his attendant\nstanding by him put into that open chasm of a mouth, still lined with\nmilk-white teeth, his monstrous portions. A couple of bites was\nsufficient to prepare for the gulp, and again his mouth was ready to\nreceive.\n\nThen, when the solid entertainment was over, and the women gone, there\nremained the business of wine, and, sound trencherman though he was, his\ncapacity over this was even more remarkable. He took his port by the\ntumblerful, the first of which he would drink like one thirsty for\nwater, and this in some awful manner momentarily restored his powers of\nspeech. Like the first drops before a storm, single words began dripping\nfrom his lips, as this restoration of speech took place, his eye,\nbrightening with malevolence, fixed itself on Philip, and night after\nnight he would gather force for the same lunatic tirade.\n\n\u201cYou sitting there,\u201d he would say, \u201cyou, Philip, you aren\u2019t a Stanier!\nWhy don\u2019t you get a bitch to your kennel, and rear a mongrel or two? You\nheavy-faced lout, you can\u2019t breed, you can\u2019t drink, you can do nought\nbut grow blear-eyed over a pack of printed rubbish. There was Hester:\nshe married some sort of sweeper, and barren she is at that. I take\nblame to myself there: if only I had smacked her face a dozen times\ninstead of once, I\u2019d have tamed her: she would have come to heel. And\nthe third of you, Ronald there, with your soapy-faced slut of a wife,\nyou\u2019d be more in your place behind a draper\u2019s counter than here at\nStanier. And they tell me that there\u2019s no news yet that you\u2019re going to\ngive an heir to the place. Heir, good God....\u201d\n\nRonald had less patience than his brother. He would have drunk pretty\nstiffly by now, and he would bang the table and make the glasses jingle.\n\n\u201cNow you keep a civil tongue in your head, father,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\u2019ll\ndo the same for you. A pretty figure you cut with your Garter and your\ncostermonger talk. It\u2019s your own nest you\u2019re fouling, and you\u2019ve fouled\nit well. There was never yet a Stanier till you who took to a bath-chair\nand a bib and a man to feed him when he couldn\u2019t find the way to his own\nmouth.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, steady, Ronald!\u201d Philip would say.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m steadier than that palsy-stricken jelly there,\u201d said Ronald. \u201cIf he\nleaves me alone I leave him alone: it isn\u2019t I who begin. But if you or\nhe think I\u2019m going to sit here and listen to his gutter-talk, you\u2019re in\nerror.\u201d\n\nHe left his seat with a final reversal of the decanter and banged out of\nthe room.\n\nThen, as likely as not, the old man would begin to whimper. Though,\napparently, he did all he could to make residence at Stanier impossible\nfor his sons, he seemed above all to fear that he would succeed in doing\nso.\n\n\u201cYour brother gets so easily angered with me,\u201d he would say. \u201cI\u2019m sure I\nsaid nothing to him that a loving father shouldn\u2019t. Go after him, Phil,\nand ask him to come back and drink a friendly glass with his poor\nfather.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think you had better let him be, sir,\u201d said Philip. \u201cHe didn\u2019t relish\nwhat you said of his wife and his childlessness.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I meant nothing, I meant nothing. Mayn\u2019t a father have a bit of\nchaff over his wine with his sons? As for his wife, I\u2019m sure she\u2019s a\nvery decent woman, and if it was that which offended him, there\u2019s that\ndiamond collar my lady wears. Bid her take it off and give it to Janet\nas a present from me. Then we shall be all comfortable again.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should leave it alone for to-night,\u201d said Philip. \u201cYou can give it\nher to-morrow. Won\u2019t you come and have your rubber of whist?\u201d\n\nHis eye would brighten again at that, for in his day he had been a great\nplayer, and if he went to the cards straight from his wine, which for a\nlittle made order in the muddle and confusion of his brain, he would\nplay a hand or two with the skill that had been an instinct with him.\nHis tortoise-shell kitten must first be brought him, for that was his\nmascotte, which reposed on his lap, and for the kitten there was a\nsaucerful of chopped fish to keep it quiet. It used to drag fragments\nfrom the dish on to the riband of the Garter, and eat from there.\n\nHe could not hold the cards himself, and they were arranged in a stand\nin front of him, and his attendant pulled out the one to which he\npointed a quivering finger. If the cards were not in his favour he would\nchuck the kitten off his knee. \u201cDrown it; the devil\u2019s in it,\u201d he would\nmumble. Then, before long, the gleam of lucidity rent in his clouds by\nthe wine would close up again, and he would play with lamentable lunatic\ncunning, revoking and winking at his valet, and laughing with pleasure\nas the tricks were gathered. At the end he would calculate his winnings\nand insist on their being paid. They were returned to the loser when his\nvalet had abstracted them from his pocket....\n\nAny attempt to move him from Stanier had to be abandoned, for it brought\non such violent agitation that his life was endangered if it were\npersisted in, and even if it had been possible to certify him as insane,\nneither Philip nor his brother nor his wife would have consented to his\nremoval to a private asylum, for some impregnable barrier of family\npride stood in the way. Nor, perhaps, would it have been easy to obtain\nthe necessary certificate. He had shown no sign of homicidal or suicidal\nmania, and it would have been hard to have found any definite delusion\nfrom which he suffered. He was just a very terrible old man, partly\nparalytic, who got drunk and lucid together of an evening. He certainly\nhated Philip, but Philip\u2019s habits and Philip\u2019s celibacy were the causes\nof that; he cheated at cards, but the sane have been known to do\nlikewise.\n\nIndeed, it seemed as if after their long and glorious noon in which, as\nby some Joshua-stroke, the sun had stayed his course in the zenith, that\nthe fortunes of the Staniers were dipping swiftly into the cold of an\neternal night. In mockery of that decline their wealth, mounting to more\nprodigious heights, resembled some Pharaoh\u2019s pyramid into which so soon\na handful of dust would be laid. In the last decade of the nineteenth\ncentury the long leases of the acres which a hundred years ago had been\nlet for building land at Brighton were tumbling in, and in place of\nground-rents the houses came into their possession, while, with true\nStanier luck, this coincided with a revival of Brighton as a\nwatering-place. Fresh lodes were discovered in their Cornish properties,\nand the wave of gold rose ever higher, bearing on it those who seemed\nlikely to be the last of the name. Philip, now a little over forty years\nold, was still unmarried; Ronald, ten years his junior, was childless;\nand Lady Hester Brayton, now a widow, had neither son nor daughter to\ncarry on the family.\n\nAlready it looked as if the vultures were coming closer across the\ngolden sands of the desert on which these survivors were barrenly\ngathered, for an acute and far-seeing solicitor had unearthed a family\nof labourers living in a cottage in the marsh between Broomhill and\nAppledore, who undoubtedly bore the name of Stanier, and he had secured\nfrom the father, who could just write his name, a duly-attested document\nto the effect that if Jacob Spurway succeeded in establishing him in the\nfamily possessions and honours, he would pay him the sum of a hundred\nthousand pounds in ten annual instalments. That being made secure, it\nwas worth while secretly to hunt through old wills and leases, and he\nhad certainly discovered that Colin Stanier (_\u00e6t._ Elizabeth) had a\nyounger brother, Ronald, who inhabited a farm not far from Appledore and\nhad issue. That issue could, for the most part, be traced, or, at any\nrate, firmly inferred right down to the present. Then came a most\ngratifying search through the chronicles and pedigrees of the line now\nin possession, and, explore as he might, John Spurway could find no\ncollateral line still in existence. Straight down, from father to son,\nas we have seen, ran the generations; till the day of Lady Hester\nBrayton, no daughter had been born to an Earl of Yardley, and the line\nof such other sons as the lords of Stanier begot had utterly died out.\nThe chance of establishing this illiterate boor seemed to Mr. Jacob\nSpurway a very promising one, and he not only devoted to it his time and\nhis undoubted abilities, but even made a few clandestine and judicious\npurchases. There arrived, for instance, one night at the Stanier cottage\na wholly genuine Elizabethan chair in extremely bad condition, which was\nmodestly placed in the kitchen behind the door; a tiger-ware jug found\nits way to the high chimneypiece and got speedily covered with dust, and\na much-tarnished Elizabethan sealtop spoon made a curious addition to\nthe Britannia metal equipage for the drinking of tea.\n\nBut if this drab and barren decay of the direct line of Colin Stanier\nroused the interest of Mr. Spurway, it appeared in the year 1892 to\ninterest others not less ingenious, and (to adopt the obsolete terms of\nthe legend) it really looked as if Satan remembered the bond to which he\nwas party, and bestirred himself to make amends for his forgetfulness.\nAnd first--with a pang of self-reproach--he turned his attention to this\npoor bath-chaired paralytic, now so rapidly approaching his seventieth\nyear. Then there was Philip to consider, and Ronald.... Lady Hester he\nfelt less self-reproachful about, for, unhampered by children, and\nconsoled for the loss of her husband by the very charming attentions of\nothers, she was in London queen of the smart Bohemia, which was the only\ncourt at all to her mind, and was far more amusing than the garden\nparties at Buckingham Palace to which, so pleasant was Bohemia, she was\nno longer invited.\n\nSo then, just about the time that Mr. Spurway was sending Elizabethan\nrelics to the cottage in the Romney Marsh, there came over Lord Yardley\na strange and rather embarrassing amelioration of his stricken state.\nFrom a medical point of view he became inexplicably better, though from\nanother point of view it could be as confidently stated that he became\nirretrievably worse. His clouded faculties were pierced by the sun of\nlucidity again, the jerks and quivers of his limbs and his speech gave\nway to a more orderly rhythm, and his doctor congratulated himself on\nthe eventual success of a treatment that for twenty years had produced\nno effect whatever. Strictly speaking, that treatment could be more\naccurately described as the absence of treatment: Sir Thomas Logan had\nsaid all along that the utmost that doctors could do was to assist\nNature in effecting a cure: a bath-chair and the indulgence of anything\nthe patient felt inclined to do was the sum of the curative process. Now\nat last it bore (professionally speaking) the most gratifying fruit.\nCoherence visited his speech, irrespective of the tumblers of port\n(indeed, these tumblers of port produced a normal incoherence), his\npowerless hands began to grasp the cards again, and before long he was\nable to perambulate the galleries through which his bath-chair had so\nlong wheeled him, on his own feet with the aid of a couple of sticks.\nEvery week that passed saw some new feat of convalescence and the\nstrangeness of the physical and mental recovery touched the fringes of\nthe miraculous.\n\nBut while Sir Thomas Logan, in his constant visits to Stanier during\nthis amazing recovery, never failed to find some fresh and surprising\ntestimonial to his skill, he had to put away from himself with something\nof an effort certain qualms that insisted on presenting themselves to\nhim. It seemed even while his patient\u2019s physical and mental faculties\nimproved in a steady and ascending ratio of progress, that some\nspiritual deterioration balanced, or more than balanced, this recovery.\nHard and cruel Lord Yardley had been before the stroke had fallen on\nhim--without compassion, without human affection--now, in the renewal of\nhis vital forces, these qualities blazed into a conflagration, and it\nwas against Philip, above all others, that their heat and fury were\ndirected.\n\nWhile his father was helpless Philip had staunchly remained with him,\nsharing with his mother and with Ronald and his wife the daily burden of\ncompanionship. But now there was something intolerable in his father\u2019s\nlucid and concentrated hatred of him. Daily now Lord Yardley would come\ninto the library where Philip was at his books, in order to glut his\npassion with proximity. He would take a chair near Philip\u2019s, and, under\npretence of reading, would look at him in silence with lips that\ntrembled and twitching fingers. Once or twice, goaded by Philip\u2019s steady\nignoring of his presence, he broke out into speeches of hideous abuse,\nthe more terrible because it was no longer the drunken raving of a\nparalytic, but the considered utterance of a clear and hellish brain.\n\nActing on the great doctor\u2019s advice, Philip, without saying a word to\nhis father, made arrangements for leaving Stanier. He talked the matter\nover with that marble mother of his, and they settled that he would be\nwise to leave England for the time being. If his father, as might so\neasily happen, got news of him in London or in some place easily\naccessible, the awful law of attraction which his hatred made between\nthem might lead to new developments: the more prudent thing was that he\nshould efface himself altogether.\n\nItaly, to one of Philip\u2019s temperament, appeared an obvious asylum, but\nbeyond that his whereabouts was to be left vague, so that his mother,\nwithout fear of detection in falsehood, could say that she did not know\nwhere he was. She would write him news of Stanier to some forwarding\nagency in Rome, with which he would be in communication, and he would\ntransmit news of himself through the same channel.\n\nOne morning before the house was astir, Philip came down into the great\nhall. Terrible as these last years had been, rising to this climax which\nhad driven him out, it was with a bleeding of the heart that he left the\nhome that was knitted into his very being, and beat in his arteries. He\nwould not allow himself to wonder how long it might be before his\nreturn: it did not seem possible that in his father\u2019s lifetime he should\ntread these floors again, and in the astounding rejuvenation that there\nhad come over Lord Yardley, who could say how long this miracle of\nrestored vitality might work its wonders?\n\nAs he moved towards the door a ray of early sunlight struck sideways on\nto the portrait of Colin Stanier, waking it to another day of its\nimperishable youth. It illumined, too, the legendary parchment let into\nthe frame; by some curious effect of light the writing seemed to Philip\nfor one startled moment to be legible and distinct....\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nOne morning, within a month of his departure from Stanier, Philip was\ncoming slowly up from his bathing and basking on the beach, pleasantly\nfatigued, agreeably hungry, and stupefied with content. He had swum and\nfloated in the warm crystal of the sea, diving from deep-water rocks\ninto the liquid caves, where the sunlight made a shifting net of\nluminous scribbles over the jewelled pebbles; he had lain with half-shut\neyes watching the quivering of the hot air over the white bank of\nshingle, with the sun warm on his drying shoulders and penetrating, it\nseemed, into the marrow of his bones and illuminating the very hearth\nand shrine of his spirit.\n\nThe hours had passed but too quickly, and now he was making his\nleisurely way through vineyards and olive-farms back to the road where a\nlittle jingling equipage would be waiting to take him up to his villa on\nthe hill above the town of Capri. On one side of the path was a\nsun-flecked wall, where, in the pools of brightness, lizards lay as\nimmobile as the stones themselves; the edges of these pools of light\nbordered by continents of bluish shadow wavered with the slight stirring\nof the olive trees above them. Through the interlacement of these boughs\nhe caught glimpses of the unstained sky and the cliffs that rose to the\nisland heights. On the other side the olive groves declined towards the\nedge of the cliff, and through their branches the sea, doubly tinged\nwith the sky\u2019s blueness, was not less tranquil than the ether.\n\nPresently, still climbing upwards, he emerged from the olive groves,\nwhile the vineyards in plots and terraces followed the outline of the\nhill. Mingled with them were orchards of lemon trees bearing the globes\nof the young green fruit together with flower; and leaf and flower and\nfruit alike reeked of an inimitable fragrance. There were pomegranates\nbearing crimson flowers thick and waxlike against the wall of an ingle\nhouse that bordered the narrow path; a riot of morning-glory was new\nthere every day with fresh unfoldings of blown blue trumpets. Out of the\nopen door came an inspiriting smell of frying, and on the edge of the\nweather-stained balcony were rusty petroleum tins in which carnations\nbloomed. A space of level plateau, with grass already bleached yellow by\nthis spell of hot weather, crowned the hill, and again he descended\nbetween lizard-tenanted walls through vineyards and lemon groves.\n\nHis rickety little carriage was waiting, the horse with a smart\npheasant\u2019s feather erect on its head, the driver with a carnation stuck\nbehind his ear; the harness, for the sake of security, was supplemented\nwith string. The whip cracked, the horse tossed its pheasant\u2019s feather\nand jingled its bells, and, followed by a cloud of dust, Philip creaked\naway up the angled road, musing and utterly content.\n\nHe could scarcely believe, as the little equipage ambled up the hill,\nthat the individual known by his name, and wearing his clothes, who had\nlived darkly like a weevil in that joylessness of stately gloom, was the\nsame as this sun-steeped sprawler in the creaking carriage. He had come\nout of a nightmare of tunnel into the wholesome and blessed day, and was\nsteeped in the colour of the sun. It was but a few weeks ago that,\nwithout anticipation of anything but relief from an intolerable\nsituation, he had stolen out of Stanier, but swift \u00e6ons of evolution had\npassed over him since then. There was not more difference between the\ndarkness of those English winter days that had brooded in the halls and\ngalleries of Stanier and this caressing sun that pervaded sea and sky,\nthan there was between his acceptance of life then and his embrace of\nlife now. Now it was enough to be alive: the very conditions of\nexistence spelled content, and at the close of every day he would have\nwelcomed a backward shift of the hours so that he might have that\nidentical day again, instead of welcoming the close of each day in the\nassurance of that identical day not coming again. There would be others,\nbut from the total sum one unit had been subtracted. It had perished: it\nhad dropped into the well of years.\n\nPhilip had no need to ask himself what constituted the horror of those\nclosed years, for it was part of his consciousness, which called for no\ncatechism, that it was his father\u2019s existence; just the fact of him\ndistilled the poison, thick as dew on a summer night, which made them\nthus. He had to the full the Stanier passion for the home itself, but as\nlong as his father lived, the horror of the man so pervaded the place,\nso overrode all other sentiments with regard to it, that he could not\nthink of the one apart from the other, for hatred, acid and corrosive,\ngrew like some deadly mildew on the great galleries and the high halls.\n\nIt was no mere passive thing, an absence of love or affection, but a\npositive and prosperous growth: a henbane or a deadly nightshade\nsprouted and flowered and flourished there. Dwelling on it even for the\ntoss of his horse\u2019s head, as they clattered off the dusty road on to the\npaved way outside the town, Philip felt his hands grow damp.\n\nHe had come straight through to Rome and plunged himself, as in a\ncooling bath, in the beauty and magnificence of the antique city. He had\nwandered through galleries, had sat in the incense-fragrant dusk of\nchurches, had spent long hours treading the vestiges of the past,\ncontent for the time to feel the spell of healing which the mere\nsevering himself from Stanier had set at work. But soon through that\nspell there sounded a subtler incantation, coming not from the haunts of\nmen nor the achievements of the past, but from the lovely heart of the\nlovely land itself which had called forth these manifestations.\n\nHe had drifted down to Naples, and across the bay to the enchanted\nisland hanging like a cloud on the horizon where the sea and sky melted\ninto each other. As yet he wanted neither man nor woman, the exquisite\nphysical conditions of the southern summer were in themselves the\nrestoration he needed, with a truce from all human entanglements.\nPotent, indeed, was their efficacy; they ran through his heart like\nwine, rejuvenating and narcotic together, and to-day he could scarcely\ncredit that a fortnight of eventless existence had flowed over him in\none timeless moment of magic, of animal, unreflecting happiness.\n\nCurious good fortune in elementary material ways had attended him. On\nthe very day of his arrival, as he strolled out from his hotel in the\ndusk up the moon-struck hill above the town, he had paused beneath the\nwhite garden wall of a villa abutting on the path, and even as in\nimagination he pictured the serenity and aloofness of it, his eye caught\na placard, easily legible in the moonlight, that it was to let, and with\nthat came the certainty that he was to be the lessee.\n\nNext morning he made inquiry and inspection of its cool whitewashed\nrooms, tiled, floored and vaulted. Below it lay its terraced garden,\nsmothered with neglected rose-trees and from the house, along a short\npaved walk, there ran a vine-wreathed pergola, and a great stone pine\nstood sentinel. A capable _contadina_ with her daughter were easily\nfound who would look after him, and within twenty-four hours he had\ntransferred himself from the German-infested hotel. Soon, in answer to\nfurther inquiries, he learned that at the end of his tenure a purchase\nmight be effected, and the negotiations had begun.\n\nTo-day for the first time he found English news awaiting him, and the\nperusal of it was like the sudden and vivid recollection of a nightmare.\nLord Yardley, so his mother wrote, was getting more capable every day;\nhe had even gone out riding. He had asked no questions as to where\nPhilip had gone, or when he would return, but he had given orders that\nhis name should not be mentioned, and once when she had inadvertently\ndone so, there had been a great explosion of anger. Otherwise life went\non as usual: Sir Thomas had paid a visit yesterday, and was very much\ngratified by his examination of his patient, and said he need not come\nagain, unless any unfavourable change occurred, for another month. His\nfather sat long after dinner, and the games of whist were often\nprolonged till midnight....\n\nPhilip skimmed through the frozen sheets ... his mother was glad he was\nwell, and that sea-bathing suited him.... It was very hot, was it\nnot?--but he always liked the heat.... The hay had been got in, which\nwas lucky, because the barometer had gone down.... He crumpled them up\nwith a little shudder as at a sudden draught of chilled air....\n\nThere was another from his sister Hester.\n\n\u201cSo you\u2019ve run away, like me, so the iceberg tells me,\u201d she wrote. \u201cI\nonly wonder that you didn\u2019t do it long ago. This is just to congratulate\nyou. She says, too, that father is ever so much better, which I think is\na pity. Why should he be allowed to get better? Mother says it is like a\nmiracle, and if it is, I\u2019m sure I know who worked it.\n\n\u201cReally, Phil, I am delighted that you have awoke to the fact that there\nis a world outside Stanier--good Lord, if Stanier was all the world,\nwhat a hell it would be! You used never to be happy away from the place,\nI remember, but I gather from what mother says that it became absolutely\nimpossible for you to stop there.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a blight on it, Phil: sometimes I almost feel that I believe in\nthe legend, for though it\u2019s twenty years since I made my skip, if ever I\nhave a nightmare, it is that I dream that I am back there, and that my\nfather is pursuing me over those slippery floors in the dusk. But I\nshall come back there, if you\u2019ll allow me, when he\u2019s dead: it\u2019s he who\nmakes the horror....\u201d\n\nOnce again Philip felt a shiver of goose-flesh, and sending his sister\u2019s\nletter to join the other in the empty grate, strolled out into the hot\nstillness of the summer afternoon, and he hailed the sun like one\nawakening from such a nightmare as Hester had spoken of. All his life he\nhad been sluggish in the emotions, looking at life in the mirror of\nother men\u2019s minds, getting book knowledge of it only in a cloistered\nairlessness, not experiencing it for himself--a reader of travels and\nnot a voyager. But now with his escape from Stanier had come a\nquickening of his pulses, and that awakening which had brought home to\nhim the horror of his father had brought to him also a passionate sense\nof the loveliness of the world.\n\nRegret for the wasted years of drowsy torpor was there, also; here was\nhe already on the meridian of life, with so small a store of remembered\nraptures laid up as in a granary for his old age, when his arm would be\ntoo feeble to ply the sickle in the ripe cornfields. A man, when he\ncould no longer reap, must live on what he had gathered: without that he\nwould face hungry and empty years. When the fire within began to burn\nlow, and he could no longer replenish it, it was ill for him if the\nhouse of his heart could not warm itself with the glow that experience\nhad already given him. He must gather the grapes of life, and tread them\nin his winepress, squeezing out the uttermost drop, so that the ferment\nand sunshine of his vintage would be safe in cellar for the comforting\nof the days when in his vineyard the leaves were rotting under wintry\nskies. Too many days had passed for him unharvested.\n\nThat evening, after his dinner, he strolled down in the warm dusk to the\npiazza. The day had been a _festa_ in honour of some local saint, and\nthere was a show of fireworks on the hill above the town, and in\nconsequence the piazza and the terrace by the funicular railway, which\ncommanded a good view of the display, was crowded with the young folk of\nthe island. Rockets aspired, and bursting in bouquets of feathered fiery\nspray, dimmed the stars and illumined the upturned faces of handsome\nboys and swift-ripening girlhood. Eager and smiling mouths started out\nof the darkness as the rockets broke into flower, eager and young and\nready for love and laughter, fading again and vanishing as the\nillumination expired.\n\nIt was this garden of young faces that occupied Philip more than the\nfireworks, these shifting groups that formed and reformed, smiling and\ntalking to each other in the intervals of darkness. The bubbling ferment\nof intimate companionship frothed round him, and suddenly he seemed to\nhimself to be incapsulated, an insoluble fragment floating or sinking in\nthis heady liquor of life. There came upon him sharp and unexpected as a\nblow dealt from behind, a sense of complete loneliness.\n\nEvery one else had his companion: here was a group of chattering boys,\nthere of laughing girls, here the sexes were mingled. Elder men and\nwomen had a quieter comradeship: they had passed through the fermenting\nstage, it might be, but the wine of companionship with who knew what\nmemories were in solution there, was theirs still. All these rapturous\ndays he had been alone, and had not noticed it; now his solitariness\ncrystallised into loneliness.\n\nWith a final sheaf of rockets the display came to an end, and the crowd\nbegan to disperse homewards. The withdrawal took the acuteness from\nPhilip\u2019s ache, for he had no longer in front of his eyes the example of\nwhat he missed, his hunger was not whetted by the spectacle of food.\n\nThe steps of the last loiterers died away, and soon he was left alone\nlooking out over the vine-clad slope of the steep hill down to the\nMarina. Warm buffets of air wandered up from the land that had lain all\nday in its bath of sunlight, rippling round him like the edge of some\nspent wave; but already the dew, moistening the drought of day, was\ninstilling into the air some nameless fragrance of damp earth and herbs\nrefreshed. Beyond lay the bay, conjectured rather than seen, and, twenty\nmiles away, a thin necklet of light showed where Naples lay stretched\nand smouldering along the margin of the sea. If a wish could have\ntransported Philip there, he would have left the empty terrace to see\nwith what errands and adventures the city teemed, even as the brain\nteems with thoughts and imaginings.\n\nInto the impersonal seduction of the summer night some human element of\nlonging had entered, born of the upturned faces of boys and girls\nwatching the rockets, and sinking back, bright-eyed and eager, into the\ncover of darkness, even as the sword slips into its sheath again. Youth,\nin the matter of years, was already past for him, but in his heart until\nnow youth had not yet been born. No individual face among them all had\nflown a signal for him, but collectively they beckoned; it was among\nsuch that he would find the lights of his heart\u2019s harbour shining across\nthe barren water, and kindling desire in his eyes.\n\nIt was not intellectual companionship that he sought nor the unity and\nabsorption of love, for Philip was true Stanier and had no use for love;\nbut he craved for youth, for beauty, for the Southern gaiety and\nfriendliness, for the upleap and the assuagement of individual desire.\nTill middle-age he had lived without the instincts of youth; his tree\nwas barren of the golden fruits of youth\u2019s delight. Now, sudden as his\nchange of life, his belated springtime flooded him.\n\nIt was in Naples that he found her, in the studio of an acquaintance he\nhad made when he was there first, and before midsummer Rosina Viagi was\nestablished in the villa. She was half English by birth, and in her gold\nhair, heavy as the metal and her blue eyes, she shewed her mother\u2019s\norigin. But her temperament was of the South--fierce and merry, easily\nmoved to laughter, and as easily to squalls of anger that passed as\nswiftly as an April shower, and melted into sunlight again. She so\nenthralled his senses that he scarcely noticed, for those first months,\nthe garish commonness of her mind: it scarcely mattered; he scarcely\nheeded what she said so long as it was those full lips which formed the\nsilly syllables. She was greedy, and he knew it, in the matter of\nmoney, but his generosity quite contented her, and he had got just what\nhe had desired, one who entirely satisfied his passion and left his mind\naltogether unseduced.\n\nThen with the fulfillment of desire came the leanness that follows, a\nswift inevitable Nemesis on the heels of the accomplishment of an\nunworthy purpose. He had dreamed of the gleam of romance in those\nreadings of his at Stanier, and awoke to find but a smouldering wick.\nAnd before the summer was dead, he knew he was to become a father.\n\nIn the autumn the island emptied of its visitors, and Rosina could no\nlonger spend her evenings at the caf\u00e9 or on the piazza, with her\ncountrywomen casting envious glances at her toilettes, and the men\nboldly staring at her beauty. She was genuinely fond of Philip, but her\nnative gaiety demanded the distraction of crowds, and she yawned in the\nlong evenings when the squalls battered at the shutters and the panes\nstreamed with the fretful rain.\n\n\u201cBut are we going to stop here all the winter?\u201d she asked one evening as\nshe gathered up the piquet cards. \u201cIt gets very melancholy. You go for\nyour great walks, but I hate walking; you sit there over your book, but\nI hate reading.\u201d\n\nPhilip laughed. \u201cAm I to clap my hands at the rain,\u201d he said, \u201cand say,\n\u2018Stop at once! Rosina wearies for the sun\u2019?\u201d\n\nShe perched herself on the arm of his chair, a favourite attitude for\nher supplications. \u201cNo, my dear,\u201d she said, \u201call your money will not do\nthat. Besides, even if the rain obeyed you and the sun shone, there\nwould still be nobody to look at me. But you can do something.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what\u2019s that?\u201d\n\n\u201cJust a little apartment in Naples,\u201d she said. \u201cIt is so gay in Naples\neven if the sirocco blows or if the tramontana bellows. There are the\ntheatres; there are crowds; there is movement. I cannot be active, but\nthere I can see others being active. There are fresh faces in the\nstreet, there is gaiety.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I hate towns!\u201d said Philip.\n\nShe got up and began to speak more rapidly. \u201cYou think only of\nyourself,\u201d she said. \u201cI mope here; I am miserable. I feel like one of\nthe snails on the wall, crawling, crawling, and going into a dusty\ncrevice. That is not my nature. I hate snails, except when they are\ncooked, and then I gobble them up, and wipe my mouth and think no more\nof them. You can read your book in a town just as well as here, and you\ncan take a walk in a town. Ah, do, Philip!\u201d\n\nSuddenly and unexpectedly Philip found himself picturing his days here\nalone, without Rosina. He did not consciously evoke the image; it\npresented itself to him from outside himself. The island had certainly\ncast its spell over him: just to be here, to awake to the sense of its\nlotus-land tranquillity, and to go to sleep knowing that a fresh\neventless day would welcome him, made him content. He could imagine\nhimself now alone in this plain vaulted room, with the storm swirling\nthrough the stone-pine outside, and the smell of burning wood on the\nhearth without desiring Rosina\u2019s presence.\n\n\u201cWell, it might be done,\u201d he said. \u201cWe could have a little nook in\nNaples, if you liked. I don\u2019t say that I should always be there.\u201d\n\nRosina\u2019s eyes sparkled. \u201cNo, no, that would be selfish of me,\u201d she said.\n\u201cYou would come over here for a week when you wished, as you are so fond\nof your melancholy island....\u201d She stopped, and her Italian\nsuspiciousness came to the surface. \u201cYou are not thinking of leaving\nme?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cOf course I am not,\u201d he said impatiently. \u201cYou imagine absurdities.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have heard of such absurdities. Are you sure?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you silly baby,\u201d said he.\n\nShe recovered her smiles. \u201cI trust you,\u201d she said. \u201cYes, where were we?\nYou will come over here when you want your island, and you will be\nthere when you want me. Oh, Philip, do you promise me?\u201d\n\nHer delicious gaiety invaded her again, and she sat herself on the floor\nbetween his knees.\n\n\u201cOh, you are kind to me!\u201d she said. \u201cI hope your father will live for\never, and then you will never leave me. There is no one so kind as you.\nWe will have a flat, will we not? I know just such an one, that looks on\nto the Castello d\u2019Ovo, and all day the carriages go by, and we will go\nby, too, and look up at our home, and wonder who are the happy folk who\nlive there, and every one who sees me will envy me for having a man who\nloves me. And we will go to the restaurants where there are lights and\nglitter, and the band plays, and I will be happier than the day is long.\nLet us go over to-morrow. I will tell Maria to pack....\u201d\n\nIt was just this impetuous prattling childishness which had enthralled\nhim at first, and even while he told himself now how charming it was, he\nknew that he found it a weariness and an unreality. The same Rosina ten\nminutes before would be in a gale of temper, then, some ten minutes\nafter, under a cloud of suspicious surmise. His own acceptance of her\nproposal that they would be together at times, at times separate, was,\nin reality, a vast relief to him, yet chequering that relief was that\ncurious male jealousy that the woman whom he had chosen to share his\nnights and days should contemplate his absences with his own equanimity.\nWhile he reserved to himself the right of not being utterly devoted to\nher, he claimed her devotion to him.\n\nIt had come to that. It was not that his heart beat to another tune, his\neyes did not look elsewhere; simply the swiftly-consumed flame of\npassion was now consciously dying down, and while he took no\nresponsibility for his own cooling, he resented her share in it. He\ntreated her, in fact, as Staniers had for many generations treated their\nwives, but she had an independence which none of those unfortunate\nfemales had enjoyed. He had already made a handsome provision for her;\nand he was quite prepared to take a full financial responsibility for\nhis fatherhood. Yet, while he recognised how little she was to him, he\nresented the clear fact of how little he was to her.\n\nHe got up. \u201cYou shall have it all your own way, darling,\u201d he said.\n\u201cWe\u2019ll go across to Naples to-morrow; we\u2019ll find a flat--the one you\nknow of--and you shall see the crowds and the lights again....\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are adorable,\u201d said she. \u201cI love you too much, Philip.\u201d\n\nHe established her to her heart\u2019s content, and through the winter\ndivided the weeks between Naples and the island. She had no hold on his\nheart, and on his mind none; but, at any rate, he desired no one else\nbut her, and as the months went by there grew in him a tenderness which\nhad not formed part of the original bond. Often her vanity, her childish\nlove of ostentation, a certain querulousness also which had lately\nexhibited itself, made him long for the quiet solitude across the bay.\nSometimes she would be loth to let him go, sometimes in answer to her\npetition he would put off his departure, and then before the evening was\nover she would have magnified some infinitesimal point of dispute into a\nserious disagreement, have watered it with her tears, sobbed out that he\nwas cruel to her, that she wished he had gone instead of remaining to\nmake himself a tyrant. He shared her sentiments on that topic, and would\ncatch the early boat next morning.\n\nAnd yet, even as with a sigh of relief he settled himself into his chair\nthat night by the open fireplace, and congratulated himself on this\nrecapture of tranquillity, he would miss something.... She was not there\nto interrupt him, to scold him, to rage at him, but she had other moods\nas well, when she beguiled and enchanted him. That was no deep-seated\nspell, nor had it ever been. Its ingredients were but her physical\ngrace, and the charm of her spontaneous gaiety.\n\nPerhaps next morning he would get a long scrawled letter from her,\nsaying that he had been a brute to leave her, that she had not been out\nall day, but had sat and cried, and at that he would count himself lucky\nin his solitude. And even while he felt as dry as sand towards her,\nthere would come seething up through its aridity this moist hidden\nspring of tenderness.\n\nHe had made just such an escape from her whims and wilfulness one day\ntowards the end of February, but before the evening was half over he had\ntired of this solitude that he had sought. His book did not interest\nhim, and he felt too restless to go to bed. Restlessness, at any rate,\nmight be walked off, and he set out to tramp and tranquillise himself.\n\nThe moon was near to its full, the night warm and windless, and the air\nalert with the coming of the spring. Over the garden beds hung the\nveiled fragrance of wallflowers and freezias, and their scent in some\nsubtle way suggested her presence. Had she been there she would, in the\nmood in which he had left her, have jangled and irritated him, but if a\nwish would have brought her he would have wished it.\n\nHe let himself out of the garden gate, and mounted the steep path away\nfrom the town, thinking by brisk movement to dull and fatigue himself\nand to get rid of the thought of her. But like a wraith, noiseless and\ninvisible, she glided along by him, and he could not shake her off. She\ndid not scold him or nag at him: she was gay and seductive, with the\nlure of the springtime tingling about her, and beckoning him. Soon he\nfound himself actively engaged in some sort of symbolic struggle to\nelude her, and taking a rough and steeper path, thought that he would\noutpace her.\n\nHere the way lay over an uncultivated upland, and as he pounded along he\ndrank in the intoxicating ferment of the vernal night. The earth was\ndew-drenched, and the scent of the aromatic plants of the hillside\nserved but as a whet to his restless thoughts, and still, hurry as he\nmight, he could not escape from her and from a certain decision that\nshe seemed to be forcing on him. Finally, regardless of the dew, and\nexhausted with the climb, he sat down and began to think it out.\n\nThey had been together now for eight months, and though she often\nwearied and annoyed him, he could not imagine going back to the solitary\nlife which, when first he came to Capri, had been so full of\nenchantment. They had rubbed and jarred against each other, but never\nhad either of them, loose though the tie had been, considered leaving\neach other. They had been absolutely faithful, and were, indeed, married\nin all but the testimony of a written contract.\n\nIt had been understood from the first that, on his father\u2019s death,\nPhilip would take up the reins of his government at home, leaving her in\nall material matters independent and well off, and in all probability\nher dowry, cancelling her history, would enable her to make a favourable\nmarriage. But though that had been settled between them, Philip found\nnow, as he sat with her wraith still silent, still invisible, but\ninsistently present, that not till this moment had he substantially\npictured himself without her, or seen himself looking out for another\nwoman to be mother of his children. He could see himself going on\nquarrelling with Rosina and wanting her again, but the realisation of\nhis wanting any one else was beyond him.\n\nOn the other hand, his father, in this miraculous recovery of his\npowers, might live for years, and who knew whether, long before his\ndeath, both he and Rosina might not welcome it as a deliverance from\neach other?\n\nBut not less impossible also than the picturing of himself without\nRosina, was the imagining of her installed as mistress at Stanier. Try\nas he might, he could not make visible to himself so unrealisable a\ncontingency. Rosina at Stanier ... Rosina.... Yet, so soon, she would be\nthe mother of his child.\n\nThe moon had sunk, and he must grope his way down the hillside which he\nhad mounted so nimbly in the hope of escape from the presence that\nhovered by him. All night it was with him, waiting patiently but\ninexorably for the answer he was bound to give. He could not drive it\naway, he could not elude it.\n\nThere arrived for him next morning an iced budget from his mother. All\nwent on as usual with that refrigerator. There had been a gale, and four\nelm trees had been blown down.... Easter was early this year; she hoped\nfor the sake of the holiday-makers that the weather would be fine.... It\nwas odd to hear of the warm suns and the sitting out in the evening....\nWas he not tired of his solitary life?...\n\nPhilip skimmed his way rapidly through these frigidities, and then\nsuddenly found himself attending.\n\n\u201cI have kept my great news to the end,\u201d his mother wrote, \u201cand it makes\nus all, your father especially, very happy. We hope before March is over\nthat Ronald will have an heir. Janet is keeping very well, and your\nfather positively dotes on her now. The effect on him is most marked. He\ncertainly feels more kindly to you now that this has come, for the other\nday he mentioned your name and wondered where you were. It was not\nhaving a grandchild that was responsible for a great deal of his\nbitterness towards you, for you are the eldest....\u201d\n\nPhilip swept the letter off the table and sat with chin supported in the\npalms of his hands, staring out of the open window, through which came\nthe subtle scent of the wallflower. As a traveller traces his journey,\nso, spreading the situation out like a map before him, he saw how his\nroad ran direct and uncurving. Last night, for all his groping and\nsearching, he could find no such road marked; there was but a track, and\nit was interrupted by precipitous unnegotiable places, by marshes and\nquagmires through which no wayfarer could find a path. But with the\nillumination of this letter it was as if an army of road-makers had been\nbusy on it. Over the quagmire there was a buttressed causeway, through\nthe precipitous cliffs a cutting had been blasted. There was yet time;\nhe would marry Rosina out of hand, and his offspring, not his brother\u2019s,\nshould be heir of Stanier.\n\nThe marriage making their union valid and legitimatising the child that\nshould soon be born, took place on the first of March at the English\nConsulate, and a week later came the news that a daughter had been born\nto his sister-in-law. On the tenth of the same month Rosina gave birth\nto twins, both boys. There was no need for any riband to distinguish\nthem, for never had two more dissimilar pilgrims come forth for their\nunconjecturable journey. The elder was dark like Philip, and unlike the\nmost of his father\u2019s family; the other blue-eyed, like his mother, had a\nhead thick-dowered with bright pale gold. Never since the days of Colin\nStanier, founder of the race and bargainer in the legend, had gold and\nblue been seen together in a Stanier, and \u201cColin,\u201d said Philip to\nhimself, \u201che shall be.\u201d\n\nDuring that month the shuttle of fate flew swiftly backwards and\nforwards in the loom of the future. Thirty-six years had passed since\nRonald, the latest born of his race, had come into life, ten years more\nhad passed over Philip\u2019s head before, within a week of his brother and\nwithin a fortnight of his marriage, he saw the perpetuation of his\nblood. And the shuttle, so long motionless for the Staniers, did not\npause there in its swift and sudden weavings.\n\nAt Stanier that evening Ronald and his father sat long over their wine.\nThe disappointment at Ronald\u2019s first child being a girl was utterly\neclipsed in Lord Yardley\u2019s mind by the arrival of an heir at all, and he\nhad eaten heavily in boisterous spirits, and drunk as in the days when\nwine by the tumblerful was needed to rouse him into coherent speech. But\nnow no attendant was needed to hold his glass to his lips: he was as\nfree of movement as a normal man.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have another bottle yet, Ronnie,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019ll be no whist\nto-night, for your mother will have gone upstairs to see after Janet.\nRing the bell, will you?\u201d\n\nThe fresh bottle was brought, and he poured himself out a glassful and\npassed it to his son.\n\n\u201cBy God, I haven\u2019t been so happy for years as I\u2019ve been this last week,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cYou\u2019ve made a beginning now, my boy; you\u2019ll have a son next.\nAnd to think of Philip, mouldering away all this time. He\u2019s forty-six\nnow; he\u2019ll not get in your way. A useless fellow, Philip; sitting like a\ncrow all day in the library, like some old barren bird. I should like to\nhave seen his face when he got the news. But I\u2019ll write him to-morrow\nmyself, and say that if he cares to come home I\u2019ll treat him civilly.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor old Phil!\u201d said Ronald. \u201cDo write to him, father. I daresay he\nwould like to come back. He has been gone a year, come May.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley helped himself again. His hand was quite steady, but his\nface was violently flushed. Every night now, since the birth of Ronald\u2019s\nbaby, he had drunk deeply, and but for this heightened colour, more\nvivid to-night than usual, the wine seemed scarcely to produce any\neffect on him. All day now for a week he had lived in this jovial and\nexcited mood, talking of little else than the event which had so\nenraptured him.\n\n\u201cAnd Janet\u2019s but thirty yet,\u201d he went on, forgetting again about Philip,\n\u201cand she comes of a fruitful stock: the Armitages aren\u2019t like us; they\nrun to quantity. Not that I find fault with the quality. But a boy,\nRonald.\u201d\n\nA servant had come in with a telegram, which he presented to Lord\nYardley, who threw it over to Ronald.\n\n\u201cJust open it for me,\u201d he said. \u201cSee if it requires any answer.\u201d\n\nRonald drew a candle nearer him; he was conscious of having drunk a good\ndeal, and the light seemed dim and veiled. He fumbled over the envelope,\nand drawing out the sheet, unfolded it. He stared at it with mouth\nfallen open.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a joke,\u201d he said in a loud, unsteady voice. \u201cIt\u2019s some silly\njoke.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s have it, then,\u201d said his father. \u201cWho\u2019s the joker?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s from Philip,\u201d said he. \u201cHe says that he\u2019s married, and that his\nwife has had twins to-day--boys.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley rose to his feet, the flush on his face turning to purple.\nThen, without a word, he fell forward across the table, crashing down\namong the glasses and decanters.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA fortnight after the birth of the twins, Rosina, who till then had been\ndoing well, developed disquieting symptoms with high temperature. Her\nillness declared itself as scarlet fever, and on the 6th of April she\ndied.\n\nSurely in those spring weeks there had been busy superintendence over\nthe fortunes of the Staniers. Philip, till lately outcast from his home\nand vagrant bachelor, had succeeded to the great property and the\nhonours and titles of his house. Two lusty sons were his, and there was\nno Rosina to vex him with her petulance and common ways. All tenderness\nthat he had had for her was diverted into the persons of his sons, and\nin particular of Colin. In England, in this month of April, the beloved\nhome awaited the coming of its master with welcome and rejoicing.\n\n\n\n\n                              _Book Two_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nColin Stanier had gone straight from the tennis-court to the\nbathing-place in the lake below the terraced garden. His cousin Violet,\nonly daughter of his uncle Ronald, had said that she would equip herself\nand follow him, and the boy had swum and dived and dived and swum\nwaiting for her, until the dressing-bell booming from the turret had\nmade him reluctantly quit the water. He was just half dry and not at all\ndressed when she came.\n\n\u201cWretched luck!\u201d she said. \u201cOh, Colin, do put something on!\u201d\n\n\u201cIn time,\u201d said Colin; \u201cyou needn\u2019t look!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not looking. But it was wretched luck. Mother....\u201d\n\nColin wrapped a long bath-towel round himself, foraged for cigarettes\nand matches in his coat pocket, and sat down by her.\n\n\u201cMother?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cOh, yes. Mother was querulous, and so she wanted some one to be\nquerulous to.\u201d\n\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t she be querulous to herself?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cNo, of course not. You must have a partner or a dummy if you\u2019re being\nquerulous. I wasn\u2019t more than a dummy, and so when she had finished the\nrest of it she was querulous about that. She said I was unsympathetic.\u201d\n\n\u201cDummies usually are,\u201d said Colin. \u201cCigarette?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, thanks. This one was, because she wanted to come and bathe. Did you\ndive off the top step?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not. No audience,\u201d said Colin. \u201cWhat\u2019s the use of doing\nanything terrifying unless you impress somebody? I would have if you had\ncome down.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should have been thrilled. Oh, by the way, Raymond has just\ntelephoned from town to say that he\u2019ll be here by dinner-time. He\u2019s\nmotoring down.\u201d\n\nColin considered this. \u201cRaymond\u2019s the only person older than myself whom\nI envy,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\u2019s half an hour older than me. Oh, I think I envy\nAunt Hester, but then I adore Aunt Hester. I only hate Raymond.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust because he\u2019s half an hour older than you?\u201d asked the girl.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t that enough? He gets everything just because of that unlucky\nhalf-hour. He\u2019ll get you, too, if you\u2019re not careful.\u201d\n\nColin got up and gathered his clothes together.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll have Stanier,\u201d he observed. \u201cIsn\u2019t that enough to make me detest\nhim? Besides, he\u2019s a boor. Happily, father detests him, too; I think\nfather must have been like Raymond at his age. That\u2019s the only comfort.\nFather will do the best he can for me. And then there\u2019s Aunt Hester\u2019s\nmoney. But what I want is Stanier. Come on.\u201d\n\n\u201cAren\u2019t you going to dress?\u201d asked Violet.\n\n\u201cCertainly not. As soon as I get to the house I shall have to undress\nand dress again.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot shoes?\u201d asked she.\n\n\u201cNot when the dew is falling. Oh, wet grass is lovely to the feet. We\u2019ll\nskirt the terrace and go round by the lawn.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why is it that you envy Aunt Hester?\u201d asked the girl.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t help it. She\u2019s so old and wicked and young.\u201d\n\nViolet laughed. \u201cThat\u2019s a very odd reason for envying anybody,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cWhat\u2019s there to envy?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, the fact that she\u2019s done it all,\u201d said Colin frowning. \u201cShe has\ndone all she pleased all her life, and she\u2019s just as young as ever. If I\nwasn\u2019t her nephew, she would put me under her arm, just as she did her\nhusband a thousand years ago, and marry me to-morrow. And then you\nwould marry Raymond, and--and there we would all be. We would play whist\ntogether. My dear, those ghastly days before we were born! Grandfather\nwith his Garter over his worsted jacket and a kitten on his knee, and\ngrandmamma and Aunt Janet and your father and mine! They lived here for\nyears like that. How wonderful and awful!\u201d\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re just as wonderful now,\u201d said Violet. \u201cAnd....\u201d\n\n\u201cNot quite so awful; grandfather isn\u2019t here now, and he must have been\nthe ghastliest. Besides, there\u2019s Aunt Hester here to tone them up, and\nyou and I, if it comes to that. Not to mention Raymond. I love seeing my\nfather try to behave nicely to Raymond. Dead failure.\u201d\n\nColin tucked his towel round him; it kept slipping first from one\nshoulder, then the other.\n\n\u201cI believe Raymond is falling in love with you,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\u2019ll propose\nto you before long. Your mother will back him up, so will Uncle Ronald.\nThey would love to see you mistress here. And you\u2019d like it yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh--like it?\u201d said she. She paused a moment. \u201cColin, you know what I\nfeel about Stanier,\u201d she said. \u201cI don\u2019t think anybody knows as well as\nyou. You\u2019ve got the passion for it. Wouldn\u2019t you give anything for it to\nbe yours? Look at it! There\u2019s nothing like it in the world!\u201d\n\nThey had come up the smooth-shaven grass slope from the lake, and stood\nat the entrance through the long yew-hedge that bordered the line of\nterraces. There were no ghastly monstrosities in its clipped bastion; no\nsemblance of peacocks and spread tails to crown it: it flowed downwards,\na steep, uniform embattlement of stiff green, towards the lake,\nenclosing the straight terraces and the deep borders of flower-beds. The\ntopmost of these terraces was paved, and straight from it rose the long\ntwo-storied fa\u00e7ade of mellow brick balustraded with the motto, \u201cNisi\nDominus \u00e6dificavit,\u201d in tall letters of lead, and from floor to roof it\nwas the building of that Colin Stanier whose very image and incarnation\nstood and looked at it now.\n\nSo honest and secure had been the workmanship that in the three\ncenturies which had elapsed since first it nobly rose to crown the hill\nabove Rye scarcely a stone of its facings had been repaired, or a\nmouldering brick withdrawn. It possessed, even in the material of its\nfashioning, some inexplicable immortality, even as did the fortunes of\nits owners. Its mellowing had but marked their enrichment and stability;\ntheir stability rivalled that of the steadfast house. The sun, in these\nlong days of June, had not yet quite set, and the red level rays made\nthe bricks to glow, and gave a semblance as of internal fire to the\nattested guarantee of the motto. Whoever had builded, he had builded\nwell, and the labour of the bricklayers was not lost.\n\nA couple of years ago Colin, still at Eton, had concocted a mad freak\nwith Violet. There had been a fancy-dress ball in the house, at which he\nhad been got up to represent his ancestral namesake, as shewn in the\nfamous Holbein. There the first Colin appeared as a young man of\ntwenty-five, but the painter had given him the smooth beauty of boyhood,\nand his descendant, in those rich embroidered clothes, might have passed\nfor the very original and model for the portrait.\n\nThis, then, had been their mad freak: Violet, appearing originally in\nthe costume of old Colin\u2019s bride, had slipped away to her room, when the\nball was at its height, and changed clothes with her cousin. She had\ntucked up her hair under his broad-brimmed jewelled hat, he had\nbe-wigged himself and easily laced his slimness into her stiff brocaded\ngown, and so indistinguishable were they that the boys, Colin\u2019s friends\nand contemporaries, had been almost embarrassingly admiring of him,\nwhile her friends had found her not less forward. A slip by Colin in the\nmatter of hoarse laughter at an encircling arm and an attempt at a kiss\nhad betrayed him into forgetting his brilliant falsetto and giving the\nwhole thing away.\n\nNot less like to each other now than then, they stood at the entrance of\nthe terraces. He had gained, perhaps, a couple of inches on her in\nheight, but the piled gold of her hair, and his bare feet equalised\nthat. No growth of manhood sheathed the smoothness of his cheeks; they\nlooked like replicas of one type, still almost sexless in the glow of\nmere youth. Theirs was the full dower of their race, health and\nprosperity, glee and beauty, and the entire absence of any moral\nstandard.\n\nFaun and nymph, they stood there together, she in the thin blouse and\nwhite skirt of her tennis-clothes, he in the mere towel of his bathing.\nHe had but thrown it on anyhow, without thought except to cover himself,\nand yet the folds of it fell from his low square shoulders with a\nplastic perfection. A hand buried in it held it round his waist, tightly\noutlining the springing of his thighs from his body. With her, too, even\nthe full tennis-skirt, broad at the hem for purposes of activity, could\nnot conceal the exquisite grace of her figure; above, the blouse\nrevealed the modelling of her arms and the scarcely perceptible swell of\nher breasts. High-bred and delicate were they in the inimitable grace of\ntheir youth; what need had such physical perfection for any dower of the\nspirit?\n\nShe filled her eyes with the glow of the sunlit front, and then turned\nto him. \u201cColin, it\u2019s a crime,\u201d she said, \u201cthat you aren\u2019t in Raymond\u2019s\nplace. I don\u2019t like Raymond, and yet, if you\u2019re right and he means to\npropose to me, I don\u2019t feel sure that I shall refuse him. It won\u2019t be\nhim I refuse, if I do, it will be Stanier.\u201d\n\n\u201cLord, I know that!\u201d said Colin. \u201cIf I was the elder, you\u2019d marry me\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I should, and cut out Aunt Hester. And the funny thing,\ndarling, is that we\u2019re neither of us in love with the other. We like\neach other enormously, but we don\u2019t dote. If you married Aunt Hester I\nshouldn\u2019t break my heart, nor would you if I married Raymond.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit. But I should think him a devilish lucky fellow!\u201d\n\nShe laughed. \u201cSo should I,\u201d she said. \u201cIn fact, I think him devilish\nlucky already. Colin, if I do refuse him, it will be because of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, chuck it, Violet!\u201d said he.\n\nShe nodded towards the great stately house. \u201cIt\u2019s a big chuck,\u201d she\nsaid.\n\nFrom the far side of the house there came the sound of motor-wheels on\nthe gravel, and after a moment or two the garden door at the centre of\nthe terrace opened, and Raymond came out. He was not more than an inch\nor so shorter than his brother, but his broad, heavy, short-legged build\nmade him appear short and squat. His eyebrows were thick and black, and\nalready a strong growth of hair fringed his upper lip. While Colin might\nhave passed for a boy of eighteen still, the other would have been taken\nfor a young man of not less than twenty-five. He stood there for a\nminute, looking straight out over the terrace, and the marsh below.\nThen, turning his eyes, he saw the others in the dusky entrance through\nthe yew-hedge, and his face lit up. He came towards them.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve only just come,\u201d he said. \u201cHad a puncture. How are you, Violet?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right. But how late you are! We\u2019re all late, in fact. We must go\nand dress.\u201d\n\nRaymond looked up and down Colin\u2019s bath-towel, and his face darkened\nagain. But he made a call on his cordiality.\n\n\u201cHullo, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cBeen bathing? Jolly in the water, I should\nthink.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery jolly,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHow long are you down for?\u201d\n\nHe had not meant any particular provocation in the question, though he\nwas perfectly careless as to whether Raymond found it there or not. He\ndid, and his face flushed.\n\n\u201cWell, to be quite candid,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m down here for as long as I\nplease. With your permission, of course.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow jolly!\u201d said Colin in a perfectly smooth voice, which he knew\nexasperated his brother. \u201cCome on, Vi, it\u2019s time to dress.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, there\u2019s twenty minutes yet,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cCome for a few minutes\u2019\nstroll, Vi.\u201d\n\nColin paused for her answer, slightly smiling, and looking just above\nRaymond\u2019s head. The two always quarrelled whenever they met, though\nperhaps \u201cquarrel\u201d is both too strong and too superficial a word to\nconnote the smouldering enmity which existed between them, and which the\npresence of the other was sufficient to wreathe with little flapping\nflames. Envy, as black as hell and as deep as the sea, existed between\nthem, and there was no breath too light to blow it into incandescence.\nRaymond envied Colin for absolutely all that Colin was, for his skin and\nhis slimness, his eyes and his hair, and to a degree unutterably\ngreater, for the winning smile, the light, ingratiating manner that he\nhimself so miserably lacked, even for a certain brusque heedlessness on\nColin\u2019s part which was interpreted, in his case, into the mere\nunselfconsciousness of youth. In the desire to please others, Raymond\nheld himself to be at least the equal of his brother, yet, where his\nefforts earned for him but a tepid respect, Colin would weave an\nenchantment. If Raymond made some humorous contribution to the\nconversation, glazed eyes and perfunctory comment would be all his\nwages, whereas if Colin, eager and careless, had made precisely the same\noffering, he would have been awarded attention and laughter.\n\nColin, on the other hand, envied his brother not for anything he was,\nbut for everything he had. Theirs was no superficial antagonism; the\ngraces of address and person are no subjects for light envy, nor yet the\nsceptred fist of regal possessions. That fist was Raymond\u2019s; all would\nbe his; even Violet, perhaps, Stanier certainly, would be.\n\nAt this moment the antagonism flowered over Violet\u2019s reply. Would she go\nfor a stroll with Raymond or wouldn\u2019t she? Colin cared not a blade of\ngrass which she actually did; it was her choice that would feed his\nhatred of his brother or make him chuckle over his discomfiture. For an\ninfinitesimal moment he diverted his gaze from just over Raymond\u2019s head\nto where, a tiny angle away, her eyes were level with his. He shook his\nhead ever so slightly; some drop of water perhaps had lodged itself from\nhis diving in his ear.\n\n\u201cOh, we shall all be late,\u201d said she, \u201cand Uncle Philip hates our being\nlate. Only twenty minutes, did you say? I must rush. Hair, you know.\u201d\n\nShe scudded off along the paved terrace without one glance behind her.\n\n\u201cWant a stroll, Raymond?\u201d said Colin. \u201cI haven\u2019t got to undress, only to\ndress. I needn\u2019t go for five minutes yet.\u201d\n\nRaymond had seen the headshake and Colin\u2019s subsequent application of the\npalm of a hand to his ear was a transparent device. Colin, he made sure,\nmeant him to see that just as certainly as he meant Violet to do so. The\nsuccess of it enraged him, and not less the knowledge that it was meant\nto enrage him. Colin\u2019s hand so skilfully, so carelessly, laid these\ntraps which silkenly gripped him. He could only snarl when he was\ncaught, and even to snarl was to give himself away.\n\n\u201cOh, thanks very much,\u201d he said, determined not to snarl, \u201cbut, after\nall, Vi\u2019s right. Father hates us being late. How is he? I haven\u2019t seen\nhim yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cEver so cheerful,\u201d said Colin. \u201cDoes he know you are coming, by the\nway?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot unless Vi has told him. I telephoned to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cPleasant surprise,\u201d said Colin. \u201cWell, if you don\u2019t want to stroll, I\nthink I\u2019ll go in. Vi\u2019s delighted that you\u2019ve come.\u201d\n\nOnce again Raymond\u2019s eye lit up. \u201cIs she?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t you think so?\u201d said Colin, standing first on one foot and then\non the other, as he slipped on his tennis shoes to walk across the\npaving of the terrace.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere had been no break since the days of Colin\u2019s grandfather in the\nsolemnity of the ceremonial that preceded dinner. Now, as then, the\nguests, if there were any, or, if not, the rest of the family, were\nstill magnificently warned of the approach of the great hour, and,\nassembling in the long gallery which adjoined the dining-room, waited\nfor the advent of Lord Yardley.\n\nThat piece of ritual was like the Canon of the Mass, invariable and\nsignificant. It crystallised the centuries of the past into the present;\ndinner was the function of the day, dull it might be, but central and\ncanonical, and the centre of it all was the entrance of the head of the\nfamily. He would not appear till all were ready; his presence made\ncompletion, and the Staniers moved forward by order. So when the\nmajor-domo had respectfully enfolded the flock in the long gallery, he\ntook his stand by the door into the dining-room. That was the signal to\nLord Yardley\u2019s valet who waited by the door at the other end of the\ngallery which led into his master\u2019s rooms. He threw that open, and from\nit, punctual as the cuckoo in the clock, out came Lord Yardley, and\nevery one stood up.\n\nBut in the present reign there had been a slight alteration in the minor\nritual of the assembling, for Colin was almost invariably late, and the\nedict had gone forth, while he was but yet fifteen, and newly promoted\nto a seat at dinner, that Master Colin was not to be waited for: the\nmajor-domo must regard his jewelled flock as complete without him. He,\nwith a \u201cSorry, father,\u201d took his vacant place when he was ready, and his\nfather\u2019s grim face would soften into a smile. Raymond\u2019s unpunctuality\nwas a different matter, and he had amended this weakness.\n\nTo-night there were no guests, and when the major-domo took his stand at\nthe dining-room door to fling it open on the remote entry of Lord\nYardley from the far end of the gallery, all the family but Colin were\nassembled. Lord Yardley\u2019s mother, now over eighty, white and watchful\nand bloodless, had been as usual the first to arrive, and, leaning on\nher stick, had gone to her chair by the fireplace, in which, upright and\nsilent, she waited during these canonical moments. She always came to\ndinner, though not appearing at other meals, for she breakfasted and\nlunched in her own rooms, where all day, except for a drive in the\nmorning, she remained invisible. Now she held up her white hand to\nshield her face from the fire, for whatever the heat of the evening,\nthere was a smouldering log there for incense.\n\nRonald Stanier sat opposite her, heavy and baggy-eyed, breathing sherry\ninto the evening paper. His wife, the querulous Janet, was giving half\nan ear to Raymond\u2019s account of his puncture, and inwardly marvelling at\nLady Hester\u2019s toilet. Undeterred by the weight of her sixty years, she\nhad an early-Victorian frock of pink satin, high in the waist and of\nample skirt. On her undulated wig of pale golden hair, the colour and\nlustre of which had not suffered any change of dimness since the day\nwhen she ran away with her handsome young husband, she wore a wreath of\nartificial flowers; a collar of pearls encircled her throat which was\nstill smooth and soft. The dark eyebrows, highly arched, gave her an\nexpression of whimsical amusement, and bore out the twinkle in her blue\neyes and the little upward curve at the corner of her mouth. She was\nquite conscious of her sister-in-law\u2019s censorious gaze; poor Janet had\nalways looked like a moulting hen....\n\nBy her stood Violet, who had but this moment hurried in, and whose\nentrance was the signal for Lord Yardley\u2019s valet to open the door. She\nhad heard Colin splashing in his bath as she came along the passage,\nthough he had just bathed.\n\nThen, with a simultaneous uprising, everybody stood, old Lady Yardley\nleaned on her stick, Ronald put down the evening paper, and Raymond\nbroke off the interesting history of his punctured wheel.\n\nPhilip Yardley went straight to his mother\u2019s chair, and gave her his\narm. In the dusk, Raymond standing between him and the window was but a\nsilhouette against the luminous sky. His father did not yet know that he\nhad arrived, and mistook him for his brother.\n\n\u201cColin, what do you mean by being in time for dinner?\u201d he said. \u201cMost\nirregular.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s I, father,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cOh, Raymond, is it?\u201d said Lord Yardley. \u201cI didn\u2019t know you were here.\nGlad to see you.\u201d\n\nThe words were sufficiently cordial, but the tone was very unlike that\nin which he had supposed himself to be addressing Colin. That was not\nlost on Raymond; for envy, the most elementary of all human passions, is\nalso highly sensitive.\n\n\u201cYou came from Cambridge?\u201d asked his father, when they had sat down, in\nthe same tone of studious politeness. \u201cThe term\u2019s over, I suppose.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, a week ago,\u201d said Raymond. As he spoke he made some awkward\nmovement in the unfolding of his napkin, and upset a glass which crashed\non to the floor. Lord Yardley found himself thinking, \u201cClumsy brute!\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course; Colin\u2019s been here a week now,\u201d he said, and Raymond did not\nmiss that. Then Philip Yardley, considering that he had given his son an\nadequate welcome, said no more.\n\nThese family dinners were not, especially in Colin\u2019s absence and in\nRaymond\u2019s presence, very talkative affairs. Old Lady Yardley seldom\nspoke at all, but sat watching first one face and then another, as if\nwith secret conjectures. Ronald Stanier paid little attention to\nanything except to his plate and his glass, and it was usually left to\nViolet and Lady Hester to carry on such conversation as there was. But\neven they required the stimulus of Colin, and to-night the subdued blink\nof spoons on silver-gilt soup-plates reigned uninterrupted. These had\njust ceased when Colin appeared, like a lamp brought into a dusky room.\n\n\u201cSorry, father,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m late, you know. Where\u2019s my place? Oh,\nbetween Aunt Hester and Violet. Ripping.\u201d\n\n\u201cUrgent private affairs, Colin?\u201d asked his father.\n\n\u201cYes, terribly urgent. And private. Bath.\u201d\n\nThe whole table revived a little, as when the gardener waters a drooping\nbed of flowers.\n\n\u201cBut you had only just bathed,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just why I wanted a bath. Nothing makes you so messy and sticky\nas a bathe. And there were bits of grass between my toes, and a small\nfragment of worm.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how did they get there, dear?\u201d asked Aunt Hester, violently\ninterested.\n\n\u201cBecause I walked up in bare feet over the grass, Aunt Hester,\u201d said\nColin. \u201cIt\u2019s good for the nerves. Come and do it after dinner.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley supposed that Colin had not previously seen his brother,\nand that seeing him now did not care to notice his presence. So, with\nthe same chill desire to be fair in all ways to Raymond, he said:\n\n\u201cRaymond has come, Colin.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, father, we\u2019ve already embraced,\u201d said he. \u201cGolly, I don\u2019t call\nthat soup. It\u2019s muck. Hullo, granny dear, I haven\u2019t seen you all day.\nGood morning.\u201d\n\nLady Yardley\u2019s face relaxed; there came on her lips some wraith of a\nsmile. Colin\u2019s grace and charm of trivial prattle was the only ray that\nhad power at all to thaw the ancient frost that had so long congealed\nher. Ever since her husband\u2019s death, twenty years ago, she had lived\nsome half of the year here, and now she seldom stirred from Stanier,\nwaiting for the end. Her life had really ceased within a few years of\nher marriage; she had become then the dignified lay-figure, emotionless\nand impersonal, typical of the wives of Staniers, and that was all that\nher children knew of her. For them the frost had never thawed, nor had\nshe, even for a moment, lost its cold composure, even when on the night\nthat the news of Raymond\u2019s and Colin\u2019s birth had come to Stanier, there\ncame with it the summons that caused her husband to crash among the\nglasses on the table. Nothing and nobody except Colin had ever given\nbrightness to her orbit, where, like some dead moon, she revolved in the\ncold inter-stellar space.\n\nBut at the boy\u2019s salutation across the table, she smiled. \u201cMy dear, what\nan odd time to say good morning,\u201d she said. \u201cHave you had a nice day,\nColin?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, ripping, grandmamma!\u201d said he. \u201cEnjoyed every minute of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s good. It\u2019s a great waste of time not to enjoy....\u201d Her glance\nshifted from him to Lady Hester. \u201cHester, dear, what a strange gown,\u201d\nshe said.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s Aunt Hester\u2019s go-away gown after her marriage,\u201d began Colin.\n\u201cShe....\u201d\n\n\u201cColin,\u201d said his father sharply, \u201cyou\u2019re letting your tongue run away\nwith you.\u201d\n\nVery unusually, Lady Yardley turned to Philip. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t speak to\nColin like that, dear Philip,\u201d she said. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t know about those\nthings. And I like to hear Colin talk.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, mother,\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cColin didn\u2019t have a mother to teach him what to say, and what not to\nsay,\u201d continued Lady Yardley; \u201cyou must not be harsh to Colin.\u201d\n\nThe stimulus was exhausted and she froze into herself again.\n\nColin had been perfectly well aware during this, that Raymond was\npresent, and that nothing of it was lost on him. It would be too much to\nsay that he had performed what he and Violet called \u201cthe grandmamma\ntrick\u201d solely to rouse Raymond\u2019s jealousy, but to know that Raymond\nglowered and envied was like a round of applause to him. It was from no\nsympathy or liking for his grandmother that he thawed her thus and\nbrought her back from her remoteness; he did it for the gratification\nof his own power in which Raymond, above all, was deficient.... Like\nsome antique bird she had perched for a moment on Colin\u2019s finger; now\nshe had gone back into her cage again.\n\nColin chose that night to take on an air of offended dignity at his\nfather\u2019s rebuke, and subsided into silence. He knew that every one would\nfeel his withdrawal, and now even Uncle Ronald who, with hardly less\naloofness than his mother, for he was buried in his glass and platter,\nand was remote from everything except his vivid concern with food and\ndrink, tried to entice the boy out of his shell. Colin was pleased at\nthis: it was all salutary for Raymond.\n\n\u201cSo you\u2019ve been bathing, Colin,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYes, Uncle Ronald,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cPleasant in the water?\u201d asked Uncle Ronald.\n\n\u201cQuite,\u201d said Colin.\n\nAunt Hester made the next attempt. They were all trying to please and\nmollify him. \u201cAbout that walking in the grass in bare feet,\u201d she said.\n\u201cI should catch cold at my age. And what would my maid think?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know at all, Aunt Hester,\u201d said Colin very sweetly.\n\nRaymond cleared his throat. Colin was being sulky and unpleasant, and\nhe, the eldest, would make things agreeable again. No wonder Colin\nsubsided after that very ill-chosen remark about Aunt Hester.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a wonderful stride been made in this wireless telegraphy,\nfather,\u201d he said. \u201cThere were messages transmitted to Newfoundland\nyesterday, so I saw in the paper. A good joke about it in _Punch_. A\nfellow said, \u2018They\u2019ll be inventing noiseless thunder next.\u2019\u201d\n\nThere was a dead silence, and then Colin laughed loudly.\n\n\u201cAwfully good, Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cVery funny. Strawberries, Aunt\nHester?\u201d\n\nThat had hit the mark. Leaning forward to pull the dish towards him, he\nsaw the flush on Raymond\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cReally? As far as Newfoundland?\u201d said Lord Yardley.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy now the major-domo was standing by the dining-room door again, and\nPhilip rose. His mother got up and stood, immobile and expressionless,\ntill the other women had passed out in front of her. Then, as she went\nout, she said exactly what she had said for the last sixty years.\n\n\u201cYou will like a game of whist, then, soon?\u201d\n\nGenerally when the women had gone, the others moved up towards the host.\nTo-night Philip took up his glass and placed himself next Colin. The\ndecanters were brought round and placed opposite him, and he pushed them\ntowards Raymond.\n\n\u201cHelp yourself, Raymond,\u201d he said.\n\nThen he turned round in his armchair to the other boy.\n\n\u201cStill vexed with me, Colin?\u201d he said quietly.\n\n\u201cOf course not, father,\u201d he said. \u201cSorry I sulked. But you did shut me\nup with such a bang.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, open yourself at the same place,\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cRather. Aunt Hester\u2019s dress, wasn\u2019t it? Isn\u2019t she too divine? If she\never dies, which God forbid, you ought to have her stuffed and dressed\njust like that, and put in a glass case in the hall to shew how young it\nis possible to be when you\u2019re old. But, seriously, do get a portrait\ndone of her to hang here. There\u2019s nothing of her in the gallery.\u201d\n\n\u201cAny other orders?\u201d asked Philip.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think so at present. Oh, by the way, are you going to Italy\nthis year?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I think I shall go out there before long for a few weeks as usual.\nWhy?\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought that perhaps you would take me. I\u2019ve got four months\u2019\nvacation, you see, now that I\u2019m at Cambridge, and I\u2019ve never been to\nItaly yet.\u201d\n\nPhilip paused; he was always alone in Italy. That was part of the\nspell. \u201cYou\u2019d get dreadfully bored, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall be at the\nvilla in Capri: there\u2019s nothing to do except swim.\u201d\n\nColin divined in his father\u2019s mind some reluctance other than that which\nhe expressed. He dropped his eyes for a moment, then raised them again\nto his father\u2019s face, merry and untroubled.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t want me to come with you, father,\u201d he said. \u201cQuite all right,\nbut why not have told me so?\u201d\n\nPhilip looked at the boy with that expression in his face that no one\nelse ever saw there; the tenderness for another, the heart\u2019s need of\nanother, which had shot into fitful flame twenty years ago, had never\nquite been extinguished; it had always smouldered there for Colin.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll think it over,\u201d he said, and turned round in his chair.\n\n\u201cYou were telling me something about wireless, Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cAs\nfar as Newfoundland! That is very wonderful. A few years ago scientists\nwould have laughed at such an idea as at a fairy-tale or a superstition.\nBut the superstitions of one generation become the science of the next.\u201d\n\nRaymond by this time was in a state of thorough ill-temper. He had\nwitnessed all the evening Colin\u2019s easy triumphs; he had seen how Colin,\nwhen annoyed, as he had been at his father\u2019s rebuke, went into his\nshell, and instantly every one tried to tempt him out again. Just now in\nthat low-voiced conversation between his brother and his father, he had\nheard his father say, \u201cStill vexed with me?\u201d in a sort of suppliance....\nHe determined to try a man\u0153uvre that answered so well.\n\n\u201cI should have said just the opposite,\u201d he remarked, re-filling his\nglass. \u201cI should have thought that the science and beliefs of one\ngeneration became the superstitions of the next. Our legend, for\ninstance; that was soberly believed once.\u201d\n\nPhilip Yardley did not respond quite satisfactorily. \u201cAh!\u201d he said,\ngetting up. \u201cWell, shall we be going?\u201d\n\nRaymond had just poured himself out a glass of port, and, very\nunfortunately, he remembered a precisely similar occasion on which his\nfather, just when Colin had done the same, proposed an adjournment. He\nrepeated the exact words Colin had used then.\n\n\u201cOh, you might wait till I\u2019ve finished my port,\u201d he said.\n\nThat did not produce the right effect. On the previous occasion his\nfather had said, \u201cSorry, old boy,\u201d and had sat down again.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019d better follow us, then,\u201d said Philip. \u201cBut don\u2019t drink any more,\nRaymond. You\u2019ve had as much as is good for you.\u201d\n\nRaymond\u2019s face blazed. To be spoken to like that, especially in front of\nhis uncle and brother, was intolerable. He got up and pushed his\nreplenished glass away, spilling half of it. Instantly Colin saw his\nopportunity, and knowing fairly well what would happen, he put his hand\nwithin Raymond\u2019s arm in brotherly remonstrance.\n\n\u201cOh, I say, Raymond!\u201d he said.\n\nRaymond shook him off. \u201cLeave me alone, can\u2019t you?\u201d he said angrily.\n\nThen he turned to his father. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to spill the wine, father,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cIt was an accident.\u201d\n\n\u201cAccidents are liable to happen, when one loses one\u2019s temper,\u201d said\nPhilip. \u201cRing the bell, please.\u201d\n\nThere were two tables for cards laid out in the drawing-room, and\nRaymond, coming in only a few seconds after the others, found that,\nwithout waiting for him, the bridge-table had already been made up with\nLady Hester, Violet, his father, and Colin. They had not given him a\nchance to play there, and now for the next hour he was condemned to play\nwhist with his grandmother and his uncle and aunt, a dreary pastime.\n\nAt ten old Lady Yardley went dumbly to bed, and there was the choice\nbetween sitting here until the bridge was over, or of following Uncle\nRonald into the smoking-room. But that he found he could not do; his\njealousy of Colin, both as regards his father and as regards Violet,\nconstrained him as with cords to stop and watch them, and contrast their\nmerriment with his own ensconced and sombre broodings.\n\nAnd then there was Violet herself. Colin\u2019s conjecture had been perfectly\nright, for in the fashion of Staniers, he must be considered as in the\nprocess of falling in love with her. The desire for possession, rather\nthan devotion, was the main ingredient in the bubbling vat, and that was\nvery sensibly present. She made a ferment in his blood, and though he\nwould not have sacrificed anything which he really valued, such as his\nprospective lordship of Stanier, for her sake, he could not suffer the\nidea that she should not be his. He knew, too, how potent in her was the\nStanier passion for the home, and that he counted as his chief asset,\nfor he had no illusion that Violet was in love with him. Nor was she, so\nhe thought, in love with Colin; the two were much more like a couple of\nchums than lovers.\n\nSo he sat and watched them round the edge of the newspaper which had\nbeguiled Uncle Ronald\u2019s impatience for dinner. The corner where he sat\nwas screened from the players by a large vase of flowers on the table\nnear them, and Raymond felt that he enjoyed, though without original\nintention, the skulking pleasures of the eavesdropper.\n\nColin, as usual, was to the fore. Just now he was dummy to his partner,\nAunt Hester, who, having added a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles to\ncomplete her early-Victorian costume, was feeling a shade uneasy. She\nhad just done what she most emphatically ought not to have done, and was\nafraid that both her adversaries had perceived it. Colin had perceived\nit, too; otherwise the suit of clubs was deficient. Violet had already\nalluded to this.\n\n\u201cOh, Aunt Hester!\u201d cried Colin. \u201cWhat\u2019s the use of pretending you\u2019ve not\nrevoked? Don\u2019t cling on to that last club; play it, and have done with\nit. If you don\u2019t, you\u2019ll revoke again.\u201d\n\nAunt Hester still felt cunning; she thought she might be able to bundle\nit up in the last trick. \u201cBut I ain\u2019t got a club, Colin,\u201d she said,\nreverting to mid-Victorian speech.\n\n\u201cDarling Aunt Hester, you mean \u2018haven\u2019t,\u2019\u201d said Colin. \u201c\u2018Ain\u2019t\u2019 means\n\u2018aren\u2019t,\u2019 and it isn\u2019t grammar even then, though you are my aunt.\n\u2018Ain\u2019t....\u2019\u201d\n\nLord Yardley, leaning forward, pulled Colin\u2019s hair. It looked so golden\nand attractive, it reminded him.... \u201cColin, are you dummy, or ain\u2019t\nyou?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cCertainly, father. Can\u2019t you see Aunt Hester\u2019s playing the hand? I\nshouldn\u2019t call it playing, myself. I should call it playing at playing.\nClub, please, Aunt Hester.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if you\u2019re dummy, hold your tongue,\u201d said Lord Yardley. \u201cDummy\nisn\u2019t allowed to speak, and....\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, those are the old rules,\u201d said Colin. \u201cThe new rules make it\nincumbent on dummy to talk all the time. Hurrah, there\u2019s Aunt Hester\u2019s\nclub, aren\u2019t it? One revoke, and a penalty of three tricks....\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubled,\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cBrute,\u201d said Colin, \u201cand no honours at all! Oh yes, fourteen to us\nabove. Well played, Aunt Hester! Wasn\u2019t it a pity? Your deal, Vi.\u201d\n\nColin, having cut the cards, happened to look up at the big vase of\nflowers which stood close to the table. As he did so, there was a\ntrivial glimmer, as of some paper just stirred, behind it. He had\nvaguely thought that Uncle Ronald and Raymond had both gone to the\nsmoking-room, but there was certainly some one there, and which of the\ntwo it was he had really no idea. Every one else, adversaries and\npartner, was behaving as if there was no one else in the room, so why\nnot he?\n\n\u201cRaymond\u2019s got the hump this evening,\u201d he said cheerfully. \u201cHe won at\nwhist--Lord, what a game!--because I saw Aunt Janet pay him half-a-crown\nwith an extraordinarily acid expression, and ask for change. So as he\u2019s\nwon at cards, he will be blighted in love. I expect he\u2019s had a knock\nfrom the young thing at the tobacconist\u2019s in King\u2019s Parade. I think she\nlikes me best, father. But it\u2019ll be the same daughter-in-law. She\nbreathes through her nose, and is marvellously genteel. Otherwise she\u2019s\njust like Violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cPass,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cHurrah! I knew it would make you pessimistic to be called like a\ntobacconist\u2019s....\u201d\n\nPhilip Yardley laid down his cards and actually laughed. \u201cColin, you\nlow, vulgar brute,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t talk so much!\u201d\n\nColin imitated Raymond\u2019s voice and manner to perfection. \u201cI should have\nsaid just the opposite,\u201d he remarked. \u201cI should have thought you wanted\nme to talk more, and make trumps.\u201d\n\nViolet caught on. \u201cOh, you got him exactly, Colin,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat did\nhe say that about?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on, Colin,\u201d said his father. \u201cWe shall never finish.\u201d\n\nColin examined his hand. \u201cThree no-trumps,\u201d he said. \u201cNot one, nor two,\nbut three. Glorious trinity!\u201d\n\nThere was no counter-challenge, and as Lord Yardley considered his lead,\nColin looked up through the vase of flowers once more. There was some\none there still, and he got up to fetch a match from a side-table. That\ngave him a clearer view of what lay beyond.\n\n\u201cHullo, Raymond?\u201d he said. \u201cThought you\u2019d gone to the smoking-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; just looking at the paper,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cI\u2019m going now.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but we\u2019ll have another rubber,\u201d said Colin. \u201cCut in?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d said Raymond.\n\nColin waited till the door had closed behind him. \u201cLor!\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cJust shut that door, Colin,\u201d said Lord Yardley.\n\nLady Hester was thrilled about the tobacconist\u2019s young thing; it really\nwould be rather a good joke if one of the boys, following his father\u2019s\nexample, married a \u201cbaggage\u201d of that sort, and she determined to pursue\nthe subject with Colin on some future occasion. She loved such loose\nnatural talk as he treated her to; he told her all his escapades. He was\njust such a scamp as Colin the first must have been, and with just such\ngifts and utter absence of moral sense was he endowed.\n\nIndeed, the old legend, so it seemed to her, lived again in Colin,\nthough couched in more modern terms. It was the medi\u00e6val style to say\nthat for the price of the soul, Satan was willing to dower his\nbeneficiary with all material bounty and graces; more modernly, you said\nthat this boy was an incorrigible young Adonis, who feared neither God\nnor devil. True, the lordship of Stanier was not yet Colin\u2019s, but\nsomething might happen to that grim, graceless Raymond.\n\nHow the two hated each other, and how different were the exhibitions of\ntheir antagonism! Raymond hated with a glowering, bilious secrecy, that\nwatched and brooded; Colin with a gay contempt, a geniality almost. But\nif the shrewd old Lady Hester had been asked to wager which of the two\nwas the most dangerous to the other, she would without hesitation have\nput her money on Colin.\n\nThe second rubber was short, but as hilarious as the first, and on its\nconclusion Lady Hester hurried to bed, saying that she would be \u201ca\nfright\u201d in the morning if she lost any more sleep. Violet followed her,\nPhilip withdrew to his own room, and Colin sauntered along to the\nsmoking-room in quest of whisky. His Uncle Ronald was still there,\nrapidly approaching the comatose mood of midnight, which it would have\nbeen inequitable to call intoxication and silly to call sobriety.\nRaymond sprawled in a chair by the window.\n\n\u201cHullo, Uncle Ronald, still up?\u201d said Colin. \u201cYou\u2019ll get scolded.\u201d\n\nUncle Ronald lifted a sluggish eyelid. \u201cHey?\u201d he said. \u201cOh, Colin, is\nit? What\u2019s the time, my boy?\u201d\n\n\u201cHalf-past twelve,\u201d said Colin, adding on another half-hour. He wanted\nto get rid of his uncle and see how he stood with his brother. No doubt\nthey would have a row.\n\n\u201cGobbless me,\u201d said Ronald. \u201cI shall turn in. Just a spot more whisky.\nGood night, boys.\u201d\n\nAs soon as he had gone Raymond got out of his chair and placed himself\nwhere he could get his heels on the edge of the low fender-kerb. He\nhated talking \u201cup\u201d to Colin, and this gave him a couple of inches.\n\n\u201cI want to ask you something,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cAsk away,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cDid you know I was in the room when you imitated me just now?\u201d\n\n\u201cHadn\u2019t given a thought to it,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s equally offensive whether you mimic me before my face or behind my\nback,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cIt was damned rude.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall I come to you for lessons in manners?\u201d asked Colin. \u201cWhat do you\ncharge?\u201d\n\nColin spoke with all the lightness of good-humoured banter, well aware\nthat if Raymond replied at all, he would make some sledge-hammer\nrejoinder. He would swing a cudgel against the rapier that pricked him,\nyet never land a blow except on the air, or, maybe, his own foot.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s beastly insolence on your part,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cAnd that\u2019s very polite,\u201d said Colin. \u201cYou may mimic me how and where\nand when you choose. If it\u2019s like, I shall laugh. If it isn\u2019t, well, I\nshall still laugh.\u201d\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t got your sense of humour,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cClearly, nor Violet\u2019s. She thought I had got you to a \u2018t.\u2019 You probably\nheard what she said from your sequestered corner behind your newspaper.\u201d\n\nRaymond advanced a step. \u201cLook here, Colin, do you mean to imply that I\nwas listening?\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cAnd I want to ask you a question,\u201d he said. \u201cDidn\u2019t you\nknow that we all thought you had gone away?\u201d\n\nRaymond disregarded this. \u201cThen there\u2019s another thing. What do you mean\nby telling father about the girl at the tobacconist\u2019s? You know it was\nnothing at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cRather,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI said so. You seem to forget that I told him\nthat I was the favourite. That\u2019s the part you didn\u2019t like.\u201d\n\nRaymond flushed. \u201cIt\u2019s all very well for you to say that,\u201d he said. \u201cBut\nyou know perfectly well that my father doesn\u2019t treat us alike. Things\nwhich are quite harmless in his eyes when you do them appear very\ndifferent to him when I\u2019m the culprit. I had had a knock from a\ntobacconist\u2019s girl, had I? You\u2019re a cad to have told him that quite\napart from its being a lie.\u201d\n\nColin laughed with irritating naturalness. \u201cIs this the first lesson in\nmanners?\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m beginning to see the hang of it. You call the\nother fellow a cad and a liar. About my father\u2019s not treating us alike,\nthat\u2019s his affair. But I should never dream of calling you a liar for\nsaying that. We\u2019re not alike: why should he treat us alike? You\u2019ve got a\nfoul temper, you see; that doesn\u2019t add to your popularity with anybody.\u201d\n\nHe spoke in the same voice in which he might have told Raymond that he\nhad a speck of dust on the coat, and yawned rather elaborately.\n\n\u201cTake care you don\u2019t rouse it,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cWhy not? It rather amuses me to see you in a rage.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it does, does it?\u201d said Raymond with his voice quivering.\n\n\u201cI assure you of it. I\u2019m having a most amusing evening, thanks to you.\nAnd this chat has been the pleasantest part of it. Pity that it\u2019s so\nlate.\u201d\n\nRaymond, as usual, had throughout, the worst of these exchanges and was\nquite aware of it. He had been ill-bred and abusive through his loss of\ntemper while Colin, insolent though his speech and his manner had been,\nhad kept within the bounds of civil retort in his sneers and contempt.\nIn all probability he would give an account of it all to Violet\nto-morrow, and there was no need for him to embroider; a strictly\ncorrect version of what had passed was quite disagreeable enough.\n\nThis Raymond wanted to avoid in view of his desire that Violet should\nlook on him as favourably as possible. Whether he meant to propose to\nher during his visit here, he hardly knew himself, but certainly he\nwanted to be in her good books. This, and this alone, prompted him now;\nhe hated Colin, all the more because he had been absolutely unable to\nruffle him or pierce the fine armour of his composure, but as regards\nViolet, and perhaps his father, he feared him.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve lost my temper, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I owe you an\napology for all I\u2019ve said. You had annoyed me by mimicking me and by\ntelling father about that girl at Cambridge.\u201d\n\nColin felt that he had pulled the wings off a fly that had annoyed him\nby its buzzing; the legs might as well follow....\n\n\u201cCertainly you owe me an apology,\u201d he said. \u201cBut, considering\neverything, I don\u2019t quite know whether you are proposing to pay it.\u201d\n\nRaymond turned on him fiercely. \u201cAh, that\u2019s you all over!\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cOh, we\u2019re being quite natural,\u201d said Colin. \u201cSo much better.\u201d\n\nHe paused a moment.\n\n\u201cNow I don\u2019t want to be offensive just now,\u201d he said, \u201cso let\u2019s sit down\nand try to tolerate each other for a minute. There.\u201d\n\nRaymond longed to be at his throat, to feel his short, strong fingers\nthrottling the life out of that smooth white neck. But some careless\nsuperior vitality in Colin made him sit down.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s face it, Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cWe loathe each other like poison,\nand it is nonsense to pretend we don\u2019t. Unfortunately, you are the\neldest, so in the end you will score, however much I annoy you. But put\nyourself in my place; imagine yourself the younger with your foul\ntemper. You would probably try to kill me. Of course, by accident. But\nI\u2019m not intending to kill you. I am very reasonable; you must be\nreasonable, too. But just put yourself in my place.\u201d\n\nRaymond shifted in the chair in which Colin, with a mere gesture of a\nfinger, had made him sit. \u201cCan\u2019t we possibly get on better together,\nColin?\u201d he said. \u201cAfter all, as you say, I come into everything on my\nfather\u2019s death. I have Stanier, I have the millions where you have the\nthousands. I can be very useful to you. You adore the place, and I can\nlet you come here as often and as long as you like, and I can also\nprevent your setting foot in it. If you\u2019ll try to be decent to me, I\npromise you that you shan\u2019t regret it.\u201d\n\nColin put his head on one side and looked at his brother with an air of\npondering wonder. \u201cOh, that cock won\u2019t fight,\u201d he said. \u201cYou know as\nwell as I do that when you are master here, I would sooner go to hell\nthan come here, and you would sooner go to hell than let me come.\nPerhaps I\u2019ve got a dull imagination, but it\u2019s no use my trying to\nimagine that. Do be sensible. If you could do anything to injure me at\nthis moment when you are proposing a truce, you know that you would do\nit. But you can\u2019t. You can\u2019t hurt me in any way whatever. But what you\ndo know is that I can hurt you in all sorts of ways. I can poison my\nfather\u2019s mind about you--it\u2019s pretty sick already. I can poison Violet\u2019s\nmind, and that\u2019s none too healthy. You see, they both like me most\ntremendously, and they don\u2019t very much like you. It\u2019s just the same at\nCambridge. I\u2019ve got fifty friends: you haven\u2019t got one. I dare say it\u2019s\nnot your fault: anyhow, we\u2019ll call it your misfortune. But you want me\nto do something for you in return for nothing you can do for me, or,\nperhaps, nothing that you will do for me.\u201d\n\nRaymond frowned; when he was thinking he usually frowned. When Colin was\nthinking he usually smiled.\n\n\u201cIf in the future there is anything I can do for you, Colin,\u201d he said,\n\u201cI will do it. I want to be friends with you. Good Lord, isn\u2019t that\nreasonable? We\u2019re brothers.\u201d\n\nColin leaned forward in his chair. He was aware of the prodigious nature\nof what he was meaning to say. \u201cGive me Stanier, Raymond,\u201d he said.\n\u201cWith what father is leaving me, and with what Aunt Hester is leaving\nme, I can easily afford to keep it up. I don\u2019t ask you for any money. I\njust want Stanier. Of course, it needn\u2019t actually be mine. But I want to\nlive here, while you live somewhere else. There\u2019s the Derbyshire house,\nfor instance. I\u2019ve got Stanier in my blood. If, on father\u2019s death,\nyou\u2019ll do that, there\u2019s nothing I won\u2019t do for you.\u201d\n\nHe paused.\n\n\u201cI can do a good deal, you know,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I can refrain from doing\na good deal.\u201d\n\nThe proposal was so preposterous that Raymond fairly laughed. Instantly\nColin got up.\n\n\u201cThat sounds pleasant,\u201d he said. \u201cGood night, Raymond. I wouldn\u2019t have\nany more whisky, if I were you. Father seemed to think you\u2019d had enough\ndrink before the end of dinner.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nBreakfast at Stanier was a shade less stately than dinner. The table was\ninvariably laid for the complete tale of its possible consumers, and a\nvicarious urn bubbled at the end of the board with an empty teapot in\nfront of it, in case of old Lady Yardley coming down to breakfast and\ndispensing tea. She had not come down for over twenty years, but the urn\nstill awaited her ministrations.\n\nOn the arrival of tidings that she was having breakfast in her room, the\nurn was taken away, and if news filtered through the butler to the\nfootman that some one else was breakfasting upstairs, a place at the\ntable was removed. Hot dishes above spirit-lamps stood in a row on the\nsideboard, and there remained till somebody had come down or till, from\nthe removal of knives and forks, it was clear that nobody was coming.\n\nBut when Lady Hester was in the house, these dishes were always sure of\na partaker, for, after her cold bath, she breakfasted downstairs, as she\nconsidered her bedroom a place to sleep and dress in, not to eat in. The\nurn would have been removed by this time, for Lady Yardley\u2019s maid would\nhave taken her tray upstairs, and for Lady Hester and for any one else\nwho appeared there was brought in a separate equipage of tea or coffee,\nhot and fresh, and deposited in front of the occupied chair.\n\nThis morning she was the first to arrive, dressed in a white coat and\nblouse and a jaunty little straw hat turned up at the back and decorated\nwith pheasants\u2019 feathers. Provision of fish and bacon was brought her,\nand an ironed copy of a daily paper. There were still four places left\nat the table unremoved, and she promised herself a chatty breakfast.\n\nRaymond was the next comer, but he did not much conduce to chattiness.\nHe looked heavy-eyed and sulky, only grunted in response to her\nsalutation, and immured himself behind the _Daily Mail_. Lady Hester\nmade one further attempt at sociability, and asked him if he had slept\nwell, but as he had nothing to add to his \u201cNo, not very,\u201d she considered\nherself free from any further obligation.\n\nThen there came a very welcome addition to his grievous company, for\nColin entered through the door that opened on to the terrace. Flannel\ntrousers, coat and shirt open at the neck was all his costume, and there\nwas a bathing towel over his shoulder.\n\n\u201cMorning, Aunt Hester,\u201d he said. \u201cMorning, Raymond.\u201d\n\nHe paused in order to make quite sure that Raymond made no response, and\nsat down next his aunt.\n\n\u201cBeen bathing,\u201d he said. \u201cHottest morning that ever was. Why didn\u2019t you\ncome, too, Aunt Hester? You\u2019d look like a water-nymph. I say, what a\nnice hat! Whom are you going to reduce to despair? Hullo, three\nletters!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow many of them are love-letters?\u201d asked Aunt Hester archly.\n\n\u201cAll, of course,\u201d said Colin. \u201cThere\u2019s one from Cambridge.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019ll be the young woman in the tobacconist\u2019s shop whom you told us\nabout,\u201d began Aunt Hester.\n\n\u201cSh!\u201d said Colin, nodding towards Raymond. \u201cSore subject.\u201d\n\nRaymond, pushing back his chair, could not control himself from casting\none furious glance at Colin, and went out.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s one bad-tempered young man gone,\u201d said Lady Hester\nseverely. She could understand people being thieves and liars, but to\nfail in pleasantness and geniality was frankly unintelligible to her.\n\n\u201cWhy does he behave like that, my dear?\u201d she continued. \u201cHe hadn\u2019t a\nword to chuck at me like a bone to a dog, when I wished him good\nmorning. What makes him like that? He ain\u2019t got a belly-ache, has he?\u201d\n\nColin, as he swam in the sunshine this morning, had devoted some amount\nof smiling reflection as to his policy with regard to Raymond. Raymond\nhad rejected his amazing proposal with a derisive laugh; he did not\nthink that an alliance with his brother was worth that price, and he\nmust take the consequences of his refusal.\n\nViolet entered at this moment; that was convenient, for she, too, could\nhear about the quarrel last night at one telling.\n\n\u201cOh, we had a row last night,\u201d he said. \u201cIt was pitched a little higher\nthan usual, and I suppose Raymond\u2019s suffering from after-effects. He was\nperfectly furious with me for having mimicked him, and wasn\u2019t the least\nsoothed by my saying he might mimic me as often as he pleased. Then I\nwas told I was a cad and a liar for that nonsense I talked about the\ntobacconist\u2019s. After I had stood as much as I could manage, I left him\nto his whisky, and I don\u2019t imagine there\u2019ll be much left of it. Oh, I\nsay, Violet, did you shut the door when you came in? I believe it\u2019s\nopen; I\u2019ll do it.\u201d\n\nColin got up, went to the door which was indeed ajar, and looked out\ninto the long gallery. Raymond, it so happened, was sitting in the\nnearest window-seat lighting his pipe.\n\nColin nodded to him. \u201cJust shutting the door,\u201d he said, and drew back\ninto the dining-room, rattling and pushing the door to make sure that\nthe latch had gone home. He felt sure that what he had just said to\nRaymond (that very innocent piece of information!) would go home, too.\n\n\u201cHe was just outside,\u201d said Colin softly, returning to the\nbreakfast-table. \u201cWasn\u2019t it lucky I thought of shutting the door?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on; what else?\u201d asked Violet.\n\n\u201cNothing more. Of course, it was very awkward his having overheard what\nwe all said at our bridge. That had riled him. It was best to be sure\nthat there wouldn\u2019t be a repetition of it this morning. But if people\nwill sit behind a newspaper and a vase of flowers, it\u2019s difficult to be\naware of their presence. People ought to betray their presence in the\nusual manner by coughing or sneezing. I shall have a thorough search of\nthe room first before I say anything about anybody. If I want to say you\nare an old darling, Aunt Hester, I shall look behind the coal-scuttle\nfirst.\u201d\n\nColin, whatever his private sentiments were, had an infinite lightness\nof touch in the expression of them. He had declared, not to Violet\nalone, but to Raymond himself, that he frankly detested him, and yet\nthere was a grace about the manner of the presentment that rendered his\nhatred, if not laudable, at any rate, venial. And his account of the\nquarrel last night was touched with the same graceful brush. Without\noverstepping the confines of truth, he left the impression that he had\nbeen reasonable and gentle, Raymond headstrong and abusive.\n\nThis, too, was part of his policy; when others were present, he would\nmake himself winningly agreeable to Raymond, and shew a control and an\nindulgence highly creditable in view of his brother\u2019s brusque ways, and\ntake no provocation at his hands. That would accentuate the partisanship\nof the others, which already was his, and would deprive Raymond of any\nlingering grain of sympathy. When he and Raymond were alone, he would\nexercise none of this self-restraint; he would goad and sting him with a\nthousand biting darts.\n\nThe three strolled out presently into the gallery; Lady Hester and\nViolet passed Raymond without speech, but Colin sauntered up to him.\n\n\u201cComing out to play tennis presently?\u201d he asked.\n\nColin\u2019s careful closing of the dining-room door had not been lost on his\nbrother. Raymond had interpreted it just as Colin wished him to, and he\nwas boiling with rage.\n\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m not,\u201d said he.\n\nColin turned to where Violet was standing, just shrugged his shoulders\nwith a lift of the eyebrows, and went on towards her without spoken\ncomment.\n\n\u201cTennis soon, Vi?\u201d he asked. \u201cWe\u2019ll have to play a single.\u201d\n\n\u201cRight. That will be jolly,\u201d said Violet. \u201cIn half an hour?\u201d\n\nColin nodded, and passed on to Lady Hester. \u201cCome out, Aunt Hester, and\nlet\u2019s sit in the shade somewhere till Vi\u2019s ready. It\u2019s lovely outside.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must have me sunshade,\u201d said she, \u201cor I shall spoil me complexion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019ll never do,\u201d said Colin. \u201cNone of your young men will fall in\nlove with you, if you do that. I\u2019ll get it for you. Which will you have,\nthe blue one with pink ribands, or the pink one with blue ribands?\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither, you wretch,\u201d said Aunt Hester. \u201cThe yaller one.\u201d\n\nThey found an encampment of basket-chairs under the elms beyond the\nterrace, and Colin went straight to the business on which he wanted\ncertain information. This, too, was an outcome of his meditations in the\nswimming-pool.\n\n\u201cI asked father to take me out to Italy this summer,\u201d he said, \u201cand it\nwas quite clear that he had some objection to it. Have you any idea what\nit was?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, it\u2019s no use asking me,\u201d said Aunt Hester. \u201cYour father\u2019s never\nspoken to me about anything of the sort, and he ain\u2019t the sort of man to\nask questions of. But for all these years he has gone off alone for a\nmonth every summer. Perhaps he only just wants to get rid of us all for\na while.\u201d\n\nColin extended himself on the grass, shading his eyes against the glare\nwith his hand. His ultimate goal was still too far off to be\ndistinguished even in general outline, far less in any detailed aspect.\nHe was but exploring, not knowing what he should find, not really\nknowing what he looked for.\n\n\u201cPerhaps that\u2019s it,\u201d he said. \u201cIn any case, it doesn\u2019t matter much. But\nI did wonder why father seemed not to welcome the idea of my going with\nhim. He usually likes to have me with him. He\u2019s devoted to Italy, isn\u2019t\nhe, and yet he never talks about it.\u201d\n\nColin spoke with lazy indifference, knowing very well that the surest\nway of getting information was to avoid any appearance of anxiety to\nobtain it, and, above all, not to press for it. Suggestions had to be\nmade subconsciously to the subject.\n\n\u201cNever a word,\u201d said Lady Hester, \u201cand never has to my knowledge, since\nhe brought you and Raymond back twenty years ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere you here then?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cYes, and that was the first time I saw Stanier since I was seventeen.\nYour grandfather never spoke to me after my marriage, and for that\nmatter, I wouldn\u2019t have spoken to him. He was an old brute, my dear, was\nyour grandfather, and Raymond\u2019ll be as like him as two peas.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot as two peas, darling,\u201d said Colin, \u201cas one pea to another pea.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, bother your grammar,\u201d said Lady Hester. \u201cSpeech is given us to show\nwhat we mean. You know what I mean well enough. But as soon as your\ngrandfather died, Philip made me welcome here, and has made me welcome\never since. Yes, my dear, the first I saw of you, you were laughing, and\nyou ain\u2019t stopped since.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you know my mother?\u201d asked Colin quietly.\n\nHe was getting on to his subject again, though Lady Hester was not aware\nof it.\n\n\u201cNo. Never set eyes on her. Nobody of the family knew she existed until\nyou were born, and less than a month after that she was dead. Your\nfather had left home, one May or June it must have been, for he couldn\u2019t\nstand your grandfather any more than I could, and not a word did any one\nbut your grandmother hear of him, and that only to say it was a fine\nday, and he was well, till there came that telegram to say that he was\nmarried and had a pair of twins. Your grandfather was at dinner,\nsitting over his wine with your Uncle Ronald--he used to drink enough to\nmake two men tipsy every night of his life--and up he got when your\nuncle read the telegram to him, and crash he went among the decanters,\nand that was the end of him. Then your mother died, and back came your\nfather with you and Raymond, within a twelvemonth of the time he\u2019d gone\naway. And not a word about that twelvemonth ever passes his lips.\u201d\n\nColin let a suitable pause speak for the mildness of his interest in all\nthis. \u201cHe must have been married, then, very soon after he went to\nItaly,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cMust have, my dear,\u201d said Lady Hester.\n\nIt was exactly then that Colin began to see a faint outline, shrouded\nthough it was by the mists of twenty years, that might prove to be the\nobject of his exploration. Very likely it was only a mirage, some\natmospheric phantom, but he intended to keep his eye on it, and, if\npossible, get nearer to it. A certain _nuance_ of haste and promptitude\nwith which Lady Hester had agreed to his comment perhaps brought it in\nsight.\n\nHe sat up, clasping his knees with his hands, and appeared to slide off\ninto generalities. \u201cHow exceedingly little we all know of each other,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cWhat do I know of my father, for instance? Hardly anything.\nAnd I know even less of my mother. Just her name, Rosina Viagi, and I\nshouldn\u2019t know that if it wasn\u2019t for the picture of her in the gallery.\nWho are the Viagis, Aunt Hester? Anybody?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t know at all, my dear,\u201d said she. \u201cI know as little about them as\nyou. Quite respectable folk, I daresay, though what does it matter if\nthey weren\u2019t?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot an atom. Queen Elizabeth wished she was a milk-maid, didn\u2019t she?\u201d\n\n\u201cLord, she\u2019d have upset the milk-pails and stampeded the cows!\u201d observed\nLady Hester. \u201cBetter for her to be a queen. Why, here\u2019s your father.\u201d\n\nThis was rather an unusual appearance, for Lord Yardley did not\ngenerally shew himself till lunch-time. Colin instantly jumped up.\n\n\u201cHurrah, father!\u201d he said. \u201cCome and talk. Cigarette? Chair?\u201d\n\nLord Yardley shook his head. \u201cNo, dear boy,\u201d he said. \u201cI sent for you\nand heard you were out, so I came to look for you. Have five minutes\u2019\nstroll with me.\u201d\n\nColin took his father\u2019s arm. \u201cRather,\u201d he said. \u201cTell Vi that I\u2019ll be\nback in a few minutes if she comes out, will you, Aunt Hester?\u201d\n\nPhilip stopped. \u201cAnother time will do, Colin,\u201d he said, \u201cif you\u2019ve made\nany arrangement with Violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly vague tennis.\u201d\n\nThey walked off up the shady alley of grass to where, at the end, an\nopening cut in the trees gave a wide view over the plain. The ground in\nfront fell sharply away in slopes of steep turf, dotted with hawthorns a\nlittle past the fulness of their flowering. A couple of miles away the\nred roofs of Rye smouldered in the blaze of the day, outlined against\nthe tidal water of the joined rivers, that went seawards in expanse of\ndyke-contained estuary. On each side of it stretched the green levels of\nthe marsh, with Winchelsea floating there a greener island on the green\nof that grassy ocean, and along its margin to the south the sea like a\nsilver wire was extended between sky and land. To the right for\nforeground lay the yew-encompassed terraces, built and planted by Colin\nthe first, the lowest of which fringed the broad water of the lake, and\nalong them burned the glory of the June flower-beds. Behind, framed in\nthe trees between which they had passed, the south-east front of the\nhouse rose red and yellow between the lines of green.\n\nThe two stood silent awhile.\n\n\u201cAh, Colin,\u201d said his father, \u201cwe\u2019re at one about Stanier. It beats in\nyour blood as it does in mine. I wish to God that when I was dead....\u201d\n\nHe broke off.\n\n\u201cI want to talk to you about two things,\u201d he said. \u201cRaymond\u2019s one of\nthem, but we\u2019ll take the other first. About Italy. I\u2019ll take you with me\nif you want to come. I was reluctant, but I am reluctant no longer.\nApart from my inclination which, as I tell you, is for it now not\nagainst it, you\u2019ve got a certain right to come. You and I will live in\nthe villa where I lived with your mother. I\u2019ve left it you, by the way.\nMy romance, my marriage with her, and our life together, was so short\nand was so utterly cut off from everybody else that, as you know, I\u2019ve\nalways kept it like that, severed from all of you. But you\u2019re her son,\nmy dear, and in some ways you are so like her that it\u2019s only right you\nshould share my memories and my ghosts. They\u2019re twenty-one years old\nnow, and they\u2019ve faded, but they are there. There\u2019s only one thing I\nwant of you; that is, not to ask me any questions about her. Certain\nthings I\u2019ll tell you, but anything I don\u2019t tell you....\u201d\n\nHe broke off for a moment.\n\n\u201cAnything I don\u2019t tell you is my private affair,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cI understand, father,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll probably see your Uncle Salvatore,\u201d continued Philip. \u201cSo be\nprepared for a shock. He usually comes over when he hears I am at the\nvilla ... but never mind that. He takes himself off when he\u2019s got his\ntip. So that\u2019s settled. If you get bored you can go away.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is good of you, father,\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cNow about the second point,\u201d said Philip; \u201cand that\u2019s Raymond. He\u2019s a\nsulky, dark fellow, that brother of yours, Colin.\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cOh, put all the responsibility on me,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWell, what\u2019s to be done with him? He was in the long gallery just now\nas I came out, and I spoke to him and was civil. But there he lounged,\ndidn\u2019t even take his feet off the window-seat, and wouldn\u2019t give me more\nthan a grunted \u2018yes\u2019 or \u2018no.\u2019 So I told him what I thought of his\nmanners.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, did you? How good for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I didn\u2019t see why he should sulk at me,\u201d said Philip. \u201cAfter all,\nit\u2019s my house for the present, and if he is to quarter himself there,\nwithout either invitation or warning, the least he can do is to treat me\nlike his host. I try to treat him like a guest, and like a son, for that\nmatter. Don\u2019t I?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, dear father,\u201d said Colin. \u201cYou always try.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean, you impertinent boy?\u201d\n\nColin laughed again. \u201cWell, you don\u2019t always succeed, you know. You\ncover up your dislike of him....\u201d\n\n\u201cDislike?\u201d\n\n\u201cRather. You hate him, you know.\u201d\n\nPhilip pondered over this. \u201cGod forgive me, I believe I do,\u201d he said.\n\u201cBut, anyhow, I try not to, and that\u2019s the most I can do. And I will be\ntreated civilly in my own house. How long is he going to stop, do you\nknow?\u201d\n\n\u201cI asked him that yesterday,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHe said that, with my\npermission--sarcastic, you know--he was going to stop as long as he\npleased.\u201d\n\nPhilip frowned. \u201cOh, did he?\u201d he said. \u201cPerhaps my permission will have\nsomething to do with it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, do tell him to pack off!\u201d said Colin. \u201cIt was so ripping here\nbefore he came. I had a row with him last night, by the way.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat about?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, he chose to swear at me for mimicking him. That is how it began.\nBut Raymond will quarrel over anything. He\u2019s not particular about the\npretext. Then there was what I said about the tobacconist\u2019s wench.\u201d\n\nThey had passed through the box-hedge on to the terrace just below the\nwindows of the long gallery. Colin raised his eyes for one half-second\nas they came opposite the window-seat which Raymond had been occupying,\nand saw the top of his black head just above the sill. He raised his\nvoice a little.\n\n\u201cPoor old Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ve got to make the best of him,\nfather. I suppose he can\u2019t help being so beastly disagreeable.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe seems to think he\u2019s got a monopoly of it,\u201d said Philip. \u201cBut I\u2019ll\nshow him I can be disagreeable, too. And if he can\u2019t mend his ways, I\u2019ll\njust send him packing.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it would be ripping without him,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHe might come back\nafter you and I have gone to Italy.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn pursuance of his general policy, Colin made the most persevering\nattempts at lunch to render himself agreeable to his brother, for the\nimpression he wished to give was that he was all amiability and thereby\nthrow into blackest shadow against his own sunlight, Raymond\u2019s\nchurlishness. A single glance at that glowering face was sufficient to\nconvince Colin that he had amply overheard the words which had passed\nbetween his father and himself below the open window of the gallery, and\nthat he writhed under these courtesies which were so clearly of the\nroutine of \u201cmaking the best of him.\u201d All the rest of them would see how\nmanfully Colin persevered, and this geniality was a goad to Raymond\u2019s\nfury; he simply could not bring himself to answer with any appearance of\ngood-fellowship.\n\n\u201cWhat have you been at all morning, Raymond?\u201d Colin asked him as he\nentered. \u201cI looked for you everywhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeen indoors,\u201d said Raymond.\n\nColin just shook his head and gave a little sigh of despair, then began\nagain, determined not to be beaten. He saw his father watching and\nlistening, and Raymond knew that Lord Yardley was applauding Colin\u2019s\nresolve to \u201cmake the best of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou ought to have come down to the tennis-court and taken on Vi and me\ntogether,\u201d he said. \u201cWe shouldn\u2019t have had a chance against you, but\nwe\u2019d have done our best. Father, you must come and look at Raymond the\nnext time he plays; he\u2019s become a tremendous crack.\u201d\n\nRaymond knew perfectly well that either Colin or Violet could beat him\nsingle-handed. Yet how answer this treacherous graciousness?\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t talk such rot, Colin!\u201d he said.\n\nHe looked up angrily just in time to see Colin and his father exchange a\nglance.\n\n\u201cWell, what shall we do this afternoon?\u201d said Colin, doggedly pleasant.\n\u201cShall we go and play golf? It would be awfully nice of you if you\u2019d\ndrive me down in your car.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know perfectly well that I loathe golf,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cSorry,\u201d said Colin.\n\nColin laughed, and without the smallest touch of ill-humour, gave it up\nand turned to Violet.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have our game in that case, shall we, Vi?\u201d he asked. \u201cFather, may\nwe have a car to take us down?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d said Philip. \u201cHester and I will come down with you, go\nfor a drive, and pick you up again. You\u2019d like that, Hester?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but that will leave Raymond alone....\u201d began Colin.\n\nRaymond broke in: \u201cThat\u2019s just what I want you to do with me,\u201d he\nsnapped.\n\nColin got up. \u201cI\u2019ll just go and see granny for a minute,\u201d he said. \u201cI\ntold her I would look in on her after lunch....\u201d\n\nPhilip had listened to Colin\u2019s advances and Raymond\u2019s rebuffs with a\ngrowing resentment at his elder son\u2019s behaviour, and as the others went\nout he beckoned him to stop behind.\n\n\u201cLook here, Raymond,\u201d he said when the door had closed. \u201cI had to speak\nto you after breakfast for your rudeness to me, and all lunch-time\nyou\u2019ve been as disagreeable as you knew how to be to your brother. And\nif you think I\u2019m going to stand these sulks and ill-temper, you\u2019ll very\nspeedily find yourself mistaken. Colin did all that a good-natured boy\ncould to give you a chance of making yourself decently agreeable, and\nevery time he tried you snapped and growled at him.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you wish me to answer you or not, sir?\u201d asked Raymond.\n\n\u201cCertainly. I have every desire to be scrupulously fair to you,\u201d said\nPhilip. \u201cI will hear anything you wish to say.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, father, I wish to say that you\u2019re not fair to me. If I\u2019m late for\ndinner, do you chaff me in the way you do Colin? Last night you asked\nhim with a chuckle, \u2018Urgent private affairs?\u2019 That was all the rebuke he\ngot. If he says he hasn\u2019t finished his wine, you sit down again, and say\n\u2018Sorry.\u2019 If I haven\u2019t, you tell me I\u2019ve had enough already. Colin\u2019s your\nfavourite, and you show it every minute of the day. You dislike me, you\nknow.\u201d\n\nThere was quite enough truth in this to make the hearing of it\ndisagreeable to his father. \u201cI didn\u2019t ask you to discuss my conduct, but\nto consider your own,\u201d he said. \u201cBut you shall have it your own way. My\nconduct to you is the result of yours to me, and yours to everybody\nelse. Look at yourself and Colin dispassionately, and tell me whether I\ncould be as fond of you as of him. I acknowledge I\u2019m not. Are you fond\nof me, if it comes to that? But I\u2019m polite to you, until you annoy me\nbeyond endurance, as you are continually doing. If Colin had behaved at\nlunch as you\u2019ve behaved, I should have thought he was ill.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I\u2019m only sulky,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re proving it every moment,\u201d said his father. \u201cThat\u2019s quite a good\ninstance.\u201d\n\nRaymond paused, biting his lip. \u201cYou judge Colin\u2019s behaviour to me,\nfather,\u201d he said, \u201cby what you see of it. You think he\u2019s like that to me\nwhen we\u2019re alone. He\u2019s not: he\u2019s fiendish to me. Don\u2019t you understand\nthat when you\u2019re there, or anybody else is there, he acts a part, to\nmake you think that he\u2019s ever so amiable?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how do you behave to him when you\u2019re alone together?\u201d asked\nPhilip. \u201cIf I take your word about Colin, I must take Colin\u2019s about\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve done that already, I expect,\u201d said Raymond.\n\nHis father got up. \u201cI see I haven\u2019t made myself clear,\u201d he said. \u201cTry to\ngrasp that that\u2019s the sort of remark I don\u2019t intend to stand from you\nfor a moment. If I have any further complaint to make of you, you leave\nthe house. You\u2019ve got to be civil and decently behaved. Otherwise you\ngo. I do not choose to have my general enjoyment of life, or Colin\u2019s, or\nyour uncle\u2019s, or your aunt\u2019s, spoiled by your impertinences and\nsnarlings. You\u2019ll have to go away; you can go to St. James\u2019s Square if\nyou like, but I won\u2019t have you here unless you make a definite effort to\nbe a pleasanter companion. As I told Colin this morning, you seem to\nthink that being disagreeable is a monopoly of your own, but you\u2019ll find\nthat I can be disagreeable, too, and far more effectively than lies in\nyour power.\u201d\n\nPhilip was quite aware that he was speaking with extreme harshness, with\ngreater harshness, in fact, than he really intended. But the sight of\nthat heavy brooding face, the knowledge that this was his elder son, who\nwould reign at Stanier when he was dead to the exclusion of Colin, made\nhis tongue bitter beyond control.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s all I\u2019ve got to say to you,\u201d he said. \u201cI won\u2019t have you\ninsolent and uncivil to me or any one in this house. I\u2019m master here for\nthe present, and, rightly or wrongly, I shall do as I choose. And I\nwon\u2019t have you quarrelling with Colin. You tell me that when I\u2019m not\nhere and when you\u2019re alone with him, he\u2019s fiendish to you; that was the\nword you used. Now don\u2019t repeat that, because I don\u2019t believe it. You\u2019re\njealous of Colin, that\u2019s why you say things like that; you want to\ninjure him in my eyes. But you only injure yourself.\u201d\n\nAt that moment there came into Philip\u2019s mind some memory, now more than\ntwenty years old, of himself in Raymond\u2019s position, stung by the lash of\nhis father\u2019s vituperations, reduced to the dumb impotence of hatred.\nThough he felt quite justified in all he had said to the boy, he knew\nthat his dislike of him had plumed and barbed his arrows, and he\nexperienced some sort of reluctant sympathy with him.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve spoken strongly,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause I felt strongly, but I\u2019ve\ndone. If you\u2019ve got anything more to say to me, say it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cVery good. I shan\u2019t refer to it all again, and it\u2019s up to you to do\nbetter in the future. Put a check on yourself. Believe me, that if you\ndo you will have a better time with me and every one else.... Think it\nover, Raymond; be a sensible fellow.\u201d\n\nThe departure of the others gave Raymond abundance of leisure for\nsolitary reflection, and his father\u2019s remarks plenty of material for the\nsame. Stinging as those hot-minted sentences had been, he felt no\nresentment towards the orator; from his own point of view--a perfectly\nreasonable one--his father was justified in what he said. What he did\nnot know, and what he refused to know, was the truth about Colin, who\nneglected no opportunity which quickness of speech and an unrivalled\ninstinct gave him as to what rankled and festered, of planting his darts\nwhen they were alone together. Raymond accepted Colin\u2019s hatred of him,\njust as he accepted his own of Colin, as part of the established order\nof things, but what made him rage was this new policy of his brother\u2019s\nto win sympathy for himself and odium for him, by public politeness and\naffectionate consideration. No one observing that, as his father had\ndone, could doubt who was the aggressor in their quarrels--the genial,\nsweet-tempered boy, or he, the morose and surly. And yet, far more often\nthan not, it was Colin who intentionally and carefully exasperated him.\nIt amused Colin, as he had said, to see his brother in a rage, and he\nwas ingenious at providing himself with causes of entertainment.\n\nAnd what, above all, prompted his father\u2019s slating of him just now?\nAgain it was Colin; it was his championship of his favourite which had\ngiven the sting to his tongue. Here, too, Raymond acquitted his father\nof any motive beyond the inevitable one. Nobody could possibly help\nliking Colin better than himself, and it was the recognition of that\nwhich made his mind brush aside all thought of his father, and attach\nitself with claws and teeth to the root of all this trouble. He was slow\nin his mental processes whereas Colin was quick, and Colin could land a\nhundred stinging darts, could wave a hundred maddening flags at him,\nbefore he himself got in a charge that went home. That image of the\narena entirely filled his thought. Colin, the light, applauded matador,\nhimself the savage, dangerous animal.\n\nBut one day--and Raymond clenched his hands till the nails bit the skin,\nas he pictured it--that light, lissome figure, with its smiling face and\nits graceful air, would side-step and wheel a moment too late, and it\nwould lie stretched on the sand, while he gored and kneaded it into a\nhash of carrion. \u201cAh!\u201d he said to himself, \u201cthat\u2019ll be good; that\u2019ll be\ngood.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe intensity and vividness of the image surprised him; he came to\nhimself, sitting on the terrace, with the hum of bees drowsy in the\nflower-beds, as if from some doze and dream. He had not arrived at it\nfrom any consecutive interpretation of his hate for Colin; it had not\nbeen evolved out of his mind, but had been flashed on to it as by some\nvision outside his own control. But there it was, and now his business\nlay in realising it.\n\nHe saw at once that he must be in no hurry. Whether that goring and\nkneading of Colin was to be some act of physical violence or the\ndenouement of a plot which should lead to some disgraceful exposure,\nRaymond knew he must plan nothing rashly, must test the strength of\nevery bolt and rivet in his construction. Above all, he must appear, and\ncontinue to appear, to have taken his father\u2019s strictures to heart, and\nfor the sake, to put it at its lowest, of being allowed to stay on at\nStanier, to observe the general amenities of sociability, and in\nparticular to force himself into cordial responses to Colin\u2019s public\nattentions.\n\nTemporarily, that would look bitterly like a victory for Colin; with his\nfather to back him, it would seem as if Colin had reduced his brother to\ndecent behaviour. But that could not be helped; he must for many weeks\nyet cultivate an assiduous civility and appear to have seen the error of\nhis sulky ways in order to lull suspicion fast asleep. At present Colin\nwas always watchful for hostile man\u0153uvres; it would be a work of time\nand patience before he would credit that Raymond had plucked his\nhostility from him.\n\nThen there was Violet. Not only had his intemperate churlishness damaged\nhim with his father, but not less with her. That had to be repaired, for\nthough to know that Stanier was to her, even as to Colin, an\nenchantment, an obsession, she might find that the involved condition of\nmarrying him in order to become its mistress was one that she could not\nface. She did not love him, she did not even like him, but he divined\nthat her obsession about Stanier, coupled with the aloofness and\nindependence that characterised her, might make her accept a\ncompanionship that was not positively distasteful to her.\n\nIt was not the Stanier habit to love; love did not form part of the\nbeauty with which nature had dowered them. The men of the family sought\na healthy mate; for the women of the family, so few had there ever been,\nno rule could be deduced. But Violet, so far as he could tell, followed\nthe men in this, and for witness to her inability to love, in the sense\nof poets and romanticists, was her attitude to Colin.\n\nHad he been the younger, Raymond would have laughed at himself for\nentertaining any notion of successful rivalry. Colin, with the lordship\nof Stanier, would have been no more vulnerable than was the moon to a\nyokel with a pocket-pistol. But he felt very sure that love, as a\nrelentless and compelling factor in this matter, had no part in her\nstrong liking for Colin. Neither her feeling for him nor his for her\nwas ever so slightly dipped in any infinite quality; it was ponderable,\nand he himself had in his pocket for weight in the other scale, her\npassion for Stanier.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin strolled gracefully into the smoking-room that evening when the\nwhist and bridge were over, marvelling at the changed Raymond who had\nbeen so courteous at dinner and so obligingly ready to play whist at\npoor granny\u2019s table. He himself had kept up that policy of solicitous\nattention to his brother, which had made Raymond grind his teeth at\nlunch that day, but the effect this evening was precisely the opposite.\nRaymond had replied with, it must be supposed, the utmost cordiality of\nwhich he was capable. It was a grim, heavy demeanour at the best, but\nsuch as it was....\n\nNo doubt, however, Raymond was saving up for such time as they should be\nalone, the full power of his antagonism, and Colin, pausing outside the\nsmoking-room, considered whether he should not go to bed at once and\ndeprive his brother of the relief of unloading himself. But the desire\nto bait him was too strong, and he turned the door-handle and entered.\n\n\u201cSo you got a wigging after lunch to-day,\u201d he remarked. \u201cIt seems to\nhave brought you to heel a bit. But you can let go now, Raymond. You\nhaven\u2019t amused me all evening with your tantrums.\u201d\n\nRaymond looked up from his illustrated paper. He knew as precisely what\n\u201cseeing red\u201d meant as did the bull in the arena. He had to wait a moment\ntill that cleared.\n\n\u201cHullo, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cHave you come for a drink?\u201d\n\n\u201cIncidentally. My real object was to see you and to have one of our\njolly chats. Did father pitch it in pretty hot? I stuck up for you this\nmorning when we talked you over.\u201d\n\nRaymond was off his guard, forgetting that certain knowledge he\npossessed was derived from overhearing. \u201cYes, you said you must make\nthe best of me ...\u201d he began.\n\nColin was on to that like a flash. \u201cNow, how on earth could you have\nknown that?\u201d he asked. \u201cFather didn\u2019t tell you.... I know! I said that\njust as I was passing under the window in the gallery where you were\nsitting after breakfast. My word, Raymond, you\u2019ve a perfect genius for\neavesdropping. It was only last night that you hid behind the\nflower-vase and heard me mimic you, and if I hadn\u2019t shut the door of the\ndining-room this morning, you\u2019d have listened to what Aunt Hester and\nViolet and I were saying, and then you overhear my conversation with\nfather. You\u2019re a perfect wonder.\u201d\n\nRaymond got up, his eyes blazing. \u201cTake care, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t go\ntoo far.\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cAh, that\u2019s better,\u201d he said. \u201cNow you\u2019re more yourself.\nI thought I should get at you soon.\u201d\n\nRaymond felt his mouth go dry, but below the violence of his anger there\nwas something that made itself heard. \u201cYou\u2019ll spoil your chance if you\nbreak out,\u201d it said. \u201cKeep steady....\u201d He drained his glass and turned\nto his brother.\n\n\u201cSorry, Colin,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\u2019m not going to amuse you to-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know about that,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI\u2019ve hardly begun yet. Your\nmanner at dinner, now, and your amiability. It was not really a success.\nNo naturalness about it. It sat on you worse than your sulkiest moods.\nYou reminded me of some cad in dress-clothes trying to catch the note of\nthe ordinary well-bred man. Better be natural. I\u2019ll go on sticking up\nfor you; I\u2019ll persuade father not to pack you off. I\u2019ve a good deal of\ninfluence with him. I shall say you\u2019re injuring yourself by not behaving\nlike a sulky boor. Besides, you can\u2019t do it; if your geniality at dinner\nwas an attempt to mimic me, I must tell you that nobody could guess who\nit was meant for. Vi was very funny about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally? What did she say?\u201d asked Raymond.\n\n\u201cOh, naturally I can\u2019t give her away,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut perhaps you\u2019ll\nhear her say it again if you\u2019re conveniently placed.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know quite well Vi didn\u2019t say anything about it,\u201d said Raymond at a\nventure.\n\n\u201cNaturally, you know best. And, talking of Vi, are you going to propose\nto her? I wouldn\u2019t if I were you; take my hint and save yourself being\nlaughed at.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost friendly of you,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cBut there are some things that\nare my business.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd not an affectionate brother\u2019s?\u201d asked Colin. \u201cYou don\u2019t know how I\nfeel for you. It makes me wince when I see you blundering and making the\nmost terrible _gaffes_. It\u2019s odd that I should have had a brother like\nyou, and that you should be a Stanier at all.\u201d\n\nColin threw a leg over the arm of his chair. It was most astonishing\nthat not only in public but now, when there was no reason that Raymond\nshould keep up a semblance of control, that he should be so impervious\nto the shafts that in ordinary stung him so intolerably.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re so awkward, Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cHowever much you try, you can\u2019t\ncharm anybody or make any one like you. You\u2019ve neither manners, nor\nlooks, nor breeding. You\u2019ve got the curse of the legend without its\nbenefits. You\u2019re a coward, too; you\u2019d like nothing better than to slit\nmy throat, and yet you\u2019re so afraid of me that you daren\u2019t even throw\nthat glass of whisky and soda in my face.\u201d\n\nFor a moment it looked as if Raymond was about to do precisely that; the\nsuggestion was almost irresistible. But he loosed his hand on it again.\n\n\u201cThat would only give you the opportunity to go to my father and tell\nhim,\u201d he said. \u201cYou would say I had lost my temper with you. I don\u2019t\nintend to give you any such opportunity.\u201d\n\nEven as he spoke he marvelled at his own self-control. But the plain\nfact was that the temptation to lose it had no force with him to-night.\nFor the sake of his ultimate revenge, whatever that might be, that\ngoring and kneading of Colin, it was no less than necessary that he\nshould seem to have put away from him all his hostility. Colin and the\nrest of them--Violet above all--must grow to be convinced in the change\nthat had come over him.\n\nHe rose. \u201cBetter give it up, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re not going to rile\nme. You\u2019ve had a good try at it, for I never knew you so studiedly\ninsolent. But it\u2019s no use. Good night.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDuring the fortnight which intervened before the departure of Lord\nYardley and Colin to Italy, Raymond never once faltered in the task he\nhad set himself. There was no act of patience too costly for the due\nattainment of it, no steadfastness of self-control in the face of\nColin\u2019s gibes that was not worth the reward which it would ultimately\nbring. He avoided as far as possible being alone with his brother, but\nthat, in the mere trivial round of the day, happened often enough to\ngive Colin the opportunity of planting a dart or two. But now they\nseemed to have lost all penetrative force; so far from goading him into\nsome ill-aimed response, they were but drops of showers on something\nwaterproof.\n\nColin was disposed at first to attribute this incredible meekness to the\neffect of his father\u2019s strictures. Raymond had been given to understand\nwithout any possible mistake, that, unless he mended his ways, he would\nhave to leave Stanier, and that, no doubt, accounted for his assumption\nof public amiability. But his imperviousness in private to any\nprovocation was puzzling. He neither answered Colin\u2019s challenges nor\nconducted any offensive of his own. At the most a gleam or a flush told\nthat some jibe had gone home, but no angry blundering reply would give\nopportunity for another. For some reason Raymond banked up his\nsmouldering fires, not letting them blaze.\n\nHis impotence to make his brother wince and rage profoundly irritated\nColin. He had scarcely known before how deep-rooted was his pleasure in\nso doing; how integral a part of his consciousness was his hatred of\nhim, which now seemed to have been deprived of its daily bread.\n\nNot less irritating was the effect that Raymond\u2019s changed behaviour\nproduced on his father and on Violet. His father\u2019s civilities to him\nbegan to lose the edge of their chilliness; a certain cordiality warmed\nthem. If the boy was really taking himself in hand, Lord Yardley must,\nin common duty and justice, encourage and welcome his efforts, and the\nday before the departure for Italy, he made an opportunity for\nacknowledging this. Once more after lunch, he nodded to Raymond to stay\nbehind the others.\n\n\u201cI want to tell you, Raymond,\u201d he said, \u201cthat I\u2019m very much pleased with\nyou. You\u2019ve been making a strong effort with yourself, and you\u2019re\nwinning all down the line. And how goes it with you and Colin in\nprivate?\u201d\n\nRaymond took rapid counsel with himself. \u201cVery well indeed, sir,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cWe\u2019ve had no rows at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s good. Now what are your plans while Colin and I are away? Your\nUncle Ronald and Violet are going to stop on here. I think your aunt\u2019s\ngoing up to London. You can establish yourself at St. James\u2019s Square, if\nyou like, or remain here.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll stop here if I may,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cI don\u2019t care about London.\u201d\n\nPhilip smiled. \u201cVery good,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to take care of Violet\nand keep her amused.\u201d\n\nRaymond answered with a smile. \u201cI\u2019ll do my best, father,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWell, all good wishes,\u201d said his father. \u201cLet me know how all goes.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin had seen throughout this fortnight Raymond\u2019s improvement of his\nposition with regard to Lord Yardley, and he had felt himself jealously\npowerless to stop it. Once he had tried, with some sunnily-told tale of\nRaymond\u2019s ill-temper, to put the brake on it, but his father had stopped\nhim before he was half through with it. \u201cRaymond\u2019s doing very well,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI don\u2019t want to hear anything against him.\u201d A further light was\nshed for Colin that evening.\n\nHe and Violet, when the rubber of whist was over and Lady Yardley had\ngone upstairs, strolled out into the hot dusk of the terrace with linked\narms, but with no more stir of emotion in their hearts than two\nschoolboy friends, whose intimacy was to be severed by a month of\nholiday, would have experienced. The shadow cast by the long yew hedge\nfrom the moon near to its setting had enveloped them in its clear\ndarkness, the starlight glimmered on the lake below, and in the elms\nbeyond the nightingales chanted.\n\n\u201cListen at them, look at it all,\u201d said Colin impatiently. \u201cStarlight and\nshadow and nightingales and you and me as cool as cucumbers. You look\nfrightfully attractive, too, to-night, Vi: why on earth don\u2019t I fall\nmadly in love with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my dear, don\u2019t!\u201d said Violet. \u201cYou might make me fall in love with\nyou. But I suppose I needn\u2019t be afraid. You can\u2019t fall in love with\nanybody, Colin, and I daresay I can\u2019t either. But I shall try.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do you mean by that?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s pretty obvious,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cRaymond, do you mean?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cOf course. What\u2019s come over him? There\u2019s something attractive about\nhim, after all; he\u2019s got charm. Who would have thought it?\u201d\n\nThough Colin had just now truthfully declared that he was in no way in\nlove with his cousin, he felt a pang of jealousy just as authentic as\nthat which the notion of Raymond\u2019s possession of Stanier caused in him.\n\n\u201cBut you can\u2019t, Violet!\u201d he said. \u201cThat boor....\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not so sure that he is a boor. He\u2019s keeping the boor in a box,\nanyhow, and has turned the key on him. He\u2019s quite changed. You can\u2019t\ndeny it.\u201d\n\nColin slipped his arm out of Violet\u2019s. \u201cRaymond\u2019s cleverer than I\nthought,\u201d he said. \u201cAll this fortnight it has puzzled me to know what\nhe\u2019s been at, but now I see. He\u2019s been improving his position with\nfather and with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has certainly done that,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cSo, if he asks you, you intend to marry him?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cI think so.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall hate you if you do,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cWhy? How can it matter to you? If you were in love with me it would be\ndifferent, or if I were in love with you. Oh, we\u2019ve talked it all over\nbefore; there\u2019s nothing new.\u201d\n\nThey had passed through the cut entrance in the yew hedge into the\nmoonlight, and Violet, turning, looked at her companion. Colin\u2019s face\nwas brilliantly illuminated. By some optical illusion that came and went\nin a flash, he looked at that moment as if his face was lit from within,\nso strangely it shone against the dark serge of the hedge for\nbackground. There was an unearthly beauty about it that somehow appalled\nher. He seemed like some incarnation, ageless and youthful, of the\nfortunes of the house. But the impression was infinitesimal in duration,\nand she laughed.\n\n\u201cColin, you looked so wonderful just now,\u201d she said. \u201cYou looked like\nall the Staniers rolled into one.\u201d\n\nSomehow this annoyed him. \u201cRaymond included, I suppose?\u201d he asked. \u201cBut\nyou\u2019re wrong; there is something new. Hitherto you\u2019ve only considered\nRaymond as a necessary adjunct to being mistress here; now you\u2019re\nconsidering him as a man you can imagine loving. Hasn\u2019t he got enough\nalready? Good God, how I hate him!\u201d\n\nHe had hardly spoken when there emerged from the entrance in the hedge\nthrough which they had just passed, Raymond himself. Colin, white with\nfury, turned on him.\n\n\u201cHullo, at it again?\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve overheard something nice this\ntime!\u201d\n\nRaymond\u2019s mouth twitched, but he gave no other sign. \u201cFather has just\nsent me out to tell you that he wants to speak to you before you go to\nbed,\u201d he said, and, turning, went straight back to the house.\n\nViolet waited till the sound of his step had vanished. \u201cColin, you\u2019re a\nbrute,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019re fiendish!\u201d\n\n\u201cI know that,\u201d said Colin. \u201cWho ever supposed I was an angel?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it\u2019s acting like a fool to treat Raymond like that,\u201d she went on.\n\u201cCan you afford to make him hate you?\u201d\n\nHe laughed. \u201cI\u2019ve afforded it as long as I can remember,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\namuses me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it doesn\u2019t amuse me to see you behave like a fiend,\u201d said Violet.\n\u201cAnd do you know that you lost your temper? I\u2019ve never seen you do that\nyet.\u201d\n\nColin licked his lips; his mouth felt dry. \u201cThat was an odd thing,\u201d he\nobserved. \u201cNow I know what I make Raymond feel like when we chat\ntogether. But it\u2019s amazing that Raymond should have done the same to me.\nI must go in to father.\u201d\n\nThey moved back into the shadow of the hedge and Colin stopped.\n\n\u201cI say, Vi, give me a kiss,\u201d he said.\n\nShe drew back a moment, wondering why she did so. \u201cBut, my dear, why?\u201d\nshe asked.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re cousins,\u201d he said. \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t you? I should awfully like to\nkiss you.\u201d\n\nShe had got over her momentary surprise, which was, no doubt, what made\nher hesitate. There was no conceivable reason, though they did not kiss\neach other, why they should not.\n\n\u201cAnd if I won\u2019t?\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cI shall think it unkind of you.\u201d\n\nShe came close to him. \u201cOh, Colin, I\u2019m not unkind,\u201d she said, and kissed\nhim.\n\nHe stood with his hands on her shoulders, not letting her go, though\nmaking no attempt to kiss her again. \u201cThat was delicious of you,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\nSuddenly and quite unexpectedly to herself, Violet found her heart\nbeating soft and fast, and she was glad of the darkness, for she knew\nthat a heightened colour had sprung to her face. Was Colin, too, she\nwondered, affected in any such way?\n\nHis light laugh, the release of her shoulders from his cool hands,\nanswered her.\n\n\u201cGood Lord! To think that perhaps Raymond will be kissing you next,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cHow maddening!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nFrom the first some call of his Italian blood had made itself audible to\nColin; even as their train emerged out of the drip and roaring darkness\nof the Mont Cenis tunnel, there had been a whisper in his ears that this\nwas the land of his birth to which he had come, and that whisper had\ngrown into full-voiced welcome when, at the hot close of day, he and his\nfather had strolled out after dinner along the sea-front of Naples.\nThough he had never been here yet, sight, scent, and sound alike told\nhim that he was not so much experiencing what was new as recognising\nwhat, though dormant, had always been part of him, bred into the very\nfibre and instinct of him. It was not that he hailed or loved this lure\nof the South; it would be more apt to say that he nodded to it, as to an\nold acquaintance--taken for granted rather than embraced.\n\nThis claiming and appropriation by Colin of his native place unfroze in\nhis father the reticence that he had always observed with regard to that\nyear he had spent in Italy into which had entered birth and death, and\nall that his life held of romance. That, till now, had been incapsulated\nwithin him, or at the most, like the ichor in some ductless gland, was\nperforming some mysterious function in his psychology. Now this claim of\nColin\u2019s on the South, his easy stepping into possession by right of his\nparentage, unsealed in Philip the silence he had so long preserved.\n\nColin, as he regarded his surroundings with friendly and familiar eyes,\nwas visibly part of his old romance; the boy\u2019s mother lived again in\nthat sunny hair, those eyes, and the clear olive skin, just as surely as\ndid old Colin of the Holbein portrait. But now Stanier was far away, and\nthe spell of the South as potent as when Philip, flying from the glooms\nand jibes of that awful old man, his father, first came under its\nenchantment. And Colin, of all that dead time, alone was a vital and\nliving part of its manifestation. Through the medium of memory he\nstirred his father\u2019s blood; Philip felt romance bubble in him again as\nhe walked along the familiar ways with the flower that had blossomed\nfrom it. He felt, too, that Colin silently (for he asked no question)\nseemed to claim the right to certain knowledge; he seemed to present\nhimself, to be ready, and, indeed, it would be singular if, having\nbrought him here, his father did not speak of that which, every year,\nhad taken him on his solitary pilgrimage to the South.\n\nThey were to spend the greater part of the next day in Naples, leaving\nby the afternoon boat for Capri, and as they finished their breakfast on\na shady veranda, Philip spoke:\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ve got all the morning,\u201d he said, \u201cto trundle about in. The\nmuseum is very fine; would you like to see it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I should hate it,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s a marvellous collection,\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cI daresay; but to see a museum would make me feel like a tourist. At\npresent I don\u2019t, and it\u2019s lovely.\u201d\n\nHe looked at his father as he spoke, and once again, this time\ncompellingly, Philip saw confident expectancy in his eyes. Colin was\ncertainly waiting for something.\n\n\u201cThen will you come with me on a sentimental journey?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cAh, father, won\u2019t I just!\u201d he said. \u201cAfter all, you and I are on a\nsentimental journey.\u201d\n\nThere seemed to Philip in his devotion to Colin, something exquisitely\ndelicate about this. He had wanted but, instinctively had not asked,\nwaiting for his rights to be offered him.\n\n\u201cCome, then,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll show you where we lived, your mother and I.\nI\u2019ll show you our old haunts, such as survive. You belong to that life,\nColin.\u201d\n\nColin paused a moment, sitting quite still, for a span of clear,\nconcentrated thought. He desired to say precisely the right thing, the\nthing that his father would most value. It was not in the smallest\ndegree affection for his father which prompted that; it was the wish\nthat the door should be thrown open as wide as possible--that all the\nkeys should be put into his hand.\n\n\u201cI know I do,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve known that for years, but I had to wait\nfor you to want me to share it. It had to be you who took me into it.\u201d\n\nHe saw approval gleam in his father\u2019s eyes. This was clearly the right\ntack.\n\n\u201cAnd you must remember I know nothing whatever about your life with my\nmother,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to begin at the beginning. And ... and make\nit long, father.\u201d\n\nIt was not surprising that Colin\u2019s presence gave to this sentimental\njourney a glow which it had lacked during all those years when Philip\nmade his annual solitary visit here. Already the mere flight of years,\nand the fact that he had never married again, had tinged that long-past\ntime with something of the opalescence which sunlit mist confers on\nobjects which in themselves hardly rise above the level of the mean and\nthe prosaic; and what now survived for him in memory was Rosina\u2019s\ngaiety, her beauty, her girlish charm, with forgetfulness for her vapid\nvanity, her commonness, and the speed with which his senses even had\nbeen sated with her. But it was an unsubstantial memory of blurred and\nfar-off days, girt with regrets and the emptiness of desires dead and\nunrecoverable.\n\nNow Colin\u2019s presence gave solidity to it all; it was as if the sunlit\nmist had been withdrawn from the dim slopes which it covered, and lo!\nthe reality was not mean or prosaic, but had absorbed the very tints and\nopalescences which had cloaked it. There was Colin, eager and\nsympathetic, yet checking any question of his own, and but thirsty for\nwhat his father might give him, and in the person of the boy who was the\nonly creature in the world whom Philip loved, and in whom Rosina lived,\nthat tawdry romance of his was glorified. To tell Colin, about his\nmother here, in the places where they had lived together, was to make a\nshrine of them.\n\nThe flat which he and Rosina had occupied in Naples, when the autumnal\ndeparture of visitors from Capri rendered the island so desolating to\nher urban nature, happened to be untenanted, and a couple of lire\nsecured their admittance. It still held pieces of furniture which had\nbeen there twenty years ago, and Colin, moving quietly to and fro, his\neyes alight with interest in little random memories which his father\nrecalled, was like a ray of sunlight shining into a place that had long\nslept in dust and shadows. Mother and son reacted on each other in\nPhilip\u2019s mind; a new tenderness blossomed for Rosina out of his love for\nColin, and he wondered at himself for not having brought them together\nlike this before.\n\nHere were the chairs which they used to pull out on to the veranda when\nthe winter sun was warm; here was the Venetian looking-glass which\nRosina could never pass without a glance at her image, and now, as Colin\nturned towards it, there were Rosina\u2019s eyes and golden hair that flashed\nback at Philip out of the past and made a bridge to the present.\n\nAnd there, above all, was the bedroom, with the glitter of sun on the\nceiling cast there from the reflecting sea, where, at the close of a\nwarm, windy day of March, the first cry of a new-born baby was heard.\nAnd by that same bedside, at the dawn of an April morning, Philip had\nseen the flame of Rosina\u2019s life flicker and waver and expire. He\nregretted her more to-day than at the hour when she had left him. Some\nunconscious magic vested in Colin cast that spell.\n\nFor all these recollections Colin had the same eager, listening face and\nthe grave smile. Never even in his baiting of Raymond had he shewn a\nsubtler ingenuity in adapting his means to his end. He used his father\u2019s\naffection for him to prize open the locks of a hundred caskets, and\nenable him to see what was therein. He wanted to know all that his\nfather would tell him about that year which preceded his birth, and not\nasking questions was the surest way of hearing what he wanted.\n\nAlready he had found that his Aunt Hester knew very little about that\nyear, or, if she knew, she had not chosen to tell him certain things.\nHis curiosity, when he had talked to her under the elms, had been but\nvague and exploratory, but, it will be remembered, it had become\nslightly more definite when, in answer to his comment that his father\nand mother must have been married very soon after his arrival in Italy,\nAunt Hester had given a very dry assent.\n\nNow his curiosity was sharply aroused about that point, for with all his\nfather\u2019s communicativeness this morning, he had as yet said no word\nwhatever that bore on the date of their marriage. Colin felt by an\ninstinct which defied reason, that there was something to be known here;\nthe marriage, the scene, the date of it, must have passed through his\nfather\u2019s mind, and yet he did not choose, in all this sudden breakdown\nof long reticence, to allude to it. That was undeniably so; a question,\ntherefore, would certainly be useless, for believing as he did, that his\nfather had something to conceal, he would not arrive at it in that way.\n\nThey were standing now in the window looking over the bay, and Philip\npointed to the heat-veiled outline of Capri, floating, lyre-shaped, on\nthe fusing-line of sea and sky.\n\n\u201cWe were there all the summer,\u201d he said, \u201cin the villa you will see this\nevening. Then your mother found it melancholy in the autumn and we came\nhere--I used to go backwards and forwards, for I couldn\u2019t quite tear\nmyself away from the island altogether.\u201d\n\nThat struck Colin as bearing on his point; it was odd, wasn\u2019t it, that a\nnewly-married couple should do that? You would have expected them to\nlive here or there, but together.... Then, afraid that his father would\nthink he was pondering on that, he changed the topic altogether.\n\n\u201cI have loved hearing about it all,\u201d he said. \u201cBut somehow--don\u2019t be\nshocked, father--I can\u2019t feel that Raymond comes into it one atom. We\u2019ve\nbeen realising you and my mother and the squalling thing that I was. But\nI can\u2019t feel Raymond with us then any more than he\u2019s with us now. Let\u2019s\nkeep Italy to ourselves, father. Poor old Raymond!\u201d\n\nThat shifting of the topic was skilfully designed and subtly executed.\nColin confessed to alienation from Raymond and yet with a touch of\naffectionate regret. His father was less guarded.\n\n\u201cRaymond\u2019s got nothing to do with Italy,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s not a single\ntouch of your mother in him. We\u2019ve got this to ourselves, Colin. Raymond\nwill have Stanier.\u201d\n\n\u201cLucky dog!\u201d said Colin.\n\nThere was one item connected with the marriage that he might safely ask,\nand as they went downstairs he put it to his father, watching him very\nnarrowly.\n\n\u201cI feel I know all about my mother now,\u201d he said, \u201cexcept just one\nthing.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley turned quickly to him. \u201cI\u2019ve told you all I can tell you,\u201d\nhe said sharply.\n\nThat was precisely what Colin had been waiting for. There was something\nmore, then. But the question which he was ready with was harmless\nenough.\n\n\u201cI only wanted to know where you were married,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s the one\nthing you haven\u2019t told me.\u201d\n\nThere was no doubt that this was a relief to his father; he had clearly\nexpected something else, not the \u201cwhere\u201d of the boy\u2019s question, but the\n\u201cwhen,\u201d which by now had definitely crystallised in Colin\u2019s mind.\n\n\u201cOh, that!\u201d he said. \u201cStupid of me not to have told you. We were married\nat the British Consulate.\u201d\n\nThey passed out into the noonday.\n\n\u201cMind you remember that, Colin,\u201d said his father. \u201cOn my death the\nmarriage will have to be proved; it will save a search. Your birth was\nregistered there, too. And Raymond\u2019s.\u201d\n\nSuch was the sum of information that Colin took on board with him that\nafternoon when they embarked on the steamer for Capri, and though in one\nsense it took him back a step, in another it confirmed the idea that had\ngrown up in his mind. He felt certain (here was the confirmation) that\nif he had asked his father when the marriage took place, he would have\nbeen told a date which he would not have believed. Lord Yardley would\nhave said that they had been married very soon after his arrival\ntwenty-one years ago. He had waited with obvious anxiety for Colin\u2019s one\nquestion, and he had hailed that question with relief, for he had no\nobjection to the boy\u2019s knowing where the contract was made.\n\nAnd the retrograde step was this: that whereas he had been ready to\nthink that his father\u2019s marriage was an event subsequent to his own\nbirth and Raymond\u2019s, he was now forced to conclude (owing to the fact\nthat his father told and impressed on him to remember, that it had been\nperformed at the British Consulate) that he and Raymond were\nlegitimately born in wedlock. That seemed for the present to be a\n_cul-de-sac_ in his researches.\n\nThe warm, soft air streamed by, and the wind made by the movement of the\nboat enticed Colin out from under the awning into the breeze-tempered\nblaze of the sun. He went forward and found in the bows a place where he\ncould be alone and study, like a map, whatever could be charted of his\ndiscoveries.\n\nThat willingness of his father to tell him where the marriage had taken\nplace was somehow disconcerting; it implied that the ceremony made valid\nwhatever had preceded it. He had himself been born in mid-March, and he\ndid not attempt to believe that his father had been married in the\nprevious June, the month when he had first come to Italy. But he could\nnot help believing that his father had married before his own birth.\n\nColin was one of those rather rare people who can sit down and think.\nEverybody can sit down and let his mind pleasantly wander over a hundred\ntopics, but comparatively few can tether it, so to speak, so that it\ngrazes on a small circle only. This accomplishment Colin signally\npossessed, and though now there could be no practical issue to his\nmeditations, he set himself to carve out in clear, cutting strokes what\nhe would have done in case he had discovered that he and Raymond alike\nwere born out of wedlock. He imagined that situation to himself; he\ncropped at it, he grazed on it....\n\nThe disclosure, clearly, if the fact had been there, would not have come\nout till his father\u2019s death, and he could see himself looking on the\nface of the dead without the slightest feeling of reproach. He knew that\nhis father was leaving him all that could be left away from Raymond; he\nwas heir also to Aunt Hester\u2019s money.\n\nBut in that case Stanier, and all that went with the title, would not be\nRaymond\u2019s at all; Raymond would be nameless and penniless. And Colin\u2019s\nbeautiful mouth twitched and smiled. \u201cThat would have been great fun,\u201d\nhe said to himself. \u201cRaymond would have been nobody and have had\nnothing. Ha! Raymond would not have had Stanier, and I should have\nceased to hate him. I should have made him some small allowance.\u201d\n\nYes, Stanier would have passed from Raymond, and it and all that it\nmeant would have gone to Violet ... and at that the whole picture\nstarted into life and colour. If only now, at this moment, he was\npossessed of the knowledge that he and Raymond alike were illegitimate,\nwith what ardour, with what endless subtlety, would he have impelled\nViolet to marry him! How would he have called upon the legendary\nbenefactor who for so long had prospered and befriended the Staniers, to\nlend him all the arts and attractions of the lover! With such wiles to\naid him, he would somehow have forced Violet to give up the idea of\nmarrying Raymond in order to get Stanier, and instead, renouncing\nStanier, take him, and by her renunciation for love\u2019s sake, find in the\nend that she had gained (bread upon the waters) all that she had\nimagined was lost.\n\nAnd he, Colin, in that case, would be her husband, master of Stanier to\nall intents and purposes. Willingly would he have accepted, eagerly\nwould he have welcomed that. He wanted what he would never get unless\nRaymond died, except at some such price as that. But it was no use\nthinking about it; his father\u2019s insistence on the place where he and\nRosina were married made it certain that no such fortunate catastrophe\ncould be revealed at his death.\n\nPresently Lord Yardley joined him as they passed along the headland on\nwhich Sorrento stands, and there were stories of the visit that he and\nRosina made here during the summer. Colin listened to these with\nsuppressed irritation; what did he care whether they had spent a week at\nSorrento or not? Of all that his father had to tell him, he had mastered\neverything that mattered, and he began to find in these recollections a\nrather ridiculous sentimentality. He knew, of course, that he himself\nwas responsible for this; it was he, Rosina\u2019s son, and his father\u2019s love\nfor him, that conjured up these tendernesses. He was responsible, too,\nin that all the morning he had listened with so apt a sympathy to\nsimilar reminiscences. But then he hoped that he was about to learn\nsomething really worth knowing, whereas now he was convinced that there\nwas nothing of that sort to know. Fond as his father had always been of\nhim, he easily detected something new in his voice, his gestures, the\nsoft eagerness of his eyes; it was as if in him his father was falling\nin love with Rosina.\n\nSunset burned behind Capri as their steamer drew near to it, and the\neastern side lay in clear shadow though the sea flared with the\nreflected fires of the sky, and that, too, seemed to produce more\nmemories.\n\n\u201cYou are so like her, Colin,\u201d said his father, laying his arm round the\nboy\u2019s neck, \u201cand I can imagine that twenty-one years have rolled back,\nand that I am bringing her across to Capri for the first time. It was\njust such an evening as this, sunset and a crescent moon. I had already\nbought the villa; we were going back to it together.\u201d\n\n\u201cStraight from the Consulate?\u201d asked Colin quietly.\n\n\u201cWhat?\u201d asked Philip.\n\n\u201cFrom the Consulate, father,\u201d he repeated.\n\n\u201cYes, yes, of course,\u201d said Philip quickly, and his voice seemed to ring\nutterly untrue. \u201cStraight from the Consulate. Ha! there\u2019s Giacomo, my\nboatman. He sees us.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes he remember my mother?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cSurely. But don\u2019t ask him about her. These fellows chatter on for ever,\nand it\u2019s half lies.\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cAs I shouldn\u2019t understand one word of it,\u201d he said, \u201cit\nwould make little difference whether it was all lies.\u201d\n\nOnce again, and more markedly than ever, as they drove up the angled\ndusty road set in stone walls and bordered by the sea of vineyards, the\nsense of homecoming seized Colin. It was not that his father was by him\nor that he was going to his father\u2019s house; the spell worked through the\nother side of his parentage, and he felt himself strangely more akin to\nthe boys who, trudging homewards, shouted a salutation to their driver,\nto the girls who clustered on the doorsteps busy with their needle, than\nto the grave man who sat beside him and watched with something of a\nlover\u2019s tenderness his smiles and glances and gestures. Philip read\nRosina into them all, and she who had so soon sated him till he wearied\nof her, woke in him, through Colin, a love that had never before been\ngiven her.\n\n\u201cI cannot imagine why I never thought of bringing you out to Italy\nbefore,\u201d said Philip, \u201cor why, when you asked me to take you, I\nhesitated.\u201d\n\nColin tucked his arm into his father\u2019s. He was wonderfully skilful in\ndisplaying such little signs of affection, which cost him nothing and\nmeant nothing, but were so well worth while.\n\n\u201cDo I seem to fit into it all, father?\u201d he said. \u201cI am so glad if I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou more than fit into it, my dear,\u201d said Philip. \u201cYou\u2019re part of it.\nWhy on earth did I never see that?\u201d\n\n\u201cPart of it, am I? That\u2019s exactly what I\u2019ve been feeling all day. I\u2019m at\nhome here. Not but what I\u2019m very much at home at Stanier.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley clicked his tongue against his teeth. \u201cI wish to God you\nwere my eldest son,\u201d he said. \u201cI would give anything if that were\npossible. I would close my eyes ever so contentedly when my time comes\nif I knew that you were going to take my place.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor old Raymond!\u201d said Colin softly. \u201cHe\u2019s doing his best, father.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose he is. But you\u2019re a generous fellow to say that; I shan\u2019t\nforget it. Here we are; bundle out.\u201d\n\nTheir carriage had stopped in the piazza, and Colin getting out, felt\nhis lips curl into a smile of peculiar satisfaction. That his father\nshould believe him to be a generous fellow was pleasant in itself, and\nthe entire falsity of his belief added spice to the morsel. He seemed to\nlike it better just because it was untrue.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin stepped into the drifting summer existence of visitors to the\nisland with the same aptness as that which had graced his entry to his\nmother\u2019s native land. He went down to the bathing-beach after breakfast\nwith a book and a packet of cigarettes, and spent a basking amphibious\nmorning. Sometimes his father accompanied him, and after a\nconstitutional swim, sat in the shade while Colin played the fish in the\nsea or the salamander on the beach. On other mornings Lord Yardley\nremained up at the villa, which suited Colin quite well, for this\nuninterrupted companionship of his father was very tedious. But he\nalways managed to leave the impression that he wanted Lord Yardley to\ncome with him.\n\nAnd so much this morning did Colin want to be alone that, had Philip\nsaid that he was coming with him, he would probably have pleaded a\nlaziness or indisposition, for he had that morning received a letter\nfrom Violet which called for solitary and uninterrupted reflection.\nTo-day, however, Philip\u2019s brother-in-law, Salvatore Viagi, had announced\nhis advent, \u201cto pay his fraternal respects and give his heart\u2019s\nwelcome,\u201d so ran his florid phrase--and Philip remained at the villa to\nreceive these tributes.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a nuisance,\u201d he said, \u201cfor I should have liked a dip. But I should\nhave to hurry back to get here before him.\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cYou speak as if he might steal the silver,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cPerfectly capable of it,\u201d said his father. \u201cNo, I shouldn\u2019t have said\nthat. But he\u2019s perfectly capable of asking for it.\u201d\n\nColin perceived that there was no danger of his father\u2019s coming down to\nbathe with him. \u201cSurely he can wait till we get back,\u201d he said. \u201cCome\ndown and bathe, father!\u201d\n\nPhilip shook his head. \u201cNo, I can\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cSalvatore would think it\nvery odd and rude if I were not here. He wouldn\u2019t understand: he would\nthink I was intentionally unceremonious.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe sounds rather a bounder,\u201d observed Colin.\n\n\u201cHe does,\u201d said Philip drily.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin took Violet\u2019s letter down to the beach with him, and after a short\ndip of refreshment from his dusty walk, came out cool and shining from\nthe sea to dispose himself on the beach that quivered in the hot sun,\nand ponder over it. He read it again twice through, stirring it into his\nbrains and his emotions, till it seemed to form part of him....\n\nSo Raymond had proposed to her, and, having asked for a week\u2019s delay in\nher answer, she, while the matter was still private, had to tell Colin\nthat, as far as she knew her own intentions, she was meaning to accept\nhim. And yet this letter in which she said that she was going to marry\nhis brother, seemed hardly less than a love-letter to himself.\n\nShe appeared to remember that last evening at Stanier when, under the\nmoon-cast shadow of the yews, she had given him the kiss he asked for,\njust as vividly as did Colin. It was vivid to him because he had asked\nfor that with a definite calculated end in view, and with the same end\nin view he had exclaimed how maddening it was to think that Raymond\nwould kiss her next. No doubt Raymond had done so, and Violet, though\nshe said she meant to marry him, had, perhaps, begun to know something\nmore of her own heart. That was why the evening was vivid to her,\nexactly as he had intended it should be. She had learned that there was\na difference between him and Raymond, which being mistress at Stanier\nmight counterbalance, but did not cancel.\n\nThe wetness had dried from Colin\u2019s sun-tanned shoulders, and, lying down\nat length on the beach, he drew from his pocket Violet\u2019s letter in order\nto study one passage again which had puzzled him. Here it was:\n\n     \u201cYou were perfectly brutal to Raymond that evening,\u201d she wrote,\n     \u201cand he was admirable in his answer to your rudeness. If we are to\n     remain friends you must not behave to him like that. You don\u2019t like\n     each other, but he, at any rate now, has control over himself, and\n     you must copy his example.\u201d\n\n     (\u201cLord! me copying Raymond\u2019s example,\u201d thought Colin to himself, in\n     an ecstatic parenthesis.)\n\n     \u201cI shall always do my best to make peace between you, for I am very\n     fond of you, but Raymond\u2019s side will in the future be mine. You\n     were nice to me afterwards, but, dear Colin, you mustn\u2019t ask me to\n     kiss you again. Raymond wouldn\u2019t like it....\u201d\n\nWith this perusal all that was puzzling vanished. \u201cThat\u2019s not genuine;\nnone of that\u2019s genuine,\u201d thought Colin. \u201cShe says what she\u2019s trying to\nfeel, what she thinks she ought to feel, and doesn\u2019t feel.\u201d He turned\nthe page.\n\n     \u201cI hope my news won\u2019t hurt you,\u201d she went on. \u201cAfter all, we\u2019ve\n     settled often enough that we weren\u2019t in love with each other, and\n     so when that night you said it was maddening to think of Raymond\n     kissing me next, it couldn\u2019t make any difference to you as you\n     aren\u2019t in love with me....\u201d\n\nNo, the news did not hurt Colin, so he told himself, in the way that\nViolet meant, and she was quite right about the reason of that: he was\nnot in love with her. But it struck him that the news must undeniably\nhurt Violet herself; she was trying to wriggle away from it, while at\nthe same time she tried to justify herself and that unfortunate (or\nshould he call it fortunate?) kiss she had given him.\n\nHe glanced hastily over the rest; there were more allusions to that last\nevening, more scolding and exhortations about his conduct to Raymond,\nand, as a postscript, the request that he should send her just one line,\nto say he wasn\u2019t hurt. This letter of hers was absolutely private, but\nshe had to tell him what was about to happen. In a week\u2019s time both she\nand Raymond would write to his father, who, so Raymond thought, was not\nunprepared.\n\nColin tore off the final half-sheet of Violet\u2019s letter, and with his\nstylograph scribbled his answer on it. He had long ago made up his mind\nwhat he should say:\n\n\u201cVIOLET, MY DEAR\u201d (he wrote),\n\n     \u201cIt was delightful of you to tell me, and I send you a million\n     congratulations. I am so pleased, for now you will be mistress of\n     Stanier, and you seem quite to have fallen in love with Raymond. I\n     must be very nice to him, or he\u2019ll never let me come to Stanier in\n     days to come, and you will take his side, as you say. But how could\n     I be hurt at your news? It is simply charming.\n\n     \u201cFather and I are having a splendid time out here. I shall try to\n     persuade him to stop on after this month. Of course we shall come\n     back before your marriage. When is it to be, do you think?\n\n                                                        \u201cBest love from\n\n                                                               \u201cCOLIN.\u201d\n\n\n\nThe ink in this hot sun dried almost as quickly as he wrote, and he had\nscarcely signed his own name when it wore the appearance not of a\ntentative sketch but of a finished communication ready for the post,\nand, reading it over, he found that this was so: he could not better it.\nSo slipping it back into his pocket, he went across the beach again for\na longer swim, smiling to himself at the ease with which he had divined\nViolet\u2019s real mind, and at the fitness of his reply. As he swam he\nanalysed his own purpose in writing exactly like that.\n\nHe had expressed himself with all the cordial geniality of which he was\ncapable: he had welcomed Violet\u2019s choice. He had endorsed, as regards\nhis own part of the situation, her proposition that he ought not to be\nhurt, since they were not in love with each other, and the eagerness of\nhis endorsement (that swift enthusiastic scrawl) would quite certainly\npique her. He had adopted her attitude, and knew that she would wish he\nhad another; the same, in fact, which he had expressed when he had said\nthat it was maddening to think that she would be kissing Raymond next.\nColin knew well how fond she was of him, and his letter would be like\nthis plunge into the clear crystal of the sea which, while it cooled\nyou, was glowingly invigorating.\n\nHe was quite prepared to find that in a week\u2019s time she and Raymond\nwould write to his father saying that they were engaged, but not for a\nmoment did he believe that they would ever be married. He had but to\nkeep up his cordial indifference till Violet found it intolerable. To\nhave remonstrated with her, to have allowed that her news hurt him, was\nto give Violet just what she wanted. A loveless marriage faced her,\nwhile all the time she was not heart-whole, and however much she wanted\nStanier, she would be daily more conscious that the conditions on which\nshe got it were a diet of starvation.\n\n\u201cShe _is_ rather in love with me,\u201d thought Colin, \u201cand very likely my\nletter will drive her into accepting him. But if only I can keep cool\nand pleasant, she\u2019ll never marry him. Devilish ingenious! And then\nthere\u2019s Raymond!\u201d\n\nColin laughed aloud as he thought of Raymond, who really lay at the\nbottom of all these plans. Even if it had been possible now, before\nViolet accepted him, to intervene in some way and cause her to refuse\ninstead of to take him, he would not have stirred a finger, for thus he\nwould baulk himself of the completeness of Raymond\u2019s discomfiture, since\nRaymond would feel the breaking off of his engagement more bitterly than\nan original refusal. Let Violet accept him first and then throw him\nover. That would be a real counter-irritant to the sting of Raymond\u2019s\nprimogeniture, an appreciable counterweight to his future possession of\nStanier.\n\nIt had been a check in that fraternal feud that Raymond\u2019s birth and his\nown were certainly legitimate, and that nothing now could stand in the\nway of his brother\u2019s succession, but if the check in that direction had\nnot occurred, there would never have been any chance of Violet\u2019s\nmarrying him, and Raymond would have been spared the wounding\nhumiliation which instinctively, Colin felt sure, was to be dealt him.\nRaymond was genuinely desirous of her; he would feel her loss very\nshrewdly. If only, by some diabolical good fortune, Raymond could lose\nthem both! Colin saw himself, Violet by his side, smilingly observing\nRaymond\u2019s final departure from Stanier, and hoping that he would have a\npleasant journey.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAlas! it was time to swim shorewards again, for the morning boat from\nNaples which was carrying Salvatore Viagi had already gone by on its\ntourist route to the Blue Grotto, and Salvatore would have disembarked\nat the Marina. He felt curious to see Uncle Salvatore, and was\ndetermined to make himself uncommonly pleasant, for there might be\nthings which Salvatore knew which his father had not told him. The date\nof the marriage, for instance; though he despaired of any practical use\narising from that, Colin would like to know when it took place.\n\nHe dressed and strolled up through the vineyards through which,\ntwenty-one years ago, his father had gone, tasting for the first time\nthe liberty and gaiety of the South, and found his little jingling\nconveyance awaiting him. His quiet concentrated hate of Raymond sat\nsmiling beside him up the dusty road, and he rejoiced in its\ncompanionship.\n\nColin found that Salvatore had arrived, and his father was waiting lunch\nfor him, and so without decoration of himself in the way of brushings or\nputting on tie or socks, he went straight to the salon. There was\nsitting there a very gorgeously-dressed gentleman, and his heart fell as\nhe saw him, for it would be difficult to cultivate cordial relationships\nwith so exquisite a bounder, whatever information might be the reward of\nhis efforts.\n\nSalvatore was clad in ill-fitting broadcloth, florid with braid; he wore\npatent leather shoes, a tie of pink billows in which nestled a\npreposterous emerald, cuffs and collar clearly detachable, and a gold\nwatch-chain from which a large, cheap locket depended. Luxuriant hair,\nsuspiciously golden and carefully curled, crowned his face; fierce\nmoustaches, brushed and waxed, were trained away to show a mouth full of\ndazzling teeth, and his features were just those of a wax bust,\nrepresenting the acme of masculine beauty, that may be seen in the\nwindow of a hairdresser.\n\nWith this troubadour was sitting his father, stiff and starched and\niced. Colin guessed that this period of waiting had been embarrassing,\nfor both seemed highly relieved at his entry, and the troubadour bounded\nto his feet with a tenor cry of welcome.\n\n\u201c_Collino mio!_\u201d he exclaimed, kissing him, to Colin\u2019s great surprise,\non both cheeks. \u201cAh, the joy of the day when I behold my own nephew! And\nyou are so like her, so like her. Look on the image of her which I ever\ncarry about with me! I do not forget her, no, no!\u201d\n\nHe opened the locket, and showed Colin a photograph faded into\nillegibility.\n\n\u201cHer eyes, her nose, her mouth,\u201d he said. \u201cI see again the features of\nmy adored Rosina!\u201d\n\nThis was so much worse than could possibly have been expected, that the\nonly thing to be done was to treat it all as some game, some monstrous\ncharade. This was the stock of which he had come; his mother was sister\nto this marvellous mountebank. At that moment Colin hated his father;\nhow could he have joined himself to any of such a family? It was clearer\nthan ever that, whatever the history of that year preceding his birth\nhad been, it had not begun with marriage. His father had been prey to a\npretty face.\n\nThen he set himself to play the game.\n\n\u201cDear Uncle Salvatore!\u201d he said. \u201cI can\u2019t tell you how I\u2019ve been looking\nforward to seeing you. I hurried in, as you see, when I heard you were\nhere, without dressing or tidying myself. I could not wait. And you\nthink I am like my mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you are a true Viagi! You are the very image of her. And if I place\nmyself beside you, my noble brother-in-law will not, I think, fail to\nmark a certain family resemblance.\u201d\n\nHe put his hand on Colin\u2019s shoulder as if for a Bank Holiday photograph,\nand rose on his toes to make himself the taller.\n\nAt that his noble brother-in-law, catching Colin\u2019s merry glance, which\nshouted to him, \u201cPlay up, father, play up!\u201d seemed to determine to make\nthe best of it, too.\n\n\u201cAmazing resemblance,\u201d he said, rising. \u201cTwo brothers. Shall we go in to\nlunch? Please go on, Salvatore.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith the escort of my brother Colin,\u201d said Salvatore, in tremendous\ngood spirits. He had clearly, so he thought, found a friendly heart in\nColin, who would no doubt in time warm the heart of his brother-in-law,\nwhich at present seemed inclined to be chilly. It was desirable that a\nmore generous warmth should be diffused there, before they came to speak\nof financial matters.\n\nPhilip\u2019s efforts in answer to Colin\u2019s unspoken bidding, to see the\nhumorous side of their visitor, were put to a sad strain before that\nportentous meal was over. Salvatore was bent on making a fine and\ndashing impression, and adopted for that end a manner compounded of brag\nand rich adulation.\n\n\u201cYour cousins, Collino, my own beloved children!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cNever\nwill Vittoria and Cecilia forgive me, if I do not on my return prove to\nhave got your promise to pay them a visit before you quit Italy. We must\npersuade your father to spare you for a day; you must dine and sleep,\nand, ho, ho! who knows but that when our ladies have gone to bed, you\nand I will not play the bachelor in our gay Naples? It would, I am\nafraid, be useless to urge you, my dear Philip, to be of the party, but\nah! the happiness, ah! the honour that there would be in the Palazzo\nViagi, if Lord Yardley would make himself of the family! But I know, I\nknow: you come here to enjoy your quiet and blessed memories.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery good of you, Salvatore,\u201d said Philip. \u201cBut, as you say, I come\nhere for quiet. I am afraid I shall hardly be able to get across to\nNaples.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! _Il eremito_, as we say! The hermit, is it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak excellent English, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cAnd should I not? Was not English the language of my adored mother? It\nis Vittoria\u2019s dream to go to England. Some day, perhaps, I will take\nVittoria to see the home of her English ancestors, of her grandmother\nand of yours, my Colin. But the expense! _Dio!_ the expense of travel.\nOnce it was not so with the Viagi; they did not need to count their\nsoldi, and now there are no soldi to count! They were rich once; their\nwealth was colossal, and had it not been for nefarious enemies,\nslanderers, and swindlers, they would be rich still, and a line of\nprinces. As it is, they have nothing left them but their pride, and from\nthat, whatever their poverty, they will never part. I, the head of the\nfamily, proclaim that to the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery proper,\u201d said Philip.\n\nSalvatore had hit himself quite a severe blow on the chest as he\nproclaimed his pride, which had set him coughing. This was curable by a\nconsiderable draught of hock, which started him again on the adulatory\ntack.\n\n\u201cA nectar! Nectar of the gods,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cThere is no such wine to\nbe obtained in my beggarly country. But you must be a millionaire to\ndrink it. I would die happy drowned in wine like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must take a bottle or two away with you,\u201d said Philip, rising. \u201cIf\nyou will excuse me for ten minutes, there are a couple of letters I want\nto finish for this afternoon\u2019s post. And then, perhaps, you will spare\nme a quarter of an hour, Salvatore, for a talk. There will be plenty of\ntime before your boat goes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear friend, my time is yours,\u201d said Salvatore, \u201cand the boat may go to\nNaples without me if we have not finished. I brought a small toilet bag\nin case I stopped the night. I can no doubt find a room at some modest\nhotel.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think that will be necessary,\u201d said Philip, leaving him and\nColin together.\n\nSalvatore poured himself out some more of the nectar when the door had\nclosed (he was making sure of taking a bottle at least with him), and\npointed dramatically to his heart.\n\n\u201cMy noble and venerated brother-in-law has never rallied from the shock\nof your mother\u2019s death,\u201d he said. \u201cHis heart broke. He lives only for\nthe day when he will rejoin her. Till then it is a solace to him to\nminister to those who were nearest and dearest to Rosina. So generous a\nheart! Do you think I made a good impression on him to-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cAdmirable! Excellent!\u201d said Colin. \u201cNow talk to me about the old days,\nUncle Salvatore. A glass of brandy? Did you see my father that year he\nspent in Italy, when he married my mother, and when I was born?\u201d\n\nSalvatore paused in the sipping of his brandy and made a splendid scowl\nwith gesture of fist and rolling eyes. Quick as a lizard, Colin saw that\nhe must appear to know facts which hitherto were only conjecture to him,\nif he was to learn the cause of these grimaces.\n\n\u201cI know all, of course, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said. \u201cYou can speak to me\nquite freely.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet you ask if I was there!\u201d said Salvatore. \u201cShould I have\npermitted it? I was but a boy of eighteen, and in a bank at Rome, but,\nhad I known, boy as I was, I should have gone to your father and have\nsaid, \u2018Marry my sister out of hand or face the vengeance of Salvatore\nViagi.\u2019\u201d\n\nColin held out his hand. \u201cYou would have done well, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI thank you for my mother\u2019s sake.\u201d\n\nThis was so deeply affecting to Salvatore that he had to take a little\nmore brandy. This made him take a kindlier view of his noble\nbrother-in-law.\n\n\u201cYet I wrong him,\u201d he said. \u201cThere was no need for Salvatore Viagi to\nintervene for his sister\u2019s honour. She died Countess of Yardley, an\nalliance honourable to both of our families.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, yes,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI am proud of my Viagi blood. The marriage\nwas at the British Consulate, of course. What day of the month was it,\ndo you remember?\u201d\n\nSalvatore made a negative gesture. \u201cThe exact date escapes me,\u201d he said.\n\u201cBut it was spring: March, it would have been March, I think. Two\nletters I got from my beloved Rosina at that time; in one she told of\nthe marriage, in the next of the birth of her sons. I have those letters\nstill. Treasured possessions, for the next news of my Rosina was that\nher sweet soul had departed! My God, what lamentations were mine! What\nfloods of never-ceasing tears!\u201d\n\nColin thought rapidly and intently as he replenished his uncle\u2019s glass\nwith brandy. No definite scheme formed itself in his mind, but, whatever\npossibilities future reflection might reveal to him, it would clearly be\na good thing to get hold of those letters. He might conceivably want to\ndestroy them.\n\nHe leaned forward towards Salvatore. \u201cDear Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said, \u201cI\nam going to ask a tremendous favour of you. I have nothing of my\nmother\u2019s, and I never saw her, as you know. But I am learning to love\nher, and those letters would be so treasured by me. You have the memory\nof her, all those delightful days you must have spent together. Will you\ngive me those letters? I hope before long to come across to Naples and\nsee you and my cousins, and it would good of you if you would give me\nthem. Then I shall have something of hers.\u201d\n\nA sob sounded in Salvatore\u2019s voice. \u201cYou shall have them, my Colin,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand in turn perhaps you can do something for me. Intercede, I\npray you, with your father. He is a generous, a noble soul, but he does\nnot know my needs, and I am too proud to speak of them. Tell him, then,\nthat you wrung out of me that I am in abject poverty. Vittoria is\ngrowing up, and dowerless maidens are not sought after.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I will do all I can,\u201d said Colin warmly. \u201cI will talk to my\nfather as soon as you have gone. And I may say that he listens to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will send off the letters to you to-night,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd what joy\nwill there be in Casa Viagi, when my girls know that their cousin Colin\nis to visit us! When will that happy day be?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, I must write to you about that,\u201d said Colin, noticing that the\nPalazzo had become a Casa. \u201cLeave me your card. And now it is time for\nyou to talk to my father; I will see if he is ready. But not a word of\nall we have been saying, to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrust me, my nephew,\u201d said Salvatore gaily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nColin used his good offices with his father to such effect that he\nsucceeded in procuring for Salvatore a further substantial cheque, in\naddition to that which he had carried off with the two bottles of wine\nthat afternoon. His uncle apparently thought better of his reckless\ngenerosity in sending the letters of which Colin was desirous quite\nunconditionally, but the receipt of the second cheque was sufficient,\nand the morning\u2019s post two days later brought them.\n\nThey were written in ill-spelled English, and contained precisely what\nhis uncle had told him. The first, dated March 1, gave the information\nthat she had been married that morning to Philip Lord Stanier; the\nsecond, dated March 17, stated that a week ago she had given birth to\ntwins. They were quite brief, conveyed no other news, and had evidently\nbeen preserved with care, for the purple ink in which they were written\nwas quite unfaded. But apart from the fact now definitely known to Colin\nthat his father had legalised his life with Rosina but ten days before\nhe himself and Raymond were born, they did not help in any way towards\nthe attainment of the double object which now was putting out firm,\nfibrous roots in his mind as the ideal project, namely to prove by some\nmeans yet utterly unconjecturable the illegitimacy of Raymond and\nhimself, and, by marrying Violet, who in that case would succeed to the\ntitle and the estates, to become master of Stanier. Indeed these letters\nwere but a proof the more of what was no doubt sufficiently attested in\nthe register of the British Consulate, namely, that the marriage had\ntaken place previously to his own birth.\n\nIt seemed a hopeless business. Even if, by some rare and lucky\nmischance, there was any irregularity in the record at the Consulate,\nthese letters, so long as they were in existence, constituted, if not a\nproof, at any rate a strong presumption in favour of the marriage having\ntaken place on the first of the month, and it might be better to destroy\nthem out of hand so that such testimony as they afforded could not by\nany possibility be produced. And yet he hesitated; somehow, in his\nsubconscious mind, perhaps, there was a stir and a ferment which bubbled\nwith a suggestion that had not yet reached his consciousness. Might not\nsomething conceivably be done with them?... It was maddening that just\nten days out of all those uneventful hundreds of days which had elapsed\nsince, should suffice to wreck any project that he might make.\n\nAnd then a bubble of that ferment broke into his conscious mind. There\nwas the letter, announcing the marriage which had taken place that day\ndated March 1. There was the letter dated March 17 announcing the birth\nof himself and Raymond a week previously. What if by the insertion of a\nsingle numeral in front of the \u201c1\u201d of the first date, he converted it\ninto March 31st? As far as these two letters went, they would in that\ncase show precisely what he desired.\n\nPsychologically, too, there would be a reasonable interpretation. In his\nfather, it would be argued, there had sprung up after the birth of his\nsons, a tenderness and an affection for the mother of them, and he had\nmarried her so that she, in the future, might bear him legitimate\noffspring. Already she had borne two lusty and healthy sons; the union\nwas vigorous and fruitful.\n\nColin got up from the long chair in his bedroom where he had taken these\nletters, and began softly pacing up and down the floor, lithe and alert,\nand smiling. His father was coming down with him to bathe that morning,\nbut there was a quarter of an hour yet before he need join him\ndownstairs, and a great deal of thinking might be put into a quarter of\nan hour if you could only concentrate.\n\nHe knew he was very far yet from the attainment of his ambition, for\nthat register at the Consulate, which somehow he must manage to see,\nmight contain insuperable obstacles to success. There might, for\ninstance, be other entries between March 1 of that year and March 31, so\nthat even if he could contrive to alter the first date into the second\nit would throw those other entries, if such existed, out of their\nchronological order; the marriage contracted on March 31 would precede\nthose that lay in between the two dates. In that case he might have to\ntear out the page in which this entry occurred, and that might be quite\nimpossible of accomplishment.\n\nIt would not be wise, at any rate, to tamper with the date on this first\nletter of his mother\u2019s, till he knew how the ground lay at the\nConsulate. But given that it proved possible to make some alteration in\nthe register or tear out a page, how conclusively would his case be\nestablished, if, in support of that, there were produced those letters\nof his mother?\n\nSalvatore the troubadour.... Colin frowned and bit his lip at the\nthought of Salvatore, who would be ready to swear that, when he parted\nwith those letters to Colin, the one that conveyed the news of his\nsister\u2019s marriage was dated March 1, not March 31. There were experts on\nsuch subjects, too; prying, meticulous men who made a profession of\ndetecting little things like altered dates, and produced evidence about\na difference of hand or a difference in the analysis of two inks.\n\nYet if the register at the Consulate was found to endorse the evidence\nof the letters? The same detective-minded folk would examine the record\nat the Consulate, and might arrive at the damnable conclusion that it,\ntoo, had been tampered with. And if the letters which bore signs of\nbeing tampered with were in Colin\u2019s possession, and he was known to have\nvisited the register at the Consulate, there would be an unwelcome\nconclusion as to who had committed a forgery. Penal servitude was not\nan agreeable substitute for Stanier.\n\nColin focused his clear brain, as if it had been a lens, on Salvatore.\nHe had been very decorative and melodramatic on the subject of his\nsister\u2019s honour, but there had been much of cheap strutting, of tinsel,\nof footlights about that. And Salvatore, so Colin reasoned with a\nmelting and a smoothing out of his frown, was not all strutting and\nswagger. There was a very real side to that impecunious uncle with his\nundowered Vittoria. His concern for his sister\u2019s honour was not surely\nso dominant in him as his desire for coin. A suitable cheque would no\ndoubt induce him to recollect that the first of Rosina\u2019s letters\nannounced the births of the twins, the second, that of March 31, her\nmarriage.\n\nSalvatore, for love of Vittoria (to put it at that), would probably see\nthe sense of allowing his memory of the dates at the head of this letter\nto be faulty. He would not be obliged to perjure himself in any way; all\nhe had got to do (given that a page had been torn out of the register at\nthe Consulate, or that the date of the marriage as recorded there was\nMarch 31) was to swear that his sister\u2019s letters had always been in his\npossession until he had given them to his attractive nephew.... Yes,\nSalvatore would surely not prove an insuperable obstacle; he would rate\nthe living, himself and Vittoria, higher than the dead.\n\nFor one moment, brief as that in which, according to the legend, the\nancestral Colin had considered whether he should close with that strange\noffer made him in the sheep-fold, his descendant, his living\nincarnation, hesitated when he thought of his father. His father had\nalways been devoted to him, and such affection as Colin was capable of\nwas his. But, after all, Philip would necessarily be dead when (and if)\nthe discovery was made that Rosina\u2019s letter to her brother gave the date\nof the marriage as March 31, and when, on search being made in the\nregister of the British Consulate, it was discovered that, owing to a\npage being missing, there was no record of the marriage at all, or that\nthe date given there corresponded with that of Rosina\u2019s letter.\n\nColin had no intention of producing this evidence in his father\u2019s\nlifetime; there might be counter-proofs which his father could produce.\nIf he could only make some dealing with the register and with the date\non the letter, he would let the whole matter sleep till his father was\ndead. Then nothing could hurt him; you cannot hurt the dead. Even\nif--Colin gave little thought to this--the spirit of the dead survived\nin consciousness of the living, would not his father\u2019s spirit gladly\nmake this posthumous sacrifice of his earthly honour and rejoice to see\nColin, his beloved, master of Stanier? So his hesitation was fleeting as\nbreath on a frosty morning, it appeared but mistily, and dispersed.\n\nHis father, out in the garden, was calling him, and with a cheerful\nresponse he picked up his towels and went downstairs. For the present\nthere was but one necessary step to be taken; he had to get a day in\nNaples before he left, and pay a visit to the British Consulate. It was\nno use making any further plans beyond that, in his ignorance of what he\nshould find there. A visit to his uncle, and a night spent there, might\npossibly serve as an excuse.\n\nPhilip had also heard from his brother-in-law this morning: the\ncommunication was not so satisfactory to him, as Colin\u2019s post had been.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard from Salvatore,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\u2019s a nauseating fellow, Colin.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no; only a comic, father,\u201d said Colin gaily. \u201cYou take him too\nheavily.\u201d\n\n\u201cRead that,\u201d said Philip.\n\nThe letter was certainly characteristic, and as Colin read his smile\nbroadened into a laugh. The writer spoke of the deep humiliation it was\nfor a Viagi to take gifts from any; it had not been so with them once,\nfor the family had been the dispensers of a royal bounty. Indeed, two\nconsiderations only made it possible for him to do so, the first his\npaternal devotion to his two sweet maids, Vittoria and Cecilia, the\nsecond his fraternal devotion to his noble and generous relative. That\nsentiment did honour to them both, and with happy tears of gratitude he\nacknowledged the safe receipt of the cheque. He wrote with some\ndistraction, for his sweet maids kept interrupting him to know if he had\nsent their most respectful love to their uncle, and had reminded their\ndearest Colin that they looked for his advent with prodigious excitement\nand pleasure. They demanded to know when that hour would dawn for them.\nOne bottle of the nectar of France would be preserved for that day to\ndrink the health of his friend, his relative, his noblest of\nbenefactors. He signed himself \u201cViagi,\u201d as if the princely honours had\nbeen restored.\n\n\u201cOh, but priceless,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHaven\u2019t you got a sense of humour,\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot where Salvatore is concerned. As for your going over to dine and\nsleep, I shan\u2019t let you. Do you know we\u2019ve only got a fortnight more\nhere, Colin?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know; isn\u2019t it awful?\u201d said Colin with a sigh. \u201cBut about my going\nover for a night. I wonder if I hadn\u2019t better do that. It would be kind,\nyou know. He would like it.\u201d\n\nPhilip passed his hand over the boy\u2019s shoulders.\n\n\u201cColin, are you growing wings?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYes, and they don\u2019t go well with my cloven hoofs. In other words, I\nshould loathe spending the night there, and yet Uncle Salvatore would\nlike it. Then I don\u2019t want to leave you.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t then. Salvatore, thanks to you, has got double his usual\nallowance. You\u2019ve done enough for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but that didn\u2019t cost me anything,\u201d said Colin. \u201cIt only cost you.\nI\u2019ve still my debt to pay for the wonderful entertainment he gave me\nhere. Besides he is actually my uncle: I\u2019m a Viagi. Princely line,\nfather!\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t marry one of the young princesses,\u201d said his father.\n\nColin had one moment\u2019s acute thought before he answered. It struck him\nthat his father could hardly have said that if in his very self he had\nloved his mother. But what he had said just came from his very self....\nHe laughed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll promise not to, however entrancing Vittoria is,\u201d he said. \u201cAh, how\ndivine the sea looks this morning. I long to be in it.\u201d\n\nA sudden idea occurred to him.\n\n\u201cDo let us stop on another fortnight, father,\u201d he said. \u201cCan\u2019t we?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d said he. \u201cI must get back by the end of the month. But--\u201d he\npaused a moment and Colin knew that he had caught his own idea, which\nhis suggestion was designed to prompt. \u201cThere\u2019s no reason why you\nshouldn\u2019t have another fortnight here if you want,\u201d he said.\n\nColin had fallen behind his father on the narrow path to the\nbathing-place, and gave a huge grin of satisfaction at his own subtlety.\n\n\u201cOh, I should love that!\u201d he said, \u201cthough it won\u2019t be half as much fun\nas if you would stop too. And then I can go over to Naples with you when\nyou start homewards, and make my wings sprout by staying with Uncle\nSalvatore.\u201d\n\nNothing could have fallen out more conveniently, and Colin, as for the\nnext two hours he floated in the warm sea and basked on the hot pebbles,\nhad a very busy mind in his lazy, drifting body. His father\u2019s absence\nwould certainly make his investigations easier. He could, for instance,\npresent Lord Yardley\u2019s card at the Consulate with his own, and get leave\nto inspect the register with a view to making a copy of it, in\naccordance with his father\u2019s wishes. Better yet, he could spend a few\ndays in Naples, make the acquaintance of the Consul in some casual\nmanner, and produce his request on the heels of an agreeable impression.\nHe would not, in any case, be limited to a single visit, or tied by the\nnecessity of acting at once. He would not have to fire his bribe, with\nregard to the letters like a pistol in Salvatore\u2019s face, he would be\ncareful and deliberate, not risking a false step owing to the need of\ntaking an immediate one. And all the time the suggestion of stopping on\nhere alone had not come from himself at all. His father had made it.\n\nOn the way up to the villa again after the morning\u2019s bathe, they often\ncalled at the post-office in the piazza for letters that had arrived by\nthe midday post. To-day these were handed under the grille to Colin,\nand, sorting them out between his father and himself, he observed that\nthere were two for Lord Yardley in the handwritings of Raymond and\nViolet. Possibly these were only the dutiful and trivial communications\nof those at home, but possibly Violet\u2019s week of postponement had been\nshortened.\n\n\u201cTwo from Stanier for you, father,\u201d he said. \u201cViolet and Raymond. The\nrest for me.\u201d\n\nHis father looked at the envelopes.\n\n\u201cYes, Raymond\u2019s spider scrawl is evident enough,\u201d he said. \u201cI never saw\nsuch a handwriting except yours; his and yours I can never tell apart.\nOne wants leisure to decipher you and Raymond.\u201d\n\nColin simmered with impatience to see his father put both of these\nletters into his pocket, and simmered even more ebulliently when, having\nput them on the table at lunch, his father appeared to forget completely\nabout them, and left them there when lunch was over. But Colin could\nremind him of that, and presently the one from Violet lay open.\n\nHis father gave an exclamation of surprise, and then was absorbed in it.\nIt appeared to be short, for presently he had finished, and, still\nwithout a word to Colin, opened the letter from Raymond. Here\nexclamations of impatience at the ugly, illegible handwriting took the\nplace of surprise, and it was ten minutes more before he spoke to Colin.\nHe, meantime, had settled with himself, in case these letters contained\nwhat he guessed for certain that they must contain, that since Violet\u2019s\nprevious warning to him was private, he would let the news that his\nfather would presently tell him be a big emotional surprise to him. This\nwould entail dissimulation, but that was no difficulty. Colin knew\nhimself to be most convincing when his brain, not his sincerity,\ndictated his behaviour.\n\n\u201cHave Violet and Raymond written to you to-day?\u201d asked his father.\n\nColin yawned. He generally took a siesta after the long morning in the\nsea and sun, and it was already past his usual hour. There was a\npleasant fiction that he retired to write letters.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d he said, getting up. \u201cWell, I\u2019m off, father. Lots of letters....\u201d\n\n\u201cWait a moment. Violet and Raymond send me news which pleases me very\nmuch. They\u2019re engaged to be married.\u201d\n\nColin stared, then laughed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d forgotten it was the first of April,\u201d he said. \u201cI thought we were\nin June.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are,\u201d said his father. \u201cBut it\u2019s no joke, Colin. I\u2019m quite serious.\u201d\n\nColin looked fixedly at his father for a moment.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d he said, and getting up walked to the window. He stood there with\nhis back to the room twirling the blind-string, and seeming to\nassimilate the news. Then, as if making a strong effort with himself, he\nturned himself again, all sunshine.\n\n\u201cBy Jove, Raymond will be happy!\u201d he said. \u201cHow--how perfectly splendid!\nHe\u2019s head over ears in love with her, has been for the last six months.\nLucky dog! He\u2019s got everything now!\u201d\n\nHe could play on his father like some skilled musician, making the chord\nhe wanted to sound with never a mistake. Those words \u201che\u2019s got\neverything now,\u201d conveyed exactly the impression he intended, namely,\nthat Violet was, to him, an important part in Raymond\u2019s possessions.\nThat was the right chord.\n\nIt sounded.\n\n\u201cBut it was a great surprise to you, Colin,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYes, father,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cThe surprise, then, was that Violet has accepted him,\u201d said Lord\nYardley gently. He felt himself to be probing Colin\u2019s mind ever so\ntenderly, while Colin looked at him wide-eyed like a child who trusts\nhis surgeon.\n\n\u201cYes, father,\u201d he said again. \u201cIt surprised me very much.\u201d\n\nThis was magnificent; he knew just what was passing in his father\u2019s\nmind; unstinted admiration of himself for having so warm-heartedly\nwelcomed the news of Raymond\u2019s good fortune, and unstinted sympathy\nbecause his father had guessed a reason why Violet\u2019s engagement was a\nshock to him. This was immensely to the good, for when, as he felt no\ndoubt would happen, Violet threw over Raymond for himself, Lord Yardley\nwould certainly remember with what magnanimous generosity he had\ncongratulated Raymond on his success. Whether anything came of his\nproject about the register or not, he was determined to marry Violet,\nfor so the thirst of his hatred of his brother would be assuaged. But\nhow long and how sweet would the drink be, if in the cup was mingled the\nother also.\n\nHis father came across the room to where he still stood by the window,\nand laid loving hands on his shoulders.\n\n\u201cColin, old boy,\u201d he said. \u201cAre you fond of Violet--like that?\u201d\n\nColin nodded without speech.\n\n\u201cI had no idea of it,\u201d said Lord Yardley. \u201cI often watched you and her\ntogether, and I thought you were only as brother and sister. Upon my\nword, Raymond seems to have got everything.\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s smile was inimitable. It seemed to fight its way to his\nbeautiful mouth.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got you, father,\u201d he said, out of sheer exuberance of wickedness.\n\nThe subject was renewed that night when they sat under the\nvine-wreathed pergola where they had dined. The sun, bowling down the\nsteep cliff away westward, had just plunged into the sea, and darkness\ncame swiftly over the sky, without that long-drawn period of fading\nEnglish twilight in which day is slowly transformed into night. Here\nnight leaped from its lair in the East and with a gulp absorbed the\nflames of sunset and swiftly the stars sprang from the hiding-places\nwhere all day they had lain concealed, and burning large and low made a\ndiffused and penetrating greyness of illumination that dripped like\nglowing rain from the whole heavens.\n\nDim and veiled though that luminance was, compared to the faintest of\nthe lights of day, it gave a curious macabre distinctness to everything,\nand Colin\u2019s face, in a pool of star-shine that filtered between the\ntrailing garlands of the vines, wore to his father some strange,\nwraith-like aspect. So often had he sat here in such light as this with\nRosina opposite him, and all that he loved in Rosina seemed now to have\nbeen reincarnated, spectre-like, in the boy he cared more for than he\ncared for all the rest of the world. All that he had missed in the woman\nwho had satisfied and so soon sated his physical senses, flowered in\nColin with his quick intelligence, his sunny affection.... And his\nfather, for all his longing, could do nothing to help him in this\ndarkness which had overshadowed the dawn of love for him.\n\nInstead of Colin, Raymond had got all, that son of his whom he had never\nliked even, and had always, in some naturally-unnatural manner, been\njealous of, in that he would inherit all that his own fingers would one\nday relax their hold on. Had it been Colin who would grasp the sceptre\nof the Staniers, Philip would, as he had said, close his eyes for his\nlast sleep in unenvious content. And now Raymond had got the desire of\nhis heart as well, which, too, was the desire of Colin\u2019s heart.\n\nAll day, since the arrival of those letters, Colin had been very quiet,\nyet without any bitterness; grave and sweet, but only a shadow, a ghost\nof himself for gaiety. Now his face, pale in the starlight, was\nghostlike also, and his father divined in it an uncomplaining suffering,\ninfinitely pathetic.\n\n\u201cColin, I wish I could do anything for you,\u201d he said, with unusual\nemotion. \u201cYou are such a dear fellow, and you bear it all with such\nwonderful patience. Wouldn\u2019t it do you good now to curse Raymond a\nlittle?\u201d\n\nColin felt that he must not overdo the angelic r\u00f4le.\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ve been doing so,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I think I shall stop. It\u2019s no\nuse. It wouldn\u2019t hurt Raymond, even if he knew about it, and it doesn\u2019t\nhelp me. And it\u2019s certainly time I stopped sulking. Have I been very\nsulky all evening, father? Apologies.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been a brick. But about stopping out here alone. Are you sure\nyou won\u2019t mope and be miserable? Perhaps I might manage to stay out with\nyou an extra week.\u201d\n\nThat would not do at all. Colin hastened to put that out of the\nquestion.\n\n\u201cOh, but you must do nothing of the kind,\u201d he said quickly. \u201cI know\nyou\u2019ve got to get back. I shan\u2019t mope at all. And I think one gets used\nto things quicker alone. There\u2019s only just one thing I wonder about.\nHave we both been quite blind about Violet? Has she been in love with\nRaymond without our knowing it? I, at any rate, had no idea of it. She\u2019s\nin love with him now, I suppose. Did her letter give you that\nimpression?\u201d\n\nPhilip hesitated. Violet\u2019s letter, short and unemotional, had not given\nhim any such impression. But so triumphantly successful had been Colin\u2019s\nassumption of the unembittered, though disappointed, lover, that he\npaused, positively afraid that Colin would regret that Violet\u2019s heart\nwas not so blissfully engaged as his brother\u2019s. Before he answered Colin\nspoke again:\n\n\u201cAh, I see,\u201d he said. \u201cShe\u2019s in love with him, and you are afraid it\nwill hurt me to know it. Ripping of you.... After all, she\u2019s lucky, too,\nisn\u2019t she? She\u2019s got the fellow she loves, and she\u2019ll be mistress of\nStanier. I think she adores Stanier almost as much as you and I,\nfather.\u201d\n\nColin felt he could not better this as a conclusion. He rose and\nstretched himself.\n\n\u201cThere!\u201d he said. \u201cThat expresses what I feel in my mind. It has been\ncramped all day, and now I\u2019ve stretched it, and am not going to have\ncramp any more. What shall we do? Stroll down to the piazza, or sit here\nand play piquet? I vote for the piazza. Diversion, you know.\u201d\n\nColin pleaded sleepiness on their return from the piazza as an excuse\nfor early retirement, but the sleepiness was not of the sort that led to\nsleep, and he lay long awake, blissfully content and wondering at\nhimself with an intense and conscious interest. Never before had it so\nforcibly struck him that deception was a thing that was dear to him\nthrough some inherent attraction of its own, irrespective of what\nmaterial advantages it might bring him; it was lovely in itself,\nirrespective of the fruit it bore. Never yet, too, had it struck him at\nall that he disliked love, and this was a discovery worth thinking over.\n\nOften, especially during these last weeks, he had known that his\nfather\u2019s love for him bored him, as considered as an abstract quality,\nthough he welcomed it as a means to an end. That end invariably had been\nnot only the material advantages it brought him, but the gratification\nof his own hatred of Raymond. For, so he unerringly observed, his own\nendearing of himself to his father served to displace Raymond more and\nmore, and to-day\u2019s man\u0153uvres were a brilliant counter-attack to the\nimproved position Raymond had made for himself in those last weeks at\nStanier. But, apart from these ends, he had no use for any love that was\ngiven him, nor any desire to give in return. To hate and to get, he\nfound, when he looked into himself, was the mainspring which moved\nthought, word, and action.\n\nOutside, the evening breeze had quite died down, but the silent\ntranquillity of the summer night was broken by the sound of a footfall\non the garden terrace below the window, which he knew must be that of\nhis father strolling up and down there. For a moment that rather vexed\nhim; it seemed to disturb his own isolation, for he wanted to be\nentirely encompassed in himself. It was inconsiderate of his father to\ngo quarter-decking out there, intruding into his own consciousness;\nbesides, Colin had told him that he was sleepy, and he should have kept\nquiet.\n\nBut then the explanation of his ramble up and down occurred to Colin.\nThere could be no doubt that his father was troubled for him, and was\nmade restless by thinking of him and his disappointment. That made Colin\nsmile, not for pleasure in his father\u2019s love, but for pleasure in his\ntrouble. He was worrying himself over Colin\u2019s aching heart, and the boy\nhad a smile for that pleasing thought; it had an incense for him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe began to wonder, idly at first, but with growing concentration,\nwhether he hated his father. He did not wish him ill, but ... but\nsupposing this business of the register was satisfactorily accomplished,\nand supposing he succeeded, as he felt no doubt he would, in causing\nViolet to throw over Raymond and marry himself, he did not see that\nthere would be much gained by his father\u2019s continued existence. He would\nbe in the way then, he would stand between him and his mastership,\nthrough Violet, of Stanier. That, both from his passion for the place,\nand from the joyous triumph of ejecting Raymond, was the true object of\nhis life: possession and hatred, to get and to hate. His father, when\nthese preliminary feats had been carried through, would be an obstacle\nto his getting, and he supposed that he would hate him then.\n\nLying cool and naked under his sheet, Colin suddenly felt himself flush\nwith the exuberance of desire and vitality. Hate seemed as infinite as\nlove; you could not plumb the depths of the former any more than you\ncould scale the heights of the other, while acquisition, the clutching\nand the holding, stretched as far as renunciation; he who lived for\nhimself would not be satisfied until he had grasped all, any more than\nhe who lived for others would not be satisfied until he had given all,\nretaining nothing out of self-love.\n\nWith Violet as his wife, legal owner of Stanier, and Raymond outcast and\ndisinherited, it seemed to Colin that he would have all he wanted, and\nyet in this flush of desire that combed through him now, as the tide\ncombs through the weeds of the sea, he realised that desire was infinite\nand could never be satisfied when once it had become the master passion.\nNo one who is not content will ever be content, and none so burned with\nunsatisfied longing as he. If he could not love he could hate, and if he\ncould not give he could get.\n\nThe steps on the terrace below had long ceased, though, absorbed in this\nfever of himself, he had not noticed their cessation. His activity of\nthought communicated itself to his body, and it was impossible in this\ngalvanic restlessness to lie quiet in bed. Movement was necessary, and,\nwrapping his sheet round him, he went to his open window and leaned out.\n\nThe night was starlit and utterly tranquil; no whisper of movement\nsounded from the stone-pine that stood in the garden and challenged by\nits stirring the most imperceptible of breezes. Yet to his sense the\nquiet tingled with some internal and tremendous vibration; a force was\nabroad which held it gripped and charged to the uttermost, and it was\nthis force, whatever it was, that thrilled and possessed him. The warm,\ntingling current of it bathed and intoxicated him; it raced through his\nveins, bracing his muscles and tightening up the nerves and vigour of\nhim, and, stretching out his arms, he let the sheet drop from him so as\nto drink it in through every thirsting pore of his body. Like the\nfoaming water in a loch, it rose and rose in him, until the limit of his\ncapacity was reached, and his level was that of the river that poured it\ninto him. And at that, so it seemed, when now he had opened himself out\nto the utmost to receive it, the pressure which had made him restless\nwas relieved, and, unutterably tired and content, he went back to bed,\nand instantly sank into the profound gulfs of healthy and dreamless\nslumber.\n\nHis father had usually finished breakfast when Colin appeared, but next\nmorning it was the boy who was in advance.\n\n\u201cHurrah, I\u2019ve beaten you for once, father,\u201d he said when Lord Yardley\nappeared. \u201cThe tea\u2019s half cold; shall I get you some more?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, this will do. Slept well, Colin?\u201d\n\n\u201cLike a top, like a pig, like a hog, like a dog.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley busied himself with breakfast for a while.\n\n\u201cCurious things dreams are,\u201d he said. \u201cI dreamed about things I hadn\u2019t\nthought of for years. You were so vividly mixed up in them, too, that I\nnearly came into your room to see if you were all right.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI was wonderfully all right. What was the dream?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, one of those preposterous hashes. I began dreaming about Queen\nElizabeth and old Colin. She was paying him a visit at Stanier and asked\nto see the parchment on which he signed the bond of the legend. He\nshewed it her, but the blood in which he had signed his own name was so\nfaded that she told him he must sign it again if he wanted it to be\nvalid. I was present and saw it all, but I had the feeling that I was\ninvisible. Then came the nightmare part. He pricked his arm to get the\nink, and dipped a pen in it. And then, looking closely at him, I saw\nthat it wasn\u2019t old Colin at all, but you, and that it wasn\u2019t Queen\nElizabeth but Violet. I told you not to sign, and you didn\u2019t seem\nconscious of me, and then I shouted at you, in some nightmare of fear,\nand awoke, hearing some strangled scream of my own, I suppose.\u201d\n\nColin had been regarding his father as he spoke with wide, eager eyes.\nBut at the conclusion he laughed and lit a cigarette.\n\n\u201cWell, if you had come in, you certainly wouldn\u2019t have found me signing\nanything,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I cut myself shaving this morning. I call that\na prophetic dream. And I must write to Vi and Raymond this morning, so\nthat will be the signing.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nLord Yardley\u2019s residence at his villa at Capri had, as usual, leaked\ninto the diplomatic consciousness, and the English Ambassador at Rome,\nan old acquaintance of his, had, as usual, reminded him of a friendly\npresence in Rome, which would be delighted to welcome him if the welcome\nafforded any convenience. To leave by the very early boat from Capri,\nand thus catch the Paris express that evening was a fatiguing\nperformance, would he not, therefore, when the regretted day for his\ndeparture came, take the more reasonable midday boat, dine and spend the\nnight at the Embassy, and be sent off from there next day in comfort,\nfor the morning express from Rome entailed only one night in the train\ninstead of two? The British Consul at Naples would see to his seclusion\nin the transit from Naples to Rome, where he would be met and wafted to\nthe Embassy. Otherwise an early start from Capri, and a hurried train\nconnection in Rome, would deprive His Excellency of the great pleasure\nof a renewal of cordiality.\n\nHis Excellency, it may be remarked, liked an invitation to Stanier, and\nthere was method in his thoughtfulness. This proposal arrived a week\nbefore Lord Yardley\u2019s departure; a heat wave had drowned the country,\nand already he looked with prospective horror on the notion of two\nnights in the train.... It entailed a night in Paris, and, if he was to\narrive in England for a debate in the House, a departure from Capri by\nthe midday boat on Tuesday, instead of the early boat on Wednesday. It\nentailed, in fact, a few hours less of Colin.\n\nColin saw the shining of his star. Never had anything, for his purpose,\nbeen so excellently opportune. The British Consul would be at the\nstation to see his father off, and so, beyond doubt, would he himself,\non a visit to Uncle Salvatore. An acquaintanceship would be made under\nthe most auspicious and authentic circumstances.\n\n\u201cIt all fits in divinely, father,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall come across with\nyou, see you off from Naples, and then do my duty at Uncle Salvatore\u2019s.\nProbably, if there was nothing to take me to Naples, I should never have\ngone, but now I shall have to go. Do let me kill two birds with one\nstone. I shall see the last of you--one bird--without having to get up\nat five in the morning, and I shall have made my visit to Uncle\nSalvatore inevitable--two birds. Say \u2018yes\u2019 and I\u2019ll write to him at\nonce.\u201d\n\nIt was in the belief that this arrangement had been made, that Lord\nYardley left Naples a week afterwards. Mr. Cecil, the British Consul,\nhad come to the station to secure for him the reserved compartment to\nRome, and, that being done, had lingered on the platform till the train\nstarted. At the last moment, as he and Colin stood together there, and\nwhile the train was already in motion, Colin sprang on to the footboard\nfor a final good-bye, and with a kiss leaped off again. There came a\nsharp curve and the swaying carriages behind hid the platform from his\nfather.\n\nColin turned to Mr. Cecil. Salvatore was in the background for the\npresent.\n\n\u201cIt was delightful of you to come to see my father off,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\nappreciated it immensely.\u201d\n\nColin paused a moment, just the pause that a bather takes before he gets\nup speed for a running header into the sea.\n\n\u201cHe left me a small matter to talk to you about,\u201d he said. \u201cI wonder if\nI might refer to it now.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil gave a plump, polite little bow.\n\n\u201cPray do, Mr. Stanier,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cMy father wants a copy of the register of his marriage,\u201d he said, \u201cand\nhe asked me to copy it out for him. The marriage was performed at the\nBritish Consulate, and if you would be so good as to let me copy it and\nwitness it for me, I should be so grateful. May I call on you in the\nmorning about it? It will save trouble, he thinks, on his death, if\namong his papers there is an attested copy.\u201d\n\n\u201cA pleasure,\u201d said Mr. Cecil.\n\n\u201cYou are too kind. And you will do me one further kindness? I am going\nback to Capri to-morrow for another fortnight, and it would be so good\nof you if you would tell me of a decent hotel where I can pass the\nnight. I shall not be able, I am afraid, to catch the early boat, with\nthis business of the copying to do, for it leaves, does it not, at nine,\nand the Consulate will not be open by then.\u201d\n\nColin was at full speed now; his running feet had indeed left the\nground, and he was in the air. But he was already stiffened and taut, so\nto speak, for the plunge; he had made all preparation, and fully\nanticipated a successful dividing of the waters. For he had already made\nhimself quite charming to Mr. Cecil, and attributed his lingering on the\nplatform as much to the pleasure of a sociable ten minutes with him as\nto the honour done to his father.\n\n\u201cBut I will not hear of you staying at a hotel,\u201d said Mr. Cecil, \u201cif I\ncan persuade you to pass the night at my flat. It adjoins the Consulate\noffices, and is close to where the Capri boat lies. Indeed, if you wish\nto catch the early boat, we can no doubt manage that little business of\nyours to-night. It will take only a few minutes.\u201d\n\nColin suffered himself to be persuaded, and they drove back to the\nConsulate. Office hours were already over, and presently Mr. Cecil led\nthe way into the archive-room, where, no doubt, Colin\u2019s search would be\nrewarded. But there had come in for him a couple of telegrams delivered\nafter the clerks had gone, and he went to his desk in the adjoining room\nto answer these, leaving the boy with the volume containing the year of\nhis father\u2019s marriage. The month, so said Colin, was not known to him.\nHis father had told him, but he had forgotten--a few minutes\u2019 search,\nhowever, would doubtless remedy that.\n\nSo Mr. Cecil, leaving an official form with him on which to copy the\nentry, fussed away into the next room, and Colin instantly opened the\nvolume. The year was 1893, and the month, as he very well knew, was\nMarch.... There it was on March the first, and he ran his eye down to\nthe next entry. Marriages at the Naples Consulate apparently were not\nfrequent, and the next was dated April the fourth.\n\nColin had already his pen in hand to make the copy, and it remained\npoised there a moment. There was nothing more necessary than to insert\none figure before the single numeral, and the thing would be done. It\nremained after that only to insert a similar \u201cthree\u201d in the letter which\nhis mother had written to Salvatore announcing her marriage. On this hot\nevening the ink would dry as soon as it touched the page. And yet he\npaused, his brain beginning to bubble with some notion better yet, more\ninspired, more magically apt....\n\nColin gave a little sigh and the smile dawned on his face. He wrote in a\n\u201cthree,\u201d making the date of March 1 into March 31, and then once again\nhe paused, watching with eager eyes for the ink to dry on the page.\nThen, taking up a penknife which lay on the table beside him, he erased,\nbut not quite erased, the \u201cthree\u201d he had just written there. He left\nunerased, as if a hurried hand had been employed on the erasure, the\ncusp of the figure, and a minute segment of a curve both above and below\nit.\n\nLooking at the entry as he looked at it now, when his work was done,\nwith but casual carefulness, any inspector of it would say that it\nrecorded the marriage of Philip Lord Stanier to Rosina Viagi on the\nfirst of March. But had the inspector\u2019s attention been brought to bear\nmore minutely on it, he must, if directed to hold the page sideways to\nthe light, have agreed that there had been some erasure made in front of\nthe figure denoting the day of the month; for there was visible the\nscratching of a penknife or some similar instrument. Then, examining it\nmore closely, he would certainly see the cusp of a \u201cthree,\u201d the segment\nof the upper curve, and a dot of ink in the place where the lower\nsegment would have been.\n\nThese remnants would scarcely have struck his eye at all, had not he\nnoticed that there were the signs of an erasure there. With them, it was\nimpossible for the veriest tyro in conjecture not to guess what the\nerasure had been.\n\nThe whole thing took but a half-minute, and at the expiration of that,\nColin was employed on the transcription of the record of the marriage.\nHe knew that he had to curb a certain trembling of his hand, to reduce\nto a more regular and slower movement the taking of his breath, which\ncame in pants, as if he had been running.\n\nHalf a minute ago, no notion of what he had already accomplished had\nentered his head; his imagination had not travelled further than the\npossibility of changing the date which he knew he should find here into\none thirty days later. Out of the void, out of the abyss, this\nrefinement in forgery had come to him, and he already recognised without\ndetailed examination how much more astute, how infinitely more cunning,\nwas this emended tampering. Just now he could spare but a side glance at\nthat, for he must copy this entry (unaware that pen and pen-knife had\nbeen busy there) and take it to plump Mr. Cecil for his signature, but\nthe sharp, crisp tap of conviction in his mind told him that he had done\nmore magnificently well than his conscious brain had ever suggested to\nhim.\n\nNo longer time than was reasonable for this act of copying alone had\nelapsed before Colin laid down his pen and went into the next room.\n\n\u201cWell, Mr. Stanier, have you done your copying?\u201d asked Cecil.\n\n\u201cYes. Shall I bring it here for your signature?\u201d said Colin.\n\nMr. Cecil climbed down from the high stool where he was perched like\nsome fat, cheerful little bird.\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d he said. \u201cWe must be more business-like than that. I must\ncompare your copy with the original entry before I give you my\nsignature.\u201d\n\nColin knew that the skill with which he had effected the alteration\nwhich yet left the entry unaltered, would now be put to the test, but he\nfelt no qualm whatever as to detection. The idea had been inspired, and\nhe had no doubt that the execution of it was on the same level of\nfelicitous audacity. They passed back into the archive-room together,\nand the Consul sat himself before the volume and the copy.\n\n\u201cYes, March the first, March the first,\u201d he said, comparing the two,\n\u201cPhilip Lord Stanier, Philip Lord Stanier, quite correct. Ha! you have\nleft out a full stop after his name, Mr. Stanier. Yes, Rosina Viagi, of\n93 Via Emmanuele....\u201d\n\nHe wrote underneath his certificate that this was a true and faithful\ncopy of the entry in the Consular archives, signed his name, stamped it\nwith the official seal and date, and handed it to Colin.\n\n\u201cThat will serve your father\u2019s purpose,\u201d he said, and replacing the\nvolume on its shelf, locked the wire door of its bookcase.\n\n\u201cIf you will be so good as to wait five minutes,\u201d he said, \u201cI will just\nfinish answering a telegram that demands my attention, and then I shall\nbe at your service for the evening.\u201d\n\nHe gave a discreet little chuckle.\n\n\u201cWe will dine _en gar\u00e7on_,\u201d he said, \u201cat a restaurant which I find more\nthan tolerable, and shall no doubt contrive some pleasant way of passing\nthe evening. Naples keeps late hours, Mr. Stanier, and I should not be\nsurprised if you found the first boat to Capri inconveniently early. We\nshall see.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil appeared to put off the cares and dignity of officialdom with\nsingular completeness when the day\u2019s work was over, and Colin found he\nhad an agreeably juvenile companion, ready to throw himself with zest\ninto the diversions, whatever they might be, of the evening. He ate\nwith the appetite of a lion-cub, consumed a very special wine in\nmagnificent quantities, and had a perfect battery of smiles and winks\nfor the Neapolitans who frequented the restaurant.\n\n\u201c_Dulce est desipere in loco_,\u201d he remarked gaily, \u201cand that\u2019s about the\nsum of the Latin that remains to me, and, after all, it can be expressed\nequally well in English by saying \u2018All work, no play, makes Jack a dull\nboy.\u2019 And when we have finished our wine, all the amusements of this\namusing city are at your disposal. There is an admirable cinematograph\njust across the road, there is a music-hall a few doors away, but if you\nchoose that, you must not hold me responsible for what you hear there.\nOr if you think it too hot a night for indoor entertainment, there is\nthe Galleria Umberto, which is cool and airy, but again, if you choose\nthat, you must not hold me responsible for what you see there. Children\nof nature: that is what we Neapolitans are. We, did I say? Well, I feel\nmyself one of them, when the Consulate is shut, not when I am on duty,\nmark that, Mr. Stanier. But my private life is my own, and then I shed\nmy English skin.\u201d\n\nIn spite of the diversions of the city, Colin was brisk enough in the\nmorning to catch the early boat, and once more, as he had done a month\nago on his initial visit to the island, he sequestered himself from the\ncrowd under the awning, and sought solitude in the dipping bows of the\nlittle steamer. To-day, however, there was no chance of his meditations\nbeing interrupted by his father with tedious talk of days spent at\nSorrento; no irksome demonstrations of love were there to be responded\nto, but he could without hindrance explore not only his future path,\nbut, no less, estimate the significance of what he had done already.\n\nOnce more, then, the register of his father\u2019s marriage was secure in the\nkeeping of the Consulate, Mr. Cecil had looked at it, compared Colin\u2019s\ncopy, which now lay safe in the breast-pocket of his coat, with the\noriginal, and had certified it to be correct. Colin had run no risk by\ninserting and then erasing a figure which might prove on scrutiny to be\na subsequent addition; Mr. Cecil himself had been unaware that any\nchange had been wrought on the page. But when the register on Lord\nYardley\u2019s death should be produced in accordance with the plan that was\nalready ripening and maturing in Colin\u2019s mind, a close scrutiny would\nreveal that it had been tampered with. Some hand unknown had clearly\nerased a figure there, altering the date from March 31 to March 1. The\nobject of that would be clear enough, for it legalised the birth of the\ntwins Rosina had borne. It was in the interest of any of four people to\ncommit that forgery--of his father, of his mother, of Raymond, and of\nhimself. Rosina was dead now these many years; his father, when the\nregister was next produced, would be dead also, and from dead lips could\ncome neither denial nor defence. Raymond might be left out of the\nquestion altogether, for never yet had he visited his mother\u2019s native\ncity, and of those alive when the register was produced, suspicion could\nonly possibly attach to himself. It would have been in his interest to\nmake that alteration, which should establish his legitimacy as well as\nthat of his brother.\n\nColin, as he sat alone in the bows, fairly burst out laughing, before he\nproceeded to consider the wonderful sequel. He would be suspected, would\nhe?... Then how would it come about that it was he, who in the nobility\nof stainless honour would produce his own mother\u2019s letter, given him by\nhis uncle, in which she announced to her brother that she was married at\nthe British Consulate on the 31st of March? Had he been responsible for\nthat erasure in the Consulate register, to legitimatise his own birth,\nhow, conceivably, could he not only not conceal, but bring forward the\nvery evidence that proved his illegitimacy? Had he tampered with the\nConsular book, he must have destroyed the letter which invalidated his\nforgery. But, instead of destroying it, he would produce it.\n\nThere was work ahead of him here and intrigue in which Salvatore must\nplay a part. The work, of course, was in itself nothing; the insertion\nat the top of one of the two letters he owned of just that one figure\nwhich he had inserted and erased again in the register was all the\nmanual and material business; a bottle of purple ink and five minutes\u2019\npractice would do that. But the intrigue was more difficult. Salvatore\nmust be induced to acquiesce in the fact that the date of the letter\nannouncing Rosina\u2019s marriage was subsequent to that announcing the birth\nof the twins. That would require thought and circumspection; there must\nbe no false step there.\n\nAnd all this was but a preliminary man\u0153uvring for the great action\nwhereby, though at the cost of his own legitimacy, he should topple\nRaymond down from his place, and send him away outcast and penniless,\nand himself, with Violet for wife, now legal owner of all the wealth and\nhonours of the family, become master of Stanier. She might for the love\nof him, which he believed was budding in her heart, throw Raymond over\nand marry him without cognisance of what he had done for her. But he\nknew, from knowledge of himself, how overmastering the passion for\nStanier could be, and it might happen that she would choose Raymond with\nall that marriage to him meant, and stifle the cry of her love.\n\nIn that case (perhaps, indeed, in any case), Colin might find it better\nto make known to her the whole, namely that on his father\u2019s death she\nwould find herself in a position to contest the succession and claim\neverything for her own. Which of them, Raymond or himself, would she\nchoose to have for husband in these changed circumstances? She disliked\nand proposed to tolerate the one for the sake of the great prize of\npossession; she was devoted to the other, who, so she would learn, had\nbecome possessed of the fact on which her ownership was established.\n\nOr should he tell her all? Reveal his part in it? On this point he\nallowed his decision to remain in abeyance; what he should do, whether\nhe should tell Violet nothing, or part, or all, must depend on\ncircumstances, and for the present he would waste no more time over\nthat. For the present, too, he would keep the signed and certified copy\nof his father\u2019s marriage.\n\nThe point which demanded immediate consideration was that concerning\nSalvatore. Colin puzzled this out, sometimes baffled and frowning,\nsometimes with a clear course lying serene in front of his smiling eyes,\nas the steamer, leaving the promontory of the mainland behind,\napproached the island. He must see Salvatore, whom he had quite omitted\nto see in Naples, as soon as possible, and it would be much better to\nsee him here, in the privacy of the villa, than seek him, thought Colin,\nin the publicity of the Palazzo Viagi, surrounded by those siren dames,\nVittoria and Cecilia.\n\nHe would write at once, a pensive and yet hopeful little epistle to\nUncle Salvatore wondering if he would come across to Capri yet once\nagain, not for the mere inside of a day only, but for a more hospitable\nperiod. His father had left for England, Colin was alone, and there were\nmatters to be talked over that weighed on his conscience.... That was a\ngood phrase; Uncle Salvatore would remember what Colin had already done\nin the matter of the reduplicated cheque, and it would seem that the\ngenerous fellow had a debt of conscience yet unliquidated; this conveyed\nprecisely the right impression.\n\nIn a postscript he would hint at the French nectar which, still dozing\nin the cellar.... He hesitated a moment, and then decided not to mention\nthe subject of his mother\u2019s letters, for it was better that since they\nwere the sole concern of his visit, Uncle Salvatore should have the\nmatter sprung upon him.... A bottle of purple ink ... no, that would not\nbe necessary yet, for the later that you definitely committed yourself\nto a course of action the better.\n\nColin\u2019s letter produced just the effect that he had calculated on;\nSalvatore read into the conscience-clause a generous impulse and\ncongratulated himself on the departure of that grim, dry brother-in-law\nto whom (for he had tried that before) tears and frayed cuffs made no\nappeal. He had accordingly given that up, and for his last visit here\nmade himself nobly resplendent. But to Colin, in the guilelessness of\nhis blue-eyed boyhood, a tale of pinching and penury might be a suitable\nrevelation, and it was a proud but shabby figure which presented itself\nat the villa a few evenings later, without more luggage than could be\nconveniently conveyed in a paper parcel. Colin, who had been observing\nthe approach from the balcony of his bedroom, ran down, choking with\nlaughter that must be choked, to let his uncle in.\n\n\u201cAh, this is nice,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have no idea how welcome you are. It\nwas good of you to take pity on my loneliness. What a jolly evening we\nshall have. And Vittoria and Cecilia? How are they?\u201d\n\nA gleam brightened Uncle Salvatore\u2019s gloom, and he fervently pressed\nColin\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cThey are well, thank God,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd while that is so, what matters\nanything?\u201d\n\nHe appeared with a gesture of his hand to pluck some intruding creature\nfrom the region of his heart, and throw it into the garden-beds. Then he\ngave a little skip in the air.\n\n\u201cCollino _mio_!\u201d he said. \u201cYou charm away my sad thoughts. Whatever\nhappens to-morrow, I will be gay to-night. I will not drag your\nbrightness down into my gloom and darknesses. Away with them, then!\u201d\n\nColin fathomed the mountebank mind with an undeviating plummet. The\ndepth (or shallowness) of it answered his fairest expectations. He found\nnothing inconsistent in this aspect of Salvatore with that which he had\nlast presented here; the two, in fact, tallied with the utmost\nexactitude as the expression of one mind. They both chimed true to the\ninspiring personality. He waited, completely confident, for the advent\nof the opportunity.\n\nThat came towards the end of dinner: without even having been\nhilarious, Salvatore had at least been cheerful, and now, as suddenly as\nif a tap had been turned off, the flow of his enjoyment ceased. He\nsighed, he cleared his throat, he supported his head on his hands, and\nstared at the tablecloth. To Colin these signals were unmistakable.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re in trouble, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said softly, \u201cand now for the\nfirst time I am glad that my father has gone back to England. If he were\nhere, I should not be able to say what I mean to say, for, after all, he\nis my father, and he has always been most generous to me. But he is not\nequally generous to others who have claims on him. I have tried to make\nhim see that, and, as you and I know, I have succeeded to some small\nextent. But the extent to which I have succeeded does not satisfy me.\nConsidering all that I know, I am determined to do better for you than I\nhave been able to make him do. If I am his son, I am equally my mother\u2019s\nson. And you are her brother.\u201d\n\nColin paused a moment, and, sudden as a highland spate, inspiration\nflooded his mind. He had not thought out with any precision what he\nmeant to say, for that must depend on Salvatore, who might, equally\nwell, have adopted the attitude of a proud and flashy independence. But\nhe had declared for frayed cuffs and a fit of gloom, and Colin shaped\nhis course accordingly.\n\n\u201cAnd I can\u2019t forget,\u201d he said, \u201cthat it was you who put me in possession\nof certain facts when you sent me those two letters of my mother. I\nlearned from them what I had never dreamed of before. I never in the\nwildest nightmare thought that my father had not married your sister\ntill after my birth. I should have had to know that sometime: on my\nfather\u2019s death it must have come out. And you have shown a wonderful\ndelicacy in breaking the fact to me like that. I thank you for that,\nUncle Salvatore; I owe you a deep debt of gratitude which I hope to\nrepay!\u201d\n\nColin listened to his own voice, which seemed to make itself articulate\nwithout any directing will of his own. The summer night was charged with\nthe force of obedience to which his tongue moved against his teeth, and\nhis lips formed letters, and his throat gave the gutturals. Literally,\nhe did not know what he was going to say till he heard himself saying\nit. The breeze whispered in the stone-pine, and he spoke....\n\nThe breeze was still now and the stone-pine was silent. But he had said\nenough to make it necessary that Salvatore should reply. Presently a bat\nwould flit through the arches of the pergola where they dined, or the\nwind would stir in the pine, and then he would speak again. There was\njust that same stir abroad on the night when he had listened from his\nbedroom to his father\u2019s footfalls on the terrace.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean, Collino?\u201d said his uncle excitedly. \u201cI cannot\nunderstand what you say. My sainted Rosina married your father on the\nfirst of March, for I glanced at the letters again before I sent them to\nyou. Your birth....\u201d\n\nColin interrupted.\n\n\u201cAh, a bat,\u201d he said. \u201cI love bats. If you hold a handkerchief up does\nnot a bat come to it? Let us interrupt our conversation for a moment.\u201d\n\nHe spread his handkerchief over his head, and next moment Salvatore\nleaped to his feet, for there, beady-eyed and diabolical, with hooked\nwings as of parchment, spread out on either side of its furry body, one\nof the great southern bats alighted, making a cap for Colin\u2019s golden\nhead. Only for a moment it stopped there, and then flitted off into the\ndusk again.\n\n\u201cSoft, furry thing,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut you hate them, do you, Uncle\nSalvatore? It was stupid of me. Let us talk again!\u201d\n\nHe hitched his chair a little closer to the table, and looked Salvatore\nstraight in the eyes.\n\n\u201cBut you have forgotten the dates on those letters you gave me,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cMy mother was married to my father not on the first of March,\nbut on the thirty-first. The second letter recording Raymond\u2019s birth and\nmine was written on the seventeenth.\u201d\n\nAgain he paused.\n\n\u201cRaymond and I were born,\u201d he said slowly and distinctly, \u201cbefore my\nfather\u2019s marriage. The letters which you gave me prove it. If further\nproof was wanted, you would find it at the Consulate where the marriage\ntook place. Some one has tampered with the register, and the date has\nbeen made to look as if it recorded the first of March. But it does not:\nit records the thirty-first of March, and the \u2018three\u2019 has been erased.\nBut it is still visible. I saw it myself, for I went across to Naples to\nsee my father off, and subsequently at the Consulate made a copy of the\nentry. I should have proposed myself to stay with you that night, Uncle\nSalvatore, but I had no spirit left in me to see anybody. When you sent\nme those two letters of my mother, I hoped against hope perhaps, that\nthere was some ghastly mistake. I nearly destroyed them, indeed, in\norder that from them, at any rate, there should be no conceivable\nevidence. But when I saw the entry in the book at the Consulate, with\nthe mark of the erasure visible to any careful scrutiny, I knew that it\nwas no use to fight against facts. On my father\u2019s death, the evidence of\nthe date of his marriage must be produced, and it will be clear what\nhappened. My mother bore him two boys--I was one. Subsequently he\nmarried her, hoping, I have no doubt, to beget from her an heir to the\nname and the property.\u201d\n\nThe wind sighed heavily in the pine, and little stirs of it rustled the\nvine-leaves.\n\n\u201cIs it at no cost to me,\u201d said Colin, \u201cthat I keep my mother\u2019s letter\nwhich proves Raymond and me to be bastards? Oh, it is an ugly word, and\nif you were me, you would know that it is an ugly thing. Without my\nmother\u2019s letter which you sent me, it would be hard indeed to prove,\nindeed, any one might copy out the entry at the Consulate and fail to\nsee the erasure altogether. Raymond, at my father\u2019s death would\nsucceed, and I, his twin, beloved of him, would take an honourable place\nin the eyes of the world, for it is not nothing to be born a Stanier.\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s voice was soft and steadfast.\n\n\u201cBut my mother\u2019s letter to you makes it impossible for me to have honour\nin the eyes of the world, and to preserve my own,\u201d he said. \u201cAh, why did\nyou send me those two letters, Uncle Salvatore? It was in all innocence\nand kindness that you sent them, and you need not remind me that I asked\nfor them. Having seen them, what could any one with a shred of honour do\nbut to admit the truth of the whole ghastly business? The only wish that\nI have is that my father shall not know that I know. All I want is that\nhe, when the hour of his death comes, should hope that the terrible\nfraud which has been practised, will never be detected. But for that\nletter of my mother\u2019s, that would undoubtedly have happened. The\nregister at the Consulate would have been copied at his death by some\nclerk, and the Consul would have certificated its accuracy. Look at me,\nthen, now, and look at yourself in the same light, you of unblemished\ndescent, and me and Raymond!\u201d\n\nSalvatore had certainly woke out of his dejection.\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s impossible,\u201d he cried, beating the table. \u201cI sent you two\nletters; the first, dated March the first, announced my sainted Rosina\u2019s\nmarriage to your father. Where is it? Produce it!\u201d\n\nColin was quite prepared for that. He put his sun-browned fingers into\nhis breast-pocket, and drew out a paper.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t show you the original letters,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause it was\nclearly my duty to put them into inviolable custody as soon as possible.\nI sent them, in fact, as soon as I had seen the register at the\nConsulate, to my bank, with orders that they were to be kept there until\nI gave further instructions, or until the news of my death reached them.\nIn that case, Uncle Salvatore, I gave instructions that they were to be\nsent to my father. But before I despatched them to the bank, I made a\ncopy of them, and here that copy is.\u201d\n\nHe passed over to his uncle the copy he had made of the letter that\nafternoon, before (instead of sending it to the bank) he locked the\noriginal safely away upstairs. It was an accurate copy, except that it\nwas dated March 31. Salvatore took it and read it; it tallied, but for\nthe date, with his recollection of it.\n\n\u201cBut it is impossible!\u201d he said. \u201cFor years I have known that letter.\nWhen I gave it you it was dated March the first.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you imply that I altered it?\u201d asked Colin. \u201cNot a living eye has\nseen that letter but mine. Give me any reason for altering it. Why\nshould I make myself nameless and illegitimate?\u201d\n\nSalvatore looked that in the face. The validity of it stared at him\nunflinchingly.\n\n\u201cBut I can\u2019t believe it; there is some huge mistake,\u201d said Salvatore.\n\u201cOften have I read that letter of Rosina\u2019s. March the first was the date\nof her marriage. I will swear to that; nothing shall shake my belief in\nthat.\u201d\n\nColin shook his head in answer.\n\n\u201cWhat good will that do?\u201d he said. \u201cYou gave the letter to me, and no\nhand but mine has ever touched it. The letter must be produced some day,\nnot for many years, I hope and trust, but on my father\u2019s death it must\ncome to light. How will your recollections stand in the face of that\nevidence which all can see?\u201d\n\nSalvatore glanced round. They were alone with the fitful wind in the\npine.\n\n\u201cDestroy the letter, Collino,\u201d he said. \u201cSave your mother\u2019s honour and\nyour own.\u201d\n\nColin gave him one glance, soft and pitiful.\n\n\u201cAh, you must not suggest that to me,\u201d he said. \u201cYou must not add force\nto the temptation I can only just resist. But where would my honour be\nif I did that? What shred of it would be left me? How could I live a\nlie like that?\u201d\n\nColin leaned forward and put his hand on Salvatore\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cI have got to accept my illegitimacy,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd if you are sorry\nfor me, as I think you are, you can shew it best by accepting it too. It\nwould be infinitely painful to me when this revelation is made, as it\nwill have to be made on my father\u2019s death, to have you attempting to\nsave my mother\u2019s honour and my own, as you put it just now, by insisting\nthat this letter bore another date. I should never have a moment\u2019s peace\nif I thought a scene like that was ahead of me. In fact, I want to be\nassured against that, and the only way I can think of to make that safe\nis that when you get back to Naples to-morrow you should write me a\ncouple of lines, saying how you feel for me in this discovery that is\nnew to me. And then I want you to name the discovery, which is the date\nof my mother\u2019s marriage. I want you to accept that date, and give me\nproof that you accept it.\u201d\n\nColin made a gesture with his hand, as if cutting off that topic, and\ninstantly spoke again.\n\n\u201cWith my cousin Vittoria growing up,\u201d he said, \u201cyou must be put to\nexpenses which it is impossible for you to meet out of the pittance my\nfather gives you. He wronged you and your family most terribly, and I\nmust repair that wrong. When I get that letter of yours, Uncle\nSalvatore, I will send you a cheque for \u00a3500.\u201d\n\nColin gave a glance at his uncle, to make sure that there was no\nfaintest sign of dissent. There was none, and he went on:\n\n\u201cI see you understand me,\u201d he said, \u201cso let us go a step further. If my\nbrother Raymond dies before my father, I will make that five hundred\npounds an annuity to you, and I will destroy both the letter I ask you\nto write now, and the letter of my mother\u2019s about which we have been\ntalking. You will never be asked to say anything about either of them.\nIf on the other hand my father dies first, and if I make the marriage\nwhich I expect to make, I shall have to use your letter and that letter\nof my mother\u2019s. You may be asked to swear to the genuineness of the\nletter which I hope you will write me to-morrow, and to the recollection\nof my mother\u2019s letter which will tally with it. Have another glass of\nthis delicious French wine.\u201d\n\nHe had no need to think what he was saying, or frame a specious case. He\nspoke quite simply and directly as if by some inspiration, as if he was\nan \u00c6olian harp hung in the wind which whispered through the stone-pine.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think there is need for any discussion,\u201d he said, \u201cthough, of\ncourse, if you like to ask me any question, I will consider whether I\nshall answer it. But I don\u2019t think there is need for any question, is\nthere? You might tell me, I fancy, straight off, whether you accept or\nreject my proposal. If you reject it, perhaps I had better tell you that\nit is exceedingly unlikely that my father will give you any further\nassistance financially, for, as you know, I have a good deal of\ninfluence with him.\n\n\u201cIt would not pay you to refuse, would it? And as to threatening me with\nmaking this conversation of ours public, with a view to getting money\nout of me, I know your gentlemanly feelings would revolt against such an\nidea. Besides it would be singularly unremunerative, for no one would\npossibly believe you. Our conversation and my proposal would strike\nanybody as incredible. And you are not perjuring yourself in any way;\nyou did send me a letter of my mother\u2019s, and you will, I hope, write me\nanother letter to-morrow, saying that the story of my mother\u2019s marriage\nis very shocking, which is indeed true. So shall it be \u2018yes\u2019 or \u2018no,\u2019\nUncle Salvatore?\u201d\n\nSalvatore, superstitious, like most Southern Italians, to the core,\nfound himself making the sign of the cross below the table. Apart from\nthe obvious material advantage of accepting Colin\u2019s offer, he felt that\nsome fierce compelling agency was backing Colin up. That dreadful little\nincident of the bat had already upset him, and now in Colin\u2019s blue gay\nglance so earnestly fixed on him, he divined some manifestation of the\nevil eye, which assuredly it were not wise to provoke into action. And\nas if, in turn, Colin divined his thought, he spoke again:\n\n\u201cBetter say \u2018yes,\u2019 Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said. \u201cMy friends lead more\nenjoyable lives than my enemies. But whatever you answer, I want your\nanswer now.\u201d\n\nPerhaps through some strange trick of light played by the guttering\ncandles, it suddenly seemed to Salvatore that Colin\u2019s eyes undeviatingly\nfixed on his face, seemed in themselves luminous, as if a smouldering\nlight actually burned behind them.\n\n\u201cI accept,\u201d he said quickly, \u201cfor Vittoria\u2019s sake.\u201d\n\nColin took up his glass.\n\n\u201cI thought I should move your paternal heart, dear Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI drink to our pleasant bargain.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nThough Colin had taken the news of his brother\u2019s engagement with so\ntouching and unselfish a gentleness, his father, in spite of the joy of\nseeing the boy again, looked forward to his arrival at Stanier with\nconsiderable uneasiness. The trouble and the trial for him would be when\nhe saw Raymond and Violet together, though, to be sure, Violet did not\nseem to him to embody any ideal of maidenly rapture with her affianced.\nShe seemed indeed to tolerate, rather than adore her lover, to permit\nrather than to provoke, and to answer with an effort the innumerable\nlittle signals of devotion which Raymond displayed for her. About the\nquality of his devotion there could be no question. It was clear that in\nhis own fashion, and with all his heaviness and awkwardness in\nexpression, he was utterly in love with her. He had no eyes for any one\nbut her, but for her his eyes were dog-like in fidelity; when she was\nabsent his senses dozed.\n\nThey were, just for the present, this party of three. Lady Hester had\ngone back to town after the departure of Colin and his father to the\nSouth, and Ronald and his wife had betaken themselves for the month of\nJuly to Marienbad, in order to enable him to continue eating too much\nfor the next eleven months without ill effects. Every evening old Lady\nYardley appeared for dinner and made the fourth, but she was not so much\na presence as a shadow. In Colin\u2019s absence, she hardly ever spoke,\nthough each night she monotonously asked when he was expected back.\nThen, after the rubber of whist, mutely conducted, she retired again,\nand remained invisible till the approach of the next dinner-hour. So\nlong had she been whitely impassive that Philip scarcely noticed the\nmist that was thickening about her mind.\n\nRaymond, then, was comprehensible enough, he was head over ears in love\nwith Violet, and nothing and nobody but her had any significance for\nhim. But dog-like though his devotion was, it struck his father that\nthere was, in the absence of Violet\u2019s response, something rather animal\nabout it. Had she met with more than mere toleration his glances, his\nlittle secret caresses, his thirst for contact even of finger-tips or a\nleaning shoulder, there would have been the spark, the leap of fire\nwhich gives warmth and life to such things. But without it there was a\ncertain impalpable grossness: Raymond did not seem to care that his\ntouch should be responded to, it contented him to touch.\n\nBut though he, to his father\u2019s mind, was comprehensible enough, Violet\npuzzled him, for she seemed even before her marriage to have adopted the\ntraditional impassivity of Stanier brides; she had professed, in the one\ninterview she had had with him, a quiet acceptance of her position, and\na devotion to Raymond of which the expression seemed to be a mute\npassivity. Towards the question of the date of her marriage she had no\ncontribution to give. Lord Yardley and Raymond must have the settling of\nthat, and with the same passivity she accepted a date in the first week\nof October. Then the great glass doors would be opened, and the\nbridegroom\u2019s wing, long shuttered, for Philip\u2019s bride had never come\nhere, would see the light again. She asked no question whatever about\nColin\u2019s return; his name never presented itself on her lips unless mere\nconventional usage caused it to be spoken. It was as if the boy with\nwhom she had been so intimately a friend, had ceased to exist for her.\nBut when Philip once consciously noted that omission, he began to wonder\nif Violet was not comprehensible after all.... These days, in any case,\nafter Philip\u2019s return, while Colin still lingered in Italy, were worthy\nof the stateliest and deadliest Stanier traditions.\n\nColin had been expected all one long July afternoon. His announcement of\nhis arrival had been ambiguous, for he might catch the early train from\nParis, and thus the earlier boat, but the connection was uncertain, and\nif he missed it he would not get to Dover till six in the evening. In\nthat case he would sleep in London, and come down to Stanier next day.\n\nPhilip had read this out at breakfast that morning, and for once Violet\nshewed some interest in Colin.\n\n\u201cWhy not send a motor to Dover, Uncle Philip?\u201d she said. \u201cIt can get\nthere in time for the first boat, and if he is not on it, it can wait\nfor the second. He will arrive here then by dinner time.\u201d\n\nRaymond looked up from his paper at the sound of her voice.\n\n\u201cVi, darling, what an absurd plan,\u201d he said. \u201cThere are a hundred\nchances to one on Colin\u2019s not finding the motor. He\u2019ll get straight into\nthe train from the boat.\u201d\n\nViolet instantly retreated into that strange shell of hers again.\n\n\u201cAh, yes,\u201d she said.\n\nPhilip\u2019s curiosity put forth a horn at this. There was some new element\nhere, for Raymond seemed to resent the idea of special arrangements\nbeing made for Colin.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not a bad idea of yours, Violet,\u201d he said. \u201cIt will save Colin\ngoing up to London.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke he kept a sideways eye on Raymond.\n\n\u201cBut, father, think of the crush getting off the boat,\u201d he said. \u201cThe\nchances are that Colin won\u2019t see your chauffeur.\u201d\n\nHe spoke with an impatient anger which he could not cloak, and which\nrang out unmistakably in his voice.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll take the off chance then,\u201d said his father.\n\nRaymond got up. \u201cJust as you like,\u201d he said.\n\nPhilip paused a moment. The relations between himself and Raymond had\nbeen excellent up till to-day. Raymond without charm (which was not his\nfault), had been pleasant and agreeable, but now this matter of meeting\nColin had produced a spirit of jealous temper.\n\n\u201cNaturally I shall do just as I like,\u201d he observed. \u201cRing the bell,\nplease, Raymond. The motor will have to start at once.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThough none of the three communicated the news of Colin\u2019s arrival to old\nLady Yardley, it somehow got round to her, _via_ perhaps, some servant\u2019s\ngossip about a motor going to Dover, and most unusually she came\ndownstairs at tea-time with inquiries whether Colin had arrived. It was\nsoon clear that he could not have caught the early boat, or he would\nhave been here by now, and thus three hours at least must elapse before\nhis arrival could be looked for, but in spite of this, old Lady Yardley\ndid not go back to her room again, but remained upright and vigilant in\nher chair on the terrace, where they had had tea, looking out over the\nplain where, across the gardens and lake, appeared glimpses of the road\nalong which the motor must come.\n\nPhilip had intended to go for a ride, but he, too, when his servant told\nhim that his horse was round, lingered on and shewed no sign of moving.\nNeither he nor his mother gave any reason for their remaining so\nunusually here, but somehow the cause of it was common property. Colin\nwas coming. Raymond, similarly, had announced his intention of going to\nbathe, but had not gone; instead he fidgeted in his chair, smoked, took\nup and dropped the evening paper, and made aimless little excursions up\nand down the terrace. His restlessness got on his father\u2019s nerves.\n\n\u201cWell, go and bathe, if you mean to, Raymond,\u201d he said, \u201cor if you like\ntake my horse and go for a ride. But, for goodness\u2019 sake, don\u2019t keep\njumping about like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThanks, I think I won\u2019t ride, father,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall be having a\nbathe presently. Or would you feel inclined for a game of tennis, Vi?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s rather too hot,\u201d said she.\n\nHe sat down on the arm of her chair, but she gave no welcome to him, nor\nappeared in any way conscious of his proximity. In that rather gross\nfashion of his, he gently stroked a tendril of loose hair just behind\nher ear. For a moment she suffered that without moving. Then she put up\nher hand with a jerky, uncontrolled movement, and brushed his away.\n\n\u201cOh, please, Raymond,\u201d she said in a low voice.\n\nHe had a sullen look for that, and, shrugging his shoulders, got up and\nwent into the house. His father gave a sigh of relief, the reason for\nwhich needed no comment.\n\n\u201cColin will be here for dinner, won\u2019t he?\u201d asked old Lady Yardley.\n\n\u201cYes, mother,\u201d said Philip. \u201cBut won\u2019t you go and rest before that?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I will sit here,\u201d said she, \u201cand wait for Colin.\u201d\n\nPresently Raymond was back again, with a copy of some illustrated paper.\nViolet and Philip alike felt the interruption of his presence. They were\nboth thinking of Colin, and Raymond, even if he sat quiet, was a\ndisturbance, a distraction.... Soon he was by Violet\u2019s side again,\nshewing her some picture which he appeared to think might interest her,\nand Philip, watching the girl, felt by some sympathetic vibration how\ngreat an effort it was for her to maintain that passivity which, all\nthose days, had so encompassed her. The imminence of Colin\u2019s arrival, he\ncould not but conjecture, was what troubled her tranquillity, and below\nit there was some stir, some subaqueous tumult not yet risen to the\nsurface, and only faintly declaring itself in these rising bubbles....\n\nRaymond had placed the paper on her knee, and, turning the page, let his\nhand rest on her arm, bare to the elbow. Instantly she let it slip to\nher side, and, raising her eyes at the moment, caught Philip\u2019s gaze. The\nrecognition of something never mentioned between them took place, and\nshe turned to Raymond\u2019s paper again.\n\n\u201cQuite excellent,\u201d she said. \u201cSuch a good snapshot of Aunt Hester. Show\nit to Uncle Philip.\u201d\n\nRaymond could not refuse to do that, and the moment he had stepped over\nto Philip\u2019s side, she got up.\n\nThat passivity was quite out of her reach just now in this tension of\nwaiting. Soon Colin would be here, and she would have to face and accept\nthe situation, but the waiting for it.... If only even something could\nhappen to Colin which would prevent his arrival. Why had she suggested\nthat sending of the motor to Dover? Had she not done that, he could not\nhave got here till to-morrow morning, and she would have had time to\nharden, to crystallise herself, to render herself impervious to any\ntouch from outside.\n\nShe was soon to be a Stanier bride, and there in the tall chair with the\nivory cane was the pattern and example for her. It was on old Lady\nYardley that she must frame herself, quenching any fire of her own, and\ncontent to smoulder her life away as mistress of the family home which\nshe so adored, and of all the countless decorations and riches of her\nposition. Never had the wonder and glory of the place seemed to her so\ncompelling as when now, driven from the terrace by Raymond\u2019s\nimportunity, she walked along its southern front and through the archway\nin the yew-hedge where she and Colin had stood on his last night here.\nIt dozed in the tranquillity of the July evening, yellow and\nmagnificent, the empress of human habitations. Round it for pillow were\nspread its woodlands, on its breast for jewel lay the necklace of deep\nflower-beds; tranquil and stable through its three centuries, it seemed\nthe very symbol and incarnation of the pride of its owners; to be its\nmistress and the mother of its lords yet unborn was a fate for which she\nwould not have exchanged a queen\u2019s diadem.\n\nWhatever conditions might be attached to it, she would accept them--as\nindeed she had already pledged herself to do--with the alacrity with\nwhich its founder had, in the legend, signed his soul away in that\nbargain which had so faithfully been kept by the contracting parties....\nAnd it was not as if she disliked Raymond; she was merely utterly\nindifferent to him, and longing for the time when, in the natural course\nof things, he would surely grow indifferent to her. How wise and\nindulgent to his male frailties would she then show herself; how\nstudiously and how prudently blind, with the blindness of those who\nrefuse to see, to any infidelities.\n\nHad there not been in the world a twin-brother of his, or, even if that\nmust be, if she had not stood with him under this serge-arch of yews\nbeneath the midsummer moon and given him that cousinly kiss, she would\nnot now be feeling that his return, or, at any rate, the waiting for it,\ncaused a tension that could scarcely be borne. She had made her choice\nand had no notion--so her conscious mind told her--of going back on it;\nit was just this experience of seeing Colin again for the first time\nafter her choice had been made that set her nerves twanging at Raymond\u2019s\ntouch. Could she, by a wish or the wave of a wand, put off Colin\u2019s\nadvent until she had actually become Raymond\u2019s wife, how passionately\nwould she have wished, how eagerly have waved. Or if by some magic,\nblack or white, she could have put Colin out of her life, so that never\nwould she set eyes on him again or hear his voice, his banishment from\nher would at that moment have been accomplished. She would not admit\nthat she loved him; she doggedly told herself that she did not, and her\nwill was undeviatingly set on the marriage which would give her Stanier.\n\nSurely she did not love Colin; they had passed all their lives in the\ntranquillity of intimate friendship, unruffled by the faintest breath of\ndesire. And then, in spite of her dogged assertion, she found that she\nasked herself, incredulously enough, whether on that last evening of\nColin\u2019s the seed of fire had not sprouted in her? She disowned the\nnotion, but still it had reached her consciousness, and then fiercely\nshe reversed and denied it, for she abhorred the possibility. It would\nbe better that she should hate Colin than love him.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe evening was stiflingly hot, and in the park, where her straying feet\nhad led her, there was no breath of wind stirring to disperse the\nheaviness. The air seemed thick with fecundity and decay; there was the\nsmell of rotting wood, of crumbling fungi overripe that mingled with the\nsharp scent of the bracken and the faint aroma of the oaks, and buzzing\nswarms of flies gave token of their carrion banquets. The open ground to\nthe north of the house was no better; to her sense of overwrought\nexpectancy, it seemed as if some siege and beleaguerment held her. She\nwanted to escape, but an impalpable host beset her, not of these buzzing\nflies only and of the impenetrable oppression of the sultry air, through\nwhich she could make no _sortie_, but, internally and spiritually, of\nencompassing foes and hostile lines through which her spirit had no\npower to break.\n\nThere on the terrace, from which, as from under some fire she could not\nface, she had lately escaped, there would be the physical refreshment of\nthe current of sea-wind moving up, as was its wont towards sunset,\nacross the levels of the marsh; but there, to this same overwrought\nconsciousness, would be Raymond, assiduous and loverlike, with odious\nlittle touches of his affectionate fingers. But, so she told herself, it\nwas enforced on her to get used to them; he had a right to them, and it\nwas Colin, after all, who was responsible for her shrinking from them,\neven as she shrank from the evil buzzings of the flies. If only she had\nnot kissed Colin, or if, having done that, he had felt a tithe of what\nit had come to signify to her.\n\nBut no hint of heart-ache, no wish that fate had decreed otherwise, had\ntroubled him. He had asked for a cousinly kiss, and in that light\ngeniality of his he had said, out of mere politeness, and out of hatred\nfor Raymond (no less light and genial) that it was \u201cmaddening\u201d to think\nthat his brother would be the next visitor there.\n\nShe had waited for his reply to her letter announcing that Raymond had\nproposed to her and that she was meaning to accept him, with a quivering\nanxiety which gave way when she received his answer to a sense of revolt\nwhich attempted to call itself relief. He seemed, so far from finding\nthe news \u201cmaddening,\u201d to welcome and rejoice in it. He congratulated her\non achieving her ambition of being mistress of Stanier, and on having\nfallen in love with Raymond. He could not be \u201churt\u201d--as she had\nfeared--at her news; it was altogether charming.\n\nShe had expressed the charitable hope that he would not be hurt, and\nwith claws and teeth her charity had come home to roost. It had dreadful\nhabits in its siesta; it roosted with fixed talons and sleepless lids;\nit cried to the horses of the night to go slowly, and delay the dawn,\nfor so it would prolong the pleasures of its refreshment. And each day\nit rose with her, strengthened and more vigorous. Had Colin only\nrebelled at her choice, that would have comforted her; she would have\ngathered will-power from his very opposition. But with his acquiescing\nand welcoming, she had to bear the burden of her choice alone. If he had\nonly cared he would have stormed at her, and like the Elizabethan flirt,\nshe would have answered his upbraidings with a smile. As it was, the\nsmile was his, not hers. Almost, to win his upbraidings, she would have\nsacrificed the goodly heritage--all the honour and the secular glory of\nit.\n\nPerhaps by now, for she had wandered far, the rest of them might have\ndispersed, her grandmother to the seclusion of her own rooms, Uncle\nPhilip to the library, and Raymond to the lake, and she let herself into\nthe house by the front door and passed into the hall. The great Holbein\nabove the chimney piece smiled at her with Colin\u2019s indifferent lips; the\nfaded parchment was but a blur in the dark frame, and she went through\ninto the long gallery which faced the garden front. All seemed still\noutside, and after waiting a moment in the entrance, she stepped on to\nthe terrace, and there they were still; her grandmother alert and\nvigilant, Philip beside her, and Raymond dozing in his chair, with his\nillustrated paper fallen from his knee. What ailed them all that they\nwaited like this; above all, what ailed her, that she cared whether they\nwaited or not?\n\nSoundless though she hoped her first footfalls on the terrace had been,\nthey were sufficient to rouse Raymond. He sat up, his sleepiness all\ndispersed.\n\n\u201cHullo, Vi!\u201d he said. \u201cWhere have you been?\u201d\n\n\u201cJust for a stroll,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you tell me? I would have come with you.\u201d\n\nSuddenly old Lady Yardley rose, and pointed down on to the road across\nthe marsh.\n\n\u201cColin is coming,\u201d she said. \u201cThere\u2019s his motor.\u201d\n\nCertainly a mile away there was, to Violet\u2019s young eyes, an\ninfinitesimal speck on the white riband, but to the dimness of the old,\nthat must surely have been invisible. Lord Yardley, following the\ndirection of her hand, could see nothing.\n\n\u201cNo, mother, there\u2019s nothing to be seen yet,\u201d he said, proving that he,\ntoo, was absorbed in this unaccountable business of waiting for Colin.\n\n\u201cBut I am right,\u201d she said. \u201cYou will see that I am right. I must go to\nthe front door to welcome him.\u201d\n\nShe let the stick, without which she never moved, slide from her hand,\nand with firm step and upright carriage, walked superbly down the\nterrace to the door of the gallery.\n\n\u201cHe is coming home,\u201d she cried. \u201cHe is coming for his bride, and there\nwill be another marriage at Stanier. Let the great glass doors be\nopened; they have not been opened for the family since I came here sixty\nyears ago. They were never opened for my poor son Philip. I will open\nthem, if no one else will. I am strong to-night.\u201d\n\nPhilip moved to her side.\n\n\u201cNo; it\u2019s Raymond you are thinking of, mother,\u201d he said. \u201cThey will be\nopened in October. You shall see them opened then.\u201d\n\nShe paused, some shade of doubt and anxiety dimming this sudden\nbrightness, and laid her hand on her son\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cRaymond?\u201d she said. \u201cYes, of course, I was thinking of Raymond.\nRaymond and Violet. But to please me, my dear, will you not open them\nnow for Colin? Colin has been so long away, it is as if a bridegroom\ncame when Colin comes. We are only ourselves here; the Staniers may do\nwhat they like in their own house, may they not? I should love to have\nthe glass doors open for Colin\u2019s return.\u201d\n\nThe speck she had seen or divined on the road had come very swiftly\nnearer, and now it could be seen that some white waving came from it.\n\n\u201cI believe it is Colin, after all,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cHow could she have\nseen?\u201d\n\nOld Lady Yardley turned a grave glance of displeasure on him.\n\n\u201cDo not interrupt me when I am talking to your father,\u201d she said. \u201cThe\nglass doors, Philip.\u201d\n\nRaymond with a smile, half-indulgent of senile whims, half-protesting,\nturned to the girl.\n\n\u201cGlass doors, indeed,\u201d he said. \u201cThe next glass doors are for us, eh,\nViolet?\u201d\n\nSurely some spell had seized them all. Violet found herself waiting as\ntensely as her grandmother for Philip\u2019s reply. She was hardly conscious\nof Raymond\u2019s hand stealing into hers; all hung on her uncle\u2019s answer.\nAnd he, as if he, too, were under the spell, turned furiously on\nRaymond.\n\n\u201cThe glass doors are opened when I please,\u201d he said. \u201cYour turn will\ncome to give orders here, Raymond, but while I am at Stanier I am\nmaster. Once for all understand that.\u201d\n\nHe turned to his mother again.\n\n\u201cYes, dear mother,\u201d he said, \u201cyou and I will go and open them.\u201d\n\nInside the house no less than among the watchers on the terrace the\nintelligence that Colin was at hand had curiously spread. Footmen were\nin the hall already, and the major-domo was standing at the entrance\ndoor, which he had thrown open, and through which poured a tide of hot\nair from the baking gravel of the courtyard. Exactly opposite were the\ndouble glass doors, Venetian in workmanship, and heavily decorated with\nwreaths and garlands of coloured glass. The bolts and handles and hinges\nwere of silver, and old Lady Yardley, crippled and limping no longer,\nmoved quickly across to them, and unloosing them, threw them open.\nInside was the staircase of cedar wood, carved by Gibbons, which led up\nto the main corridor, opposite the door that gave entrance to the suite\nof rooms occupied by the eldest son and his wife.\n\nWhat strange fancy possessed her brain none knew, and why Philip allowed\nand even helped her in the accomplishment of her desire was as obscure\nto him as to the others, but with her he pushed the doors back and the\nsweet odour of the cedar wood, confined there for the last sixty years,\nflowed out like the scent of some ancient vintage. Then, even as the\ncrunching of the motor on the gravel outside was heard, stopping\nabruptly as the car drew up at the door, she swept across to the\nentrance.\n\nAlready Colin stood in the doorway. For coolness he had travelled\nbareheaded and the gold of his hair, tossed this way and that, made a\nshining aureole round his head. His face, tanned by the southern suns,\nwas dark as bronze below it, and from that ruddy-brown his eyes,\nturquoise blue, gleamed like stars. He was more like some lordly\nincarnation of life and sunlight and spring-splendour than a handsome\nboy, complete and individual; a presence of wonder and enchantment stood\nthere.... Then, swift as a sword-stroke, the spell which had held them\nall was broken; it was but Colin, dusty and hot from his journey, and\njubilant with his return.\n\n\u201cGranny darling!\u201d he said, kissing her. \u201cHow lovely of you to come and\nmeet me like this. Father! Ever so many thanks for sending the motor for\nme. Ah, and there are Violet and Raymond. Raymond, be nice to me; let me\nkiss you, for, though we\u2019re grown up, we\u2019re brothers. And Violet; I want\na kiss from Violet, too. She mustn\u2019t grudge me that.... What! The glass\ndoors open. Ah! of course, in honour of the betrothal. Raymond, you\nlucky fellow, how I hate you. But I thought that was only done when the\nbridegroom brought his bride home.\u201d\n\n\u201cA whim of your grandmother\u2019s,\u201d said Philip hastily, disowning\napparently his share in it.\n\nInstantly Colin was by the old lady\u2019s side again.\n\n\u201cGranny, how nice of you!\u201d he said. \u201cBut you\u2019ve got to find me a bride\nfirst before I go up those stairs. And even then, it\u2019s only the eldest\nson who may, isn\u2019t it? But it was nice of you to open the doors because\nI was coming home.\u201d\n\nHe had kissed Raymond lightly on the cheek, and Violet no less lightly,\nand both in their separate and sundered fashions were burning at it,\nRaymond in some smouldering fury at what he knew was Colin\u2019s falseness,\nViolet with the hot searing iron of his utter indifference; and then\nlight as foam and iridescent as a sunlit bubble of the same, he was back\nwith his father again, leaving them as in some hot desert place. And\ndinner must now be put off, growled Raymond to himself, because Colin\nwanted to have a bathe first and wash off the dust and dryness of his\njourney, and his father would stroll down after him and bring his towel,\nso that he might run down at once without going upstairs.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin had come home, it appeared, with the tactics that were to compass\nhis strategy rehearsed and ready. Never had his charm been of so sunny\nand magical a quality, and, by contrast, never had Raymond appeared more\nuncouth and bucolic. But Raymond now, so ran his father\u2019s unspoken\ncomment on the situation, had an ugly weapon in his hand, under the\nblows of which Colin winced and started, for more than ever he was\nprodigal of those little touches and caresses which he showered on\nViolet. Philip could not blame him for it; it was no more than natural\nthat a young man, engaged and enamoured, should use the light license\nof a lover; indeed, it would have been unnatural if he had not done so.\n\nOften and often, ten times in the evening, Philip would see Colin take\nhimself in hand and steadfastly avert his eyes from the corner where\nRaymond and Violet sat. But ever and again that curious habit of\nself-torture in lovers whom fate has not favoured would assert itself,\nand his eyes would creep back to them, and seeing Raymond in some\nloverlike posture, recall themselves. And as often the sweetness of his\ntemper, and his natural gaiety, would reassert its ray, and the usual\nlight nonsense, the frequent laugh, flowed from him. Exquisite, too, was\nhis tact with Violet; he recognised, it was clear, that their old\nboy-and-girl intimacy must, in these changed conditions, be banished. He\ncould no longer go away with her alone to spend the morning between\ntennis-court and bathing pool, or with his arm round her neck, stroll\noff with a joint book to read reclined in the shade. Not only would that\nput Raymond into a false position (he, the enamoured, the betrothed)\nbut, so argued the most pitiless logic of which his father was capable,\nthat resumption of physical intimacy, as between boy and boy, would be a\ntearing of Colin\u2019s very heart-strings not only for himself but for her\nalso. In such sort of intimacy Colin, with his brisk blood and ardent\nlust of living, could scarcely help betraying himself, and surely then,\nViolet, little though she might care for Raymond, would see her pool of\ntranquil acceptance shattered by this plunge of a stone into the centre\nof it. Her liking for Colin was deep, and she would not fail to see that\nfor her he had even profounder depths. A light would shine in those\ndrowned caves, and Colin, as wise as he was tender, seemed to shew his\nwisdom by keeping on the surface with Violet, and only shining on her\ntranquillity, never breaking it.\n\nSometimes--so thought his father--he shewed her a face which, in virtue\nof their past intimacy, was almost too gaily indifferent; she would\nattempt some perfectly trivial exhibition of their old relations, perch\nherself on the arm of his chair, and with the contrast of his bronzed\nface and golden hair, tell him that he must gild his face like the\ngrooms in \u201cMacbeth\u201d or dye his hair. But on the instant he would be\nalert and spring up, leaving her there, for the need of a cigarette or a\nmatch. He allowed her not the most outside chance of resuming ordinary\ncousinly relations with him. His motive was sound enough; loving her he\nmistrusted himself. She was sealed to be his brother\u2019s wife, and he must\nnot trust himself within sight of the notice to trespassers. It was\nbetter to make himself a stranger to her than to run the risk of\nbetraying himself. So, at least, it struck an outsider to Colin\u2019s\nconsciousness.\n\nHe avoided, then, all privacy with Violet, and no less carefully he\navoided privacy with Raymond. If the three men were together and his\nfather left them, Colin would be sure to follow him, and if they all\nthree sat up together in the smoking-room, Colin would anticipate the\nsignal of a silence or of his father\u2019s yawning or observation of the\nclock, to go to bed himself. Here, again, he almost overdid the part,\nfor as the first week after his return went by, Philip, firmly\ndetermined to be just to Raymond, thought he saw in him some kind of\nbrotherly affection for Colin, which the latter either missed or\nintentionally failed to respond to. There could be no harm in a\nseasonable word, and when, one morning Raymond, after half a dozen chill\nresponses from his brother, had left him and Colin together, Philip\nthought that the seasonable word was no less than Raymond\u2019s due. But the\nseasonable word had to be preceded by sympathy.\n\nHe sat down in the window seat by Colin.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d he said.\n\nThose blue eyes, gay but veiled by suffering, answered him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s damned hard on you, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cAre you getting used to it,\nold boy?\u201d\n\nColin, with one of those inimitable instinctive movements, laid his hand\non his father\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cNo, not a bit,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I\u2019ve got to. I can\u2019t go on like this. I\nmust feel friendly to Raymond and Violet. I must manage to rejoice in\ntheir happiness. Got any prescription for me, father? I\u2019ll take it,\nwhatever it is. Lord! How happy I used to be.\u201d\n\nAll that Philip had missed in Rosina was here now; the tender, subtle\nmind, which should have been the complement of her beauty. His sympathy\nwas up in arms for this beloved child of hers, and his sense of fairness\nelsewhere.\n\n\u201cRaymond\u2019s doing his best, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cI wonder....\u201d and he\npaused.\n\n\u201cYou can say nothing that will hurt me, father,\u201d said Colin. \u201cGo on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I wonder if you\u2019re responding to that. To put it frankly,\nwhenever he makes any approach to you, you snub him.\u201d\n\nColin lifted his head.\n\n\u201cSnub him?\u201d he said. \u201cHow on earth can I snub Raymond? He\u2019s got\neverything. I might as well snub God.\u201d\n\nThis was a new aspect.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t do otherwise, father,\u201d said the boy. \u201cI can only just behave\ndecently to Raymond in public and avoid him in private. Don\u2019t bother\nabout Raymond. Raymond hates me, and if I gave him any opportunity, he\nwould merely gloat over me. I can\u2019t behave differently to him; I\u2019m doing\nthe best I can. If you aren\u2019t satisfied with me, I\u2019ll go away again till\nit\u2019s all over and irrevocable. Perhaps you would allow me to go back to\nCapri.\u201d\n\nPhilip\u2019s heart yearned to him. \u201cI wish I could help you,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYou do help me. But let\u2019s leave Raymond out of the question. There\u2019s a\nmatter that bothers me much more, and that\u2019s Violet. If I let myself go\nat all, I don\u2019t know where I should be. What am I to do about her? Am I\nright, do you think, in the way I\u2019m behaving? We were chums--then she\nbecame to me, as I told you, so much more than a chum. I can\u2019t get back\non to the old footing with her; it would hurt too much. And she\u2019s hurt\nthat I don\u2019t. I can see that. I think I was wrong to come back here at\nall, and yet how lovely it was! You all seemed pleased to see me--all\nbut Raymond--and I didn\u2019t guess the bitterness of it.\u201d\n\nIt was inevitable that Philip should recall his surprise at Violet\u2019s\npassivity. Colin, whose heart he knew, had been, in all outward\nappearance, just as passive, and he could not help wondering whether\nthat passivity of Violet\u2019s cloaked a tumult as profound as Colin\u2019s. The\nsuspicion had blinked at him before, like some flash of distant\nlightning; now it was a little more vivid. If that were true, if from\nthat quarter a storm were coming up, better a thousand times that it\nshould come now than later. Tragic, indeed, would it be if, after she\nhad married Raymond, it burst upon them all.... But he had nothing\napproaching evidence on the subject; it might well be that his wish that\nViolet could have loved Colin set his imagination to work on what had\nreally no existence outside his own brain.\n\n\u201cI hate seeing you suffer, Colin,\u201d he said, \u201cand if you want to go back\nto Capri, of course you may. But you\u2019ve got to get used to it some time,\nunless you mean to banish yourself from Stanier altogether. Don\u2019t do\nthat.\u201d\n\nColin pressed his father\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do better, father,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll begin at once. Where\u2019s Violet?\u201d\n\nIt was in pursuance of this resolve, it must be supposed, that when Lady\nYardley\u2019s rubber of whist was over that night, Colin moved across to the\nopen door on to the terrace where Violet was standing. In some spasm of\nimpatience at Raymond\u2019s touch she had just got up from the sofa where he\nhad planted himself close to her, leaving him with an expression, half\noffended, half merely hungry....\n\n\u201cFive minutes stroll outside, Vi?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s rather late,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cRight,\u201d said Colin cheerfully, and went forth alone, whistling into the\ndarkness.\n\nThe moment he had gone Violet regretted not having gone too. Since\nColin\u2019s return she had not had a half-hour all told alone with him, and\nthe tension of his entire indifference to her was becoming intolerable.\nShe had not dreamed that he would cut himself off from her with this\nhideous completeness, nor yet how much she longed for the renewal of the\nold intimacy. Bitterest of all was the fact that she meant nothing to\nhim, for he had never been more light-heartedly gay. Where Philip,\nknowing what he did, saw strained and heroic effort, she saw only the\ncontemptuous ignoring of herself and Raymond.... And now, with that same\ncraving for self-torture that is an obsession to the luckless in love,\nwhen Colin made his first advance to her again, she must needs reject\nit. There was Raymond watching her, and revolt against that hungry look\nof his decided her. She stepped out on to the terrace.\n\nColin had come to the far end of it; his whistling directed her; and now\nin the strong starlight, she could see the glimmer of his shirt-front.\nShe felt her knees trembling and hid the reason out of sight as she\nstrolled, as unconcernedly as she could, towards him. Soon he perceived\nher and his whistling stopped.\n\n\u201cHullo, Vi,\u201d he said, \u201cso you\u2019ve come out after all. That\u2019s ripping.\u201d\n\nThey were close to each other now, and bright was the stream of\nstarlight on him.\n\n\u201cManaged to tear yourself away from Raymond for five minutes?\u201d he asked.\n\u201cI was beginning to think I should never have a word with you again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s your fault,\u201d said she. \u201cYou have been a brute all this last\nweek.\u201d\n\n\u201cI? A brute?\u201d said Colin. \u201cWhat do you mean? I thought I had been\nconducting myself superbly....\u201d\n\nHe looked up quickly at the oblong of light that flowed from the open\ndoor into the gallery, and saw that it framed a shadow.\n\n\u201cHullo, there\u2019s Raymond,\u201d he said, \u201clooking after us. Here we are,\nRaymond. Come and join us.\u201d\n\nHe heard Violet\u2019s clicked tongue of impatience.\n\n\u201cI had to say that,\u201d he whispered. \u201cHe won\u2019t come.\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s psychology was correct enough; Raymond had not meant to be seen,\nhe only meant to see. Besides he had a grievance against Violet for her\nimpatience just now; he was annoyed with her.\n\n\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m going to the smoking-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s to punish you, Vi,\u201d said Colin with a tremble of laughter in his\nvoice. \u201cBut perhaps we had better go in. You mustn\u2019t vex him.\u201d\n\nNothing could have been better calculated.\n\n\u201cIs one of the conditions of my engagement that I mustn\u2019t speak to you?\u201d\nshe asked. \u201cCertainly it seems like it.\u201d\n\nColin tucked his arm into Violet\u2019s.\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll break it for once,\u201d he said. \u201cNow you\u2019re vexed with me.\nThat\u2019s very unreasonable of you. You made your choice with your eyes\nopen. You\u2019ve chosen Raymond and Stanier. It stands to reason we can\u2019t\nalways be together. You can\u2019t have Raymond and Stanier and me. It was\nyour own doing. And I thought everything was going so well. Whenever I\nlook up I see you and him holding hands, or else he\u2019s kissing the back\nof your neck.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Violet with a little shiver.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve got to get used to it, Vi,\u201d said he. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to pay for\nhaving Stanier. Isn\u2019t it worth it?\u201d\n\nHe heard her take a quick breath; her control was swaying like a curtain\nin the wind.\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t be such a brute to me, Colin,\u201d she said. \u201cI hadn\u2019t realised\nthat--that you would desert me like this.\u201d\n\nColin just passed his tongue over his lips.\n\n\u201cOh, that doesn\u2019t mean anything to you,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cBut it does, it does,\u201d said she.\n\nThey were back now in the shadow of the yew-hedge, where one night she\nhad kissed him. As he thought of that he knew that she was thinking of\nit too.\n\n\u201cGive Raymond up,\u201d he said. \u201cLet him and Stanier go. It will be the\nwisest thing you can do.\u201d\n\nHe paused a moment, and all the witchery of the night came to the\nreinforcement of his charm.\n\n\u201cI want you, Vi,\u201d he said. \u201cPromise me. Give me a kiss and seal it.\u201d\n\nFor one second she wavered, and then drew back from him.\n\n\u201cNo, I can\u2019t do that,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ll give you a kiss, but it seals no\npromise.\u201d\n\n\u201cKiss me then,\u201d said he, now confident.\n\nThere was no mistaking the way in which she surrendered to him. She\nstood enfolded by him, lambent and burning. She knew herself to be\nbitterly unwise, but for the moment the sweetness was worth all the\nwaters of Marah that should inundate her.\n\n\u201cAh, you darling, never mind your promise,\u201d said he. \u201cI shall have that\nlater. Just now it\u2019s enough that you should hate Raymond and love me.\u201d\n\nShe buried her face on his shoulder.\n\n\u201cColin, Colin, what am I to do?\u201d she whispered.\n\nHe could see well that, though her heart was his, the idea of giving up\nStanier still strove with her. To-night she might consent to marry him;\nto-morrow that passion for possession might lay hands on her again. She\nwas bruised but not broken, and instantly he made up his mind to tell\nher the secret of his mother\u2019s letter and of the entry at the Consulate.\nThat would clinch it for ever. When she knew that by giving up Raymond\nand Stanier together, she retained just all she wanted out of her\ncontract and gained her heart\u2019s desire as well----\n\n\u201cWhat are you to do?\u201d he said. \u201cYou are to do exactly what you are\ndoing. You\u2019re to cling to me, and trust me. Ah, you\u2019re entrancing! But\nI\u2019ve got something to tell you, Vi, something stupendous. We must go in;\nI can\u2019t tell you here, for not even the trees nor the terrace must know,\nthough it concerns them.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Colin, about Raymond. I can\u2019t be sure....\u201d\n\nHe pressed her to him, thrilled all through at this ebb and flow of her\nemotional struggle.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve finished with Raymond, I tell you,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve given him\nup and you\u2019ve given up Stanier, haven\u2019t you; you\u2019ve given up\neverything?\u201d\n\nSome diabolical love of cruelty for its own sake; of torturing her by\nprolonging the decision which pulled at her this way and that, possessed\nhim.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a proud hour for me, Vi,\u201d he said. \u201cI love Stanier as madly as you\ndo, and you\u2019ve given it up for me. I adore you for doing that; you\u2019ll\nnever repent it. I just hug these moments, though there must come an end\nto them. Let us go in, or Raymond will be looking for us again. Go\nstraight to your room. I shall come there in five minutes, for there\u2019s\nsomething I must tell you to-night. I must just have one look at Raymond\nfirst. That\u2019s for my own satisfaction.\u201d\n\nColin could not forego that look at Raymond. He knew how he should find\nhim, prospering with a glass of whisky, disposed, as his father had\nsaid, to be brotherly, having all the winning cards in his hand. Stanier\nwould be his, and, before that, Violet would be his, and Colin might be\nallowed, if he were very amiable, to spend a week here occasionally when\nRaymond came to his throne, just as now he had been allowed a starlit\nstroll with Violet. These were indulgences that would not be noticed by\nhis plenitude, morsels let fall from the abundant feast. The life only\nof one man, already old, lay between him and the full consummation;\nalready his foot was on the steps where the throne was set. Just one\nglance then at victorious Raymond....\n\nRaymond fulfilled the highest expectations. Whisky had made him\nmagnanimous; he was pleased to have granted Colin that little starlit\nstroll with Violet, it was a crumb from the master\u2019s table. His heavy\nface wore a look of great complacency as his brother entered.\n\n\u201cHullo, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cFinished making love to Violet?\u201d\n\nColin grinned. \u201cYou old brute!\u201d he said. \u201cNot content with having\neverything yourself, you must mock me for my beggary. You lucky fellow.\u201d\n\nHe poured himself out a drink and sat down.\n\n\u201cRaymond, I had no idea how devoted Violet was to you till to-night,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI think she\u2019s afraid to let herself go, to shew it too much.\u201d\n\nThe grossness of Raymond, his animal proprietorship, was never more\napparent. It was enough for him to desire her.\n\n\u201cOh, Vi\u2019s all right,\u201d he said.\n\nColin felt his ribs a-quiver with the spasm of his suppressed laughter.\nHe distrusted his power of control if he subjected himself to further\ntemptation.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m off to bed,\u201d he said. \u201cI just looked in to envy you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Vi?\u201d asked Raymond.\n\nColin bethought himself that he did not want Raymond knocking at\nViolet\u2019s door for a good-night kiss.\n\n\u201cOh, she went upstairs half an hour ago,\u201d he said. \u201cShe told me she was\nawfully sleepy. In fact, she soon got tired of me.\u201d\n\nHe drank in a final impression of Raymond\u2019s satisfied face and went\nupstairs, going first to his room, where from his locked despatch-case\nhe took the two letters which Salvatore had given him, and which now\nbore the dates of March 17 and March 31. Then, passing down the long\ncorridor, he came to her room; the door was ajar, and he rapped softly\nand then entered.\n\nViolet, in anticipation of his coming, had sent her maid away, and was\nbrushing her hair, golden as Colin\u2019s own, before her glass. Often and\noften in the days of their intimacy had he come in for a talk during\nthis ritual; on dry, frosty nights Violet would put out her light, and\npale flashes of electricity and cracklings and sparks would follow the\nprogress of her brush. Her hair would float up from her head and cling\nto Colin\u2019s fingers as sea-weed that had lain unexpanded on the shore\nspreads out, floating and undulating, in the return of the tide.\nTo-night it lay thick and unstirred, rippling for a moment under her\nbrush, and then subsiding again into a tranquil sheet of gold.\n\nShe saw him enter in the field of her mirror and heard the click of the\nkey as he turned it.\n\n\u201cJust in case Raymond takes it into his head to say good-night to you,\u201d\nhe said.\n\nShe had risen from her chair and stood opposite to him.\n\n\u201cWhat have you got to tell me, Colin?\u201d she said.\n\nHe looked at her a moment with parted lips and sparkling eyes. Each\nseemed the perfect complement of the other; together they formed one\npeerless embodiment of the glory of mankind. Through them both there\npassed some quiver of irresistible attraction, and, as two globules of\nquick-silver roll into one, so that each is merged and coalesced in the\nother, so with arms interlaced and faces joined, they stood there, two\nno longer. Even Colin\u2019s hatred for Raymond flickered for that moment and\nwas nearly extinguished since for Violet he existed no more. Then the\nevil flame burned up again, and he loosed Violet\u2019s arms from round his\nneck.\n\n\u201cNow you\u2019re to sit and listen to me,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat I have got to tell\nyou will take no time at all.\u201d\n\nHe opened the envelope which he had brought with him, and drew out the\ntwo letters. He had decided not to tell Violet any more than what, when\nhis father was dead, all the world would know.\n\n\u201cSalvatore Viagi gave me these,\u201d he said. \u201cHe is my mother\u2019s brother,\nyou know, and I saw him at Capri. They were written by my mother to him,\nand announce the birth of Raymond and me and her marriage to my father.\nTake them, Vi, look at the dates and read them in order.\u201d\n\nShe gave him one quick glance, took them from him, read them through and\ngave them back to him. Then in dead silence she got up and stood close\nto him.\n\n\u201cI see,\u201d she said. \u201cOn Uncle Philip\u2019s death, Stanier, everything will be\nmine. According to those letters, that is.\u201d\n\nHe nodded. \u201cYes, on the one condition, of course, that you and I are\nwife and husband.\u201d\n\nShe looked at him again with a smile breaking through her gravity.\n\n\u201cI promised that before I knew,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd now that I know that\nStanier will be mine, instead of believing that my choice forfeited it,\nit isn\u2019t very likely that I shall change my mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s something else, you know, too,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019re marrying....\u201d\n\nShe interrupted. \u201cI\u2019m marrying Colin,\u201d she said. \u201cBut as regard you. Is\nit horrible for you? Ah ... I\u2019ve been thinking of myself only. Stanier\nand myself.\u201d\n\nShe moved away from him and walked to the end of the room, where,\npushing the blind aside, she looked out on to the terrace where they had\nstood this evening. As clearly as if she spoke her thoughts aloud, Colin\nknew what was the debate within her. It lasted but a moment.\n\n\u201cColin, if--if you hate it,\u201d she said, \u201ctear that letter up. I\u2019ve got\nyou, and I would sooner lose Stanier than let you be hurt. Tear it up!\nLet Raymond have Stanier so long as I don\u2019t go with it.... Oh, my dear,\nis it the same me, who so few weeks ago chose Raymond, and who so few\nhours ago wondered if I could give up Stanier, even though to get it\nimplied marrying him? And now, nothing whatever matters but you.\u201d\n\nInstantly Colin felt within himself that irritation which love\ninvariably produced in him. Just so had his father\u2019s affection, except\nin so far as it was fruitful of material benefits, fatigued and annoyed\nhim, and this proposal of Violet\u2019s, under the same monstrous impulsion,\npromised, in so far from being fruitful, to prove itself some scorching\nor freezing wind which would wither and blast all that he most desired.\nBut, bridling his irritation, he laughed.\n\n\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t suit me at all,\u201d he said, \u201cand besides, Vi, how about\nhonour? Stanier will be legally and rightfully yours. How on earth could\nI consent to the suppression of this? But lest you should think me too\nmuch of an angel--father asked me one day how my wings were getting\non--I tell you quite frankly that it will be sweet as honey to send\nRaymond packing. My adoring you doesn\u2019t prevent my hating him. And as\nfor what is called irregularity in birth, who on earth cares? I don\u2019t.\nI\u2019m a Stanier all right. Look at half the dukes in England, where do\nthey spring from? Actresses, flower-girls, the light loves of\ndisreputable kings. Who cares? And, besides, my case is different: my\nfather married my mother.\u201d\n\nUp and down his face her eyes travelled, seeing if she could detect\nanywhere a trace of reluctance, and searched in vain.\n\n\u201cAre you quite sure, Colin?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cAbsolutely. There\u2019s no question about it.\u201d\n\nOnce more she held him close to her.\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s too much,\u201d she whispered. \u201cYou and Stanier both mine. My heart\nwon\u2019t hold it all.\u201d\n\n\u201cHearts are wonderfully elastic,\u201d said he. \u201cOne\u2019s heart holds everything\nit desires, if only it can get it. Now there\u2019s a little more to tell\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes? Come and sit here. Tell me.\u201d\n\nShe drew him down on to the sofa beside her.\n\n\u201cWell, my uncle sent me these letters,\u201d said he, \u201cbut, naturally, they\nwon\u2019t be enough by themselves. It was necessary to find out what was the\nentry in the register of their marriage. My father had told me where it\ntook place, at the British Consulate in Naples, and I got the Consul to\nlet me see the register. I told him I wanted to make a copy of it. I saw\nit. The marriage apparently took place not on the 31st of March, but on\nthe 1st. But then I looked more closely, and saw that there had been an\nerasure. In front of the \u20181\u2019 there had been another figure. But whoever\nhad made that erasure had not done it quite carefully enough. It was\npossible to see that a \u20183\u2019 had been scratched out. The date as\noriginally written was \u201831\u2019 not \u20181.\u2019 That tallies with the date on my\nmother\u2019s letter.\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s voice took on an expression of tenderness, incredibly sweet.\n\n\u201cVi, darling,\u201d he said, \u201cyou must try to forgive my father, if it was he\nwho made or caused to be made that erasure which might so easily have\npassed unnoticed, as indeed it did, for when the Consul prepared my copy\nwith the original he saw nothing of it; word by word he went over the\ntwo together. You must forgive him, though it was a wicked and a\nterrible fraud that my father--I suppose--practised, for unless he had\nother children, he was robbing you of all that was rightfully yours.\n\n\u201cI think the reconstruction of it is easy enough. My mother died, and he\nwas determined that his son, one of them, should succeed. I imagine he\nmade, or procured the making, of that erasure after my mother\u2019s death.\nHe had meant to marry her, indeed he did marry her, and I think he must\nhave desired to repair the wrong, the bitter wrong, he did her in the\nperson of her children. I\u2019ve got something to forgive him, too, and\nwillingly I do that. We must both forgive him, Vi. I the bastard, and\nyou the heiress of Stanier.\u201d\n\nViolet would have forgiven Satan himself for all the evil wrought on the\nface of the earth from the day when first he set foot in Paradise.\n\n\u201cOh, Colin, yes,\u201d she said. \u201cFreely, freely!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s sweet of you. That is a great weight off my mind. And you\u2019ll\nmake your forgiveness effective, Vi?\u201d\n\nShe did not grasp this.\n\n\u201cIn what way?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cI mean that you won\u2019t want to make an exposure of this now,\u201d said he.\n\u201cI should like my father never to know that I have found out what he\ndid. I should like him to die thinking that Raymond will succeed him,\nand that his fraud is undiscovered. Of course, you would be within your\nrights if you insisted on being established as the heiress to Stanier\nnow. There are certain revenues, certain properties always made over to\nthe heir on coming of age, and Raymond and I come of age in a few\nmonths. Can you let Raymond enjoy them for my father\u2019s sake? He has\nalways been amazingly good to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Colin, what a question!\u201d she said. \u201cWhat do you take me for? Would\nthat be forgiveness?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s settled then; bless you for that. The only objection is that\nRaymond scores for the present, but that can\u2019t be helped. And there\u2019s\njust one thing more. About--about what has happened between us. Shall I\ntell my father to-morrow? Then we can settle how Raymond is to be told.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Colin, to-morrow?\u201d said she. \u201cSo soon?\u201d\n\nHe laughed. \u201cTo-night if you like,\u201d he said, \u201cthough it\u2019s rather late.\nOf course, if you want to put it off, and have Raymond nosing about you\nstill like a ferret....\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe shan\u2019t then. Now I must go. One kiss, Vi.\u201d\n\nShe clung to him. \u201cI\u2019m frightened of Raymond,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat will he\ndo?\u201d\n\n\u201cHowl like a wounded bear, I suppose. Hullo!\u201d\n\nThere was the sound of knocking at the door, and Raymond\u2019s voice:\n\n\u201cViolet,\u201d he said. \u201cMay I come in; just to say good-night?\u201d\n\nColin frowned. \u201cBeen listening, probably,\u201d he whispered, \u201cand heard\nvoices.\u201d\n\nWithout pause he went to the door, and turned the key and handle\ntogether.\n\n\u201cCome in, Raymond,\u201d he said as he opened it. \u201cViolet\u2019s been talking of\nnothing but you. So here we all are, bride and bridegroom and best man.\nLet\u2019s have one cigarette before we all go to bed.\u201d\n\nRaymond wore his most savage look. \u201cI thought you had gone to bed,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand I thought you said Violet had gone to bed half an hour before\nthat?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Raymond, don\u2019t be vexed,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHaven\u2019t you got everything?\u201d\n\nIn just such a voice, dexterously convincing, had he pleaded with Violet\nthat she should forgive his father....\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nPhilip was waiting in his library for Raymond\u2019s entry, wanting to feel\nsorry for him, but as often as he could darken his mind behind that\ncloud, the edges of it grew dazzlingly bright with the thought of Colin,\nand the sun re-emerging warmed and delighted him....\n\nYet he was sorry for Raymond, and presently he would express his\nsympathy, coldly and correctly, he was afraid, with regret and truism\nand paternal platitudes; but duty would dictate his sentiments. At the\nmost he could not hope for more than to give the boy the impression he\nwas sorry, and conceal from him his immensurable pleasure in the news\nColin had made known to him. All these weeks, ever since, on that\nmorning in Capri, he had learned of Raymond\u2019s engagement and Colin\u2019s\ndesire, he had never been free from heartache, and his favourite\u2019s\nmanliness, his refusal to be embittered, his efforts with himself, gaily\nheroic, had but rendered those pangs the more poignant. And in the hour\nof his joy Colin had shewn just the same marvellous quickness of\nsympathy for Raymond\u2019s sorrow, as, when Philip had first told him of the\nengagement, he had shewn for Raymond\u2019s happiness.\n\n\u201cI would have given anything to spare Raymond this, father,\u201d he had\nsaid. \u201cAs you know, I kept all I felt to myself. I didn\u2019t let Violet see\nhow miserable I was, and how I wanted her. And then last night--it was\nlike some earthquake within. Everything toppled and fell; Vi and I were\nleft clinging to each other.\u201d\n\nAfter Colin, Philip had seen Violet, and she, too, had spoken to him\nwith a simplicity and candour.... She had already begun to love Colin,\nshe thought, before she accepted Raymond, but how she loved Stanier.\nShe had been worldly, ambitious, stifling the first faint calls of her\nheart, thinking, as many a girl thought, whose nature is not yet wholly\nawake, that Raymond would \u201cdo,\u201d as regards herself, and \u201cdo\u201d\nmagnificently as regards her longing for all that being mistress of\nStanier meant to her. Then came Colin\u2019s return from Italy, and the\nwhisper of her heart grew louder. She could not help contrasting her\nlover with her friend, and in that new light Raymond\u2019s attentions to\nher, his caresses, his air--she must confess--of proprietorship grew\nodious and insufferable. And then, just as Colin had said, came the\nearthquake. In that disruption, all that from the worldly point of view\nseemed so precious, turned to dross.\n\nAt that point she hesitated a moment, and Philip had found himself\nrecording how like she was to Colin. With just that triumphant glow of\nhappiness with which he had said: \u201cRaymond has got Stanier, father,\nViolet and I have got each other,\u201d so Violet now, after her momentary\nhesitation, spoke to him.\n\n\u201cStanier, for which I longed, Uncle Philip, doesn\u2019t exist for me any\nmore. How could I weigh it against Colin?\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s happiness ... nothing could dim that sunshine for his father,\nand the sunshine was not only of to-day, it was the sunshine that had\nshone on him and Rosina more than twenty years ago. His heart melted\nwith the love that through Colin reacted on her. Surely she must rejoice\nat the boy\u2019s happiness to-day! Raymond, to be sure, was the fruit of her\nbody also, but it was through Colin that she lived, he was the memory\nand the gracious image of her beauty.\n\nRaymond entered, snapping the golden thread.\n\n\u201cYou wanted to see me, father,\u201d he said.\n\nPhilip had been attempting to drill himself into a sympathetic bearing\ntowards his son, but Raymond\u2019s actual presence here in succession to\nColin and Violet, brought sheer helplessness. For the brightness and\nbeam of the others there was this solid self-sufficiency. It seemed as\nif a crime had been averted in the transference of the girl to another\nbridegroom. What unnatural union would have been made by this mating of\nher! His heart sang; it were vain to try to throttle it into silence.\n\n\u201cYes, Raymond; sit down,\u201d said he, indicating a place on the sofa where\nhe sat.\n\n\u201cOh, thanks, it doesn\u2019t matter. I\u2019ll stand,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got bad news for you,\u201d said Philip. \u201cYou must brace yourself to\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s have it,\u201d said Raymond.\n\nPhilip felt his sympathy slipping from him. He wanted chiefly to get it\nover; there was no use in attempting to lead up to it.\n\n\u201cIt concerns you and Violet,\u201d he said.\n\nA savage look as of a hungry dog from whom his dinner is being snatched,\ncame across Raymond\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cShe wished me to tell you that she can\u2019t marry you,\u201d said his father.\n\u201cShe asks you to set her free from her engagement.\u201d\n\nThe savagery of that sullen face grew blacker. \u201cI don\u2019t accept that from\nyou,\u201d he said. \u201cIf it\u2019s true, Violet will have to tell me herself.\u201d\n\nPhilip made a great effort with himself. \u201cIt is true,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\nwant at once to tell you that I\u2019m very sorry for you. But it would have\nbeen very painful for her to tell you, and it was I who suggested that I\nshould break her decision to you. I hope you won\u2019t insist on having it\nfrom her.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has got to tell me,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cAnd is that all, father? If so,\nI\u2019ll go to her at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, there\u2019s more,\u201d said he.\n\nRaymond\u2019s face went suddenly white; his mouth twitched, he presented a\nmask of hatred.\n\n\u201cAnd so it\u2019s Colin who has got to tell me the rest,\u201d he said. \u201cIs that\nit?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is going to marry Colin.\u201d\n\nFor a moment Raymond stood perfectly still; just his hands were moving;\nknitted together they made the action of squeezing something. Once it\nseemed that he tried to speak, but no word came; only the teeth shewed\nin his mouth.\n\n\u201cColin has got to tell me then,\u201d he said. \u201cI will see Colin first.\u201d\n\nPhilip got up and laid a hand of authority on Raymond\u2019s shoulder. The\nboy, for all his quietness, seemed beside himself with some pent-up fury\nall the more dangerous for its suppression.\n\n\u201cYou must not see either of them in the state you are in now,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s my affair,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s mine, too. You\u2019re my son and so is Colin. You must wait till\nyou\u2019ve got more used to what has happened. And you must remember this,\nthat a few weeks ago Colin was in the same case as you are now. He loved\nViolet, and it was I then, out in Capri, who told him that Violet was\ngoing to marry you. And he took it like a man, like the generous fellow\nhe is. His first words were: \u2018By Jove, Raymond will be happy!\u2019 I shall\nnever forget that, and you mustn\u2019t either, Raymond.\u201d\n\nRaymond gave a dry snap of a laugh.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s just what Colin would say. Perfect\ncharacter, isn\u2019t he? Only last night I found him talking to Violet in\nher bedroom. I wasn\u2019t pleased, and he begged me not to be vexed, as I\nhad got everything. He had taken Violet from me when he said that, or if\nnot, he came back when Violet was in bed, and got engaged to her then.\nEngaged!\u201d\n\n\u201cNow stop that, Raymond,\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cVery good. He was already engaged to her when he told me I had got\neverything. You don\u2019t understand Colin. He hates more than he loves. He\nhas hated me all my life. \u2018By Jove, Raymond will be happy!\u2019 I\u2019ll be even\nwith Colin some day. Now I\u2019m going to see him. Or shall I say: \u2018By\nJove, Colin will be happy?\u2019 Then you\u2019ll consider me a generous fellow.\u201d\n\nOnce again Philip tried to put himself in Raymond\u2019s place, and made\nallowance for his bitter blackness. His hand went on to the boy\u2019s\nshoulder again, with less of authority and more of attempted affection.\n\n\u201cRaymond, you must do better than this,\u201d he said. \u201cYou would be very\nunwise to see Colin and Violet just now, but if you insist on doing so,\nyou shall see them in my presence. I can\u2019t trust you, in the mood you\u2019re\nin, not to be violent, not to say or do something which you would\nbitterly repent, and which they would find it hard to forgive. And if,\nwhich I deny, Colin has always hated you, what about yourself?\u201d\n\nBoth of them now were on bed-rock. By implication, by admission, by\ndenial even, they had got down to the hatred that, like a vein of\nmurderous gold, ran through the very foundation of the brothers\u2019\nexistence. Who knew what struggle might have taken place, what prenatal\nwrestling in the very womb of life, of which the present antagonism was\nbut a sequel, logical and inevitable!\n\nEven as Philip spoke, he half-realised the futility of bringing argument\nto bear on Raymond\u2019s nature, for this hatred sprang from some\nineradicable instinct, an iron law on which intelligence and reason\ncould but perch like a settling fly. He could deny that Colin hated his\nbrother, he could urge Raymond to show himself as generous as he\nbelieved Colin to have been, but nothing that he could say, no\npersuasion, no authority could mitigate this fraternal hostility. And\neven while he denied Colin\u2019s animosity, with the evidence he had already\nbrought forward to back it, he found himself wondering if at heart Colin\ncould feel the generosity he had expressed, or whether it was not a mere\nsuperficial good-nature, mingled with contempt perhaps, that had given\nvoice to it.\n\nRaymond had ceased from the clutching and squeezing of his hands.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know what Colin is,\u201d he said, \u201cand I know it is no use trying\nto convince you. I shan\u2019t try. You judge by what you see of him and me,\nand you put me down for a black-hearted, sullen fellow, and he\u2019s your\nheart\u2019s darling.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve got no right to say that,\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cBut can I help knowing it, father?\u201d asked he.\n\nPhilip felt that his very will-power was in abeyance; he could not even\nwant to readjust the places which his two sons held in his heart, or,\nrather, to find place in his heart for the son who had never been\ninstalled there yet. And there would be no use in \u201cwanting,\u201d even if he\ncould accomplish that. Colin held every door of his heart, and with a\ngrudging sense of justice towards Raymond, he was aware that Colin would\ngrant no admittance to his brother. Or was that conviction only the echo\nof his own instinct that he wanted no one but Colin there? He had no\nlove to spare for Raymond. Such spring of it as bubbled in him must fall\ninto Colin\u2019s cup, the cup that never could be filled.\n\nHow could he but contrast the two? Here was Raymond, sullen in his\ndefeat, attempting (and with unwelcome success) to put his father in the\nwrong, jealous of the joy that had come to Colin, insisting,\nShylock-like, on such revenge as was in his power, the pound of flesh\nwhich would be his, in making a scene with the girl who had chosen as\nher heart bade her, and the boy who was her choice. On the other side\nwas Colin, who, when faced with an identical situation, had accepted his\nill-luck with a wave of welcome for the more fortunate. And Raymond\nwould have it that that splendid banner was but a false flag, under\ncover of whose whiteness a treacherous attack might be made.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know that we need pursue that,\u201d said Philip. \u201cYour feelings are\noutside my control, but what is in my control is to be just to you in\nspite of them. I have tried to tell you with all possible sympathy\nof----\u201d\n\n\u201cOf Violet\u2019s jilting me,\u201d interrupted Raymond. \u201cAnd you have clearly\nshewn me, father, your sympathy with Colin\u2019s happiness.\u201d\n\nPhilip felt every nerve jarring. \u201cI am not responsible for your\ninterpretations of myself,\u201d he said, \u201cnor do I accept them. If your\ndesign is to be intolerably offensive to me, you must work out your\ndesign somewhere else. I am not going to have you stop here in order to\namuse yourself with being rude to me, and spoiling the happiness of\nothers----\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! Just so!\u201d said Raymond. \u201cColin.\u201d\n\nPhilip was exasperated beyond endurance.\n\n\u201cQuite right,\u201d he said. \u201cI am not going to have you spoiling Colin\u2019s\nhappiness. And Violet\u2019s. I should have suggested you leaving Stanier for\nthe present for your own sake, if you had allowed me to show sympathy\nfor you. As you do not, I suggest that you should do so for Colin\u2019s\nsake. You may go to St. James\u2019s Square if you like, and if you can\nmanage to behave decently, you may stop on there when we come up next\nweek. But that depends on yourself. Now if you want to see Violet and\nyour brother you may, but you will see them here in my presence. I will\nsend for them now, if that is your wish. When you have seen them you\nshall go. Well?\u201d\n\nSuddenly the idea of leaving Colin and Violet here became insupportable\nto Raymond. He _had_ to see them as lovers, and hate them for it: his\nhate must be fed with the sight of them.\n\n\u201cMust I go, father?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYes; you have forced me to be harsh with you. It was not my intention.\nNow do you want to see them?\u201d\n\nRaymond hesitated: if Colin could be cunning, he could be cunning too.\n\u201cI should like to see them both,\u201d he said.\n\nPhilip rang the bell, and in the pause before they came, Raymond went\nacross to the window-seat, and sat there with face averted, making no\nsign, and in the silence Philip reviewed what he had done. He had no\nwish, as he had said, to be harsh to Raymond, but what possible gain to\nany one was his remaining here? He would be a misery to himself, and no\nentertainment to others; and yet the boy wanted to stop, thinking\nperhaps that thus he would be sooner able to accept the position. It was\nimpossible to grudge him any feasible alleviation of the blow that, so\nfar from stunning him, had awakened all that was worst in him. Much must\ndepend on his behaviour now to Colin and Violet.\n\nThey entered together. Colin looked first at his father; then, without\npause, seeing the huddled figure in the window-seat, went straight to\nRaymond. All else, Violet even, was forgotten.\n\nHe laid his hand on Raymond\u2019s shoulder. \u201cOh, Raymond,\u201d he said, \u201cwe\u2019re\nbrutes. I know that.\u201d\n\nPhilip thought he had never seen anything so exquisite as that instinct\nof Colin\u2019s to go straight to his brother. Could Raymond recognise the\nbeauty of that?... And was it indeed Raymond who now drew Colin on to\nthe window-seat beside him?\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all right, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t help it. No one can\nhelp it when it comes. I couldn\u2019t.\u201d\n\nHe stood up. \u201cFather\u2019s told me about it all,\u201d he said, \u201cand I just\nwanted to see you and Violet for a moment in order to realise it. I\u2019ve\ngot it now. Good-bye, Colin; good-bye, Violet.\u201d\n\nHe went across to his father with hand outstretched. \u201cThanks ever so\nmuch for letting me go to St. James\u2019s Square,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd I\u2019m sorry,\nfather, for behaving as I did. I know it\u2019s no use just saying that; I\u2019ve\ngot to prove it. But that\u2019s all I can do for the present.\u201d\n\nHe went straight out of the room without once looking back.\n\n\u201cIs Raymond going away?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cYes. It\u2019s better so.\u201d\n\nColin heard this with a chill of disappointment, for among his\npleasurable anticipations had been that of seeing Raymond wince and\nwrithe at the recasting of their parts. Raymond would have hourly before\nhis eyes his own r\u00f4le played by another, and with what infinitely\ngreater grace. The part of heroine would be filled by its \u201ccreator,\u201d\nbut, in this remodelled piece, what sparkle and life she would put into\nher scenes. Where she had been wooden and impassive, she would be eager\nand responsive, that icy toleration would melt into a bubbling liquor of\njoy. Then there would be the part now to be filled by Raymond; would he\nfill that with Colin\u2019s tact and sweetness? Of minor characters there\nwould be his father and grandmother, and with what convincing sincerity\nnow would they fill their places.... But Raymond\u2019s absence would take\nall the sting and fire out of the play.\n\n\u201cOh, father, does he feel like that?\u201d asked Colin. \u201cDid he feel he\ncouldn\u2019t bear to stop? I\u2019m sorry.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it was I who told him to go,\u201d said Philip. \u201cHe behaved outrageously\njust now with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he\u2019s sorry,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHe wants to do better. Mayn\u2019t he stop?\nHe\u2019ll be wretched all alone up in London.\u201d\n\nA sudden thought struck him, a touch of genius. \u201cBut it concerns Vi\nmost,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do you vote, darling?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy all means let him stop,\u201d said she. Nothing but Colin\u2019s wish, here\nclearly indicated, could have any weight with her.\n\n\u201cThen may he, father?\u201d he asked. \u201cThat is good of you. Come and tell\nhim, Vi.\u201d\n\nRaymond was in the hall. He had just ordered his car, and was now about\nto telephone to the housekeeper in town to say he was coming, when Colin\nand Violet came out of the library. Philip followed them to complete the\nwelcome, and saw Colin go up to his brother.\n\n\u201cRaymond, don\u2019t go,\u201d he said. \u201cWe all want you to stop. Vi does, father\ndoes, I do.\u201d\n\nRaymond saw his father in the doorway. \u201cMay I stop, then, father?\u201d he\nsaid.\n\n\u201cBy all means. We all wish it,\u201d said he.\n\nRaymond looked back again at his brother. Colin was standing just below\nthe portrait of his ancestor, the very image and incarnation of him.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got you to thank, I expect, Colin,\u201d he said.\n\nTheir eyes met; Colin\u2019s glittered like a sword unsheathed in the\nsunlight of his hatred and triumph; Raymond\u2019s smouldered in the\nblackness of his hatred and defeat.\n\n\u201cI wish there was anything I could do for you, Ray,\u201d said Colin gently.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe entertainment which Colin had anticipated from these alterations in\nthe cast of this domestic drama did not fall short of his expectations.\nHe held Raymond in the hollow of his hand, for Raymond\u2019s devotion to\nViolet, gross and animal though it had been, gave Colin a thousand\nopportunities of making him writhe with the shrewd stings of jealousy,\nand with gay deliberation he planted those darts. The _coup de gr\u00e2ce_\nfor Raymond would not come yet, his father\u2019s death would give the signal\nfor that; but at present there was some very pretty baiting to be done.\nNot one of those darts, so becomingly beribboned, failed to hit its\nmark: a whispered word to Violet which made the colour spring bright and\neager to her face, a saunter with her along the terrace in the evening,\nand, even more than these, Colin\u2019s semblance of sparing Raymond\u2019s\nfeelings, his suggestion that he should join them in any trivial\npursuit--all these were missiles that maddingly pierced and stung.\n\nNo less adequately did Philip and old Lady Yardley fill their minor\nparts; he, with the sun of Colin\u2019s content warming him, was genial and\nthoughtful towards Raymond in a way that betrayed without possibility of\nmistake the sentiment from which it sprang; while Lady Yardley, braced\nand invigorated by the same emotion, was strangely rejuvenated, and her\neyes, dim with age, seemed to pierce the mists of the encompassing years\nand grew bright with Colin\u2019s youth.\n\nAs regards his own relations with Violet, Colin found he could, for the\npresent anyhow, manage very well; the old habits of familiarity and\nintimacy appeared to supply response sufficient; for she, shuddering\nnow, as at some nightmare, at her abandoned engagement to Raymond and\nblinded with the splendour of the dawn of her love, saw him as a god\njust alighted on the gilded and rosy hills.... Colin shrugged his\nshoulders at her illusion; she presented to him no such phantasmal\napparition, but he could give her liking and friendship, just what she\nhad always had from him. Soon, so he hoped, this vision of himself would\nfade from her eyes, for even as he had found his father\u2019s paternal\ndevotion to him in Capri a fatiguing and boring business, so he foresaw\na much acuter _g\u00eane_ that would spring from a persistence of Violet\u2019s\nlove. No doubt, however, she would presently become more reasonable.\n\nWhat above all fed Colin\u2019s soul was to stroll into the smoking-room when\nViolet had gone upstairs, and his father had retired to his library, and\nto make Raymond drink a cup more highly spiced with gall than that which\nhad refreshed him in public. Raymond had usually got there first, while\nColin lingered a moment longer with Violet, and had beside him a\nliberally mixed drink, and this would serve for Colin\u2019s text:\n\n\u201cHullo, Raymond! Drowning dull care?\u201d he asked. \u201cThat\u2019s right. I can\u2019t\nbear seeing you so down. By Jove, didn\u2019t Violet look lovely to-night\nwith her hair brought low over her forehead?\u201d\n\n\u201cDid she?\u201d said Raymond. He tried to entrench himself in self-control;\nhe tried to force himself to get up and go, but hatred of Colin easily\nstormed those defences. \u201cStop and listen,\u201d said that compelling voice.\n\u201cGlut yourself with it: Love is not for you; hate is as splendid and as\nabsorbing....\u201d\n\n\u201cDid she?\u201d echoed Colin. \u201cAs if you hadn\u2019t been devouring her all the\nevening! But we all have our turn, don\u2019t we? Every dog has its day. Last\nweek I used to see you and Violet; now you see Violet and me. Tell me,\nRaymond, does Violet look happy? We can talk so confidentially, can\u2019t\nwe, as we have both been in the same position? What a ticklish thing it\nis to be a girl\u2019s lover. How it ages one! I feel sixty. But does she\nseem happy? She used to wear a sort of haunted look last week. I suppose\nthat was her wonder and her misgiving at a man\u2019s brutal adoration. It\nfrightened her. As if we weren\u2019t frightened too! Did the idea of\nmarriage terrify you as it terrifies me? A girl\u2019s adoration is just as\nbrutal.\u201d\n\nColin moved about the room as he spoke, dropping the sentences out like\nmeasured doses from some phial of a potent drug. After each he paused,\nwaiting for a reply, and drinking glee from the silence. In that same\nsilence Raymond was stoking his fires which were already blazing.\n\n\u201cYes, every dog has its day,\u201d he said, replenishing his glass.\n\n\u201cAnd every dog has his drink,\u201d said Colin. \u201cLord, how you\u2019ll get your\nrevenge when your day comes! What sweetness in your cup that Vi and I\nwill never be allowed to come to Stanier again. You\u2019ll like that,\nRaymond. You\u2019ll have married by that time. I wonder if it will be the\ntobacconist\u2019s girl who\u2019ll have hooked you. You\u2019ll be happier with her\nthan Vi, you know, and I shouldn\u2019t wonder if Vi will be happier with me\nthan with you....\u201d\n\nStill there was silence on Raymond\u2019s part.\n\n\u201cYou must be more cheerful, Raymond,\u201d said Colin. \u201cWhatever you may do\nto me hereafter, you had better remember that I\u2019m top-dog just now. I\nshall have to ask father to send you away after all, if you don\u2019t make\nyourself more agreeable. It was I who made him allow you to stop here,\nand I will certainly have you sent away if you\u2019re not kinder to me. You\nmust be genial and jolly, though it\u2019s a violence to your nature. You\nmust buck up and be pleasant. So easy, and so profitable. Nothing to\nsay?\u201d\n\nThere was a step outside, and their father entered. He carried an opened\nletter in his hand.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve just had a note from the governor of the asylum at Repstow,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cOne of their patients has escaped, a homicidal lunatic.\u201d\n\n\u201cGosh, I\u2019ll lock my door,\u201d said Colin. \u201cNo use for him. What else,\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no joke, Colin. The keeper at the Repstow Lodge was out attending\nto the pheasants\u2019 coops this afternoon, and while he was gone a man\nvaulted over the fence, frightened his wife into hysterics, and decamped\nwith his gun and a bag of cartridges. Then he bolted into the woods.\nIt\u2019s almost certain that he is the escaped lunatic.\u201d\n\nRaymond, who had been listening intently, yawned.\n\n\u201cBut they\u2019re out after him, I suppose,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\u2019ll be sure to\ncatch him.\u201d\n\nColin wondered what that yawn meant.... To any boy of twenty--to himself\nanyhow--there was a spice of excitement about the news. It was\nimpossible not to be interested. But Raymond did not seem to be\ninterested.... Or did he wish it to appear that he was not interested?\n\nColin, with an eye on Raymond, turned to his father. Two or three more\nlittle darts were ready for his brother, at which he would not yawn....\n\n\u201cOh, father,\u201d said he, \u201ccome and sleep in my room and we\u2019ll take\nwatches. What glorious fun. You shall take the watch from midnight till,\ntill half-past eight in the morning, and then you\u2019ll wake me up, and\nI\u2019ll take the watch till five in the afternoon without a wink of sleep.\nThen Raymond and Vi can slumber in safety. Now I shall go upstairs and\nsay good-night to Vi----\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter not tell her about it to-night,\u201d said Lord Yardley.\n\n\u201cRather not: we shall have other things to talk about, thanks. But not a\nminute before half-past eight, father. Good-night; good-night, Raymond.\nSleep well.\u201d\n\nRaymond, in spite of these good wishes, passed an almost sleepless\nnight. If he shut his eyes it was to see Colin\u2019s mocking face floating\non the darkness of his closed lids, and to have echoing in his ears the\nmockery of Colin\u2019s jibes. As he passed Violet\u2019s door on his way up to\nbed he had heard the sound of speech and laughter from within, and his\njealousy seemed to arrest his tip-toeing steps, so that what he might\noverhear should give it the bitter provender it loved. But some new-born\nfear of Colin made him go on instead of lingering: Colin seemed\nprospered in all he did by some hellish protection; a mysterious\ninstinct might warn him that there was a listener, and he would throw\nopen the door and with a laugh call Violet to see who was eavesdropping\non the threshold.... Then after they had laughed and pointed at him,\nColin would shut the door again, locking it for fear of--of a homicidal\nmaniac--and the talking would go on again till it was quenched in\nkisses....\n\nHe had tossed and turned as on a gridiron, with the thought of Colin and\nViolet together to feed and to keep the fire alive. He did not believe\nthat Colin loved her; if she had not promised to marry himself, he would\nnot have sought her. It was from hatred of himself that he had given her\na glance and a smile and whistled her to him, so that she threw away\nlike a scrap of waste-paper the contract that would have installed her\nas mistress of the house she adored. Colin had idly beckoned, just to\ngratify his hate, and she had flamed into love for him.\n\nWhat subtle arts of contrivance and intrigue were his also! He had\nwanted to feast that same hatred on the sight of his brother\u2019s defeat\nand discomfiture, and a word from him had been sufficient to make his\nfather revoke his edict and let him remain at Stanier. Thus Colin earned\nfresh laurels in the eyes of the others for his compassionate\nforbearance, and by so doing accomplished his own desire of having\nRaymond there, like a moth on a pin.\n\nAs the hours went on strange red fancies crossed his brain. He imagined\nhimself going to his father\u2019s room and smothering him, so that next day\nhe would be master of Stanier, and free to turn Colin out. Not another\nhour should he stay in the place. Out he should go, and Violet with him.\nBetter still would it be to come behind Colin with a noose in his hand,\nwhich he would draw tight round his neck and laugh to see his face go\nblack and his eyes start from his head with the strangling.... That\nwould satisfy him; he could forgive Colin when he lay limp and lifeless\nat his feet, but till then he would never know a moment\u2019s peace or a\ntranquil hour.\n\nAll this week his fever of hatred had been mounting in his blood,\nto-night the heat of it made to flower in his brain this garden of\nmurderous images. And all the time he was afraid of Colin, afraid of his\nbarbed tongue, his contemptuous hate, above all, of the luck that caused\nhim to prosper and be beloved wherever he went. Just at birth one stroke\nof ill-luck had befallen him, but that was all....\n\nEarlier in the evening, he remembered, an idea had flitted vaguely\nthrough his head, which had suggested to him some lucky accident.... He\nhad purposely yawned when that notion presented itself, so that Colin\nshould not see that he took any interest in what was being talked about.\n\nFor the moment he could not recollect what it had been; then he\nremembered how his father had come into the smoking-room and told them\nthat a homicidal lunatic had got hold of a gun and was at large,\nprobably in the park.... That was it; he had yawned then, for he had\npictured to himself Colin strolling through the leafy ways and suddenly\nfinding himself face to face with the man. There would be a report and\nColin would lie very still among the bracken till his body was found.\nAnts and insects would be creeping about him.\n\nThat had been the faint outline of the picture; now in the dark it\nstarted into colour. What if once again Colin\u2019s luck failed him, and in\nsome remote glade he found himself alone with Raymond? He himself would\nhave a gun with him, and he would fire it point-blank at Colin\u2019s face\nand leave him there. It would be supposed that the escaped mad-man had\nencountered him....\n\nIt was but a wild imagining, born of a sleepless night, but as he\nthought of it, Raymond\u2019s eyelids flickered and closed, and just before\ndawn he fell asleep. When he was called a few hours later, that was the\nfirst image that came into his mind, and by the light of day it wore a\nsoberer, a more solid aspect. What if it was no wild vision of the\nnight, but a thing that might actually happen?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNo fresh news when they met at breakfast was to hand about the escaped\nman; indeed, in answer to an inquiry sent by Lord Yardley to the asylum,\nthere came the reply that, though search-parties were out after him,\nnothing had as yet been seen of him. Colin was engaged to play a round\nof golf on the Rye links, and the chance of falling in with him seemed\nso remote that soon after breakfast he went off on his motor-bicycle,\npromising, in order to soothe Violet\u2019s apprehensions, to travel at the\nrate of not less than forty miles an hour. That did not please her\neither; in fact, there was no pleasing her about his expedition, whether\nhe went fast or slow; so he kissed her, and told her to order her\nmourning. At the last moment, however, at his father\u2019s wish, he slipped\na revolver into his pocket.\n\nRaymond, as usual, refused to play golf, and preferred a wander in the\npark with a gun as a defensive measure for himself, and as an offensive\nmeasure against the plague of wood-pigeons. They were most numerous in\nthe woods that lay on the steep slope through which the road to Repstow\npassed. That had been Colin\u2019s road, too, and when Raymond set out a\nquarter of an hour later, the dust raised by his motor-bicycle still\nhung in the windless air.\n\nTen minutes walking brought him to the point where the road which\nhitherto had lain across the open grass of the park descended into the\nbig belt of wood which stretched as far as the lodge-gates. On each side\nof it the ground rose sharply, covered on the one side by firs and\nbirches with groundwork of heather, on the other by the oaks of what was\nknown as the Old Park. According to tradition they were of the plantings\nof Elizabeth\u2019s Colin, and for age and grandeur they might well be so,\nfor stately and venerable they rose from the short deer-nibbled turf,\nwell-spaced with full freedom for roots and branch alike. No other trees\nwere on that slope, but these great, leafy sentinels stood each with his\nring of shade round him, like well-tried veterans who have earned their\nleisure and the dignified livery of repose. A low wall of grey stone,\nsome four feet high, mossy and creviced and feathered with small ferns,\nseparated this Old Park from the road.\n\nIt was among these great oaks that the pigeons congregated, and Raymond\nwas soon busy with them. This way and that, startled by his firing, they\nflew, often wary and slipping out of the far side of a tree and\ninterposing its branches between him and them so that he could get no\nsight of them, but at other times coming out into the open and giving\nhim a fair shot. Before long the whole battalion of them were in\ncommotion, wheeling and flying off and returning again, and in an hour\u2019s\ntime he had shot some forty of them, not reckoning half a dozen more,\nwhich, winged or otherwise wounded, trailed off on his approach,\nfluttering on in front of him. Raymond was quite willing to put any such\nout of their misery, if they would only stop still and be killed like\nsensible birds, but on a hot morning it was too much to expect him to go\ntrotting after the silly things, especially when he had killed so many.\nHe took no pleasure in the cruelty of leaving them to die; he was simply\nindifferent.\n\nHe had come almost to the end of his cartridges, and if he was to\ncontinue his shooting, he would have to go back to the house for more\nammunition or borrow some from the keeper at the Repstow lodge. That was\nnearer than the house, but before going he sat down in the shade of one\nof old Colin\u2019s oaks to cool down and have a cigarette.\n\nFor the last hour he had been completely absorbed in his sport; now with\na snap like that of a released spring his mind leaped back to that which\nhad occupied it as he walked here and saw the dust of his brother\u2019s\nmotor-bicycle hanging in the air. He had locked up in his mind, when he\nbegan his shooting, all connection with that, his hate, the sleepless\nnight with its visions that seemed so wild at the time, but which, on\nhis waking, had taken on so much quieter and more likely an aspect, and\nnow, when he unlocked his mind again, he found that they had grown like\nfungi in the darkness of a congenial atmosphere. They were solid and\nmature: where before there had been but a fairy-ring of imagination,\nwhere nightly elves had danced, there were now those red, firm-fleshed,\npoisoned growths, glistening and corrupt.\n\nHis subconscious mind poured out its storage: it had been busy while he\nwas shooting, and wonderfully acute. It reminded him now that a quarter\nof a mile further on, the Old Park came to an end, and one clump of\nrhododendrons stood behind the wall which ran along the road. Just here\nthe road took a sharp turn to the right: a man walking along it (or, for\nthat matter, bicycling along it) would only come into sight of any one\nwho might happen to be by that rhododendron bush half-a-dozen yards\nbefore he came to it himself, and anything else he might see there (a\ngun, for instance) would be at point-blank range. Such a gun-barrel\nwould rest conveniently on the top of the wall; any one who happened to\nbe holding the weapon would be concealed between the wall and the\nbush....\n\nThese pictures seemed to be shewn Raymond rather than to be imagined by\nhim; it was as if some external agency held open the book which\ncontained them and turned over the leaves. It might prove to be himself\nwho would presently lie _perdu_ there, but he had no sense of any\npersonal volition or share in the matter. His hatred of Colin had\nsomehow taken counsel (even as doctors consult over a bad case) with the\nnecessity that Colin should die, and this was their advice; Raymond was\nbut the patient who in the apathy of sickness was going to do as they\ntold him, not caring much what happened, only conscious that if this\nadvice was successful in all its aspects, he would be restored to\ncomplete health.\n\nHe hardly knew if he hated Colin any more; all that he was certain of\nwas that there existed--somewhere--this black dynamic enmity. He hardly\nknew whether it was he who was about to shoot Colin, as presently on his\nmotor-bicycle he would come round that sharp bend by the rhododendron\nbush. All that he was certain of was that Colin would presently lie dead\non the road with his face all shattered by the shot. The homicidal\nmaniac, of course, escaped from the asylum, must have been his murderer.\n\nThere was no use for more cartridges than the two which he now slipped\ninto his gun. If the fellow hidden behind the rhododendron bush could\nnot kill Colin with two shots, he could not kill him with twenty, and\nRaymond, looking carefully round, began moving quietly down the slope to\nthe corner, keeping in the shadow of the leafage of the splendid trees.\nHis foot was noiseless on the cropped plush of the turf, and he passed\nquickly over the patches of sun between the shadows of the oaks, pausing\nevery now and then to make sure there was no one passing along the road\nor the hillside, who was within sight of him. But there was no one to be\nseen; after the cessation of his shooting, the deer had come back to\ntheir favourite grazing-ground, and were now cropping at the short,\nsweet grass, or lying with twinkling ears alert in the shade. No one was\nmoving up there at the top of the Old Park, where a foot-path made a\nshort cut to the house from the Repstow Lodge, or the deer would not be\nso tranquil, while his own sharp eye assured him that within the circle\nof his vision there was none astir.\n\nHis remembrance of the rhododendron bush close to the angle in the road,\nwas astonishingly accurate. The top of the grey wall was a most\nconvenient rest for his gun, and a man coming round the corner from the\ndirection of Repstow would suddenly find himself within six yards of the\nbarrels. Probably he would never see them at all; there would be just a\nflash of flames close to his startled eyes, perhaps even the report of\nthe explosion would never reach him.\n\nThat was the only imperfect touch in these schemes which had been thus\npresented to Raymond; he would like Colin to know, one-half second\nbefore he died, whose hand had pulled the trigger and put a muzzle on\nhis mocking mouth and a darkness over his laughing eyes, and he\ndetermined that when the beat of Colin\u2019s approaching motor-bicycle\nsounded loud round the corner he would stand up and show himself. It\nwould be all too late for Colin to swerve or duck then, and he should\njust see who had the last laugh. Raymond felt that he would laugh as he\nfired.... Till that moment it was best to conceal himself from the road,\nand he leaned against the wall, crouching a little, with the muzzle of\nhis gun resting on it.... It was already after one o\u2019clock. Colin would\nbe here any minute now.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA quarter of an hour before, Colin had arrived at the Repstow lodge with\na puncture in his hind tyre. Luck was kind to him as usual; the puncture\nhad occurred only a few yards down the road, and he could leave his\nmachine with the lodge-keeper, and send a mechanic from the garage to\nrepair it and bring it back to the house. For himself, he would take the\nshort cut through the top of the Old Park back home; that reduced the\ndistance by at least a half, and on this hot morning the soft-turfed\nshade would be pleasant.\n\nThen a sudden thought struck him, and he asked whether the escaped\nmadman had been captured; the walk home would be less exciting but\nperhaps pleasanter if they had caught him. And again it appeared that\nColin\u2019s affairs were being well looked after; the man had been found on\nthe other side of the park half an hour ago; cleverly taken, so the\nkeeper said. He must have been in the woods all night, and they came\nupon him as he dozed, seizing the gun he had possessed himself of before\nhe woke and getting a noose round his arms.\n\nSo that was all right, and Colin, with a smile for the keeper\u2019s wife and\na sixpenny piece for the small child who regarded him with wide,\nwondering eyes, set off for the mile walk to the house. He took his\nrevolver out of his pocket with the intention of giving it to the\nkeeper, and having it brought up to the house with the bicycle; but then\nthought better of it, and, emptying the cartridges out, replaced it. It\nmade a rather weighty bulge in his coat, but on general principles it\nwas wise not to leave fire-arms about.\n\nThe thought of Raymond at his pigeon-shooting occurred to him as he\nwalked, but no sound of firing came from the direction of the Old Park,\nwhich now lay close in front of him, and he supposed that his brother\nwould have gone home by this time. What a sullen, awkward fellow he was;\nhow he winced under Colin\u2019s light artillery; how impotently Raymond\nhated him.... Colin could not imagine hating any one like that and not\ndevising something deadly. But Raymond devised nothing; he just\ncontinued hating and doing nothing.\n\nColin had come to the beginning of the Old Park; the path lying along\nthe top of it wound in and out of the great oaks; below to the right lay\nthe road with the low stone wall running beside it. The road had been\nout of sight hitherto, forming a wider circuit, but just below him now\nthere was a sharp corner and it came into view.\n\nBut what was that bright line of light on the top of the wall just at\nthat point? Something caught the sun, vividly gleaming. For some reason\nhe was imperatively curious to know what gleamed there, just as if it\nintimately concerned him, and half-closing his eyes to focus it and\ndetach it from that baffling background of dappled light and shadow, he\nsaw. Simultaneously and unbidden the idea of Raymond out shooting\npigeons occurred to him. But what was he doing--if it were\nRaymond--hidden behind that dark-leaved rhododendron-bush with his gun\nresting on the wall and pointing at the road? That was a singular way of\nshooting pigeons, very singular.\n\nColin\u2019s face broke into one great smile, and he slipped behind one of\nthe oaks. Looking out he saw that another tree lower down the slope hid\nthe rhododendron bush from him, and keeping behind the broad trunk he\nadvanced down the hill in its direction. Twice again, in similar cover,\nhe approached, and, peering round the tree, he could now see Raymond\nclose at hand. Raymond\u2019s back was towards him; he held his gun, with the\nend of the barrels resting on the top of the wall, looking at the angle\nof the road round which, but for that puncture in his bicycle, he\nhimself would already have come.\n\nThere was now but one big tree between him and his brother, and on\ntiptoe, as noiselessly as a hunting tiger, he crept up to it, and,\ndrawing his revolver from his pocket, he came within ten paces of him.\nThen some faint sound of his advance--a twig, perhaps, snapping beneath\nhis step--or some sense of another\u2019s presence reached Raymond, and he\nturned his head quickly in Colin\u2019s direction. He found himself looking\nstraight down the barrel of his revolver.\n\n\u201cRaymond, if you stir except to do precisely what I tell you, I shall\nshoot,\u201d said Colin quietly. \u201cIf you take your eyes off me I shall\nshoot.\u201d\n\nColin\u2019s finger was on the trigger, his revolver as steady as if a man of\nstone held it.\n\n\u201cOpen the breech of your gun,\u201d he said, \u201cand let the barrels drop....\nNow hold it in one hand, with your arm stretched out.... That\u2019s right.\nGood dog!... Now lay the gun down and turn round with your back to\nme.... Stop like that without moving.... Remember that I am covering\nyou, and I could hardly miss at this distance.\u201d\n\nColin picked up the gun and took the two cartridges out and put them in\nhis pocket. Not till they clinked against the revolver cartridges that\nlay there did he remember that all the time his pistol had been\nunloaded. He stifled a laugh.\n\n\u201cTake off your cartridge-bag, Raymond,\u201d he said, \u201cand put it on the\nground.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are no more in it,\u201d said Raymond, speaking for the first time.\n\n\u201cYou ill-conditioned swine, do as I tell you,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI shan\u2019t\ngive you an order twice again.... Well, what you said seems to be true,\nbut that\u2019s not the point. The point is that you\u2019re to do as I tell you.\nNow have you got any more cartridges in your pockets?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\nColin thought he had better make sure of this for himself, and passed\nhis hand over Raymond\u2019s coat-pockets.\n\n\u201cNow you stand just where you are,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause we\u2019ve got to talk.\nBut first I\u2019ll put some cartridges in my own revolver. It has been\nperfectly empty all this time. Isn\u2019t that damned funny, Raymond, dear?\nThere were you expecting every moment would be your last, and obeying me\nlike the sweet, obedient boy you are. Laugh, can\u2019t you? It\u2019s one of the\nfunniest things that ever happened.\u201d\n\nColin lit a cigarette with shouts of laughter.\n\n\u201cWell, to business,\u201d he said. \u201cTurn round and let\u2019s see your face. Do\nyou know a parlour-trick called thought-reading? I\u2019m going to tell you\nwhat you\u2019ve been thinking about. You expected me to come round that\ncorner on my bike; and from behind the wall you were going to fire\npoint-blank at me. Not at all a bad idea. There was the homicidal\nlunatic, you thought, loose in the woods, and my death would have been\nput down to him.... But you would have been hanged for it all the same,\nbecause he was taken nearly an hour ago without firing a shot. So I\u2019ve\nsaved you from the gallows. Good idea of yours, but it had a flaw in\nit.\u201d\n\nColin came a step nearer his brother, his eyes dancing.\n\n\u201cRaymond, I can\u2019t resist it,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to stand quite still,\nwhile I smack your filthy face just once, hard. It\u2019ll hurt you, I\u2019m\nafraid, but you\u2019ve just got to bear it. If you resist in any way, I\nshall tell my father exactly what has happened this morning as soon as I\nget in. I shall tell him at lunch before Violet and the servants. I may\nsettle to tell him in any case; that depends on how our talk goes off.\nBut if you don\u2019t stand still like a good boy, I shall certainly tell\nhim. Now! Shut your eyes and see what I\u2019ll give you.... There! It quite\nstung my fingers, so I\u2019m sure it stung your face. Sit down; no, I think\nyou look nicer standing. Let me think a moment.\u201d\n\nColin lit another cigarette, and stared at his brother as he smoked it.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been wise about one thing,\u201d he said, \u201cin not attempting to deny\nthe truth of my pretty thought-reading. You\u2019re beaten, you see; you\ndaren\u2019t deny it. You\u2019re a whipped cur, who daren\u2019t even growl. Lucky for\nyou that you\u2019re such a coward.... Now, I\u2019ve settled what to do with you.\nAs soon as we get in, you shall write out for me a confession. You shall\nsay that you intended to shoot me, and put down quite shortly and\nclearly what your plan was. You shall sign, and my father and I will\nsign it as witnesses. He shan\u2019t read it; I will tell him that it is a\nprivate friendly little matter between you and me, and we just want his\nsignature.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m devilish good to you, you know; it\u2019s lucky that that affair about\nmy revolver-cartridges amused me; that, and smacking your face. Then I\nshall send your confession to my bank, to be kept unopened there, except\nin case of my death, in which case it is to be sent to my father.\nThat\u2019ll keep you in order, you see. You won\u2019t dare to make any other\nattempt on my life, because if it were successful, it would be known\nthat you had tried to kill me before, and that would be a suspicious\ncircumstance. How\u2019s your face?... Answer, can\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cGood Lord, I don\u2019t want to know about your face. What do you say to my\nproposal? The alternative is that I tell my father and Violet all about\nit. I rather fancy--correct me if I am wrong--that he will believe me.\nShocking affair, but true. Answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cI accept it,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cOf course you do. Now pick up your gun. Did you have good sport with\nthe pigeons? Answer pleasantly.\u201d\n\n\u201cI got about forty,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cAnd you hoped to get one more at that corner, didn\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDamned rude of you to call me a pigeon. I\u2019ll pay you out for that.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPhilip was out on the terrace when the two boys came in. Colin took\nRaymond\u2019s arm affectionately when he saw him.\n\n\u201cHullo, father,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ve had such a ripping morning. I won my\nmatch, and Raymond downed forty pigeons, and they\u2019ve caught the madman.\nOh, my bicycle punctured, by the way, but that was a blessing in\ndisguise, for I had a jolly walk through the Old Park, and found\nRaymond. We\u2019ve had a nice talk, too, and we want you to witness\nsomething for us after lunch.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cOh, just a private little arrangement that only concerns us.... Shan\u2019t\nwe show it father, Ray?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I think not,\u201d said he.\n\nColin raised his eyebrows as he met his father\u2019s glance. \u201cAll right,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cJust as you like.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nColin was lying on the beach of the men\u2019s bathing-place at Capri after\nan hour\u2019s swim. A great wave of heat had swept over Europe, and now,\nthough it was late in October, the conditions of summer still prevailed.\nIt might have been June still, and he here with his father, quietly\nmaking the plans that had turned out so well. On this beach it was that\nhe lay, pondering his reply to Violet\u2019s letter which told him she was\nengaged to Raymond. He had thought out his reply here, that\ncongratulatory reply, saying how delightful her news was, and as for\nfeeling hurt.... That had been a thorn to Violet, which had pricked and\nstung her, as she had confessed. She had confessed it to him between\ndusk and dawn on their marriage-night.\n\nHe knew all about it; that casual kiss in the dusk of the yew-hedge the\nnight before he and his father left for Italy had begun it; his\nindifference to her had made her ache, and his arrival back in England\nhad made the ache intolerable. To be mistress at Stanier had become\nworthless to her, and to reward her sense of its worthlessness, had come\nthe news that she would not be that only....\n\nColin stirred his sun-stained body to get a fresh bed of hot sand and\npebbles for his back. He had absorbed the heat of those on which he had\nbeen lying, but a little kneading movement of his elbow brought him on\nto another baked patch. That was gloriously hot; it made him pant with\npleasure, as he anticipated one more cool rush into the sea. He purred\nand thought of the lovely days that had passed, of the lovely day that\nwas here, of the lovely days that awaited him. Quite methodically, he\nbegan at the beginning.\n\nViolet and he had been married in the first week of October, on the\nvery day indeed that had been arranged for her marriage with Raymond.\nThere was a suave brutality about that; he had made Raymond, under some\nslight hint of pressure, advocate it. Raymond (under that same hint) had\nbecome marvellously agreeable; he had been almost sentimental and had\nurged Violet to be married on that day. He himself would be best man, if\nColin would allow him, instead of being bridegroom. Her happiness, it\nappeared, was of greater import to him than his own.\n\nLittle conversations with Colin in the smoking-room, before Colin went\nup to say good-night to Violet, were responsible for this Scotch\nsentimentality. Raymond had been quite like a noble character in a\nsloshy play. He had understood and entered into the situation; he had\ngiven up without bitterness; he had rejoiced at his brother\u2019s happiness\nand had been best man. The happy pair had left that afternoon for Italy.\n\nThe attitude which he had forced on Raymond gave Colin the most intense\nsatisfaction. He had been made to appear to be affectionate and loving,\nhigh-minded and altruistic, and Colin knew what wormwood that must be to\nhim. It was tiresome enough, as he knew from his experience of the last\nfortnight, to be supposed to love when you only liked, but how\ninfinitely more galling it must be to be supposed to love when you\nhated. But he did Raymond justice; a mere hint at publicity for that\npaper which lay at his bankers together with his mother\u2019s letters and\nthat confirmatory line from Uncle Salvatore, produced wonderful results.\nRaymond could be bridled now with a single silken thread.\n\nColin\u2019s thought turned over that leaf of the past, and pored over the\npresent--this delightful, actual present. There was the sun baking his\nchest and legs, and the hot sand and pebbles warm to his back, while the\ncool, clear sea awaited him when the rapture of heat became no longer\nbearable. Violet had not come down with him to-day. She had taken to the\nrather more sophisticated bathing establishment at the Marina, where\nmore complete bathing-dresses were worn, and men did not dress and\nundress in the full eye of day. Colin quite agreed with her that the\nMarina was more suitable for her; this bay was really the men\u2019s\nbathing-place and though women could come here if they chose, they were\nrather apt to be embarrassing and embarrassed. She would find the huts\nat the Marina more satisfactory and still more satisfactory to him was\nto be rid of her for a few hours.\n\nThere was a stern, pitiless insistency about love which bored him. He\ncould not be quite tranquil when, from moment to moment, he had to make\nsome kind of response. A glance or a smile served the purpose, but when\nViolet was there he had, unless he betrayed himself, always to be on the\nlook out. This love was a foreign language to him, and he must attend,\nif he were to reply intelligently. He liked her, liked her quite\nimmensely, but that which was a tireless instinct to her was to him a\nmental effort. It was no effort, on the other hand, to be with Raymond,\nfor there his instinct of hatred functioned flawlessly and\nautomatically.\n\nColin turned over that page of the present, and cast his eyes over the\nfuture. At the first glance all seemed prosperous there. His father had\naged considerably during the last few months, and just before their\nmarriage had had a rather alarming attack of vertigo, when, after a hot\ngame of tennis, he had gone down with Colin to the bathing-pool to swim\nhimself cool. The boy had not been the least frightened; he had brought\nhis father to land without difficulty, and on his own responsibility had\ntelephoned for his father\u2019s doctor to come down to Stanier. The report\nhad been quite reassuring, but a man who had left his sixtieth birthday\nbehind him must not over-exert himself at tennis and then bathe. Nature,\nthe wise old nurse, protested.\n\nThis suggested eventualities for the future; no doubt his father would\nnow be more prudent and enjoy a long ripe old age. Colin quite\nacquiesced; his father had been so consistently good to him that he\nscarcely felt any impatience about that. But what this morning occupied\nhim with regard to the future was the idea, not of his father\u2019s death,\nbut of Raymond\u2019s. In this uncertain world accidents or illness might\ncarry off even the strongest and sulkiest, and he himself would then be\nin a very odd position. Supposing (as was natural) his father died\nfirst, Raymond (on the strong case that could be built on the evidence\nof his mother\u2019s letter to Salvatore and the erasure in the Consulate\narchives), would, no doubt, be incontinently \u201choofed out\u201d of his\npromised land, and Violet be in possession, with him as husband to the\nowner. But if Raymond died first, Colin by his juggling would merely\nhave robbed himself of the birthright which would be rightfully his. It\nhad been a great stroke to provide at his father\u2019s death for Raymond\u2019s\npenniless illegitimacy, and, by himself marrying Violet, to submerge his\nown. Not possibly could he have provided for the eventuality of\nRaymond\u2019s pre-deceasing his father as well, but now that he had married\nViolet it was worth while brooding and meditating over the other.\nSomething might conceivably be done, if Raymond died first, though he\ncould not as yet fashion the manner of it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe morning had sped by all too quickly, and by now the other bathers\nhad gone and the beach was empty, and Colin plunged once more into that\nbeloved sea. The cool, brisk welcome of it encompassed him, its vigour\nseemed to penetrate his very marrow and brain with its incomparable\nrefreshment, and he began to think of this problem with a magical\nlucidity....\n\nColin regretfully left the water and put his clothes into the boat in\nwhich he had been rowed round from the Marina, meaning to dress on the\nway there. Young Antonio, the son of Giacomo, Philip\u2019s old boatman, had\nbrought him round here, and was now asleep in a strip of shadow at the\ntop of the beach, waiting till Colin was ready to return. There he lay,\nwith his shirt open at the neck and a carnation perched behind his ear,\nlithe and relaxed like some splendid young Faun. The boy\u2019s mouth smiled\nas he slept.\n\nWas he dreaming, thought Colin, of some amorous adventure proper to his\nage and beauty? His black hair grew low on his forehead, the black\nlashes swept his smooth, brown cheek; it seemed a pity to awake him, and\nfor a minute or two Colin studied his face. Violet before now had\nremarked on his extraordinary resemblance, except in point of colouring,\nto Colin, and he wondered if, through his noble Viagi blood, they were\nrelated. He liked to think he resembled this merry Nino; he would almost\nhave been willing to give him his blueness of eye and golden hair, and\ntake in exchange that glossy black, which caught the tints of the sky\namong its curls.\n\nThen Nino stirred, stretched a lazy arm and found his hand resting on\nColin\u2019s shoulder. At that he sprang up.\n\n\u201cAh, pardon, signor,\u201d he said. \u201cI slept. You have not been waiting?\u201d\n\nColin had picked up Italian with great ease and quickness; it came\nnaturally to his tongue.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve been watching you smiling as you slept, Nino,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat have\nyou been dreaming about?\u201d\n\nNino laughed. \u201cAnd if I was not dreaming of the signorino himself,\u201d he\ncried.\n\n\u201cWhat about me?\u201d demanded Colin.\n\n\u201cOh, just a pack of nonsense,\u201d he said. \u201cWe were in the boat, and it\nmoved of itself without my rowing, and together we sat in the stern, and\nI was telling you the stories of the island. You have heard the most of\nthem, I think, by now.... Are you not going to dress?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll dress in the boat,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut there\u2019s that story of Tiberio\nwhich you wouldn\u2019t tell me when the signora was with us.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed a story of Tiberio is not fit for the signora. A fat, bald old\nman was Tiberio; and as ugly as a German. Seven palaces he had on Capri;\nthere was one here, and so shameful were the things done in it that, so\nthe priests say, the sea rose and swallowed it. But I do not know that\nthe priests are right. They say that, do you think, signor, to frighten\nus from the wickedness of Tiberio? And one day Tiberio saw--_scusi,\nsignor_....\u201d\n\nHow attractive was the pagan gaiety of these young islanders! They\nbelieved in sunshine and wine and amusement, and a very good creed it\nwas. They took all things lightly, except the scirocco. Love was a\npleasant pastime, an affair of eager eyes and a kiss and a smile at\nparting, for had he not seen Nino himself in a corner of the piazza\nyesterday making signals to his girl (or one of them), and then\nstrolling off in the warm dark? They were quite without any moral sense,\nbut it was ludicrous to call that wicked. Pleasure sanctified all they\ndid; they gave it and took it, and slept it off, and sought it again.\nHow different from the bleak and solemn Northerners!\n\nImagine, mused Colin, as this really unspeakable history of Tiberio\ngaily unfolded itself, encouraging a gardener\u2019s boy to regale you with\nbawdy tales. How he would snigger over the indecency, thus making it\nindecent; how heavy and dreary it would all be! But here was Nino with\nhis dancing eyes and his laughing mouth and his \u201c_scusi, signor,_\u201d and\nall was well. These fellows had charm and breeding for their birthright,\nand, somehow, minds which vice did not sully.\n\nThe end of the story was rapidly told, with gestures to help out the\nmeanings of recondite words, for they were approaching the Marina, and\nColin\u2019s signora was waiting for him there, as Nino had already seen with\na backward glance.... An amazing moral was tacked on the conclusion of\nthose dreadful doings of Tiberio, for when Tiberio died, God permitted\nthe devil to torture him from morning to night as the anniversary of\nthat orgy came round.\n\n\u201cBut that\u2019s not likely, Nino,\u201d said Colin, deeply interested. \u201cIf\nTiberio were so wicked, the devil would not want to torture him. He\nwould be the devil\u2019s dear friend.\u201d\n\nNino took both oars in one hand for a second and crossed himself.\n\n\u201cWhat do you do that for, Nino?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cIt is safer,\u201d said Nino. \u201cWho knows where the devil is?\u201d\n\nColin made an admirably apposite remark: a thing that Neapolitans said,\nso Mr. Cecil had told him, when they found themselves talking about the\ndevil, and Nino was duly appreciative.\n\n\u201cThat is good!\u201d said he. \u201cThat muddles him up.... Yes, signor, it is as\nyou say. If Tiberio were very wicked, he and the devil would be very\ngood friends. Do you believe in the devil, signor, in England?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re not quite sure. And in Capri, Nino?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot when the sky is blue, like ... like the signor\u2019s eyes,\u201d said Nino.\n\u201cBut when there is scirocco, we are not so certain.\u201d\n\nThe prow of the boat hissed and was quenched against the sandy beach.\nThere, under the awning of the stabilimento, was Violet, rather fussed\nat the leisurely progress of Colin\u2019s boat, for in two minutes more the\nfunicular would start, and if they missed that there was the dusty drive\nup to the town.\n\n\u201cQuick, darling, quick,\u201d she called out. \u201cWe have only a couple of\nminutes.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t fuss,\u201d said he. \u201cRun on, if you want to. Nino and I are\ntalking folk-lore.\u201d\n\nHe felt in his pockets and spoke in Italian again.\n\n\u201cNino, I haven\u2019t got a single penny,\u201d he said, \u201cto pay you for your\nboat. If you are in the town to-night, come to the villa and I will pay\nyou. If not, to-morrow. I shall want your boat again at ten.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Sicuro!_\u201d said the boy. \u201c_Buon appetit._\u201d\n\nHe stepped into the water and held out his bare arm like a rail for\nColin to lean on as he jumped on to the beach.\n\n\u201cThanks,\u201d he said. \u201cSame to you, Nino. Villa Stanier; you know.\u201d\n\nViolet was waiting at the edge of the beach. The midday steamer had just\ncome in from Naples, and now there was no need to hurry, for the\nfunicular would certainly wait for the passengers who were landing in\nsmall boats at the quay.\n\n\u201cNice bathe, darling?\u201d she said as Colin joined her.\n\nColin found himself mildly irritated by her always saying \u201cdarling.\u201d She\ncould not speak to him without that adjunct, which might surely be taken\nfor granted.\n\n\u201cYes, darling,\u201d he said. \u201cLovely bathe, darling. And you, darling?\u201d\n\nThere was certainly an obtuseness about Violet which had not been hers\nin the old days. She seemed to perceive no impression of banter, however\ngood-natured, in this repetition. Instead, that slight flush, which\nColin now knew so well, spread over her face.\n\n\u201cYes, darling, the water was lovely,\u201d she said. \u201cLike warm silk.\u201d\n\n\u201cUgh!\u201d said Colin. \u201cFancy swimming about in silk. What horrible ideas\nyou have.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be so literal,\u201d said she. \u201cJust a silky feeling. Look at these\nboat-loads of people. Aren\u2019t they queer? That little round red one, like\na tomato, just getting out.\u201d\n\nColin followed her glance; there was no doubt whom she meant, for the\ndescription was exactly apt. But even as he grinned at the vividness of\nher vegetable simile, a sense of recognition twanged at his memory. The\npast, which he had thought over this morning, was sharply recalled, and\nsomehow, somehow, the future entered into it.\n\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s Mr. Cecil,\u201d he said, \u201cthe Consul at Naples. You must know\nhim, Vi.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil greeted Colin with welcome and deference. Consular business\nhad brought him to Capri; he had no idea that Mr. Stanier was here. Was\nLord Yardley here also?\n\n\u201cNo, but somebody much more important,\u201d laughed Colin. \u201cMy wife--we\u2019re\non our honeymoon. Violet, this is Mr. Cecil, who was so kind to me when\nI was here last. Mr. Cecil\u2019s our Consul at Naples.\u201d\n\nIt was natural that Mr. Cecil should have his lunch with them, though he\npleaded shortness of time. He was going back by the afternoon boat.\n\n\u201cBut you clearly must have lunch somewhere,\u201d said Colin, \u201cand we\u2019ll give\nyou a very bad one probably, but a quick one if you are in a hurry. Ah,\nthat\u2019s delightful of you.\u201d\n\nColin was hugely cordial, exerting the utmost of his charm. He even\ncurtailed his siesta in order to walk down with his visitor to the\nConsular office in the town, and gratefully promised, on behalf of\nViolet and himself, to spend the night at his house on their way back to\nEngland. He wanted that; he had made up his mind to get that invitation,\nfor it formed part of the plan which had come to him in his final swim\nthat morning, before he got into Nino\u2019s boat and heard that horrible\nscandal concerning Tiberio. He wanted Violet to pass the night at the\nConsulate. There might arise emergencies which would render that\nconvenient.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was like her to have waited for his return instead of going to her\nroom for the afternoon sleep, and there she was under the pergola where\nthey had lunched at the far end of the garden. She was sitting with her\nback to the garden-door and did not see him enter, and, quick as a\nlizard and as silent-footed, Colin tip-toed into the house. If she saw\nhim, she would discuss Mr. Cecil, she would linger in the garden, and,\nas likely as not, linger in his room, and he wanted his nap. If she\nchose to sit out under the pergola, it was no business of his; there was\nno proof after all that she was waiting for his return. Another day he\nwould take a sandwich down to the bathing place, and, like Nino, have\nhis siesta in some strip of shade down there, where no one would disturb\nhim or wait for him or want to talk with him. Violet was a dear; it was\nhardly possible to have too much of her, but just now and then it was\nnice to have no one watching you and loving you.\n\nA couple of hours later he strolled, still coatless, into the great cool\nsitting-room; she was already there, waiting to make tea for him.\n\n\u201cI never heard you come in, darling,\u201d she said. \u201cI was waiting for your\nreturn in the pergola, and then eventually I came in and peeped into\nyour room, and there you were fast asleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cFunny I shouldn\u2019t have seen you,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI just went down with\nMr. Cecil to the piazza, and was back in less than half-an-hour. I adore\nMr. Cecil, he enjoys himself so much, and drinks such a lot of wine. A\ngay dog!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I thought he was a dreadful little man,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re too refined,\u201d said Colin. \u201cYou don\u2019t like little red bounders.\nBy the way, I\u2019ve solemnly promised him that you and I will spend the\nnight at his house in Naples on our way home.\u201d\n\n\u201cDarling, how could you?\u201d asked Violet.\n\n\u201cTo please him. He thinks you\u2019re marvellous, by the way. Don\u2019t elope\nwith him, Vi. Besides it\u2019s a good thing to be friends with a Consul. He\nreserves carriages and oils the wheels of travel.\u201d\n\n\u201cColin, you\u2019re full of surprises,\u201d said she. \u201cI should have thought Mr.\nCecil was the very type of man you would have found intolerable.\u201d\n\nColin laughed. \u201cYou don\u2019t allow for my Viagi blood,\u201d he said. \u201cThe\nbounding Viagi blood. Shouldn\u2019t I love to see you and Uncle Salvatore\ntogether! Now what shall we do? Let\u2019s go for an enormous walk till\ndinner-time.\u201d\n\nShe came behind him and stroked the short hair at the back of his neck.\n\n\u201cDarling, would you mind if I didn\u2019t come all the way?\u201d she asked. \u201cI\u2019m\nrather tired; I had a long swim this morning. I\u2019ll start with you, and\nmake myself comfortable and wait for you to come back.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t come at all, Vi, if you\u2019re tired,\u201d he said. \u201cI can\u2019t have you\ntired. And then if you sit down and wait for me, I shall feel you\u2019re\nwaiting, and hurry in consequence. Besides, I shall have to come back\nthe same way.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll certainly come with you all the way,\u201d said she. \u201cIt\u2019s more\nlaziness with me than tiredness.\u201d\n\nColin moved his head out of reach of the caressing fingers as if by\naccident.\n\n\u201cYou tickle me,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd if you\u2019re obstinate, I shan\u2019t go for a\nwalk at all, and I shall get fat like Mr. Cecil. Stop at home and be\nlazy for once, Vi.\u201d\n\nColin, as usual, had his own way, and managed in his inimitable manner\nto convey the impression that he was very unselfish in foregoing her\ncompanionship. He established her with a book and a long chair, and,\ngreatly to his own content, went off alone up the steep hillside of\nMonte Solaro. It was but a parody of a path that lay through the dense\nbush of aspen and arbutus that clothed the slopes, and he would have had\nto keep holding the stiff elastic shoots back for Violet to pass, to\nhave tarried and dawdled for her less vigorous ascent, had she come with\nhim. But now, having only his own pace to suit, he soon emerged above\nthis belt of woodland that buzzed with flies in a hot, stagnant air, and\ncame to the open uplands that stretched to the summit.\n\nThe September rains and the thick dews of October had refreshed the\ndrought of the summer, and, as if spring were here already, the dried\nand yellow grasses, tall and seeding, stood grounded in a new velvet of\nyoung growth, and tawny autumn lilies reared their powdered stamens\nladen with pollen. Still upwards he passed, and the air was cooler, and\na wind spiced with long travel over the sea, blew lightly but steadily\nfrom the north-west. Presently he had reached the top; all the island\nlay at his feet, and the peaks of the nearer mainland were below him,\ntoo, floating, promontory after promontory, on the molten rim of the\nsea. Far away to the west, like the shadow of a cloud, he could just\ndescry the coast of Corsica; all the world and the glory of the sea lay\nat his feet, and how he lusted for it! What worship and fealty was he\nnot ready to give for the possession and enjoyment of it?\n\nThere was no crime, thought Colin, that he would not commit if by that\nthe flame of life burned brighter; he would do a child to death or rob a\nsacristy of its holy vessels, or emulate the deeds of Tiberius to feed\nthat flame ... and he laughed to himself thinking of the amazing history\ntold by Nino with the black eyes and laughing mouth. Surely Tiberius\nmust have made an alliance and a love-match with evil itself, such gusto\ndid he put into his misdeeds. In this connection the thought of the\nfamily legend occurred to him. Dead as the story was, belonging to the\nmists of medi\u00e6valism, you could not be a Stanier without some feeling of\nproprietorship in it.\n\nNaturally, it was up to anybody to make a bargain for his soul with the\ndevil if he believed in the existence of such things as devils or souls,\nand certainly for generations, when sons of his house came of age, they\nhad either abjured their original benefactor or made alliance with him.\nOf course, they had really made their choice already, but it was quaint\nand picturesque to ratify it like that.... But for generations now that\npleasant piece of ritual had dropped into misuse: it would be rather\njolly, mused Colin, when he came of age next March, to renew it.\n\nThe edges of his thoughts lost their sharpness, even as the far-off\ncapes and headlands below melted into the blue field of sea and sky, and\nas he lay in the little sheltered hollow which he had found at the very\nsummit of the peak, they merged into a blurred panorama of sensation.\nHis life hitherto, with its schemings and acquirings, became of one\nplane with the future and all that he meant the future to bring him; he\nsaw it as a whole, and found it exquisitely good. Soon now he must\nreturn to the love that awaited him in the villa, and before many days\nnow he must go back to England; a night at the Consulate first with\nViolet, and then just a waiting on events till his father\u2019s death or\nRaymond\u2019s.... His eyelids dropped, the wind rustled drowsily in his\nears....\n\nColin sat up with a start; he had not been conscious of having gone to\nsleep, but now, wide-awake again, it certainly seemed as if his brain\nrecorded other impressions than those of this empty eminence. Had there\nbeen some one standing by him, or was it only the black shadow of that\nsolitary pine which his drowsiness had construed into the figure of a\nman? And had there been talking going on, or was it only the whisper of\nthe wind in the dried grasses which sounded in his ears? In any case, it\nwas time to go, for the sun had declined westwards, and, losing the\nflames and rays of its heat, was already become but a glowing molten\nball close above the sea. How strangely the various states of\nconsciousness melted into each other, though the sense of identity\npersisted. Whatever happened that remained....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt the corner of the garden, perched on the wall which ran alongside the\nsteep footpath up from the town, was a little paved platform, where they\noften sat after dinner. There had been a letter for Colin from his\nfather which had arrived during his walk, and now, holding it close to\nhis eyes to catch the last of the swiftly-fading light, he communicated\npieces of its contents to Violet.\n\n\u201cRaymond\u2019s gone back to Cambridge,\u201d he said. \u201cFather seems reconciled to\nhis absence. That\u2019s funny now; there\u2019s my elder brother an undergraduate\nand me a married man and not of age yet. It was touch and go whether it\nwasn\u2019t the other way about, Vi.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t, Colin!\u201d said she. \u201cI can\u2019t bear to think of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you did think of it. Wasn\u2019t that a nice surprise for you when I\ntold you that to marry me didn\u2019t mean giving up Stanier? That made all\nthe difference.\u201d\n\nShe came close to him. \u201cColin, don\u2019t be such a brute,\u201d she said.\n\u201cThere\u2019s just one thing you mustn\u2019t jest about and that\u2019s my love for\nyou. I wish almost I wasn\u2019t going to get Stanier in order to show you.\nDon\u2019t jest about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t then. Serious matter! But don\u2019t you jest about getting Stanier.\nVi, if you would move your head an inch I should get more light.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat else does he say?\u201d she asked.\n\nColin ran his eyes down the page. \u201cLots of affection,\u201d he said. \u201cHe\nwants us back. Uncle Ronald\u2019s down at Stanier, and Aunt Hester. Then\nsome more affection. Oh, he has had another little attack of giddiness,\nnothing to worry about. So we won\u2019t worry. And Aunt Hester\u2019s going off a\nbit, apparently, getting to repeat herself, father says. And then some\nmore affection.\u201d\n\nColin lit a match for his cigarette, disclosing a merry face that swam\nbefore Violet\u2019s eyes after the darkness had closed on it again.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s so like old people,\u201d he said. \u201cAunt Hester wrote to me the other\nday saying she was quite shocked to see how slowly my father walked.\nShe\u2019s quite fond of him, but somehow it gives old people a little secret\nsatisfaction to look for signs of breaking up in each other.\u201d\n\n\u201cColin, you\u2019ve got a cruel eye sometimes,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cNot in the least; only a clear one. And then there\u2019s father saying that\nAunt Hester is beginning to repeat herself, and in the same dip of the\npen he repeats himself for the third time, sending us his love.\u201d\n\nViolet gave a quick little sigh. \u201cAt the risk of repeating myself, you\nreally are cruel,\u201d she said. \u201cWhen you love, you have to say it again\nand again. You might as well say that if you\u2019re hungry you mustn\u2019t ask\nfor something to eat, because you ate something yesterday.... It\u2019s a\npermanent need of life. I hope you don\u2019t think I\u2019m breaking up because I\nhave told you more than once that I rather like you.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Vi! Sadly changed!\u201d said Colin, teasing her.\n\n\u201cI have changed,\u201d she said, \u201cbut not sadly. We\u2019re both changed, you\nknow, Colin. A year ago we no more thought of falling in love with each\nother than of killing each other. But I don\u2019t call the change sad.\u201d\n\nColin felt extremely amiable this evening, pleasantly fatigued by his\nwalk, and pleasantly exhilarated by his dinner, but he had to stir up\nhis brains to find a suitable reply. There was the unfair part of it;\nViolet talked on this topic without effort; indeed, it was an effort for\nher not to, whereas he had to think....\n\n\u201cBut you call it serious,\u201d he said. \u201cI mustn\u2019t laugh about it, and I\nmustn\u2019t weep. What am I to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, darling. I want you just to be.\u201d\n\nHe determined not to let his amiability be ruffled.\n\n\u201cI certainly intend to \u2018be\u2019 as long as ever I can,\u201d he said. \u201cI love\nbeing. It\u2019s wonderfully agreeable to be. And I would much sooner be here\nthan at Cambridge with Raymond.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, poor Raymond!\u201d said Violet.\n\nThat exasperated Colin; to pity or to like Raymond appeared to him a sin\nagainst hate.\n\n\u201cMy dear, how can you talk such nonsense?\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s pure\nsentimentality, Vi, born of the dark and the stars. You don\u2019t really\npity Raymond any more than I do, and I\u2019m sure I don\u2019t. I hate him; I\nalways have, and I don\u2019t pretend otherwise. Why, just now you were\ntelling me not to mention him, and two minutes afterwards you are\nsaying, \u2018Poor Raymond.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYou were reminding me of what might have happened,\u201d she said. \u201cIt was\nthat I could not bear to think of. But I can be sorry for Raymond. After\nall, he took it very well when Uncle Philip told him what we were going\nto do. I believe he wanted me to be happy in spite of himself.\u201d\n\nThis was too much for Colin; the temptation to stop Violet indulging in\nany further sympathy with Raymond was irresistible. She should know\nabout Raymond, and hate him as he himself did. He had promised Raymond\nnot to tell his father of a certain morning in the Old Park, but he had\nnever promised not to tell Violet. Why he had not already done so he\nhardly knew; perhaps he was keeping it for some specially suitable\noccasion, such as the present moment.\n\n\u201cHe wanted you to be happy, did he?\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cDo you really think\nthat? If so, you won\u2019t think it much longer. Now, do you remember the\nmorning when there was an escaped lunatic in the park?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cRaymond went out shooting pigeons, and I played golf. My bicycle\npunctured, and I walked home through the Old Park. There I found Raymond\ncrouching behind the wall meaning to shoot me as I came round that sharp\ncorner of the road. I came close up behind him while he watched for me\nby the rhododendrons, and, oh Lord! we had a scene! Absolutely\nscrumptious! There was I covering him with my revolver, which, all the\ntime, hadn\u2019t got a cartridge in it, and I made him confess what he was\nup to....\u201d\n\n\u201cStop, Colin; it\u2019s not true!\u201d cried she.\n\n\u201cIt is true. He confessed it, and wrote it all down, and father and I\nwitnessed it; and he signed it, and it\u2019s at my bank now. Perhaps he\nthought you would be happier with him than me, and so from unselfish\nnotions he had better fire a barrel of Number Five full in my face. All\nfor your sake, Violet! My word, what unutterable bunkum!\u201d\n\nHis hate had submerged him now; that final bitter ejaculation showed it\nclearly enough, and it pierced Violet like some metallic stab. He had no\nvestige of consideration for her, no faintest appreciation of the horror\nof his stinging narrative, which pealed out with some hellish sort of\ngaiety. She could not speak; she could only crouch and shudder.\n\nColin got up, scintillating with satisfaction. \u201cI promised him not to\ntell father,\u201d he said, \u201cwhich was an act of great clemency. Perhaps it\nwill be too great some day and I shall. And I didn\u2019t distinctly mean to\ntell you, but you really forced me to when your heart began bleeding\nfor that swine, and saying he wanted to make you happy. Come, Vi, buck\nup! Raymond didn\u2019t get me. It was clever of him, by the way, to see his\nopportunity when the looney was loose. I rather respected that. Let\u2019s go\nindoors and have our piquet.\u201d\n\nShe got up in silence, just pressed his arm, and went up the gravelled\npath towards the house. Colin was about to follow when, looking over the\ngarden-wall, he saw Nino\u2019s figure coming up the path, and remembered he\nhad told him that, if he were in the town, he might come up to the\nvilla, and receive the liras he was owed for his boat this morning.\n\nInstantly the picture of sitting with Nino out here in the dusk, with a\nbottle of wine between them, presented itself. Gay and garrulous would\nNino be, that bright-eyed, laughing Faun, more Faun-like than ever at\nnight, with Tiberian or more modern tales and wonderful gesticulations.\nThat would be a welcome relaxation after this tragic, irritating talk\nwith Violet; he was much more attuned to Nino\u2019s philosophy. Indoors\nthere would be a game of piquet with those foolish pasteboard\ncounterfeits of kings and queens and knaves, and five liras as the\nresult of all that dealing and meditation and exchange of cards. That\nknave Nino would be far more amusing.... And even piquet was not the\nworst of the tedium he would find indoors. There was Violet, clearly\nvery much upset by his tale; she would be full of yearnings and\nsqueezings and emotional spasms. To-morrow she would be more herself\nagain, and would bring a lighter touch to life than she would be\ndisposed to give it to-night. He really could not spend the evening with\nViolet if it could possibly be avoided.\n\nHe called in a low voice to Nino:\n\n\u201cSignor!\u201d said Nino, with gay, upturned face.\n\n\u201cWait ten minutes, Nino,\u201d he whispered. \u201cIf I don\u2019t come out again, you\nmust go. I shall want your boat to-morrow morning. But wait ten\nminutes, and then, perhaps, I shall be able to give you a glass of wine\nand hear more stories, if you have half an hour to spare.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Si_, signor,\u201d whispered Nino, pleased at this mystification and\nintrigue.\n\nColin followed quickly after Violet. She was in the big studio, where a\ncardtable was laid, walking up and down still horrified and agitated.\nShe placed her hands on Colin\u2019s shoulders and dropped her head there. It\nrequired all his self-control not to jerk himself free.\n\n\u201cOh, Colin!\u201d she said. \u201cThe horror of it. How can I ever speak to\nRaymond again? I wish you hadn\u2019t told me.\u201d\n\nThere was blame in this, but he waived his resentment at that for the\npresent.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t indeed, darling,\u201d he said, \u201cif it\u2019s disturbed you so\nmuch, and I\u2019m afraid it has. Go to bed now; you look awfully tired; we\nwon\u2019t have our piquet to-night. We shall neither of us attend.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all so terrible,\u201d she said. \u201cSupposing your bicycle hadn\u2019t\npunctured?\u201d\n\nHe laughed. \u201cI remember I was annoyed when it happened, but it was a\nblessing after all,\u201d he said. \u201cThe point that concerns us is that it\ndid, and another point is that you\u2019re not to sit up any longer.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you\u2019d like a game,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat will you do with yourself?\u201d\n\nColin knew his power very well. He turned, drawing one of her hands that\nrested on his shoulder round his neck.\n\n\u201cThe first thing I shall do with myself is to take you to your room,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand say good-night to you. The second is to sit up for another\nhalf-hour and think about you. The third to look in on tiptoe and see\nthat you\u2019re asleep. The fourth, which I hope won\u2019t happen, is to be very\ncross with you if you\u2019re not. Now, I\u2019m not going to argue, darling.\u201d\n\nThe ten minutes were passing, and without another word he marched her\nto her room, she leaning on him with that soft, feminine, clinging\ntouch, and closed her Venetian shutters for her, leaving the windows\nwide.\n\n\u201cNow promise me you\u2019ll go to sleep,\u201d he said. \u201cPut it all out of your\nmind. Raymond\u2019s at Cambridge. You\u2019ve got not to think about him; I\ndon\u2019t. Good-night, Vi!\u201d\n\nAt the door he paused a moment, wondering if she had heard him speak to\nNino over the wall. In case she had, it were better to conceal nothing.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m just going downstairs to give Nino what I owe him for his boat this\nmorning,\u201d he said. \u201cI told him to come up for it. I shall just peep in\non you, Vi, when I go to bed. If you aren\u2019t asleep, I shall be vexed.\nGood-night, darling!\u201d\n\nColin went downstairs again and opened the garden door into the road.\nThere was Nino sitting on the step outside. He beckoned him in and shut\nthe door behind him.\n\n\u201cCome and have a glass of wine, Nino,\u201d he said. \u201cCome quietly, the\nsignora has gone to bed.\u201d\n\nHe led the way into the dining-room, and brought out a bottle of wine.\n\n\u201cThere, sit down,\u201d he said softly. \u201cCigarettes? Wine? Now for another of\nyour histories only fit for boys to hear, not women. So Tiberius had\nsupper with a gilded girl to wait on him, and a gilded boy to give him\nwine. And what then?\u201d\n\nThe atrocious tale shocked nobody; this bright-eyed Nino was just a Faun\nwith the candour of the woodland and the southern night for conscience.\nIn face and limb and speech he was human, but not of the humanity which\nwrestles with evil and distrusts joy. And just as Colin knew himself to\nbe, except in his northern colouring, another Nino in bodily form, so,\nin a resemblance more remarkable yet, he recognised his spiritual\nkinship with this incandescent young pagan. Violet, he thought, had once\nbeen like that, but this love had come which in some way had altered\nher, giving her a mysterious fatiguing depth, a dim, tiresome profundity\ninto which she seemed to want to drag him too. All her charm, her\nbeauty, were hers still, but they had got tinged and stained with this\ntedious gravity. She had lost the adorable soullessness, which knew no\ninstinct beyond its own desire, and on which no frost of chill morality\nhad ever fallen....\n\nColin had been hospitable towards Nino\u2019s glass; the boy was becoming\nFaun and Bacchant in one; he ought to have had a wreath of vine-leaves\nin his hair. It amused Colin to see how gracefully intoxication gained\non him; there would be no sort of _vin triste_ about Nino, only a\nlivelier gesticulation to help out the difficulties of pronunciation.\n\n\u201cAnd then the melancholy seized Tiberius,\u201d said Nino with a great\nhiccup, \u201cfor all that he had done, and it must be a foolish fellow,\nsignor, who is melancholy for what he has done. I would be more likely\nto get the melancholy when I was old for the things I might have done\nand had not. And the signor is like me, I think. Ah, thank you, no more\nwine. I am already half tipsy. But it is very good wine.\u201d\n\n\u201cTalk yourself sober, then, Nino,\u201d said Colin, filling his glass.\n\n\u201cWhat, then, shall I tell you? All Capri is in love with the signora and\nyou, some with one and some with the other. It was thought at first that\nyou must be brother and sister, so like you are, and both golden. You\nwere too young, they thought, to be married; it was playtime still with\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you going to marry, Nino?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cThere is time yet. Presently perhaps. I do not reap in spring.\u201d\n\nThere spoke the Faun, the woodland, the drinker of sweet beverages, who\ndrank with filled cup till the drink was done, and wiped his mouth and\nsmiled and was off again. By a luxury in contrast, Colin envisaged\nViolet lying cool and white in the room above, sleeping, perhaps,\nalready in answer to the suggestive influence of his wish, while he\nbelow breathed so much more freely in this atmosphere of Fauns, where\nnothing was wicked and nothing was holy, and love was not an affair of\nswimming eyes and solemn mouth. Love was a laugh.... Nino, the handsome\nboy, no longer existed for him in any personal manner. Nino was just\npart of the environment, a product and piece of the joyous paganism with\nwhich the night was thick. The pale-blue flower of the plumbago that\nclothed the southern wall of the house nodded in the open window-frame;\nthe stir of the wind whispered; the star-light, with a moon lately\nrisen, all strove to be realised, and, Nino seemed some kind of\nbilingual interpreter of them, no more than that, who, being boy, spoke\nwith human voice, and, being Faun, spoke the language of Nature, cruel\nand kindly Nature, who loved joy and was utterly indifferent to sorrow.\nShe went on her course with largesse for lovers and bankruptcy for the\nbilious and the puritan. She turned her face away from pain, and, with a\nthumb reversed, condemned it. She had no use for suffering or for the\nugly. The bright-eyed and the joyful were her ministers, on whatever\nerrand they came. Thought and tenderness and any aspiration after the\nspiritual were her foes, for in such ascetic fashion of living there was\nsorrow, there was fatigue and striving.\n\nColin was at home here. Like a fish put back into water, after a panting\nexcursion into a rarefied air, his gills expanded again, and drank in\nthe tide.\n\n\u201cAnd have you chosen your girl yet, Nino?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201c_Dio!_ No. I am but twenty. Presently I will look about and find who is\nfat and has a good dowry. There is Seraphina Costi; she has an elder\nbrother, but the inheritance will be hers. He passes for the son of\nCosti, but we all know he is no son of Costi. It was like this, Signor\nColin....\u201d\n\n\u201c_Si_, Signor Nino,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201c_Scusi!_ But to me you are Signor Colin. No, with loving thanks, no\nmore wine. My father says it is a waste to drink good wine when one is\ndrunk. My father was boatman to your father before you and I were born.\nThat is strange to think on; how the old oaks flourish and bear leaf\nstill. Two stepmothers already have I had, and there may be a third yet.\nHave you stepmothers, signor? I would put all old women out of the way,\nand all old men. The world is for the young. Sometimes I think to\nmyself, would it not be very easy to put my hands round my father\u2019s\nneck, and squeeze and squeeze again, and wait till he was still, and\nthen leave him thus and go to bed. They would find him there in the\nmorning; perhaps I should be the first to find him, and it would be said\nthat he had died in his chair, all cool and comfortable.\u201d\n\nColin was conscious of some rapturous surprise at himself in his\nappreciation of the evening as it was, compared with the evening as it\nmight have been. Normally, he would have played a couple of games of\npiquet with Violet, and thereafter have drowsily rejoined her. There\nwould have been whispers of love and then sleep, all that was already\nroutine to him. Instead, he, through the medium of this wonderful Faun,\nwas finding himself, and that was so much better than finding Violet.\nNino, with those swift gesticulations, was shewing him not Nino, but\nhimself. But by now the boy was getting extremely drunk--the vision was\nclouding over. There was time for just another question or two.\n\n\u201cBut aren\u2019t you afraid of Satana?\u201d asked Colin, \u201cif you kill your\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should I be afraid? Satana is a good friend to me and I to him. Why\nshould we fall out, he and I?\u201d\n\nThose full eyelids drooped, and as, on this morning, the lashes swept\nthe brown cheek.\n\n\u201cNino, you must go to bed,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201c_Si_, signor! But I doubt if I could carry myself down to the Marina\nto-night. I have the legs of the old woman, as I shall know when I come\nto stand up. May I sleep myself sober in your garden beside the cistern?\nIt is the signor\u2019s fault--_scusi_--that I am thus; my fault for taking,\nbut his for giving.\u201d\n\nColin rapidly pondered this.... Should Violet be wakeful and open her\nVenetian blinds, she would surely see him there. He pointed to the sofa\nagainst the wall.\n\n\u201cLie down there, Nino,\u201d he said, \u201cand I will bring you a rug. You will\nbe more comfortable than on the gravel. You must be off before dawn.\nJust wait a minute.\u201d\n\nColin kicked off his shoes, so as not to disturb Violet, ran upstairs\nand peeped into her room. There was silence and stillness there, and\ngoing into his dressing-room next door, he picked up a folded rug off\nhis bed, and went downstairs with it. Nino was bowed over the table,\nhelpless and inert, and Colin choked down a spasm of laughter within\nhim.\n\n\u201cNino, wake up for one minute,\u201d he said. \u201cPut your arm round my neck and\nlet me lay you down. Oh, do as I tell you, Nino!\u201d\n\nNino leaned his whole weight on Colin\u2019s encircled neck, and was laid\ndown on the sofa. Colin loosed the smart tie with which he had adorned\nhimself for this visit to the villa, and unbuckled his leather belt, and\ntaking out a ten lira note from his purse, he thrust it into Nino\u2019s\nbreast-pocket.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve put ten liras in your pocket, Nino; don\u2019t forget.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that is too much, signor,\u201d murmured Nino with a guarding hand on\nhis pocket.\n\n\u201cNot for such an agreeable evening. Good-night; I shall want you and\nyour boat again to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Sicuro!_ _Felice notte_, signor.\u201d\n\nColin went up to bed with no desire for sleep, for his blood tingled and\nbubbled in his veins. He wished now, amusing though it had been, that he\nhad not made Nino tipsy so soon, for he longed to continue holding up\nthe mirror to himself. In that reflecting surface he could see much that\nhe had only suspected in himself, and this Nino unwaveringly confirmed.\nNever, till Nino had so gaily asserted that he did not fear the devil,\nfor the devil was his very good friend, had Colin so definitely realised\nthat, whatever the truth about his Elizabethan ancestor might be, he had\naccepted the legend as his own experience.\n\nTwice before had some inkling of this come into his mind, once when\nlying here and listening to his father\u2019s footfall on the terrace below\nhe had realised that hate was as infinite as love, and once again this\nafternoon, when betwixt sleeping and waking on the top of Monte Solaro,\nhe had received the impression of taking part in some dream-like\ncolloquy. But on both these occasions he had but dealt in abstractions\nand imaginings, to-night Nino had shown him himself in the concrete. Ah,\nhow good it was to be so well looked after, to have this superb youthful\nvitality, this rage for enjoyment; above all, never to be worried and\nperplexed by any conflict of motives; never to feel the faintest\nstriving towards a catalogue of tedious aspirations. To take and never\nto give, to warm your hands at the glowing fires of hate and stoke those\nfires with the dry rubbish called love.... It was worth any price to\nsecure immunity from these aches and pains of consciousness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin announced to Violet his intention of taking his lunch down to the\nbathing-place next morning, and having his siesta there, and he saw with\nimpatient amusement that she instantly put out of sight the fact that\nshe would spend a solitary day and thought only of him.\n\n\u201cThat will be lovely for you,\u201d she said. \u201cYou\u2019ll get a long enough bathe\nfor once, and not have to break it off to get back to lunch.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will you do?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThink of you enjoying yourself,\u201d said she.\n\nColin marvelled in silence. That was a good instance of the change in\nViolet; in the old days she would at the most have acquiesced, if\nargument were useless. Now the only argument that seemed to have any\nweight with her was his enjoyment. Anyhow they were at one about that.\n\nColin spent a most satisfactory day. There was Nino waiting for him at\nthe Marina rather heavy-eyed, but looking precisely as a Bacchant should\nafter a characteristic night.\n\n\u201cYou were wonderfully drunk last night, Nino,\u201d said Colin, as they\npushed off over the waveless bay.\n\nNino grinned. \u201c_Molto, molto!_\u201d he said cheerfully. \u201cBut I slept well,\nand I shall bathe, and then it will be as if I had drunk no more than a\nglass of water.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd will you confess that to the priest?\u201d asked Colin.\n\n\u201cIt may have gone from my mind,\u201d said Nino. \u201cGod only remembers\neverything. And indeed I do not know much about last night, but that I\nenjoyed myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all that is worth remembering about anything,\u201d remarked Colin.\n\nA long bathe followed, and a bask on the beach and again a bathe. Then\ncame lunch, lying in a strip of shadow and stories from Nino, and sleep,\nand it was not till late in the afternoon that Colin found himself\nreluctantly loitering back to the villa where Violet awaited him. He\nbeguiled himself with wondering what he would do if she were not there;\nif, as in some fairy-tale, she had disappeared leaving no trace behind.\nBut hardly had he come within sight of the white garden wall when he saw\nher out on the balcony of his room. She waved at him, as if she had gone\nthere to catch the first sight of him, and then disappeared. Next moment\nshe was at the garden-gate, walking down to meet him. Was there news,\nperhaps from England. Raymond? His father?\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked, as he came within speaking distance. \u201cNothing\nwrong?\u201d (\u201cNothing right?\u201d would have expressed his thought more\naccurately.)\n\n\u201cNothing,\u201d said she, \u201cI only came to meet you. Nice day?\u201d\n\n\u201cDelicious. Long bathe, good lunch, long sleep. Stories from Nino.\u201d\n\nColin hesitated a moment. He was rather curious to see what Violet would\nthink of last night.\n\n\u201cNino\u2019s an amusing youth,\u201d he said. \u201cHe came up here as I told you, for\nthe money I owed him, and so I gave him a glass of wine, two in fact. He\ntold me the most horrible tales about Tiberius and others, and then got\nfrightfully drunk. He simply couldn\u2019t walk, and slept on the sofa in the\ndining-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Colin, how disgusting!\u201d said she. \u201cI hope you\u2019ve said you don\u2019t\nwant his boat any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve said nothing of the kind. I want it every day.\u201d\n\nViolet had nothing to say to this, and Colin felt his irritation at her\nrising.\n\n\u201cWell, what is it?\u201d he said. \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t Nino get drunk?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you shouldn\u2019t have let him, Colin,\u201d said she. \u201cIt\u2019s coarse.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I come of a low family,\u201d said he. \u201cViagi one side and Stanier on\nthe other. How many generations of Staniers have got drunk most nights\nof their lives?\u201d\n\nViolet stopped at the gate. \u201cWhat would you think of me, Colin, if I\ntook that little girl who helps in the kitchen and made her drunk?\u201d she\nasked.\n\n\u201cI should think you were a very odd young woman,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut I\nshould be all for your doing what you wanted to.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you think so? Most people don\u2019t want to do anything at all; it\u2019s\ncertainly better to do anything than nothing. You may make Maria drunk\nas often as you please provided you assure me that you really like it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI infer that you liked making Nino drunk.\u201d\n\nColin clapped his hands. \u201cBravo!\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve guessed right. I\nwanted to find out when Nino was most himself, tipsy or sober, and now I\nknow that it is sober. I shan\u2019t make him drunk again. I longed to see\npure Faunishness, but Nino sober is Faunier than Nino drunk.\u201d\n\n\u201cFaunishness?\u201d asked she.\n\n\u201cYes, joyful, immoral, wicked, lovely nature. Without a rag to cover,\nnot its shame, but its glory. Nino is naked sober. He was too heavenly\nlast night, before--er--the coarseness. He thought of killing his father\nbecause he keeps giving him stepmothers, and is generally rather in the\nway. And when I asked him if he weren\u2019t afraid of the devil, he said:\n\u2018Why should I be? The devil is a very good friend to me.\u2019 Wasn\u2019t that\nqueer? Just as if he were a Stanier. I felt as if Nino were my brother;\nthough, of course, he could never supplant Raymond in my heart. But then\nRaymond\u2019s my twin: that is why we are so wrapped up in each other.\u201d\n\nViolet felt as if some light-winged creature was settling on her now\nhere, now there, and stinging her. Just so did Colin make her wince.\n\n\u201cAnd as for the wickedness--or coarseness, was it not?--of making any\none drunk,\u201d he added, \u201cI don\u2019t agree with you. If people are most really\nthemselves when they are rather tipsy, they should be rather tipsy as\noften as possible. When is Uncle Ronald at his best? Why when his dear\nnephew has been sitting by him after dinner, and filling up his glass\nfor him. Let\u2019s have tea.... Oh, dear, I can\u2019t do right. I did wrong to\ntell you about Raymond yesterday, and I did wrong to tell you about Nino\nto-day. I shall lead a double life, darling, and tell you nothing.\u201d\n\nDimly, as he spoke, Violet was aware of some reverberation of dismay\nthat his words and his manner stirred in her. Was Colin really like\nthat? Were those light words just gibes and jokes--not very pleasant\nones--or were they authentic glimpses of himself? It seemed that her\nvery faith was at stake; at all costs she must refuse to acknowledge so\nunthinkable a possibility.... That could not be Colin; he was just\nteasing her. She must reply with the same outrageousness.\n\n\u201cDarling, lead more than a double life,\u201d she said. \u201cSuch lots of people\ndo that. Lead three or four. I\u2019ll do the same. We\u2019ll have as many lives\nas a cat between us.... Now tell me some of Nino\u2019s stories, or I shall\nbe afraid that they weren\u2019t what mother might call quite nice.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think for a moment she would call them quite nice,\u201d said he.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe month of Indian summer, with warm days and windless nights, passed\nby in golden procession, but now with the deepening of autumn the\n_ponente_ from the west, veering sometimes to a chillier quarter sucked\nthe basking out of the bathing, and the evenings grew long with the\npassage into November. The sunshine lost its force, rain was scribbled\nacross it, the grey sea-clouds expunged it, the wind roared in it. It\nwas like passing out of daylight into some dank and dripping tunnel,\nwhere windows are closed and voices silent, and the magic of the day is\nquenched. More tunnel-like even was a certain darkness that fell between\nthe two yet on their honeymoon, and in that darkness they grew apart\nlike strangers; they were just passengers who chanced to be together in\nthe same compartment.\n\nTo Violet that darkness consisted of her own ignorance, or so she felt\nit, of what Colin really was, and in proportion as she began to guess at\nhim, it grew of more nightmare-like impenetrability. He had his moods of\nentrancing charm, of eager affection, but now these seemed more like\nsome will-o\u2019-the-wisp dancing above a marsh, than a flame that while it\nconsumed, yet fed her and warmed her. His light was not meant for her,\nit only happened to fall on her; she was in the circle of its\nbrightness.\n\nShe could not avoid pursuing the thought and seeing where it led her.\nShe could see no change in him, she perceived that he had always been\nlike this, and that it was her own light, so to speak, the illumination\nof her love which had revealed him to her.\n\nShe began to question who or what it was that shed that charm and evoked\nthat enchantment, and shuddered at her own conjecture. Hints as to that\ncame from other quarters: there was his complete indifference as to his\nfather\u2019s health; true, Lord Yardley had told him not to worry, for there\nwas no cause for that, but how could the son of so devoted a father be\nso immune to any sort of anxiety? Not less significant was his attitude\ntowards Raymond, that, namely, of contemptuous hate. He despised Raymond\n(that was clear) for his failure to kill him, he hated him, not for\nhaving made his attempt so much as for being Raymond.\n\nAnd there was a puzzle for Violet. Raymond, from what Colin had told\nher, could now never stand in his way; and at Lord Yardley\u2019s death he\nwould simply cease to exist as an obstacle to all that Colin desired.\nBut Colin still hated; it was just the fact of Raymond, not the fact of\nRaymond having planned to kill him. And there, indeed, was a true flame\nburning. Colin\u2019s feeling about Raymond had an authentic heat of its own.\nHate, in fact, was real to him in a way that love was not.\n\nThere was yet one more puzzle. Colin was determined to spend the night\nat the house of the British Consul in Naples. Not once or twice only,\nbut constantly, he alluded to this. If he wanted it, Violet knew that he\nwould get it, and for herself it made no great matter. She considered\nMr. Cecil a \u201clittle red bounder,\u201d as Colin had phrased it, and could not\nunderstand his insistence on the point. He got impatient now when, he\nhaving alluded to their night in Naples, she asked why he wanted it, and\nhis answer, the same as ever, that it would please Mr. Cecil, who was a\nuseful little red bounder, carried no conviction. There was something\nbehind and she could not conceive what it was.\n\nThe day of their departure was still uncertain, when a second morning of\ndriving rain caused Colin to come down to breakfast with his mind made\nup.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s quite intolerable,\u201d he said. \u201cCapri without the heat and sun is\nlike a pantomime without the fairies. What a cursed place; it only\nexists in the summer. Let\u2019s go to-day, Vi. We\u2019ll catch the midday\nboat.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it goes in two hours,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cThe sooner the better.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, darling....\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cOh, Lord, throw your things into your boxes, and sit on them, darling!\u201d\nsaid Colin. \u201cIf they\u2019re spoiled you shall have new ones. But I can\u2019t\nendure this island any more. We ought to have left before the weather\nbroke, instead of stopping on.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I really don\u2019t think I can be ready,\u201d she said. \u201cBesides, you\nwanted to stay the night with Mr. Cecil. You can\u2019t pounce on him.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs a matter of fact, I\u2019ve just sent Giuseppe down to the telephone\noffice to say that we shall arrive to-night,\u201d said Colin.\n\nViolet felt a justifiable rebellion at this; she choked it down with a\nnot very convincing lightness.\n\n\u201cBut, darling, you\u2019re being too autocratic,\u201d she said. \u201cHow would it be\nif you went and I caught you up to-morrow? Then you could have your\nadorable Mr. Cecil all to yourself.\u201d\n\nColin turned on her with a blaze of white fury in his eyes. Of that she\ncaught one glimpse, authentic and terrifying. Then, as if by some\nmagical and instantaneous solvent, it melted before he spoke into his\nmost charming mood.\n\n\u201cI know I oughtn\u2019t to have telephoned, darling, until I had consulted\nyou,\u201d he said. \u201cBut it\u2019s your fault; you\u2019ve spoiled me. You\u2019ve made me\nthink that if I want to do a thing very much, you\u2019ll agree to it. I\napologise. It was stupid of me. Now if you really don\u2019t want to come,\njust say so, and I\u2019ll run down to the town and reverse my first message\nif it has gone. It shall be exactly as you like.\u201d\n\nViolet had to take one moment to steady herself. That glimpse of Colin,\nthe most complete she had had yet of something that lay below, had\ngripped her very soul with terror. That stabbed at her and passed, and\nfrom whence it had come she knew not, nor whither it had gone. Only\nColin remained.\n\n\u201cMy dear, of course I\u2019ll come,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cAh, that\u2019s delicious of you,\u201d said he.\n\nShe went upstairs to tell her maid to pack everything at once, as they\nwere off this morning. She found her knees trembling with the effect of\nthat moment of abject terror, but already, in its vanishing, it had\ntaken away with it any impression that could be analysed. Just that\nstroke, stunning as a blow, and then Colin again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nFor many years now with Philip Yardley a widower and his mother old,\nStanier had withdrawn itself from the splendour of its traditional\nhospitalities, but now with the installation of Violet and Colin there,\non their return from Italy, it blossomed out again into lavish and\nmagnificent flower. Throughout November a succession of parties\nassembled there for the pheasant shooting, and in the early frosts of\nthat December the wild fowl, snipe and duck and teal in the marshes, and\nthe unprecedented abundance of woodcock in the park, gave an added\nlustre to the battues. In the evening, after an hour\u2019s concert, or some\ntheatrical entertainment for which the artists had come from London or\nParis, the band reassembled in the long gallery, and dancing kept the\nwindows bright almost till the rising of the late dawn.\n\nThere were many foreign royalties in England that year, and none left\nwithout a visit to Stanier, accompanied by cousins of the English house.\nStanier, in fact, opened its doors, as in the days before the stroke\nfell on Philip\u2019s father, and fairly outshone its own records for\nmagnificence. Colossal in extravagance, there was yet nothing insensate\nin its splendour; it shone, not for purposes of dazzling, but only as\nreasserting its inherent and historical gorgeousness.\n\nViolet seemed born to the position which she now occupied. While Colin\u2019s\nfather lived, it was his pleasure that she should be hostess here, and\nshe picked up the reins, and drove the great gold coach along, as if she\nhad been born and trained all her life for that superb r\u00f4le. She and\nColin, at Philip\u2019s wish, occupied the wing which was only tenanted by\nthe heir and his wife, and though at his death, so he supposed, they\nwould not step from porch to possession, he loved to give them this\nvicarious regency.\n\nOut of the silver safe there had come for her the toilet set by Paul\nLamerie, boxes and brushes, candle-stick and spirit lamp, and, above\nall, the great square mirror mounted on a high base. Amarini of\nchiselled metal supported it on each side; there was no such piece known\nin museum or royal closet. A double cable-band encircled the base, and\nthe man who was in charge of the plate showed Colin how, by pressing a\nstud in the cable just above the maker\u2019s mark, the side of the base\nsprang open disclosing a secret drawer. For some reason not even known\nto himself, Colin had not passed on that curious contrivance to Violet.\n\nThen Philip had brought out for her, as Colin\u2019s wife, those incredible\njewels, which his mother, tenant for life, had long suffered to repose\nin their chests, and one night she gleamed with the Stanier pearls,\nanother she smouldered among the burning pools of the rubies, another\nshe flashed with the living fire of those cascades of diamonds, and more\nthan once she wore the sapphire to which so strange a story was\nattached. Some said that it had once belonged to the regalia, and that\nElizabeth had no more right to give it to her favourite who founded the\nsplendour of to-day, than she had to bequeath to him the sceptre of her\nrealm, but though twice an attempt had been made on the part of the\nCrown to recover it, once at Elizabeth\u2019s death, and once with the coming\nof the German Dynasty, the Crown had not proved successful on either of\nthese inauspicious occasions, and had to content itself with what it\nhad.\n\nThis great stone was of 412 carats in weight, soft cornflower blue in\ncolour, and matchless in aqueous purity. How it had got among the Crown\njewels none knew, but its possession was even then considered a presage\nand a fulfilment of prosperity, for, beyond doubt, Elizabeth had worn it\non her withered breast every day while her fleet was sailing to\nencounter the Armada. By tradition the wearer was decked with no other\njewels when it blazed forth, and indeed its blue flame would have\nwithered any lesser decoration. It figured in the Holbein portrait of\nits original possessor in the Stanier line, as a brooch to Colin\u2019s\ndoublet, and there once more, impersonating his ancestor, Colin wore it\nat the fancy dress ball which concluded the last of these December\nparties. This took place the night before Raymond came back from\nCambridge.\n\nStrange undercurrents, swirling and eddying, moved so far below the\nsurface of the splendour that no faintest disturbance reached it.\nAdmirable as was the manner in which Violet filled her part, it was not\nof her that Philip thought, or at her that he looked, when he waited\nwith her and Colin for the entrance of royal visitors before dinner in\nthe great hall. Day after day the glass doors were opened, but to his\nway of thinking it was neither for Violet nor for them that they swung\nwide, but for Colin. His own life he believed to be nearly consumed, but\nabout the ash of it there crept red sparks, and these, too, were\nColin\u2019s. All his emotions centred there. It was for him and his\nmatchless charm, that these great gatherings were arranged. Philip\nobliterated himself, and feasted his soul on the sight of Colin as lord\nof Stanier. While Raymond lived that could never come to pass, but he\nbeguiled himself with the fantasy that when his own eyes grew dim in\ndeath, Colin\u2019s splendour would light the halls from which he himself had\nfaded. That of all the material magnificence of which he still was\nmaster, had power to stimulate him; sceptical of any further future for\nhimself, and incurious as to what that might be, if it existed at all,\nthe only future that he desired was for the son on whom all his love was\ncentred. He knew that he was cheating himself, that this sight of Colin\nplaying host at Stanier was one that, in all human probability, would\nnever after his death be realised, but it was in his power now to give\nColin a taste of it, and himself share its sweetness. For this reason he\nhad arranged that these gorgeous weeks of entertainment should take\nplace before Raymond got back from Cambridge, for with Raymond here,\nRaymond, the heavy and the unbeloved, must necessarily exclude Colin\nfrom the place which his father so rapturously resigned to him. At\nChristmas there would be just the family party, and he would be very\ncivil to his eldest son.\n\nSuch was the course pursued by one of these undercurrents; two others\nsprang from Violet, one in direct opposition to that of her\nfather-in-law. For she knew that, so far from his death dethroning her\nand giving the sovereignty to Raymond, it but passed on to her with\ncomplete and personal possession. Could his spirit revisit these earthly\nscenes, it would behold her in ownership on her own account of all the\ntitles and splendours that had been his. Raymond--there alone her\nknowledge marched with his desire--would be without status here, while\nfor Colin there would be just such position as his marriage with her\ngave him. She, exalted now by Philip\u2019s desire, to play hostess in virtue\nof her marriage, would be hostess indeed hereafter, and Colin host\nthrough his relationship to her.\n\nThese weeks had given her a hint, a foretaste, of what would be hers,\nand once more, as in her maidenhood, she felt that she would have made\nany marriage in order to robe herself thus. The splendour of what she\nwas lent had set light to her old ambitions again, and this was all to\nbe hers, not lent, but her own. She would enter into the fabled\ninheritance of the legend, that legend to which, for its very\nremoteness, she had never given two serious thoughts. But now, though it\nstill wore, like a cloak over its head, its unconvincing medi\u00e6valism,\nthe shape of it vaguely outlined and indifferently regarded, had\nsomething sinister about it. It did not matter; it was only an ugly\nshadow in the background, but now she averted her eyes from it, instead\nof merely not noticing it.\n\nHere, then, was the second undercurrent, which, sluggish and veiled, yet\nsteadily moved within her. For though with the passing of the\ninheritance to her, it would be she who came within the scope and focus\nof the legend, which, frankly, when looked in the face, presented that\nmeaningless, age-worn countenance, she felt that she was in the grip of\nit not directly but, somehow, through Colin. She told herself that by no\ncombination of diabolical circumstance could that be; for, with the\nknowledge that was hers about the date of Colin\u2019s birth and his mother\u2019s\nmarriage, it was he, he and Raymond, who had passed out of reach of the\nparchment with its promises and its penalty. Yet instinct, unconvinced\nby reason, told her that it was through Colin that she and the children\nshe would bear him, would be swept into the mysterious incredible eddy.\nWas it the persistent luck that attended him which induced so wildly\nsuperstitious a presage? Like some supernaturally protected being, he\npassed along his way. Raymond\u2019s attempt to kill him had, by the merest\nmost fortuitous circumstance of a punctured tyre, led to Raymond\u2019s utter\nhelplessness in his hands.... Colin moved on a charmed pilgrimage,\nidolised and adored by herself, by his father, by all who came in\ncontact with him and, she was beginning to see, he had no spark of love\nin him that was kindled by these fires. Analyse him and you would find\nno faintest trace of it. Perhaps, in spite of his twenty-one years now\nso nearly complete, he had remained a child still in respect of the\nheart\u2019s emotions. Yet who could hate like Colin? Who, so she shuddered\nto think, could have shewn, though but for a second, so white-hot a mask\nof fury as he had once turned on herself?\n\nShe could not succeed in forgetting that, and all Colin\u2019s warmth and\neagerness of affection to her ever since, could not wash that out. All\nday, perhaps, in the hospitable discharge of their duties, they would\nscarcely have a word together, but when at length for a few hours of\nrest the house grew silent, he sought her side, relaxed and sleepy, yet\ntingling, so she felt, with some quality of vitality that no one else\nhad a spark of. Youth and high spirits, the zest of life and the endless\npower of enjoyment filled the house, but Colin alone, unwearied and\neminent as the sun, lit up all others. It was not the exuberance of his\nhealth and energy that was the source of his burning; something inspired\nthem.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe last night had come. To-morrow morning their guests would depart,\nand during the day Raymond would arrive. That night there had been the\nfancy dress ball, and she, wearing the crown and necklace and girdle\nmade by Cellini, had impersonated the ill-fated Duchess of Milan for\nwhom they were made, and who, while wearing them, had drunk the poisoned\ndraught which she had herself prepared for her lover. Colin adored that\nstory; the lover, a mere groom of the chambers, he averred, was a sort\nof old Colin Stanier--all prospered with him, even to the removal of his\nmistress in this manner, for she was growing old and wearied him with\nher insatiable desire. Colin himself had appeared as his ancestor\nwearing the great sapphire.\n\nViolet had undressed and got into bed, while he remained downstairs with\ntwo or three men who still lingered. The Cellini jewels lay on her\ndressing-table, and feeling too sleepy to plait her hair, she had just\nlet it down, and it lay in a spread web of gold over her pillow. Then\nthe door from his dressing-room softly opened, and he looked in.\n\n\u201cNot asleep?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo, but nearly. Oh, Colin, stand under the light a moment. There! The\nsapphire is alive to-night. It\u2019s like a blue furnace of flame. Now\nshield it from the light.\u201d\n\nViolet sat up in bed. \u201cBut it\u2019s the most extraordinary thing!\u201d she said.\n\u201cNot a ray from the lamp touches it, yet it\u2019s burning as brightly as\never. Where does the light come from? It comes from below it. I believe\nit comes from you. I\u2019m frightened of you. Are you a fire?\u201d\n\nIt seemed to him no less than her that some conflagration not lit from\nwithout burnt in the heart of the stone. Blue rays, generated within,\nshot from it; it shone with some underlying brilliance, as if, as she\nhad said, it was he who kindled it.\n\n\u201cWatch it, then,\u201d he said, unbuckling his cloak. Even as he detached it\nfrom him, the fire in it grew dim; only the reflection from outside fed\nit. Incredulous at what she thought she saw, willing to attribute it to\nsome queer effect of faceted surfaces, she laughed.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve killed it,\u201d she said. \u201cI think I shall have to give it you, when\nit\u2019s mine, so that you may keep it alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, do,\u201d he said. \u201cWhen you come into your own--may that day be far\ndistant.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, yes,\u201d she said.\n\nHe sat down on the edge of his bed, and began unloosing the jewelled\nbuttons of his doublet.\n\n\u201cI believe my father would almost give it me now,\u201d he said, \u201cthough I\nsuppose he has no right to, just as Elizabeth gave it to the other\nColin. I simply adore it. I\u2019ve been saying my prayers to it, standing in\nfront of the picture.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that what has kept you?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cNo, they didn\u2019t take me long. The Prince kept me; he wanted to hear the\nwhole of the legend. He was frightfully impressed; he said he felt as if\nthe original Colin had been telling it him, and expects nightmare. He\nalso besought me to swear allegiance when I come of age and see what\nhappens. I really think I shall, though, after all, I haven\u2019t got much\nto complain of in the way of what the world can give.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it will be I, really, to choose whether I do that or not,\u201d said\nViolet.\n\n\u201cWell, I couldn\u2019t tell him that,\u201d said Colin, \u201cthough as a matter of\nfact, I forgot it. In any case it isn\u2019t I to do that. Raymond\u2019s the\napparent heir-apparent, and dear Raymond has shewn his allegiance pretty\nwell already, though one doesn\u2019t quite see why Satan made my\nbicycle-tyre to puncture. If he had been on Raymond\u2019s side, my face\nwould have been nearly blown to bits. No, Raymond\u2019s not his favourite.\nFancy Raymond being anybody\u2019s favourite. Oh, Vi, a thousand pardons; he\nwas yours just for a little.\u201d\n\nColin was slowly undressing as he gave utterance to these reflections.\nHe had taken off his shirt, and his arms, still brown from the tanning\nof the sun and sea, were bare to the shoulder.\n\n\u201cYou brute, Colin,\u201d she said, \u201cyou brown, bare brute.\u201d\n\n\u201cShall I dress again,\u201d said he, \u201cif a bare arm shocks you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t mind that. It\u2019s the brute I object to. By the way, Raymond\ncomes to-morrow--to-day rather. How on earth can I behave to him with\ndecency? Don\u2019t you wish he wasn\u2019t coming?\u201d\n\nColin picked up a long tress of her hair and wound it round his arm.\n\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m looking forward to his coming,\u201d he said, smiling. \u201cI\u2019m going to\nmake Raymond wish that he had never been born. I\u2019m going to be\nwonderfully agreeable to him, and everything I say shall have a double\nmeaning. Raymond wanted to kill me; well, I shall shew him that there\nare other ways of scoring off people. My father isn\u2019t very fond of\nRaymond as it is, but when he sees how pleasant I am to him, and how\nblack and sulky Raymond is to me, he won\u2019t become any fonder of him. I\nmust think it all out.... And then all the time Raymond will be\nconsoling himself with the thought that when father dies his day will\ncome, and he\u2019ll reign in his stead. There\u2019s the cream of it, Vi! He\u2019ll\nbe longing for my father to die, you know, and when he does Raymond will\nbe worse off than ever. And you, you once said, \u2018Poor Raymond!\u2019 to me.\nRaymond\u2019s got to pay for that. I won\u2019t have Raymond pitied.\u201d\n\nNever had Colin worn a more radiant face than when, walking in and out\nof his dressing-room, brown and lithe, as he divested himself of his\ngorgeous dress and put on his night clothes, his beautiful mouth framed\nitself to this rhapsody of hatred. There was nothing passionate about\nit, except its sincerity; he did not rage and foam on the surface of his\nnature, he but gleamed with the fire that seemed so strangely to have\nlit up those wonderful rays in the sapphire that he had been wearing. He\nstill held it in his hand when, after having turned out the lights in\nhis dressing-room, he closed the door and sprang to her side.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t like to leave it alone,\u201d he said. \u201cI must pin it to the\npillows. It will watch over us. With you and it by me, I shall lie in\nenchantment between waking and sleeping, floating on the golden sea of\nyour hair. Raymond, let\u2019s make plans for Raymond....\u201d\n\nShe lay in the warm tide of his tingling vitality, and soon fell asleep.\nBut presently she tore herself out of the clutch of some hideous vision,\nwhich faded from vagueness into non-existence as she woke and heard his\nbreathing, and felt his cheek resting on her shoulder.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe next night, instead of the long cloth which, evening after evening,\nhad stretched from the window of the great dining-room to the\nElizabethan sideboard at the other end, there was spread near the fire,\nfor the night was cold, a small round table that just held the five of\nthem--Philip and his mother, Violet, Raymond, and Colin--and instead of\nthe rows of silver sconces in the dark panels, four red-shaded\ncandlesticks, sufficient for purposes of knife and fork, left the rest\nof the room in a velvety dimness. Raymond had arrived only just in time\nto dress for dinner, coming into the gallery but half a minute before\nhis father, while Colin, who all this week had been a model of\npunctuality, had not appeared yet. Philip gave his arm to his mother,\nand behind, unlinked, came Violet and Raymond. He had advanced to her\nwith elbow formally crooked, but she, busy with a sleeve-lace that had\ncaught in her bracelet, moved on apart from him. She had shaken hands\nwith him, and given him a cool cordial word, but she felt incapable of\nmore than that.\n\nPhilip sat down with a sigh of relief.\n\n\u201cA reasonable evening at last,\u201d he said, \u201cthough I wouldn\u2019t say that if\nColin were here. I believe he got fresher and livelier every day. Ah,\nRaymond, you must know we\u2019ve had some parties here. Colin took your\nplace, as you had to be at Cambridge.\u201d\n\nRaymond tried to put into his answer the geniality he did not feel.\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d he said. \u201cThe daily picture papers have been full of Colin.\nAre you having more people at Christmas, father?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, just ourselves as usual.\u201d\n\nRaymond turned to Violet. \u201cYou had a fancy-dress ball last night, hadn\u2019t\nyou?\u201d he said. \u201cI could have got down yesterday if I had known.\u201d\n\nPhilip conjectured a reproach in this and resented it. The last few\nweeks had been planned by him as \u201cColin\u2019s show.\u201d If Colin could not step\ninto his shoes when he was dead, he could wear them for a week or two\nwhile he lived.\n\n\u201cI thought your term was not over till to-day,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cI could have got leave,\u201d replied Raymond. \u201cBut I understand, father.\u201d\n\nPhilip felt rising in him that ceaseless regret that Colin was not his\nfirst-born. And that jealousy of Colin, implied in Raymond\u2019s \u201cI\nunderstand\u201d irritated his father. He wanted Colin to come and relieve\nthe situation, as he always did.\n\n\u201cWhat exactly do you mean by that?\u201d he asked.\n\nSuddenly old Lady Yardley joined in. \u201cI know what he means, Philip,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cHe means that he should have been host here, if you were going to\ndepute one of your sons to do the honours for you, and that you\npreferred that Colin should do them instead. That is what he means.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere, mother, that\u2019s enough,\u201d said Philip.\n\nAn embarrassed silence ensued, broken by the sound of running steps in\nthe gallery. Just as they arrived at the door, which one of the footmen\nopened, there was a loud crash and Colin slid in on his back, and had\nbegun to laugh before he picked himself up.\n\n\u201cGosh, what a bang!\u201d he said. \u201cI believe somebody greased the boards in\nthe hope that I should be in a hurry and fall down. Sorry, father;\nsorry, granny; sorry, Violet, for upsetting all your nerves.\nWhy--Raymond!\u201d\n\nColin laid his hand affectionately on his brother\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cI never knew you had come,\u201d he said. \u201cHow are you, dear Raymond? How\u2019s\nCambridge? We have missed you in all this hullabaloo. Every one asked\nafter you and wanted to know why you weren\u2019t here.\u201d\n\nColin took the vacant place between Violet and his grandmother.\n\n\u201cHow far have you all got?\u201d he said. \u201cOh, very well, I won\u2019t have any\nsoup. Now this is jolly! Just ourselves, Granny, and short coats and\nblack ties. Vi, darling, why didn\u2019t you come and pull me out of my bath?\nI was just lying soaking there; I had no idea it was so late.\u201d\n\nColin spared one fleeting glance at his brother, and began to put into\nwords some of the things he had thought about in his bath.\n\n\u201cRaymond, it is time that you came home,\u201d he said. \u201cThe pigeons are\nworse than ever in the Old Park, and I\u2019m no earthly use at that\nsnap-shooting between the oaks. Give me a rabbit coming towards me along\na road, not too fast, and a rest for my gun, I can hit it in the face as\nwell as anybody. But those pigeons among the oaks beat me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, we might have a morning in the Old Park to-morrow,\u201d said his\nfather.\n\nColin looked at Violet as if she had called his attention to something.\n\n\u201cYes, Vi, what?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I thought you jogged my elbow. To-morrow, father? Oh, what a bore!\nI promised to play golf. But I shall be back by one if I go on my\nmotor-bicycle. May I join you at that sharp corner in the road; that\u2019s\nabout half-way to the keeper\u2019s lodge, and I could come on with you from\nthere.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that corner is at the far end of the Old Park,\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cIs it? The one I mean has a big rhododendron bush close to it. You know\nwhere I mean, Raymond. Is it at the far end?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s the far end,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cI believe you\u2019re right. Oh, of course you\u2019re right, and I\u2019m idiotic.\nIt\u2019s where I picked you up one day in the autumn when you had been after\nthe pigeons.\u201d\n\nColin applied himself to his dinner, and caught the others up.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s something in my mind connected with that day,\u201d he said, \u201cand I\ncan\u2019t remember what it is. I had been playing golf, and I punctured, and\nwalked back along the ridge instead of wheeling my bicycle along the\nroad. Something funny: I remember laughing. Vi, darling, can\u2019t you\nremember? Or didn\u2019t I tell you?\u201d\n\nViolet saw that even in the red glow of the candle-shades Raymond\u2019s face\nhad turned white. There was red light upon it, but not of it.\n\n\u201cYou certainly did not tell me,\u201d she said in sheer pity. \u201cI remember the\nday, too. There was a man who had escaped from the asylum and stolen a\ngun from the keeper\u2019s....\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s right,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI believe that\u2019s on the track. A man\nwith a gun.\u201d\n\nPhilip laughed.\n\n\u201cOne of the most amusing things I ever heard, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cI am\nsurprised at Violet\u2019s forgetting it. Is that all?\u201d\n\nColin turned to his grandmother. \u201cGranny, they\u2019re all laughing at me\nbecause I can\u2019t remember. Father\u2019s laughing at me, so is Violet. You and\nRaymond are the only kind ones. Man with a gun, Raymond shooting\npigeons. That makes two men with a gun. Then there was me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe very best story, Colin. Most humorous,\u201d said his father.\n\nColin sighed. \u201cSometimes I think of things just as I\u2019m going to sleep,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cIf I think of it to-night, I shall wake Violet and tell her,\nand then she\u2019ll remember it if I can\u2019t. Man with a gun....\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Colin, stop it,\u201d said Violet.\n\n\u201cWell, let\u2019s put it to the vote,\u201d said Colin. \u201cFather and Violet want me\nto stop trying to remember it; little do they know how it would amuse\nthem if I did. Granny and I want me to go on--don\u2019t you, dear--it all\ndepends on Raymond. What shall I do, Ray?\u201d\n\nRaymond turned to his father, appearing not to hear Colin\u2019s question.\n\n\u201cDid you have good sport last week?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cAh, Raymond votes against us, Granny,\u201d said Colin. \u201cHe\u2019s too polite to\ntell me directly. We\u2019re squashed, Granny; we\u2019ll squash them at whist\nafterwards; you and I shall be partners, and we\u2019ll play Raymond and\nfather for their immortal souls. It will be like the legend, won\u2019t it?\nViolet shall look on and wonder whether her poor husband is going to\nheaven or hell. I keep my immortal soul in a drawer close to Violet\u2019s\nbedside, Granny. So if we lose, she will have to go up to her bedroom\nand bring it down. Oh, I say, I\u2019m talking too much. Nobody else can get\na word in edgeways.\u201d\n\nIt was a fact that the other four were silent, but Raymond had the\nfaculty of producing silence in his neighbours. Cigarettes had come now\nwith coffee, and this was the usual signal for old Lady Yardley to rise.\nTo-night, however, she took no notice of the gold-mounted stick which\nwas put into her hand by Philip.\n\n\u201cNever mind them, my dear,\u201d she said, \u201cthey are amusing themselves.\nListen to me, Colin.\u201d\n\nThere was no other voice in the room but hers, the servants had gone\nout, and again she spoke. No one moved; no one spoke; but Raymond\nopposite her leaned forward; Violet leaned left-wise; Philip, with her\nstick in his hand leaned to the right. She dropped her voice to a\nwhisper, but in the tense stillness a shout would not have been more\naudible.\n\n\u201cThere are strange things in this house, darling,\u201d said she to Colin. \u201cI\nhave been here sixty years, and I know better than anybody. Green leaf I\nhave been, and flower and fruit, and now I am withered. Sixty years ago,\nmy dear, I sold my soul to the master of it, and from that moment I have\nbeen a ghost, oh, such a happy ghost, looking on at the glory of the\nhouse. And then my son Philip married, and he brought you here, and the\nmoment I set eyes on you I loved you, for I knew that you were born of\nthe blood and the bargain....\u201d\n\nPhilip drew back his chair and got up.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s your stick, mother,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ll follow you quite soon, or\nit will be too late for your game of whist.\u201d\n\nShe fumbled for the crook of the handle, and rose; her eyes were bright,\nand as blue as the sapphire Colin had worn last night.\n\n\u201cYes, but I must talk to Colin again,\u201d she said. \u201cNo one understands me\nexcept Colin. There used to be other games than whist, Philip, at\nStanier. There was dice-throwing, you know, on the altar of God. We are\nnot so wicked now to all appearance. Whist in the gallery; far more\nseemly.\u201d\n\nRaymond held the door open for her, and she hobbled through, Violet\nfollowing. As she passed out, Violet looked first at Raymond, and then\nswiftly away, with a shudder, at Colin.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be long, Uncle Philip,\u201d she said in a low voice. \u201cGrandmamma is\nso queer to-night.\u201d\n\nColin moved up next his father.\n\n\u201cGive me a glass of port, father,\u201d he said. \u201cHere\u2019s Raymond back, and\nI\u2019m so glad to see him. Your health, Ray!\u201d\n\nHe drank off his glass. \u201cFather, isn\u2019t it lovely to have Raymond back\nagain?\u201d he said. \u201cBut--this is an aside--he\u2019s putting on flesh. May your\nshadow never grow more, Raymond. Tell us all about Cambridge; has it\nbeen delightful? I\u2019m sure it has; for otherwise you wouldn\u2019t look so\nprosperous. Speech! Mustn\u2019t we have a speech from him, father?\u201d\n\nThere, on one side of Philip, was Colin, brimming with good humour and\nwelcome, brimming, too, as he had shewn during dinner with the mere\nnonsense born of happiness. On the other side was Raymond, serious and\nunresponsive, without a spark to answer this crackling fire. There he\nsat, and what sort of host would he have made during these last weeks?\nHe made no attempt to reply to Colin, and but fingered the stem of his\nglass.\n\n\u201cYou might tell us what has been going on, Raymond,\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cNothing particular. Just the ordinary term. I\u2019ve been playing for the\nUniversity at soccer. I shall probably be in the team.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you never told us?\u201d said Colin. \u201cLord! What a swell he is, father!\nWe\u2019re not worthy to hear about it; that\u2019s what is the matter with us.\u201d\n\nPhilip turned to Raymond. \u201cThat\u2019s good,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s pleasant news.\nThere\u2019s Colin here, who won\u2019t do anything more violent than golf.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, father! What about shooting pigeons?\u201d said Colin. \u201cOh, no, Raymond\ndid that. Bother! There was a man with a gun....\u201d\n\nPhilip got up. \u201cNow don\u2019t get on to that again,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve amused\nus enough for one night....\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I may amuse Vi, mayn\u2019t I, if I think of the rest of it?\u201d asked\nColin.\n\nPhilip turned his back on him and took Raymond\u2019s arm. He had the sense\nof behaving with great fairness, but the impartiality demanded effort.\n\n\u201cRing the bell, Colin, will you?\u201d he said over his shoulder. \u201cI\u2019m\ndelighted to hear about your success in the--the football field,\nRaymond. Games are taking the place of sport in this generation. Your\nUncle Ronald and I never played games; there was shooting, there was\nriding....\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but there\u2019s lots of sport still,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBig game, father;\nlarge animals. Not footballs, things that feel.... And then my bicycle\npunctured. Oh, you wanted me to ring.\u201d\n\nAt this rite of whist for the sake of old Lady Yardley, it was necessary\nthat one of the five should cut out. She herself and Philip took no part\nin this chance; the rite was that both should play if there was not\nanother table to be formed. Raymond turned the highest card, and with a\npaper to beguile him, sat just where he had sat when one night the\nwhist-table had broken up, and he heard Colin\u2019s mimicry. As the four\nothers cut for deal, some memory of that must have come into Colin\u2019s\nmind.\n\n\u201cWhat an awful night that was, Vi,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen we were playing\nbridge with Aunt Hester. She revoked, do you remember, and swore she\nhadn\u2019t. How we laughed. And then I thought everybody else had gone to\nbed, and I--good Lord.... Yes!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnother of Colin\u2019s amusing stories,\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cSh-sh,\u201d said Colin. \u201cGranny, you always turn up the ace for your trump\ncard. Will you give me lessons?\u201d\n\nThe rubber was very quickly over, and Raymond took Colin\u2019s place. Colin\ndrew a chair up close to his brother, and instead of reading a paper in\nthe corner, watched his hand and the play of it with breathless\nattention.\n\n\u201cRaymond; you\u2019re a wizard,\u201d he said at the end of it. \u201cEvery plan of\nyours was right. You finessed and caught the king, you didn\u2019t finesse\nand caught the queen. Why don\u2019t I have luck like yours? It\u2019s enough to\nmake any fellow jealous; I shan\u2019t look at your hand any more. I shall\nlook at Violet\u2019s. My poor wife! Raymond\u2019s got all the winning cards\nagain. Or, if he hasn\u2019t, he\u2019ll turn them into winning cards. He\u2019ll down\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cColin, if you would talk just a little less,\u201d said his father, \u201cwe\nshould be able to attend a little more.\u201d\n\nRaymond, if no one else, fully appreciated the utter absence of reproof\nin his father\u2019s voice. If it had been he who had been talking, there\nwould have been, at the best, a chill politeness there; at the worst, a\nwithering snub. But this was the candour of friend to friend.... About\nthat signed paper now, which Colin had deposited at his bank. He himself\nhad signed some sort of mad confession that he had planned to shoot\nColin. His will had bent to Colin\u2019s like hot wax to strong fingers, but\ncould he not somehow get possession of it again? While it was in Colin\u2019s\nhands, it was like a toasting-fork in which that devil-twin of his\nimpaled and held him before the fire. All dinner-time Colin had scorched\nhim, and not less burning was this mocking kindliness which made the one\nappear so warmly genial, the other awkward and ungracious. How long\nwould he be able to stand it? Presently, at the end of the rubber, Colin\nwould join him in the smoking-room and reveal another aspect, no doubt.\nBut he could rob him of that further indulgence, he would go to bed as\nsoon as the rubber was over.\n\nThe next hand finished it and Lady Yardley got up. She had won to-night\nfrom Colin, and clinked a couple of half-sovereigns in her hand.\n\n\u201cBut it will come back to you, darling,\u201d she said. \u201cEverything there is\nwill come to you if you are wise and careful. My eyes grow dim as I get\nolder, but there is another sort of sight that gets brighter. Oh, I see\nvery well.\u201d\n\nPhilip went with her to the door.\n\n\u201cYour eyes are wonderful yet, mother,\u201d he said. \u201cThere are years of\nvision in them yet.\u201d\n\nAs if Colin had read Raymond\u2019s thought of going to bed, he turned to\nViolet.\n\n\u201cI may be a little late to-night, darling,\u201d he said. \u201cRaymond and I are\ngoing to have a long talk in the smoking-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I think not,\u201d said Raymond. \u201cI\u2019m tired; I shall go to bed.\u201d\n\nColin whisked round to him. \u201cNot just yet, Ray,\u201d he said. \u201cI haven\u2019t\nseen you for so long. It would be nice of you to come and have a chat. I\nknow you will. Persuade him to do as I ask, Vi. Who knows what important\nthings I may have to tell about?\u201d\n\nPhilip rejoined them. \u201cI shall just come in and have a cigarette with\nyou boys,\u201d he said. \u201cGood-night, Violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, that\u2019s jolly,\u201d said Colin.\n\nThey preceded him to the smoking-room, for he turned into his own room a\nmoment, and as soon as they were there Colin shut the door.\n\n\u201cFather will be with us in a minute,\u201d he said, \u201cand I can only just\nbegin my talk. But if you attempt to go to bed when he does, Raymond, I\nshall tell him about the morning when you shot pigeons. Oddly enough, I\nhave remembered all about it. And to-morrow I\u2019ll telephone for the\nenvelope I left at my bank. So it\u2019s up to you.\u201d\n\nColin came a step closer; with such an eagerness must some Borgia Pope\nhave looked on the white skin of the victim he had ordered to be flayed.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s jolly seeing you again, you sulky blackguard,\u201d he said. \u201cHas\nanybody smacked your face since I did it for you? You\u2019re going to spend\nthe whole of the vacation here, unless I get tired of you and send you\naway before. Ah, there\u2019s father. Isn\u2019t it jolly, father; Raymond hopes\nto spend the whole of the vacation here.\u201d\n\nPhilip did not seem as enthusiastic as Colin about this, but he was\nadequately cordial, and, having smoked his cigarette in silence, got up\nto go.\n\n\u201cAre you coming?\u201d he said to his sons.\n\nColin nodded to Raymond to answer this.\n\n\u201cWe were just going to have a talk first, father,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cVery good. Don\u2019t sit up too late. Colin hasn\u2019t been to bed till three\nfor the last fortnight.\u201d\n\nColin waited till the door was shut.\n\n\u201cNow for our talk,\u201d he said. \u201cIsn\u2019t Violet looking divine? Aren\u2019t I a\nlucky fellow? Even the thought of being mistress of Stanier wasn\u2019t\nenough to make her tolerate you. We had a lovely honeymoon, Raymond. We\noften talked of you. Lord! How she loathes you! I should think even you\ncould see that. Now an interesting question. I ask for information. Do\nyou think she knows about that morning we were speaking of at dinner?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no means of telling,\u201d said Raymond.\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll assume she doesn\u2019t. Now I want you to observe her closely\nagain to-morrow, and see if you think she knows then. I\u2019ve remembered\nall about it, and, as you heard me say, I was thinking of telling her,\njust drowsily and quietly to-night. And then to-morrow you\u2019ll guess\nwhether I have done so or not. Take coffee for breakfast if you think I\nhave, tea, if you think I haven\u2019t. What a jolly Christmas game!\u201d\n\nColin poured himself out a glass of whisky and soda.\n\n\u201cFancy father saying that I didn\u2019t care for sport,\u201d he said. \u201cI adore\nthe thought of the sport I\u2019m going to have with you. You used to be rude\nto me when we were alone, now you have got to be polite. I can always\nsend for that paper which you signed and father witnessed. Now don\u2019t be\ntedious and say that the condition on which you signed was that I would\nnot tell him. What does that matter to me? You wanted to kill me; all\nthat I do now is in self-defence. Otherwise you might plan to kill me\nagain.\u201d\n\nHe yawned. \u201cI\u2019m rather sleepy to-night, Raymond,\u201d he said. \u201cI thought\nthe satisfaction of seeing you again would make me wakeful. I shall go\nupstairs. Violet will be pleased that I have not sat up late after all.\nI shall sit on her bed and talk to her. Last night her hair made a\ngolden mat on the pillow. There is a marvellous fragrance in her hair.\nDo you remember that from the days--not many of them--when you used to\nkiss her? How she winced! Now it\u2019s your turn to wince. We shall talk\nabout you, no doubt. And remember about the tea and the coffee\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\nDay after day Colin amused himself thus; morning after morning Raymond\nhad to guess whether Violet had been told, until one evening, wearying\nof this particular game, Colin casually mentioned that all his guessings\nhad been superfluous, for Violet had known ever since one day on their\nhoneymoon, when she had provoked him by saying, \u201cPoor Raymond.\u201d Even as\na cat with a mouse, so Colin played with him, taking no notice of him\nexcept in ordinary intercourse, for nearly a whole day, and letting him\nseem forgotten; then, with quivering shoulders, he would spring on him\nagain, tap him with sheathed claws and a velvet paw, or with more\nforcible reminder, nip him with needle-like teeth. It was useless and\nworse than useless for Violet to plead for him; her advocacy, her appeal\nto the most elementary feeling of compassion only exasperated Colin.\n\n\u201cDarling, as if my brain wasn\u2019t busy enough with Raymond, you must go\nand add to my work like that!\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve got to cure you of being\nsorry for Raymond as well. I thought you were cured when I told you he\ntried to murder me. Just let your mind dwell on that. He planned to\nshoot me from behind that wall. I\u2019ll take you there to-morrow and show\nyou the place, to make it more vivid to you. One\u2019s brother must not make\nsuch plans and fail without suffering for it afterwards. Perhaps you\nwould prefer that he had succeeded? Ah! I made you shudder then. You\ntrembled deliciously.... I\u2019ve got such a delightful Christmas present\nfor him, a little green jade pigeon with ruby eyes. It cost a lot of\nmoney. The green--I shall explain to him--is his jealousy of me, for\nhe\u2019s devoted to you still, and the red eyes are the colour of my blood,\nand the whole will remind him of that amusing morning.\u201d\n\nThe new year came in with three nights of sharp frost, and the ice on\nthe bathing lake grew thick enough to bear. The lake was artificial,\nlying in a small natural valley through which a stream ran. A dam some\ntwelve feet high had been built across the lower end of it, in which was\nthe sluice gate; thus the stream, confined by the rising ground at the\nsides, and the dam at the end, had spread itself into a considerable\nsheet of water, shallow where the stream entered it, but some nine feet\ndeep at the lower end, where was the bathing-place and the header boards\nand pavilions for bathers. The dam was planted with rhododendron bushes,\nwhose roots strengthened the barrier, and in summer the great bank of\nblossom overhung the deep water. A path ran behind them crossing the\nsluice by a stone bridge with balustrade.\n\nRaymond had gone down there directly after breakfast, and came back with\nthe news that he had walked this way and that across the ice, and that\nit seemed safe enough. For some reason which Colin failed to fathom, he\nseemed in very cheerful spirits to-day; it might be that the end of the\nChristmas vacation was approaching, when he would return to Cambridge;\nit might be that he, like Colin, himself had seen the rapidity with\nwhich old age was gaining on his father. There was humour in that.\nRaymond looked forward, and little wonder, to his own succession here,\nnot knowing, poor shorn lamb, that he would be worse off than ever when\nthat unpropitious event occurred. As for the remission of subtle torture\nwhich his return to Cambridge would give him, there were several days\nyet, thought Colin; opportunity for much pleasant pigeon-conversation.\n\nSo Raymond got his skates, while Colin and Violet, sitting cosy in the\nlong gallery, wondered whether it was worth while going out, and he went\ndown by the long yew hedge to the lake, with brisk foot and brightened\neye. After all, other people besides Colin could make plans, and one of\nhis had matured this morning into a luscious ripeness. Sleepless nights\nhad been his, with hands squeezing for Colin\u2019s throat and dawn breaking\nin on the fierce disorder of his thoughts, before he had distilled his\nbrain down to the clear broth. Wild and vagrant fancies got hold of him,\ngoaded as he was to the verge of desperation by this inhuman\npersecution; red madnesses had flashed before him, like the cloaks that\nthe matadors wave before the bull, and, whether he charged or not,\nanother ribanded dart pierced him. He had bitten his lip till the blood\nflowed in order to recall himself to self-control, and to use those\nhours of the night, when Colin was with Violet, to hew out some defence\nto the fluttered red and the ribanded dart. There had been his handicap:\nhate of Colin had made him violent, whereas Colin\u2019s hate of him had made\nColin calm and self-possessed; he must cease to rage if he hoped to\narrive at any plan. So night after night he had curbed himself, making\nhis wits reduce their mad galloping to an orderly pace, and pull\nsteadily in harness.\n\nThe grass was encrusted with the jewels of frost; every step crunched a\nmiracle of design into powder, and now for the first time since he had\ncome to Stanier, Raymond fed with the braced joy of a frosty morning on\nthe banquet which the season spread. He was hungry for it, all these\ndays he had been starved and tortured, sick with apprehension, and\nshuddering at the appearance of Colin with rack and pincers. But now he\nwas hungry again for the good things of life, and the long draught of\ncold air was one of them, and the treading of the earth with muscles\nalternately strong and relaxed was another, and the sense of the great\nwoodlands that would in no distant future be his, was a third, for how\nold, how rapidly ageing, was his father; and the _cong\u00e9_ he would soon\ngive to Colin and Violet was a fourth, sweeter than any. How sour had\nturned his love of Violet, if indeed there had ever been any sweetness\nin it. He lusted after her: that he knew, but just because she knew the\nevents of that morning, when all had gone so awry, he thought of her as\nno more than a desirable mistress. Ha! there was a woodcock. In the\nfrost of the morning it had lain so close that he approached within\ntwenty yards of it before it got up. He was near enough to see how it\npulled itself forward, grasping a blade of grass in its reed-like bill,\nbefore it could get those long wings free of the ground where it\nsquatted. With a flip flap, it skidded and swerved through the\nrhododendron bushes; even if he had had a gun with him he could scarcely\nhave got a shot.\n\n\u201cFlip--flap\u201d; it was just so that he had escaped from Colin\u2019s barrels.\nThose nights of thought, when he had bandaged the eyes of rage, had\ngiven him simplicity at last, such simplicity as Colin had so carelessly\narrived at when he came through the oaks of the Old Park. He had trusted\nto the extraordinary similarity of his own handwriting to that of Colin,\nand had written a letter in Colin\u2019s name to Colin\u2019s bankers, requesting\nthem to send the letter which he had deposited there last August, with\nthe note on the outside of it about its eventual delivery in case of his\ndeath, to his brother, Lord Stanier, whose receipt would be\nforwarded.... Raymond knew it to be a desperate measure, but, after all,\nnothing could be more desperate than his position here, bound hand and\nfoot to Colin, as long as that sealed envelope remained at Messrs.\nBertram\u2019s. The bank might possibly make a further inquiry; telegraph to\nColin for confirmation, but even if that happened, Colin was doing his\nworst already. No such disaster had followed. This morning Raymond had\nreceived from the bank a registered letter, containing the unopened\nenvelope, forwarded to him by direction of Hon. Colin Stanier.\n\nSo now, as he went briskly towards the frozen lake, the confession which\nhe had signed was safe in the letter-case he carried in the inside\npocket of his coat, and for very luxury of living over again a mad\nmoment which now was neutralised, he drew it out and read it. There it\nwas ... in that crisis of guilt, covered by Colin\u2019s pistol, he had\nconsented to any terms. But now, let Colin see what would be his\nresponse when next he talked in flashes of that veiled lightning\nconcerning a shooting of pigeons, concerning a morning when there was a\nlunatic at large....\n\nIndeed Raymond determined that this very day he would fling the\nchallenge himself. Instead of sitting dumb under Colin\u2019s blistering\njibes, he would defy him; he would insult and provoke him, till he was\nstung into sending to the bank for the famous confession, vowing an\ninstant disclosure of the whole matter to his father. How Raymond would\nsnap a finger in his face for that threat, and how, when Colin received\nthe answer from the bank that the packet in question had been sent by\nhis own orders to his brother, would he choke with the derisive laughter\nof hate! Who without solid proof would credit such a tale? Besides\n(Raymond had it all ready now) no doubt Lord Yardley would remember\nwitnessing with Colin the paper about which he now impotently jabbered.\nHad not the brothers come in together, ever so pleasantly, on that\nmorning of the pigeon-shooting, and asked for his witnessing signature?\nThat paper (so Raymond now framed it) had set forth how he had\ndetermined to make a better job of brotherhood than he had hitherto\ndone, and to realise that Violet and Colin were mated in love. And\nalready the pact had fulfilled itself, for never had the two spent days\nof such public fraternal amity. \u201cWrite to the bank for it in my name,\u201d\nColin would be supposed to have said, \u201cand tear it up, dear Ray! It\u2019ll\nbe fun, too, to see if they can distinguish your handwriting from\nmine\u201d.... That was what Colin would find waiting for him if he sent to\nthe bank for the document on which this insane accusation was based.\n\nHis skates, fitted on to boots, clanked in his hand, his foot trod\nbriskly on the frozen soil that would soon be his own. Those eye-teeth\nof Colin\u2019s were drawn; his father aged rapidly, and, without doubt,\nbefore many months, the park-gates would have clapped on to the final\nexit of Colin and his wife. Perhaps he would let Stanier to some\ndollar-gorged American; he had no feeling for it himself, and the other\ntwo would abhor that. Never yet had Stanier been tenanted by aliens; it\nwas enough to make the dead turn in their graves. What was more\nimportant, it would make the living writhe. Perhaps Colin--he would be\nvery rich, alas--would try to take it. The would-be lessees must be\nclosely scrutinised.\n\nSo here was the lake with its stiff frozen margin; a stamp on it and a\nshort slide over the black ice produced no cluck of remonstrance. The\npavilion of the bathing-place was on the other side, but a felled\ntree-trunk made a comfortable seat for the exchange of his walking shoes\ninto the boots with skates on them. He had spent a winter month in\nSwitzerland two years before, and hungered for the bite of the blade on\nthe sweet fodder of that black field.... Instantly, as in swimming, the\ninstinct of that balance came back to him, and with long strokes he\ncurved out on to the delightful playground. Outside edge, and a dropped\nturn, an outside back, and a taking up of the direction with the other\nfoot....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin, at this moment, had made up his mind not to skate till after\nlunch.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m lazy,\u201d he said to Violet. \u201cI\u2019m tired of baiting Raymond. He was\nmore cheerful than I like this morning, Vi. I shall smoke a cigarette\nand think of something new. Lord! I\u2019ve got no matches.\u201d\n\nThere was a paper basket handy, and he drew a crumpled envelope from it,\nmeaning to get a light with it from the log fire. Uncrumpling it he saw\nit was addressed to Lord Stanier, and idly turning it over, as he made\nhis spill, he saw the seal of his own bank. The envelope was registered.\n\nHe tore a narrow strip off the edge of it, and used it for his purpose.\n\n\u201cI should like to sit here talking to you all morning,\u201d he said, \u201cbut\nthat beastly motor-bicycle of mine has gone wrong again. I think I\u2019ll go\nup to the stables to see about it. Skating this afternoon, isn\u2019t it? I\nhate seeing Raymond skate because he\u2019s so good at it. But as I want to\nskate myself, what\u2019s to be done?\u201d\n\nColin floated off in his crisp, graceful manner, and never was he so\nalert as when he appeared to be loitering. Why had Raymond received a\nregistered envelope from Bertram\u2019s? Bertram\u2019s was not Raymond\u2019s bank.\nWhat had that envelope contained?\n\nHe strolled out of the front door; the stables lay to the right, but\nRaymond, hugely cheerful that morning, had gone to the lake, which was\nin the opposite direction. So deferring the matter of the bicycle he\nwent down by the yew hedge and along the path on the top of the dam\nbehind the rhododendrons. He could hear the ring of Raymond\u2019s skates on\nthe frozen surface. Raymond would have to cease his sport and explain\nthe matter of the envelope.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHidden by the bushes, he had nearly come to the bridge over the sluice\nwhen from close at hand there came a noise of loud crackings and\nsplintering across the lake and a great splash. For one moment Colin\nstood quite still, his heart beating high and fast; then, with quickened\npace, he walked on to the bridge over the sluice. Some ten yards out was\na large hole in the surface with jagged edges; a cap and fragments of\nbroken ice floated on it, and bubbles rose from below.\n\n\u201cHe has been carried under the ice,\u201d thought Colin. \u201cHow cold it must\nbe! The water is deep there.\u201d\n\nWhat was to be done? Nothing it seemed. He could run up to the house and\nget help, a rope, a plank, something to put out across that gaping hole\non which the sunlight glittered, but before he could return all hope\n(all chance rather) of saving Raymond must have passed. Was there no\nother plan? His mind, usually so ingenious and resourceful, seemed\nutterly blank, save for an overwhelming curiosity as to whether Raymond\nwould come to the surface again, just once, just for a second.... As he\nlooked, leaning on the balustrade of the bridge, Raymond\u2019s head\nappeared; his face was white and wide-eyed, the lips of his open mouth\nblue with the cold. Across those ten yards which separated them their\neyes met, Colin\u2019s bright and sparkling with exuberant life, the other\u2019s\nstricken with the ultimate and desperate terror.\n\nColin waved his hand.\n\n\u201cSo you\u2019ve fallen in,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll go and see what can be done. If\nI\u2019m too late, well, good-bye! Rather cold, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nThe last words were spoken to emptiness. There was the cap still\nfloating and the stream of bubbles breaking on the surface of the\nsparkling water.\n\nColin gave one leap in the air like some young colt whose limbs tingle\nwith the joy of life, and rubbed his hands which were chilled with\nleaning on the bridge. Of course it was no use going to the house; the\nshock and cold and the soft, smothering water would have done their work\nlong before he could bring help, and the resources of Stanier, so\npowerful for the living had no succour or consolation for the dead.\nIndeed, it would be better not to go to the house at all, for he could\nnot imagine himself, in this ecstatic moment, simulating haste and\nhorror and all that would be appropriate to the occasion. So making a\ncircuit through the woods, he strolled ten minutes later into the stable\nyard to see about his bicycle. He had a pleasant word for the groom and\na joke for the motor-mechanic. Just then his brain could only be\noccupied with trivial things; a great glittering curtain seemed to be\nlet down across it, behind which were stored treasures and splendours.\nPresently, when he came to himself, he would inspect these.\n\nHe showed himself to Violet and his father, who were in the long\ngallery, when he got back to the house, said a word about his\nmotor-bicycle, hoped that Raymond was having a good time, and went into\nthe smoking-room. Now was the time to pull up that glittering curtain.\n\nTill then the fact of Raymond\u2019s death, just the removal, the extinction\nof him had hidden all that might lie behind it; now Colin saw with an\namazed gasp of interest how all the activity of his brain was needed to\ncope with the situation. Raymond was finished with, while his father\nstill lived. The remote, the unexpected, the unlooked-for had occurred.\nYet not quite unlooked-for ... one morning dreaming on the Capri beach,\nColin had taken this possibility into account, had let it simmer and\nmature in his brain, and as outcome had made Violet spend a night at the\nhouse of the British Consul in Naples. How wise that had proved; he\nwould have been grinding his teeth if he had not done that.\n\nSwiftly he ran over the whole process from the beginning, and though\nthere were problems ahead of him, so far his course had been flawless.\nFirst had come the erasure in the Consulate register and the insertion\nof that single numeral in his mother\u2019s letter to Salvatore.... He would\nhave to see dear Uncle Salvatore again.... That had smoothed the way for\nhis marriage with Violet; that had ensured, even if Raymond lived to be\na hundred, his own mastership and that of his children after him at\nStanier. It was not mastership in name, for he would but be husband to\nits mistress, but he knew that name alone would be lacking to the\ncompleteness of possession. He could not have provided better for the\neventuality of his father\u2019s death, which, according to all human\nprobability, would occur before Raymond\u2019s. But fate, that blind\nincalculable chance, had decreed otherwise, and Colin gave a frown and a\nmuttered exclamation to the recognition of the fact that had he left the\nregister alone, and torn up, instead of emending his mother\u2019s letter, he\nwould now be heir to Stanier as he indeed truly was, in his own right.\n\nIt was a pity to have devoted all that ingenuity, to have saddled\nhimself with considerable expense as regards that troublesome Salvatore,\nwhen fate all the time was busier and wiser than he.... Yet it had been\nnecessary, and it was no use wasting regret over it.\n\nWhat stood in his way now was the letter and the register. With regard\nto the former it was easy to destroy it, and to indicate to Salvatore\nthat all required of him was to hold his tongue, or, if necessary, to\ntell a mere simple truth that he had given Colin two letters, one--he\nseemed to recollect--dated March 1, in which his sister announced her\nmarriage, the other a fortnight later, giving news of the birth of the\ntwins. Uncle Salvatore, with his Viagi pride, so Colin smilingly\nreflected, would be glad that the stain on the family honour could be\nexpunged; Rosina was married when she brought forth. For him, too, it\nwas pleasant to have the bar sinister lifted from him. It would not, he\nallowed, have weighed heavily on him; in any case it would have been\namply compensated for by the enjoyment of Stanier and the expulsion of\nRaymond, but now there was no need for that ounce of bitter.... So much,\nthen, for the letters; they could be destroyed. Violet would ask in vain\nfor their production to prove her possession.\n\n\u201cWhat letters do you mean, darling?\u201d he would answer. Yes, those letters\nshould perish at once.\n\nHe turned his thoughts to the register. There at this moment it reposed\nin that archive-room, bearing the erasure so easily overlooked, so\nconvincing when pointed out. You had but to look carefully, and, so to\nspeak, you could see nothing but the erased numeral: it stared at you.\nHe had, it was true, in his keeping a copy of that entry, certified to\nbe correct by Mr. Cecil, which bore the earlier date, but, now that\nViolet had been informed of that erasure, she would, when Stanier\nchanged hands, insist on the production of the register, and, knowing\nwhere to look and what to see, her lawyer would draw the conclusion,\nwhich even in the absence of confirming letters, might easily satisfy a\njury. The register had been tampered with, and in whose interests but\nColin\u2019s? And by what hand? Without doubt by his father\u2019s (not that that\nwould hurt him then) or his own. There was danger, remote perhaps but\nalive and smouldering, on that page; it must be quenched.\n\nColin recalled his meditations on the Capri beach which foresaw this\ncontingency with a vividness as clear as was the October air on that\nmorning. All the circumstances of it were equally sharp-edged in his\nmemory, the sense of the hot pebbles of the beach on which he lay, the\nsea and its crystal embrace awaiting him when he got baked and pining\nfor its coolness, Nino, the joyous pagan boy asleep in the shade,\nVesuvius across the bay with the thin streamer of smoke. That was the\n_milieu_ where thought came clean and clear to you, and clear and clean\nthat morning had his thoughts been, providing for this very situation.\nThe pieces of it lay in his brain like the last few fragments of a\npuzzle; he had no need even to fit them together, for he could see how\ncurve corresponded with curve and angle with angle. All was in order,\nready to be joined up, now that Raymond no longer blocked his way, and\nthe key-piece round which the others fitted was undoubtedly that visit\nof Violet to Mr. Cecil.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThen came quick steps up the passage, and Violet burst in.\n\n\u201cOh, Colin,\u201d she said, \u201ca terrible thing has happened! Uncle Philip and\nI walked down to the lake. Raymond was not there; his boots were on the\nbank, there was a hole where the ice had given way at the deep end.\nUncle Philip is getting men and ropes....\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nIt was not till well on in the afternoon that the body was recovered.\nAll day the cold had been intense, and the ropes with the tackle for\nthis terrible fishing got stiff and frozen. But at sunset they found it;\nthe stream had carried it along below the ice towards the sluice.\n\nPhilip sat up with Colin in the long gallery when Violet and Lady\nYardley had gone to bed. He felt no sorrow, for he had not liked\nRaymond, he had not even loved him with his fatherhood, for all that had\nbeen given to Colin.... Often and often he had longed that Colin had\nbeen the eldest, now there was none other than Colin; he would have all\nthat his father coveted for him. But though he felt no sorrow, he felt\nremorse and pity; remorse that he had not liked this dead son of his,\npity that he had died young.\n\n\u201cI reproach myself, Colin, most bitterly,\u201d he had been saying. \u201cIt was\nhard to be kind to poor Raymond, he kept kindness at arm\u2019s length. But I\nought to have tried more. I ought to have taken example from you: you\nnever wearied of kindness.\u201d\n\nColin laid his hand on his father\u2019s arm. All the evening he had been\nkeeping things together by a tact so supreme that it appeared pure\nnaturalness. He had talked quite freely about Raymond; recalled a\nhundred little incidents in which Raymond was a mild hero; his shooting,\nhis prospect of playing football for Cambridge.... It was clear, too,\nthat the tragedy had made very little impression on his grandmother, and\nso he had taken it for granted that they would play their rubber of\nwhist. Why not?\n\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t think of it like that, father,\u201d he said. \u201cYou did what you\ncould. You made it very jolly for him here. He liked coming home; he\nwas going to stop here the whole of the Christmas vacation, you know. If\nhe had not been enjoying it, he would not have done that.\u201d\n\nColin revelled in the underlying meaning of his words ... how Raymond\nhad been enjoying it, hadn\u2019t he?\n\nPhilip\u2019s servant came into the room; he carried on a tray Raymond\u2019s\nwatch and chain, and a pocket-book.\n\n\u201cThey found these on his lordship\u2019s body, my lord,\u201d he said. \u201cI thought\nit best to bring them you.\u201d\n\nPhilip took them, and looked absently at the watch which had stopped at\na few minutes to eleven.\n\n\u201cHe must have fallen in almost immediately,\u201d he said. \u201cI had better look\nat what is in his pocket-book. It may contain papers that must be\nattended to.\u201d\n\nNot until that moment had Colin given another thought to what Raymond\nhad received that morning in the envelope from Bertram\u2019s bank. Now in a\nflash he conjectured that whatever it was (and he felt no doubt of what\nit was) it would be found in that pocket-book which his father even then\nwas opening. How lucky it was that he had not told his father about that\nattempt of Raymond\u2019s! How splendid would appear his own magnanimity, his\nown unfailing kindness to him! He could emphasise them even more by a\nreluctance that his father should examine these remains. The water, it\nis true, might have got in and soaked the paper, if it was there, into\nillegibility, but the leather of the pocket-book seemed to have resisted\nwell: it might easily prove to contain a legible document.\n\nHe got up in an excitement which his father did not understand.\n\n\u201cAre you wise to do that, do you think?\u201d he asked in a quick, anxious\nvoice. \u201cThere may be something there which will pain you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll his papers must be gone through,\u201d said his father. \u201cHave you any\nreason, Colin?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t explain,\u201d said Colin.\n\nPapers were coming out of the pocket-book now, in no way perished by\nthe long immersion; they were damp but they held together, and Colin\nglanced with a lynx\u2019s eye at them as his father unfolded them. There\nwere a couple of bills, he could see, which Philip laid on one side, and\nthen he came to a half-sheet of foolscap.... He read a line or two,\nlooked at the bottom of it and saw his own name....\n\n\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s signed by Raymond and witnessed by you\nand me.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t look at it, father,\u201d said Colin, knowing that it was inevitable\nthat his father must read anything that was witnessed by himself. \u201cLet\nme take it and burn it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I can\u2019t do that,\u201d said Philip. \u201cWhat does this mean? What....\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! don\u2019t read it, don\u2019t read it!\u201d said Colin in a voice of piteous\npleading.\n\n\u201cI must.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen listen to me instead. I will tell you.\u201d\n\nNever had his father looked so old and haggard as then. He had seen\nenough of what was written there to light horror in his eyes and blanch\nhis face to a deadly whiteness.\n\n\u201cTell me then,\u201d he said.\n\nColin sat down on the edge of his father\u2019s chair.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a terrible story,\u201d he said, \u201cand I hoped you should never know it.\nBut it seems inevitable. And remember, father, as I tell you, that\nRaymond is dead....\u201d\n\nHis voice failed for a moment.\n\n\u201cThat means forgiveness, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d he said. \u201cDeath is forgiveness;\nyou see what I mean. It\u2019s--it\u2019s you who have to teach me that; you will\nsee.\u201d\n\nHe collected himself again.\n\n\u201cIt was after I came back from Capri in the summer, and after Vi was\nengaged to me,\u201d he said, \u201cthat what is referred to there took place.\nHe--poor Raymond--always hated me. He thought I had your love, which\nshould have been his as well. And then I had Violet\u2019s love, after she\nhad accepted him for her husband. There was a thought in that which\nmade it so bitter that--that it poisoned him. He got poisoned; you must\nthink of it like that. And the thought, Raymond\u2019s poisoned thought, was\nthis: He knew that Violet had the passion for Stanier which you and I\nhave. Yet when she was face to face with the marriage to him, she gave\nup Stanier. Father dear, it wasn\u2019t my fault that I loved her, you didn\u2019t\nthink it was when I told you out in Capri? And it wasn\u2019t her fault when\nshe fell in love with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cLove is like that. Go on, my dear.\u201d\n\nColin spoke with difficulty now.\n\n\u201cThen came a day,\u201d he said, \u201cwhen a lunatic escaped from that asylum at\nRepstow. You had news of it one night, and told Raymond and me. He was a\nhomicidal fellow, and he got hold of one of your keeper\u2019s guns. Next\nmorning Raymond went to shoot pigeons, and I bicycled on my motor to\nplay golf. And then--then, father, we must suppose that the devil\nhimself came to Raymond. It wasn\u2019t Raymond who planned what Raymond\ndid.... He expected me to come back along the road from the lodge, and\nhe--he hid in the bushes at that sharp corner with his gun resting on\nthe wall, and his plan was to shoot me. It would have been at the\ndistance of a few yards only.\u201d\n\nLord Yardley interrupted; his voice was hoarse and nearly inaudible.\n\n\u201cWait a minute, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cAll this reminds me of something I\nhave heard, and yet only half heard.\u201d\n\nColin nodded. \u201cI know,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll tell that presently.... There was\npoor Raymond waiting for me to come round the corner. There was this\nmadman loose in the park somewhere, and if the--the plan had succeeded,\nit would have been supposed that it was the madman who had killed me.\nBut an accident happened: my bicycle punctured, and I walked back for\nthe trudge along the ridge of the Old Park.\u201d\n\nColin choked for a moment.\n\n\u201cI caught the glint of sun on a gun-barrel by the wall at that sharp\ncorner,\u201d he said, \u201cand I wondered who or what that could be. It could\nnot be the escaped madman, for they had told me at the lodge that he had\nbeen caught; and then I remembered that Raymond was out shooting\npigeons, and I remembered that Raymond hated me. It occurred to me\ndefinitely then, and I felt sick at the thought, that he was waiting for\nme. And then, father, the mere instinct of self-preservation awoke. If\nit was Raymond, if I was terribly right, I could not go on like that in\nconstant fear of my life.... I had to make myself safe.\n\n\u201cI stole down, taking cover behind the oaks, till I got close and then I\nsaw it was Raymond. I was white with rage, and I was sick at heart. I\nhad a revolver with me, for you or Vi--you, I think--had persuaded me to\ntake it out in case I met the wretched madman, and, father, I _had_ met\na wretched madman. I covered him with it, and then I spoke to him. I\ntold him that if he moved except as I ordered him, I would kill him. He\ncollapsed; every atom of fight was out of him, and he emptied his gun of\nits cartridges and laid it down. And all the time there wasn\u2019t a\ncartridge at all in my revolver: I had taken them out and forgotten to\nput them back. It was after he had collapsed that I found that out.\u201d\n\nA wan smile, as unlike to Colin\u2019s genial heat of mirth as the moonlight\nis to the noonday sun, shivered and trembled on his mouth and vanished\nagain, leaving it so serious, so tender.\n\n\u201cHe confessed,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I had to make myself safe. I told him he\nmust put that confession into writing and sign it, and you and I would\nwitness it. That was done. I told you--do you remember?--that Raymond\nand I had a secret pact, and we wanted your witness to his signature.\nThat was it; and it is that you hold in your hand now. I sent it to my\nbank, Bertram\u2019s, again in self-defence, for I knew that he would not\ndare to make any attempt on me, since, if it were successful, however\nfar from suspicion he seemed to stand, there would come into your hands\nthe confession that he had attempted to kill me. Look at the envelope,\nfather. In case of my death, you will read there, it was to be delivered\nto you.\u201d\n\nPhilip did not need to look.\n\n\u201cGo on, Colin,\u201d he said. \u201cHow did it come into Raymond\u2019s possession?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can only conjecture that. But this morning, after poor Ray had gone\nout to skate, I wanted a light for my cigarette, and I had no matches. I\ndrew out something from the waste-paper basket. It was an envelope\ndirected to Raymond, and on the back was the seal of the bank. His\nhandwriting, as you know, was exactly like mine, a spider scrawl you\nused to call it. I think he must have written to the bank in my name,\nasking that what I had deposited there was to be sent to him. He would\nnever be safe till he had got that. And--and, oh, father, I should never\nhave been safe when he had got it.\u201d\n\nThere was a long silence; Colin\u2019s head was bent on his father\u2019s\nshoulder; he lay there quivering, while in Philip\u2019s face the grimness\ngrew. Presently Colin spoke again:\n\n\u201cYou said you had heard, or half heard, some of this,\u201d he said. \u201cI will\nremind you. One night at dinner, the night Ray got back from Cambridge,\nI made the usual nonsensical fool of myself. I seemed to try to\nrecollect something funny that had happened on the morning when Ray went\nout to shoot pigeons. \u2018A man with a gun,\u2019 I said, and you and Vi voted\nthat I was a bore. But I think Raymond knew why I said it, and went on\nwith it till you were all sick and tired of me. I made a joke of it, you\nsee; I could not talk of it to him. I could not be heavy and say, \u2018I\nforgive you; I wipe it out.\u2019 That would have been horrible for him. The\nonly plan I could think of was to make a joke of it, hoping he would\nunderstand. I think he did; I think he saw what I meant. But yet he\nwanted to be safe. Oh, Lord, how I understand that! How anxious I was to\nbe safe and not to have to tell you. But I have had to. If you had\nlistened to me, father, you would have burned that paper. Then no one\nwould ever have known.\u201d (Of course Colin remembered that Violet knew,\nbut he went on without a pause:)\n\n\u201cI\u2019m all to pieces to-night,\u201d he said. \u201cI have horrible fears and all\nsorts of dreadful things occur to me. That paper is safe nowhere,\nfather. It wasn\u2019t even safe--poor Ray--at my bank. Supposing Vi, by some\nappalling mischance, got to see it. It would poison Raymond\u2019s memory for\nher. He did love her, I am sure of that, and though she didn\u2019t love him,\nshe thinks tenderly and compassionately of him. She is not safe while it\nexists. Burn it, father. Just look at it once first, if you want to know\nthat I have spoken quiet, sober truth, which I did not want to speak, as\nyou know, and then burn it.\u201d\n\nPhilip\u2019s first instinct was to throw it straight into the smouldering\nlogs. He believed every word Colin had said, but there was justice to be\ndone to one who could not plead for himself. He was bound to see that\nRaymond had acted the story that Colin had told him. Dry-eyed and grim,\nhe read it from first word to last, and then stood up.\n\n\u201cHere it is,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have been scrupulously accurate. I should\nlike you to see me burn it.\u201d\n\nThe paper was damp, and for a little while it steamed above the logs.\nThen, with a flap, a flame broke from it. A little black ash clung to\nthe embers and grew red, then a faint, grey ash ascended and\npirouetted.... Philip\u2019s stern eyes melted, and he turned to his only\nson.\n\n\u201cAnd now I have got to forget,\u201d he said.\n\nThat seemed the very word Colin was waiting for.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s easy,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s easy for me, dear father, so it can\u2019t be\ndifficult, for I\u2019m an awful brute. We shall have to make a pact, you and\nI. We must burn what we know out of our hearts, just as you have burned\nthe evidence of it. It doesn\u2019t exist any more. It was some wretched\ndream.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Colin!\u201d said his father, and in those words was all the wonder of\nlove which cannot credit the beauty, the splendour, that it\ncontemplates.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin saw his father to his room, and then walked back down the great\ncorridor, quenching the lights as he went, for he had told the butler\nthat no one need sit up. He drew back the curtains of the window at the\nhead of the stairs as he passed and looked out on to the clearness of\nthe frosty midnight. Moonlight lay over the whiteness of the gardens and\nterraces, but the yew hedge, black and unfrosted, seemed like some\nfuneral route to be followed to where the ice gleamed with a strange\nvividness as if it were the skylight to some illuminated place below.\nThen, letting the curtain fall again, he went softly past the head of\nthe lit passage where his room and Violet\u2019s lay, to put out the light at\nthe far end of this corridor. In the last room to the left he knew\nRaymond was lying, and he went in.\n\nThe last toilet had been finished and the body lay on its bed below a\nsheet. Candles were burning, as if that which lay there dreaded the\ndarkness, and on the table by the bed was a great bowl of white hothouse\nflowers. Colin had not seen Raymond since that white face looked at him\nacross the rim of broken ice; there had been disfigurement, he imagined,\nand, full of curiosity, he turned back the sheet. There were little\nscars on the nose and ears particularly, but nothing appalling, and he\nlooked long at Raymond\u2019s face. The heavy eyelids were closed, the mouth\npouted sullenly; death had not changed him at all; he hardly looked\nasleep, drowsy at the most. Not a ray of pity softened Colin\u2019s smiling\nface of triumph.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFor a month after Raymond\u2019s death, the four of them, representing three\ngenerations of Staniers, remained quietly there. His name was mentioned\nless and less among them, for, after Colin\u2019s disclosure to his father,\nPhilip avoided all speech about him, and, as far as he could, all\nthought. Horror came with the thought of him. The most his father could\ndo was to try to forget him. But for an accident in that matter of a\npunctured tyre, Colin would now be lying where Raymond lay, and all\nsunshine would have passed from his declining years. He was no more than\nsixty-six, but he was old; Colin used to wonder at the swift advance of\nold age, like some evening shadow, which lengthened so rapidly. But\nbeyond the shadow Philip\u2019s sky was full of light. His desire had been\nrealised, though by tragic ways, and his death, neither dreaded nor\nwished-for, would realise it.\n\nThere were, however, events in the future which he anticipated with\neagerness; the first was Colin\u2019s coming of age next March. For\ngenerations that festival had been one of high prestige in the family,\nand in spite of the recency of Raymond\u2019s death, he meant to celebrate it\nwith due splendour.\n\nThe other was even more intimately longed-for; early in July, Violet\nwould, if all were well, become a mother; and to see Colin\u2019s son, to\nknow that the succession would continue, was the dearest hope of his\nlife. And these two expectations brought back some St. Martin\u2019s summer\nof the spirit to him; he began to look forward, as is the way of youth,\ninstead of dwelling in the past. The lengthening shadow stayed, it even\nretreated.... But Colin had an important piece of business to effect\nbefore his father\u2019s death, and he was waiting, without impatience but\nwatchfully, for an opportunity to set out on it. As usual, he wanted the\nsuggestion which would give him this opportunity to come, not from\nhimself, but from others; he would seem then to do what he desired\nbecause it was urged on him.\n\nA week of dark, foggy weather towards the end of February favoured his\nplans. Influenza was about, and he had a touch of it, in no way serious,\nindeed possibly useful. After a couple of days in his room he reappeared\nagain, but with all the fire gone out of him. He was silent and\ndepressed, and saw that his father\u2019s eyes watched him with anxiety.\n\n\u201cStill feeling rather down?\u201d asked Philip one morning, when Colin pushed\nan untasted plate away from him at breakfast.\n\nColin made a tragic face at the window. Nothing could be seen outside,\nthe fog was opaque and impenetrable.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not very encouraging, father,\u201d he said. \u201cNot convalescing\nweather.\u201d\n\nHe appeared to pull himself together. \u201cBut there\u2019s nothing to worry\nabout,\u201d he said. \u201cI should feel depressed in this damp darkness whether\nI had had the flue or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou want the sun,\u201d said Philip.\n\n\u201cAh, the sun! Is there one? Do show it me.\u201d\n\nPhilip walked to the window; thin rain was leaking through the fog. It\ncertainly was not inspiriting.\n\n\u201cWell, why not go and see it for yourself?\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s sun\nsomewhere. Go off to the Riviera for a fortnight with Violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that would be divine if we only could,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut--I daresay\nit\u2019s funny of me--I don\u2019t want Vi to go through the sort of journey you\nhave at this time of year. The trains are crammed; a fellow I know had\nto stand all the way from Paris to Marseilles. I shouldn\u2019t like her to\ndo that. Besides we can\u2019t both leave you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo alone then. Violet will understand.\u201d\n\nColin sighed.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think I feel much like travelling either,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ll stick\nit out, father. I can go to bed again. I think that\u2019s the most\ncomfortable place. Besides the Riviera is like a monkey-house just now.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo to the villa at Capri then.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, don\u2019t talk of it,\u201d said Colin, getting up. \u201cCan\u2019t I see the\nstone-pine frying in the sunshine. And the freesias will be out, and the\nwall-flowers. Nino, your old boatman\u2019s son, wrote to me the other day.\nHe said the spring had come, and the vines were budding, and it was\nalready hot! Hot! I could have cried for envy. Don\u2019t let\u2019s talk of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I will talk about it,\u201d said Philip. \u201cI\u2019m master here yet....\u201d\n\n\u201cFather, I don\u2019t like that joke,\u201d said Colin.\n\n\u201cVery well. We\u2019ll leave it out and be serious. I shall talk to Violet,\ntoo.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, no!\u201d said Colin without conviction. \u201cHullo, here is Vi. Please\ndon\u2019t mention the name of that beloved island again or I shall cry.\nMorning, Vi. You\u2019re enough sunshine for anyone.\u201d\n\nColin strolled out of the room so as to leave the others together, and\npresently Philip passed through the long gallery, and was certainly\nengaged in telephoning for a while. It was a trunk-call, apparently, for\nthere was an interval between the ringing up and the subsequent\nconversation. All that day neither Philip nor Violet made the least\nallusion to Capri, but there was certainly something in the air.... The\nlast post that night, arriving while they were at cards, brought a\npacket for Lord Yardley, which he opened.\n\n\u201cThere, that\u2019s the way to treat obstinate fellows like you, Colin,\u201d he\nobserved, and tossed over to him the book of tickets to Naples and back.\n\n\u201cFather and Violet, you\u2019re brutes,\u201d he said. \u201cI give up.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nColin was ever so easily persuaded by Mr. Cecil to spend a couple of\nnights, if not more, in Naples, before he went across to the island, and\nhe had a youthful, pathetic tale to tell. They had had a terrible time\nin England. No doubt Mr. Cecil had seen the notice of his brother\u2019s\ndeath--Mr. Cecil could imagine his father\u2019s grief, and indeed his own\nand Violet\u2019s. Kind messages, by the way, from them both: they would none\nof them forgive him, if he came to England this year and did not reserve\nat least a week for them, either in London or at Stanier.... Then Colin\nhimself had caught influenza, and his father and wife had insisted on\nhis going south for a week or two and letting the sun soak into him. But\nafter that month of secluded mourning at Stanier, it was rather\nheavenly--Colin looked like a seraph who had strayed into a sad world,\nas he said this--to pass a couple of days in some sort of city where\nthere were many people, and all gay, some stir of life and distraction\nfrom his own sorrowful thoughts.\n\n\u201cOne has to buck up again some time,\u201d said Colin, \u201cand often I longed to\nescape from Stanier and just go up to town and dine with some jolly\npeople, and go to a music-hall, and have supper somewhere, and forget it\nall for a time. Shocking of me, I suppose.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, I understand. I quite comprehend that, Colin,\u201d said Cecil. \u201cI\nbeg your pardon: I should say Lord Stanier.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI hate the title. It was dear Raymond\u2019s. You\nnever saw him, I think?\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil had begun to feel like a family friend. He felt himself a sort\nof uncle to this brilliant boy, so shadowed by woe, so eager to escape\nout of the shadow. It was his mission, clearly, to aid in this cure,\nphysical and mental, of sunlight.\n\n\u201cNo, never,\u201d said he, \u201conly you and your wife and your father. A\nprivilege!\u201d\n\nColin drank the hospitable cocktail that stood at his elbow. His\ndefinite plans were yet in the making, but he began to suspect that\nalcohol in various forms would be connected with them. He had the\nStanier head as regards drink; it only seemed to collect and clarify his\nwits, and he remembered that Mr. Cecil, on that night which he had spent\nalone here, had quickly passed through joviality and perhaps want of\ndignity, to bland somnolence.... He got up with an air of briskness and\nmutual understanding.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not going to be a wet-blanket, Mr. Cecil,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve told you\nenough to make you see that I pine for enjoyment again. That little\nrestaurant where you and I went before--may we dine there again? I want\nto see other people enjoying themselves, and I want the sun. Those are\nmy medicines; be a kind, good doctor to me.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil\u2019s treatment, so he congratulated himself, seemed wonderfully\nefficacious that evening. Colin cast all sad thoughts behind him, and\nbetween one thing and another, and specially between one drink and\nanother, it was after twelve o\u2019clock before they returned from their\ndinner to Mr. Cecil\u2019s flat again. Even then, a story was but half-told,\nand Mr. Cecil drew his keys from his pocket to unlock a very private\ndrawer where there were photographs about which he now felt sure Colin\nwould be sympathetic.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll like them,\u201d he giggled, as he produced these prints. \u201cHelp\nyourself, Colin. I see they have put out some whisky for us.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Lord, how funny,\u201d said Colin looking at what Mr. Cecil shewed him.\n\u201cBut I can\u2019t drink unless you do. Say when, Mr. Cecil.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil was looking at the next photograph, and Colin took advantage\nof his preoccupation. The big bunch of keys by which this private, this\nvery private, drawer was opened still dangled from the lock.\n\n\u201cAnd this one,\u201d said Mr. Cecil, applying himself to the liberal dose.\n\n\u201cBut what a glorious creature,\u201d said Colin. \u201cMay I help myself?\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil had a confused idea that Colin had finished his first drink\nand wanted another. So he finished his own and wanted another.\n\n\u201cOf course, my dear boy,\u201d he said. \u201cJust a night-cap, eh? A drop of\nwhisky at bed-time, I\u2019ve noticed, makes one sleep all the sounder.\u201d\n\nColin was on the apex of watchfulness. Photograph after photograph was\nhanded to him, but long before they came to the end of them the effects\nof the night-cap were apparent in Mr. Cecil. The keys still hung from\nthe lock, and Colin, as he replaced the last of this unblushing series,\ngot up and stood between this table-drawer and his host.\n\n\u201cAnd that statuette there?\u201d he said, pointing to the other side of the\nroom. \u201cSurely we\u2019ve seen a photograph of that?\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil chuckled again; but the chuckle could hardly emerge from his\nsleep-slack mouth.\n\n\u201cAh, I\u2019ll tell you about that to-morrow,\u201d he said, looking round at it.\n\nColin, with one of his caressing, boyish movements, put his hand on Mr.\nCecil\u2019s shoulder, and ever so imperceptibly drew him towards the door.\n\n\u201cI feel a different fellow altogether,\u201d he said. \u201cI shall sleep like a\ntop, and I have enjoyed myself. You ought to give up your consular work\nand start a cure for depressed young men. You\u2019d make a fortune.\u201d\n\nThey were out in the passage by this time, and it was clear that the\nnight-cap had banished all thought of his keys from Mr. Cecil\u2019s head. He\nsaw Colin to his room, lingered a moment to see that he had all he\nwanted, and then went to his own.\n\n\u201cA charming young fellow,\u201d he thought; performed a somnambulistic feat\nof undressing, and fell into his bed.\n\nColin heard his door shut, and then in a moment turned off his light,\nand, stealthily opening his own door, stood in the entry listening for\nany sound. For a minute or two there were faint, muffled noises from his\nhost\u2019s room, but soon all was still, except for the creaking of his own\nshirt-front as he breathed. Then, re-entering his room, he stripped and\nput on his pyjamas and soft felt slippers which would be noiseless on\nthe boards outside. Once more he stood there and waited, and now from\ninside Mr. Cecil\u2019s room came sounds rhythmical and reassuring. Enough\nlight dribbled in through the uncurtained windows to guide his steps\nwithout fear of collision, and he glided into the room they had just\nleft and felt his way to the table where the keys still dangled. He\nunloosed them, grasping them in the flap of his jacket, so that they\nshould not jingle as he moved, and went down the passage to the door of\nthe consular offices. The big key for the door was in the lock, and\nturned noiselessly.\n\nThe archive-room lay to the right, and with the door into the house shut\nbehind him, he permitted himself the illumination of a match, and passed\nthrough. The shutters were closed, and he lit a candle that stood on the\ntable for official sealing. There, in the wall, was the locked press\nthat he so well remembered, and the trial of half-a-dozen of the keys on\nthe bunch he carried gave him the one he looked for. The date labels\nwere on the back of the volumes, and he drew out that which comprised\nthe year he wanted. Quietly he turned over the leaves and found the page\nwhich contained the contract between Rosina Viagi and Philip Lord\nStanier. Even in this one-candle-power light the erasure was visible to\nthe eye that looked for it. A paper-knife lay among the tools of writing\non the table, and folding the leaf back to its innermost margin he\nsevered it from the book and thrust it inside the cord of his trousers.\n\nBright-eyed and breathing quickly with excitement and success, he\nreplaced the volume and locked the press. He grasped the keys as before,\nblew out the candle, quenching the smouldering wick in his fingers, and\nwent back, locking the door of the office behind him, into the room from\nwhich he had fetched the keys. He replaced them in the drawer of\nunblushing photographs and, pausing for a moment at his own door,\nlistened for the noise that had reassured him before. There it was,\nresonant and rhythmical. He closed his door, turned up his light, and\ndrew the severed page from his trousers. He had been gone, so his watch\ntold him, not more than five minutes.\n\n\u201cRosina Viagi to Philip Lord Stanier....\u201d March 1, or March 31, mattered\nno more. \u201cI have but cancelled a forgery,\u201d he thought to himself as he\npored over it. It was a pity to be obliged to destroy so ingenious a\nwork, which at one time gave him the mastership of Stanier, but\nRaymond\u2019s death had given it him more completely, and it no longer\nserved his end, but was only a danger. Yet should he destroy it, or....\n\nHis mind went back to the night that he and Violet had passed together\nhere. How supreme had been his wisdom over that! For supposing, on his\nfather\u2019s death, that Violet threatened to contest his succession on the\ninformation he had given her to induce her for certain to marry him,\nwhat now would the register show but an excised leaf? In whose interest\nhad it been to remove that, except Violet\u2019s, for with its disappearance\nthere vanished, as far as she knew, all record of the marriage. Had she\nhad an opportunity of doing so? Certainly, for had she not spent a night\nhere on the return from their honeymoon? Should she be so unwise as to\nsend her lawyer here to examine the register on the ground that it had\nbeen tampered with, she would be faced with a tampering of an unexpected\nkind. The leaf had gone; but how lucky that before its suspicious\ndisappearance, Colin had copied out the entry of the marriage and had it\ncertified as correct by the Consul himself. He had it safe, with its\ndate, March 1. That would be a surprise to poor Violet when she knew it,\nand the finger of suspicion, wavering hitherto, would surely point in\none very definite direction.... As for the letter from Rosina to\nSalvatore Viagi, of which she would profess knowledge on Colin\u2019s\nauthority, what did she mean and where was the letter? Uncle Salvatore,\nwhom Colin would see to-morrow, would be found to know nothing about it.\n\nAbout the destruction of this page.... Colin fingered his own smooth\nthroat as he considered that. Supposing Violet seriously and obstinately\nthreatened to contest the succession? And what if, when the page was\nfound to be missing, it was discovered in some locked and secret\nreceptacle of her own? That would be devilish funny.... Colin hoped, he\nthought, that it would not come to that. He liked Violet, but she must\nbe good, she must be wise.\n\nThe click of an electric switch and the noise of a step outside sent his\nheart thumping in his throat, and next moment he had thrust the page\ninto his despatch-box and turned the key on it. The step passed his\nroom, and was no longer audible, and with infinite precaution he turned\nthe handle, and holding the door just ajar, he listened. It had not gone\nthe whole length of the passage down to the entry to the consular\noffices, and even while he stood there he heard the chink of keys. Then\nthe step was audible again, and the chink accompanied it. At that\ncomprehension came to him, confirmed next moment by the repeated click\nof the electric switch and the soft closing of his host\u2019s door.\n\n\u201cMy luck holds,\u201d thought Colin, and blessed the powers that so\nwonderfully protected him. In another minute he was in bed, but even as\nsleep rose softly about him, he woke himself with a laugh.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s where I\u2019ll put the leaf from the register,\u201d he thought.\n\u201cPriceless! Absolutely priceless!\u201d\n\nIt was no news to him when at breakfast next morning Mr. Cecil certified\nthe accuracy of his interpretation of the step.\n\n\u201cAmazingly careless I was last night,\u201d he said. \u201cI went straight to bed\nafter we had looked at those photographs, and fell asleep at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cNight-cap,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI did exactly the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my night-cap fell off,\u201d said Mr. Cecil. \u201cIt fell off with a bang.\nI hadn\u2019t been to sleep more than a quarter of an hour when I woke with a\nstart.\u201d\n\n\u201cSome noise?\u201d asked Colin carelessly.\n\n\u201cNo. I hadn\u2019t heard anything, but my conscience awoke me, and I\nremembered I had left my keys in the lock of that private drawer of\nmine. I got out of bed in a fine hurry, for not only was that drawer\nunlocked--that would never do, eh?--but on the bunch were keys of\ncupboards and locked cases in the Consulate. But there the keys were\njust where I had left them. I can\u2019t think how I came to forget them when\nI went to bed.\u201d\n\nColin looked up with an irresistible gaiety of eye and mouth:\n\n\u201cI know,\u201d he said. \u201cYou were so busy looking after your patient.... And\nyou gave me a lot of medicine, Dr. Cecil, wine, liqueurs, cocktails,\nwhiskies and sodas. I was as sleepy as an owl when I tumbled into bed.\nHow thirsty it makes one in the morning to be sleepy at night.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil broke into a chuckle of laughter.\n\n\u201cPrecisely my experience,\u201d he said. \u201cOdd. Now can you amuse yourself\nto-day till I\u2019m free again?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so much as if you were with me,\u201d said Colin. \u201cBut I must pay a duty\ncall on my uncle. I don\u2019t say it will be amusing. Do you know him?\nSalvatore Viagi.\u201d\n\nMr. Cecil had not that happiness, and presently Colin went in search of\nthe mansion which Salvatore had once alluded to as the Palazzo Viagi.\n\nLeaving nothing to chance that could be covered by design, he had\ntelegraphed from Rome yesterday to say he would make this visit, and\nwanted a private interview with Salvatore. The Palazzo Viagi proved to\nbe a rather shabby flat in an inconspicuous street, but Salvatore\nskipped from his chair with open arms to receive him, and assumed an\nexpression that was suitable to the late family bereavement and his joy\nat seeing Colin.\n\n\u201c_Collino mio!_\u201d he cried. \u201cWhat a happy morning is this for your poor\nuncle, yet, oh, what a terrible blow has fallen on us since last I saw\nyou! Dear friend, dear nephew, my heart bled for you when I saw the\nnews! So young, and with such brilliant prospects. Lamentable indeed.\nEnough.\u201d\n\nHe squeezed Colin\u2019s hand and turned away for a moment to hide his\nemotion at the death of one on whom he had never set eyes. He wore an\nenormous black tie in token of his grief, but was otherwise as\ntroubadourial as ever.\n\n\u201cBut we must put away sad thoughts,\u201d he continued. \u201cI am all on\ntenter-hooks to know what brings you to my humble doors. Not further bad\nnews: no, not that? Your beloved father is well, I hope. Your beloved\nwife also, and your revered grandmother. Yes? Put me out of my\nsuspense.\u201d\n\nThe health of these was not so much an anxiety at this moment to\nSalvatore as the desire to know that all was well with the very pleasant\nfinancial assistance which Colin provided. It was easy, in fact, to\nguess the real nature of his suspense, and consequently Colin found a\ndelicate pleasure in prolonging it a little.\n\n\u201cYes, they\u2019re all well,\u201d he said. \u201cMy father bore the blow wonderfully\nconsidering how devoted he was to Raymond. Violet, too, and my\ngrandmother. You can make your affectionate heart at ease about them\nall.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank God! thank God!\u201d said Salvatore. \u201cI--I got your telegram. I have\nmade arrangements so that our privacy shall be uninterrupted. I have, in\nfact, sent Vittoria and Cecilia to visit friends at Posilippo. Such\nreproaches, such entreaties, when they heard their cousin Colin was\nexpected, but I was adamant.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how are Vittoria and Cecilia?\u201d asked Colin. The troubadour was\nalmost dancing with impatience.\n\n\u201cThey are well, I am glad to say; they have the constitution of\nostriches, or whatever is healthiest in the animal kingdom. But time\npresses, no doubt, with you, dear fellow; you will be in a hurry; duties\nand pleasure no doubt claim you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI am quite at leisure for the day. I am staying\nwith Mr. Cecil our Consul. He is officially engaged all day, and all the\nhours are at our disposal.... So at last I see the home of my mother\u2019s\nfamily. Was it here she lived, Uncle Salvatore?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, in quite another street. My wretched penury drove me here. Even\nwith your bounty, dear Collino, I can scarcely make the two ends meet.\u201d\n\nColin looked very grave.\n\n\u201cIndeed, I am very sorry to hear that,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cAh! You have come to me with bad news,\u201d exclaimed Salvatore, unable to\ncheck himself any more. \u201cBreak it to me quickly. Vittoria....\u201d\n\nAt last Colin had pity.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s come to business, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said. \u201cThere\u2019s no bad\nnews, at least if there is you will be making it for yourself. Now, do\nyou remember two letters of my mother which you once sent me? We had a\ntalk about them, and I want you to give me your account of them. Can you\ndescribe them to me?\u201d\n\nSalvatore made a tragic gesture and covered his eyes with his hand. The\nludicrous creature made a farce of all he touched.\n\n\u201cThey are graven on my heart,\u201d he said. \u201cDeep and bitterly are they\ngraven there. The first that I received, dated on the seventeenth of\nMarch, told me of the birth of her twins, one named Raymond and\nyourself. The second, dated March the thirty-first, announced her\nmarriage which had taken place that day with your father ...\u201d and he\nground his teeth slightly.\n\nColin leaned forward to him.\n\n\u201cUncle Salvatore you are a marvellous actor!\u201d he said. \u201cWhy did you\nnever go on the stage? I can tell you why. You have no memory at all.\u201d\n\nSalvatore gave him a hunted kind of look. Was not his very existence\n(and that of Vittoria and Cecilia) dependent on the accuracy of this\nrecollection?... Was Colin putting him to some sort of test to see if he\nwould stick to his impression of those letters.\n\n\u201cDear fellow, those letters and those dates are engraved, as I have\npreviously assured you, on my heart. Alas! that it should be so....\u201d\n\nA sudden light dawned on him.\n\n\u201cYou have come to tell me that I am wrong,\u201d he said. \u201cIs it indeed true\nthat my memory is at fault?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbsolutely with regard to the date of one of those letters,\u201d said\nColin. \u201cThe date on that which announced my mother\u2019s marriage was surely\nMarch the first, Uncle Salvatore. You are right about the date of the\nother.\u201d\n\nColin suddenly broke into a shout of laughter. His uncle\u2019s puckered brow\nand his effort to recollect what he knew and what he had been told were\nmarvellous to behold. Presently he recovered himself.\n\n\u201cSeriously, Uncle Salvatore,\u201d he said. \u201cI want you to see if you cannot\nrecollect that the marriage letter was dated March the first. It is very\nimportant that you should do that; it will be disastrous for you if you\ndon\u2019t. I just want you to recollect clearly that I am right about it.\nThe letters will never be produced, for I have destroyed them both....\nBut surely when you sent me them you thought that it was as I say.\nProbably you will never be called upon to swear to your belief, but just\npossibly you may. It would be nice if you could recollect that; it would\nremove the stain from the honour of your illustrious house, and, also,\nparenthetically, from my poor shield.\u201d\n\nColin paused a moment with legs crossed in an attitude of lazy ease; he\nlay back in his low chair and scratched one ankle with the heel of his\nshoe.\n\n\u201cMosquitoes already!\u201d he said, \u201cwhat troublesome things there are in the\nworld! Mosquitoes you know, Uncle Salvatore, or want of money for\ninstance. If I were a scheming, inventive fellow, I should try to\narrange to give a pleasant annuity to mosquitoes on the condition of\ntheir not biting me. If one bit me after that, I should withdraw my\nannuity. What nonsense I am talking! It is getting into the sun and the\nwarmth and your delightful society that makes me foolish and cheerful.\nLet us get back to what I was saying. I am sure you thought when you\ngave me those dear letters that the date of your adored sister\u2019s\nmarriage was the first of March. In all seriousness I advise you to\nremember that it was so. That\u2019s all; I believe we understand each other.\nVittoria\u2019s future, you know, and all the rest of it. And on my father\u2019s\ndeath, I shall be a very rich man. But memory, what a priceless\npossession is that! If you only had a good memory, Uncle Salvatore!...\nPersuade me that you have a good memory. Reinstate, as far as you can,\nthe unblemished honour of the Viagis. Yes, that\u2019s all.\u201d\n\nColin got up and examined the odious objects that hung on the walls.\nThere was a picture framed in shells; there was a piece of needlework\nframed in sea-weed; there was a chromo-lithograph of something sacred.\nAll was shabby and awful. A stench of vegetables and the miscellany\ncalled _frutta di mare_ stole in through the windows from the barrows\noutside this splendid Palazzo Viagi.\n\n\u201cBut the record at the Consulate,\u201d said Salvatore, with Italian\ncautiousness. \u201cYou told me that though the date there appeared to be the\nsame as that which I certainly seem to recollect on the letter....\u201d\n\nColin snapped himself round from an absent inspection of, no doubt,\nVittoria\u2019s needlework.\n\n\u201cBut what the deuce has that got to do with you, Uncle Salvatore?\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cI want your recollection of the dates on the letters which we\nhave been speaking of and of nothing else at all. Do I not see\nVittoria\u2019s handiwork in this beautiful frame of shells? How lucky she\nhas a set of clever fingers if her father has a bad memory! She will\nhave herself to support and him as well, will she not? And what do you\nknow of any register at the Consulate? The noble Viagis would not mix\nthemselves up with low folk like poor Mr. Cecil. In fact, he told me\nthat he had not the honour of your acquaintance. Do not give it him. Why\nshould you know Mr. Cecil? About that letter now....\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was certainly my impression,\u201d began Salvatore.\n\nColin interrupted. \u201cI don\u2019t deal with your impressions,\u201d he said. \u201cWas\nnot the letter concerning my mother\u2019s marriage dated the first of March?\nThat\u2019s all; yes or no.\u201d\n\nSalvatore became the complete troubadour again, and his malachite studs\nmade him forget his black tie. Again he skipped from his chair with open\narms.\n\n\u201cI swear to it,\u201d he said. \u201cThe restoration of my adored idol! It has\nbeen a nightmare to me to think.... Ah, it was just that, a bad\ndream.... Were not those letters imprinted on my heart?\u201d\n\nColin evaded his embrace; he was like some monstrous goat in broadcloth.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all settled then,\u201d he said. \u201cYou were only teasing me when you\npretended not to remember. You will be sure not to forget again, won\u2019t\nyou? Forgetfulness is such a natural failing, but what dreadful\nconsequences may come of it. Let the thought of them be your nightmare\nin the future, Uncle Salvatore. There\u2019ll be pleasant realities instead\nif you will only remember, and a pleasant reality is nicer than a bad\ndream which comes true.... I\u2019ll be going now, I think....\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot permit it,\u201d exclaimed Salvatore. \u201cSome wine, some biscuits!\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither, thanks,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI had wine last night, though I can\u2019t\nremember the biscuits. Probably there were some. Vittoria and Cecilia!\nWhat an anxiety removed with regard to their future!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd your movements, dear Collino?\u201d exclaimed Salvatore. \u201cYou go to\nCapri?\u201d\n\nColin thought of the tawdry, bibulous evening that probably awaited him,\nand his uncle\u2019s question put a new idea into his head. His innate love\nof wickedness made it desirable to him to hurt those who were fond of\nhim, if their affection could bring him no advantage. Uncle Salvatore,\nat any rate, could do nothing more for him, and he was not sure that Mr.\nCecil could. Mr. Cecil had been a wonderful host last night; he had\nfulfilled the utmost requirements of his guest in getting sleepy and\ndrunk, and was there any more use for Mr. Cecil? Drink and photographs\nand leerings at the attractive maidens of Naples was a very stupid sort\nof indulgence....\n\n\u201cYes, to-morrow,\u201d he said. \u201cPerhaps even by the afternoon boat to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut alone?\u201d said Salvatore. \u201cHow gladly would I relieve your solitude.\nI would bring Vittoria and Cecilia; how charming a family party.\u201d\n\nColin felt some flamelike quiver of hatred spread through him. His\nnerves vibrated with it; it reached to his toes and fingertips.\n\n\u201cA delightful suggestion,\u201d he said, \u201cfor you and Vittoria and whatever\nthe other one\u2019s name is. But I don\u2019t want any of you, thank you. I\nhaven\u2019t seen either of them, but I guess what they are like from you.\nYou\u2019re like--you\u2019re like a mixture of a troubadour and a mountebank, and\nthe man who cracks the whip at the horses in a circus, Uncle Salvatore.\nYou\u2019re no good to me any more, but I can be awfully bad for you if you\nlose your memory again. You know exactly what I want you to remember,\nand you do remember it. You forgot it because I told you to forget it.\nNow it has all come back to you, and how nice that is. But if you think\nI am going to bore myself with you and Vittoria and the other, you make\na stupendous error. I\u2019m very kind to you, you know; I\u2019m your benefactor\nto a considerable extent, so you mustn\u2019t think me unkind when I utterly\nrefuse to saddle myself with your company. I butter your bread for you,\nbe content with that. Good-bye. Love to Vittoria!\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nSo that was done, and he strolled back along the sea-front towards the\nConsulate. Capri, a little more solid only than a cloud, floated on the\nhorizon, and with that delightful goal so near, it was miserable to\npicture another tiresome crapulous evening with the little red bounder.\nLast night, stupid and wearisome though the hours had been, they had\nyielded him the prize he sought for, whereas to-night there would be no\nprize of any sort in view. Those interminable drinks, those stupid\nphotographs, why waste time and energy in this second-hand sort of\ndebauchery? He had been prepared, when he started from England, to spend\nwith Mr. Cecil as much time as was necessary in order to achieve what\nwas the main object of his expedition, but that was accomplished now. He\nwould be so much happier at the villa, where he was, after all, expected\nto-day, than in seeing Mr. Cecil get excited and familiar and\nphotographic and intoxicated.\n\nThe whispering stone-pine, the vine-wreathed pergola, the piazza full of\ndusk and youth, the steps of belated passengers on the pathway outside\nthe garden made sweeter music than the voice of an inebriated Consul\nwith its hints and giggles. Stout, middle-aged people, if there had to\nbe such in the world, should keep quiet and read their books, and leave\nthe mysteries and joys of youth to the young.... It was there, in that\ncloud that floated on the horizon, that he had first realised himself\nand the hand that led him, in the scent-haunted darkness and the\nwhispering of the night wind; that fed his soul with a nourishment that\nMr. Cecil\u2019s cocktails and photographs were starvingly lacking in. He\nwould feast there to-night.\n\nA promise to spend another night at the Consulate on his return from\nCapri made good his desertion to-day, for, in point of fact, Mr. Cecil\nfelt considerably off-colour this morning, and rather misdoubted his\ncapacity for carrying off with any semblance of enjoyment a repetition\nof last night. His reproaches and disappointment were clearly\ncomplimentary rather than sincere, and the afternoon boat carried Colin\non it. Once he had made that journey with his father, once with Violet,\nbut could a wish have brought either of them to his side he would no\nmore have breathed it than have thrown himself off the boat. He did not\nwant to be jostled and encumbered by love, or hear its gibberish, and\nwith eager eyes, revelling in the sense of being alone with his errand\nalready marvellously accomplished, he watched the mainland recede and\nthe island draw nearer through the fading twilight.\n\nLights were springing up along the Marina, and presently there was Nino\nalongside in his boat, ready to ferry him ashore. He, with his joyous\npaganism, his serene indifference to good or evil, was far closer to\nwhat Colin hungered for than either his father or Violet, but closer\nyet, so Colin realised, was the hatred between himself and his own dead\nbrother....\n\nAnd then presently there was the garden dusky and fragrant with the\nodour of wallflowers and freesias, and the whispering of the warm breeze\nfrom the sea, and the oblong of light from the open door to welcome him.\n\nOn the table just within there lay a telegram for him, and with some\nvivid presentiment of what it contained, he opened it. His father had\ndied quite suddenly a few hours ago.\n\nThe whisper of the pine grew louder, and the breeze suddenly freshening,\nswept in at the door thick with garden scents, with greeting, with\nfelicitations.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nJust a fortnight later Colin was lying in one of the window seats of the\nlong gallery at Stanier reading through some papers which required his\nsignature. They had come by the post which Nino had just given him, for\nhe had brought the boy with him from Capri, with a view to making him\nhis valet. His own, he said, always looked as if he were listening to a\nreading of the ten commandments, and Colin had no use for such a person.\nNino, at any rate, would bring cheerfulness and some touch of southern\ngaiety with his shaving-water; besides, no servant approached the\nItalian in dexterity and willingness.\n\nAnd now that the pause of death was over, adjustments, businesses, the\ntaking up of life again had to begin, and his lawyer was getting things\nin shape for his supervision. These particular papers were tedious and\nhard to follow and were expressed in that curious legal shibboleth which\nmakes the unprofessional mind to wander. He tried to attend, but the\neffort was like clinging to some slippery edge of ice; he could get no\nfirm hold of it, and the deep waters kept closing over him. There, below\nthe terrace, lay the lake where he had seen one such incident happen.\n\nBy that he had become heir to all that this fair, shining spring day\nshewed him; his father\u2019s death put him in possession, and now this\nmorning, wherever he turned his eyes, whether on lake or woodland, or\nwithin on picture and carved ceiling, all were his. This stately home,\nthe light and desire of his eye, with all that it meant in wealth and\nposition, had passed again into the hands of Colin Stanier, handed down\nfrom generation to generation, ever more prosperous, from his namesake\nwho had built its enduring walls and founded its splendours.\n\nOf his father\u2019s death there was but little to tell him, when, coming\nstraight back again from Capri, he had arrived here at the set of a\nstormy day. Philip had reeled as he crossed the hall one morning, and\nfallen on the hearthrug in front of the Holbein. For half an hour he had\nlived, quite unconscious and suffering nothing, then his breathing had\nceased. Until the moment of his stroke, that bursting of some large\nblood-vessel on the brain, he had been quite well and cheerful,\nrejoicing in the fact that Colin by now had found the sun again, and\nalready longing for his return.\n\nViolet had been Colin\u2019s informant, and she told him these things with\nthat air of detachment from him which had characterised her intercourse\nwith him since Raymond had come home for that last Christmas vacation.\nShe had watched then with some secret horror dawning in her eyes,\nColin\u2019s incessant torture of his brother. That dismay and darkness which\nhad spread its shadow on her in the month of their honeymoon, when first\nshe really began to know Colin, interrupted for a time by their return\nhome and the high festivals of the autumn, had returned to her then with\na fresh infusion of blackness. Never once had she spoken to him about\nhis treatment of Raymond, but he was conscious that she watched and\nshuddered. It did not seem that her love for him was extinguished; that\nhorror of hers existed side by side with it; she yearned for his love\neven while she shrank from his pitilessness. She feared him, too, not\nonly for the ruthless iron of him, but for the very charm which had a\npower over her more potent yet.\n\nThen came the weeks after Raymond\u2019s death, and Colin thought he saw in\nher a waning of her fear of him; that, he reflected, was natural. Some\ntime, so he read her mind, she knew she would be mistress here in her\nown right; it seemed very reasonable that she should gain confidence.\n\nFor the last few days, when the wheels of life were now beginning to\nturn again, he saw with a comprehending sense of entertainment that\nthere was something in Violet\u2019s mind: she was trying to bring herself\nup to a certain point, and it was not hard to guess what that was. She\nwas silent and preoccupied, and a dozen times a day she seemed on the\nverge of speaking of that which he knew was the subject of her thought.\nTill to-day her father and mother and Aunt Hester in becoming mourning\nhad been with them, now they had gone, and Violet\u2019s restlessness had\nbecome quite ludicrous. She had been in and out of the room half a dozen\ntimes; she had sat down to read the paper, and next moment it had\ndropped from her lap and she was staring at the fire again lost in\nfrowning thought.\n\nKnowing what her communication when it came must be, Colin, from the\nvery nature of the case could not help her out with it, but he wished\nthat she would wrestle with and vanquish her hesitation. If it had been\nhe who in this present juncture had had to speak to Raymond on this\nidentical subject, how blithely would he have undertaken it. Then,\nfinally, Violet seemed to make up her mind to take the plunge, and sat\ndown on the edge of the seat where he lounged. He extended his arm and\nput it round her.\n\n\u201cWell, Vi,\u201d he said, \u201care you finding it hard to settle down? I am, too,\nbut we\u2019ve got to do it. My dear, Aunt Hester\u2019s little black bonnet! Did\nyou ever see anything so chic? Roguish; she gets sprightlier every day!\u201d\n\nViolet looked at him gravely.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s something we have to talk about, Colin,\u201d she said, \u201cand we both\nknow what it is. Will you let me speak for a minute or two without\ninterrupting me?\u201d\n\nHe put his finger on the line to which he had come in this tiresome\ndocument, which his solicitor assured him required his immediate\nattention.\n\n\u201cAn hour or two, darling; the longer the better,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat is it?\nAre you sure I know? Something nice I hope. Ah, is it about my birthday\nperhaps? The last affair that dear father was busy over were plans for\nmy birthday. Of course I have counter-ordered everything and we must\nkeep it next year. Well, what is it? I won\u2019t interrupt any more.\u201d\n\nColin leaned back with his hand still under Violet\u2019s arm, as if to draw\nher with him. She bent with him a little way and then disengaged\nherself.\n\n\u201cI hate what lies before me,\u201d she said, \u201cand I ask you to believe that I\nhave struggled with myself. I have tried, Colin, to give the whole thing\nup, to let it be yours. But I can\u2019t. I long to be Lady Yardley in my own\nright, as you told me I should be on Uncle Philip\u2019s death. All that it\nmeans! I fancy you understand that. But I think I might have given that\nup, if it was only myself of whom I had to think. I don\u2019t know; I can\u2019t\nbe sure.\u201d\n\nShe paused, not looking at him. She did not want to know till all was\ndone how he was taking it. Of course he anticipated it: he knew it must\nbe, and here was the plain point of it....\n\n\u201cBut I haven\u2019t got only myself to think about,\u201d she said. \u201cBefore many\nmonths I shall bear you a child; I shall bear you other children after\nthat, perhaps. I am thinking of them and of you. Since we married I have\nlearned things about you. You are hard in a way that I did not know was\npossible. You have neither love nor compassion. I must defend my\nchildren against you; the only way I can do it is to be supreme myself.\nI must hold the reins, not you. I will be good to you, and shall never\ncease loving you, I think, but I can\u2019t put myself in your hands, which I\nshould do, if I did not now use the knowledge which you yourself\nconveyed to me. You did that with your eyes open; you asked for and\naccepted what your position here will be, and you did it chiefly out of\nhatred to Raymond. That was your motive, and it tells on my decision.\nYou hate more than you love, and I am frightened for my children.\n\n\u201cIt is true that when I accepted Raymond, I did it because I should get\nStanier--be mistress here anyhow. But I think--I was wavering--that I\nshould have thrown him over before I married him and have accepted you,\nthough I knew that marriage with you forfeited the other. Then you told\nme it was otherwise, that in forfeiting Stanier, I found it even more\ncompletely.\u201d\n\nColin--he had promised not to interrupt--gave no sign of any sort. His\nfinger still marked the place in this legal document.\n\n\u201cI have sent for my father\u2019s solicitor,\u201d she said, \u201cand they have told\nme he is here. But before I see him I wanted to tell you that I shall\ninstruct him to contest your succession. I shall tell him about the\nregister in the Consulate at Naples and about your mother\u2019s letters to\nyour uncle. You said you would let me have them on your father\u2019s death.\nWould you mind giving me them now, therefore? He may wish to see them.\u201d\n\nColin moved ever so slightly, and she for the first time looked at him.\nThere he lay, with those wide, child-like eyes, and the mouth that\nsometimes seemed to her to have kissed her very soul away. He had a\nsmile for her grave glance; just so had he smiled when torturingly he\ntried to remember exactly what had happened in the Old Park on the day\nthat Raymond shot pigeons. But even while she thought of his relentless,\npursuing glee, the charm of him, the sweet supple youth of him, all fire\nand softness, smote on her heart.\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t you go away, till it is all over?\u201d she said. \u201cIt will be horrible\nfor you, Colin, and I don\u2019t want you to suffer. The letters are all I\nwant of you; I will tell Mr. Markham about the register and he will do\nwhatever is necessary. Go back to your beloved island; you were robbed\nof your stay there. Wait there until all this business, which will be\nhorrible for you, is done. You can see your dear Mr. Cecil again....\u201d\nshe added, trying to smile back at him.\n\n\u201cYes, I might do that,\u201d said Colin thoughtfully. \u201cIn fact, I probably\nshall. But I must try to take in what you have been saying. I can\u2019t\nunderstand it: you must explain. You referred, for instance, to my\nmother\u2019s letters. What letters? I don\u2019t know of any letters of my\nmother as being in existence. Still less have I got any. How could I\nhave? She died when I was but a few weeks old. Do mothers write letters\nto the babies at their breasts?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe two letters to your uncle,\u201d said she.\n\nColin planted a levering elbow by his side, and sat up.\n\n\u201cI suppose it is I who am mad,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause you talk quite quietly\nand coherently, and yet I don\u2019t understand a single word of what you\nsay. Letters from my mother to my uncle? Ah....\u201d\n\nHe took her hand again, amending his plan in accordance with his talk\nwith Salvatore.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d he said. \u201cUncle Salvatore did once give me two letters\nfrom my mother to him. Little faint things. I destroyed them not so long\nago: one should never keep letters. But you\u2019re right, Vi. Uncle\nSalvatore did give me a couple of letters once, but when on earth did I\nmention them to you? What a memory you have got! It\u2019s quite true; one\nannounced my mother\u2019s marriage, the other spoke of the birth of poor\nRaymond and me. But what of them? And what--oh, I must be mad--what in\nheaven\u2019s name do you mean, when you talk, if I understand you correctly,\nabout sending somebody out to Naples? The register in the Consulate\nthere? And my succession? Are they connected? Isn\u2019t it usual for a son\nto succeed his father? I\u2019m all at sea--or am I asleep and dreaming?\nPinch me, darling. I want to wake up. What register?\u201d\n\nSome nightmare sense of slipping, slipping, slipping took hold of\nViolet.\n\n\u201cThe erasure in the register,\u201d she said. \u201cAll that you told me.\u201d\n\nColin swung his legs off the window-seat and got up. There was an\nelectric bell close at hand and he rang it.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s some plot,\u201d he said, \u201cand I have no idea what it is. I want a\nwitness with regard to anything further that you wish to say to me.\nWhat\u2019s his name? Your father\u2019s solicitor, I mean. Oh, yes, Markham.\nDon\u2019t speak another word to me.\u201d\n\nHe turned his back on her and waited till a servant came in.\n\n\u201cHer ladyship wishes to see Mr. Markham,\u201d he said. \u201cAsk Mr. Markham to\ncome here at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cColin....\u201d she began.\n\nIt was just such a face that he turned on her now as he had given to her\none evening at Capri.\n\n\u201cNot a word,\u201d he said. \u201cHold your tongue, Violet. You\u2019ll speak\npresently.\u201d\n\nMr. Markham appeared, precise and florid. Colin shook hands with him.\n\n\u201cMy wife has a statement to make to you,\u201d he said. \u201cI don\u2019t know what it\nis: she has not yet made it. But it concerns me and the succession to my\nfather\u2019s title and estates. It had therefore better be made to you in my\npresence. Please tell Mr. Markham what you were about to tell me,\nViolet.\u201d\n\nIn dead silence, briefly and clearly, Violet repeated what Colin had\ntold her on the night that they were engaged. All the time he looked at\nher, Mr. Markham would have said, with tenderness and anxiety, and when\nshe had finished he spoke:\n\n\u201cI hope you will go into this matter without any delay, Mr. Markham,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cMy wife, as I have already told her, is perfectly right in saying\nthat my uncle--you will need his address--gave me two letters from my\nmother to him. She is right also about the subject of those letters. But\nshe is under a complete delusion about the dates of them. I destroyed\nthem not so long ago, I am afraid, so the only person who can possibly\nsettle this is my uncle, to whom I hope you will apply without delay. No\ndoubt he will have some recollection of them; indeed, he cherished them\nfor years, and if the dates were as my wife says that I told her they\nwere, he must have known that my brother and I were illegitimate. So\nmuch for the letters.\u201d\n\nColin found Violet\u2019s eyes fixed on him; her face, deadly pale, wore the\nstillness of stone.\n\n\u201cWith regard to my wife\u2019s allegation about the register,\u201d he said. \u201cI\ndeny that I ever told her any such story. I have this to add: when my\nfather and I were in Naples last summer, I made, at his request, a copy\nof the record of his marriage from the consular register. He thought, I\nfancy, that in the event of his death, a certified copy of it, here in\nEngland, might be convenient for the purpose of proving the marriage. I\nmade that copy myself, and Mr. Cecil, our Consul in Naples, certified it\nto be correct. I gave it my lawyer a few days ago, when he was down\nhere, and it is, of course, open to your inspection.\u201d\n\nColin paused and let his eyes rest wistfully on Violet.\n\n\u201cMy wife, of course, Mr. Markham,\u201d he said, \u201cis under a delusion. But\nshe has made the allegation, and in justice to me, I think you will\nagree that it must be investigated. She supposes--don\u2019t you,\ndarling?--that there is an erasure in the register at the Consulate\nshowing that it has been tampered with, and that erasure points to an\nattempt on some one\u2019s part, presumably my father\u2019s or my own, to\nlegitimatise his children. In answer to that I am content for the\npresent to say that when I made the copy I saw no such erasure, nor did\nMr. Cecil who certified the correctness of it. Mr. Cecil, to whom I will\ngive you an introduction, no doubt will remember the incident. I am glad\nI have got that copy, for if the register proves to have been tampered\nwith, it may be valuable. My belief is that no such erasure exists. May\nI suggest, Mr. Markham, that you or some trustworthy person should start\nfor Naples at once? You will take the affidavits--is it not--of my uncle\nwith regard to the letters, and of Mr. Cecil with regard to the\ngenuineness of the copy of my father\u2019s marriage. You will also inspect\nthe register. The matter is of the utmost and immediate importance.\u201d\n\nHe turned to Violet. \u201cVi, darling,\u201d he said, \u201clet us agree not to speak\nof this again until Mr. Markham has obtained full information about it\nall. Now, perhaps, you would like to consult him in private. I will\nleave you.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. Markham shared Colin\u2019s view as to the urgency and importance of\nsetting this matter at rest, and left for Naples that evening with due\nintroductions to Salvatore and the Consul. Colin had a word with him\nbefore he left, and with tenderness and infinite delicacy, spoke of\nViolet\u2019s condition. Women had these strange delusions, he believed, at\nsuch times, and the best way of settling them was to prove that they had\nno foundation. Mr. Markham, he was afraid, would find that he had made a\nfruitless journey, as far as the ostensible reason for it went, but he\nhad seen for himself how strongly the delusion had taken hold on his\nwife, and in that regard he hoped for the best results. In any case the\nthing must be settled....\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNever had the sparkle and sunlight of Colin\u2019s nature been so gay as\nduring these two days when they waited for the news that Mr. Markham\nwould send from Naples. It had been agreed that the issues of his errand\nshould not be spoken of until they declared themselves, and here, to all\nappearance, was a young couple, adorably adorned with all the gifts of\nNature and inheritance, with the expectation of the splendour of half a\ncentury\u2019s unclouded days spread in front of them. They had lately passed\nthrough the dark valley of intimate bereavement, but swiftly they were\nemerging into the unshadowed light, where, in a few months now, the\nglory of motherhood, the pride of fatherhood, awaited them. In two days\nfrom now, as both knew, a disclosure would reach them which must be, one\nway or the other, of tremendous import, but for the present, pending\nthat revelation, presage and conjecture, memory even of that interview\nwith Mr. Markham, which had sent him across the breadth of Europe, were\nbanished; they were as children in the last hour of holidays, as lovers\nbetween whom must soon a sword be unsheathed.\n\nThey wandered in the woods where in the hot, early spring the daffodils\nwere punctual, and, \u201ccoming before the swallow dares,\u201d took the winds of\nMarch with beauty, and Colin picked her the pale cuckoo-pint which,\nintoxicated with nonsense, he told her comes before the cuckoo dares....\nThey spoke of the friendship of their childhood which had so swiftly\nblossomed into love, and of the blossom of their love that was budding\nnow.\n\nAll day the enchantment of their home and their companionship waved its\nwand over them, and at night, tired with play, they slept the light\nsleep of lovers. Certainly, for one or other of them, there must soon\ncome a savage awakening, or, more justly, the strangle-hold of\nnightmare, but there were a few hours yet before the dreams of\nspring-time and youth were murdered.\n\nThe third day after Mr. Markham\u2019s departure for Naples was Colin\u2019s\nbirthday, when he would come of age, and Violet, waking early that\nmorning, while it was still dark, found herself prey to some crushing\nload and presage of disaster, most unpropitious, most unbirthday-like.\nFor the last two days, these days of waiting for news, they had made for\nthemselves a little artificial oasis of sunshine and laughter; now some\nsecret instinct told her that she could linger there no more. To-day,\nshe felt sure, would come some decisive disclosure, and she dreaded it\nwith a horror too deep for the plummet of imagination. In that dark hour\nbefore dawn, when the vital forces are at their lowest, she lay hopeless\nand helpless.\n\nColin had denied all knowledge of what he had himself told her; he had\nbeen eager for Mr. Markham to disprove it.... He knew something which\nshe did not. What that could be she could form no idea at all. At the\nworst, Salvatore would confirm his account of those letters, and no such\nerasure as Colin had spoken of would be found in the register. Had he,\nthen, invented this merely to ensure her marrying him; and now that\nRaymond\u2019s death had given him mastership at Stanier, was he simply\ndenying what never existed at all? From what she knew of him now, he was\ncapable of having done that in order to make her throw over Raymond, but\nit was not that which she dreaded. There was something more; a black\ncurtain seemed to hang before her, and presently some hot blast would\nblow it high in the air, and she would see what lay behind it.\n\nIt was rapidly growing light, and outside the birds were busy with their\nearly chirrupings. By the window which last night Colin had opened,\npulling back the curtains, the silver of her Paul Lamerie toilet-set\nglimmered with the increasing brightness. Colin lay close to her, with\nface turned towards her, fast asleep. His cheek was on his hand, the\nother arm, languid and slack, was stretched outside the bedclothes, his\nmouth was a little parted, and it seemed to be smiling. And then he\nstirred and, leaning his head a little back, his smile broadened and he\nlaughed in his sleep with open mouth. At that some nameless panic seized\nher, and, stopping her ears, she buried her face in the clothes. A child\nmight laugh so, but was the merriment of his dream that of a child? Or\nhad some sense that did not sleep reminded him that his twenty-first\nbirthday was now dawning?\n\nShe feigned to be asleep when Nino\u2019s tap came to the door of his\ndressing-room, and she heard Colin get up. He spoke to her quietly, but\nshe did not answer or open her eyes. Then his room door opened and\nclosed and she was alone.\n\nColin was already at breakfast when she came down, and apparently his\nmood of the last two days had suffered no ungenial change.\n\n\u201cGood morning, darling,\u201d he said. \u201cI tried to say that to you before,\nbut you were busy sleeping. What shall I give you? There\u2019s some nasty\nfish and some tepid bacon.\u201d\n\nHe looked at her with some sort of wistful expectancy, as if wondering\nif she would remember something, and the thoughts, the wild imaginings\nwhich had made the dawn a plunge into some dark menace, dropped from her\nmind like drugged creatures.\n\n\u201cColin dear, your birthday. What can I give you?\u201d she said, kissing him.\n\u201cIt was the first thing I thought of when I woke. We\u2019re the same age\nagain. I was a year ahead of you till this morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cDelicious of you to remember it, Vi,\u201d said he. \u201cYes, we\u2019re forty-two\nyears old between us. A great age! Hullo, Nino.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Pella signora_,\u201d said Nino, and gave Violet a telegram.\n\nColin watched her fingers fumbling at the gummed flap of the envelope,\nas if numb and nerveless. Then with a jerk she tore it across and opened\nit. Only once before had he seen a living face as white as that, when\nfingers were slipping from the ice.\n\n\u201cRead it for me,\u201d she said at length. \u201cI don\u2019t seem to see what it\nmeans.\u201d\n\nColin took it; it had been sent from Naples late last night, and came\nfrom Mr. Markham. He read:\n\n     \u201cSalvatore Viagi\u2019s account of letters agrees with your husband\u2019s.\n     Page containing marriages of year and month in question has been\n     cut out of register at Consulate.\u201d\n\nColin passed the sheet back to Violet. She did not take it from his hand\nand he let it drop on to the tablecloth. He leaned a little towards her.\n\n\u201cVi, you\u2019re magnificent,\u201d he said. \u201cThat was a glorious stroke of yours!\nThat night when you and I stayed at the Consulate. No, darling, don\u2019t\ninterrupt, let me speak for two or three minutes just as you did a few\nmornings ago. Eat your bacon and listen.... I see now the reason of your\npretended reluctance to stay with Mr. Cecil. It put me off the scent\ncompletely at the time.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat scent?\u201d she asked. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cI asked you not to interrupt. There we were on our honeymoon and so\ncasually, so unthinkingly, I told Mr. Cecil that we would stay with him\non our way home. You objected, but eventually you agreed. Your\nreluctance to stay with him, as I say, put me quite off the scent.\nHaving done that you yielded. Little did I dream then of your superb\nproject....\u201d\n\nShe gazed at him like some bird hypnotised by the snake that coil after\ncoil draws nearer. Colin, too, drew nearer; he pushed his chair sideways\nand leaned towards her, elbows on the table.\n\n\u201cI remember that night so well,\u201d he said. \u201cI was sleeping in the\ndressing-room next door to you, and the door was wide, for it was hot. I\nheard you get out of bed. I heard your latch creak. Oh, yes, you called\nto me first, and I did not answer. I called to you this morning, you\nremember, and you did not answer. Sometimes one pretends to be asleep.\nTill this minute I knew nothing for certain more of what you did. Now I\nknow. You were playing for a great stake: I applaud you. You got hold of\nMr. Cecil\u2019s keys (he is careless about them) and tore that leaf out of\nthe register. You knew that on my father\u2019s death his marriage to my\nmother must be proved before Raymond or I (poor Raymond) could succeed,\nfor, of course, it was common property that he lived with her before\nthey were married. Giuseppe, his boatman, Uncle Salvatore, half-a-dozen\npeople, could have told you that. And then, oh! a crowning piece of\ngenius, you make up a cock-and-bull story about erasure and letters\nwhich force us to have the register examined, and lo! there is no record\nof the marriage at all. What is the presumption? That Raymond and I\nwere, well, an ugly word. But just there fate was unkind to you through\nno fault of yours, except that failure is a fault and the most fatal\none. You did not know that I had made a copy of the entry and got it\nsigned and certified by our charming Mr. Cecil, before the curious\ndisappearance of that page. And then you made just one terrible mistake.\nHow could you have done it?\u201d\n\nShe turned to him a face of marble, faultlessly chiselled, but wholly\nlifeless.\n\n\u201cWhat mistake did I make?\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYou kept that leaf,\u201d said Colin pityingly. \u201cA record of your triumph, I\nsuppose, like a cotillon-toy, to dream over when you were mistress\nhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on,\u201d said she.\n\nColin came closer yet. \u201cDarling, will you be awfully nice to me,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand give me that leaf as a birthday present? It would be a\ndelightful souvenir. You know where it is.\u201d\n\nShe paused. She remembered the tradition of the icy self-repression of\nthe Lady Yardleys who had preceded her, the frost that fell on them.\nFrom personal knowledge there was her grandmother. That Arctic night was\ndarkening on her now, and she shivered.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know where it is,\u201d she said. \u201cMake up another lie.\u201d\n\nHe rose. \u201cYou must learn politeness, Violet,\u201d he said. \u201cYou must learn\nmany useful things. I am being very kind to you. You don\u2019t appreciate\nthat.\u201d\n\nNight had not quite fallen yet.\n\n\u201cJust as you were kind to Raymond,\u201d she said.\n\nHe smiled at her. \u201cYes, the same sort of kindness,\u201d he said.\n\nHe spoke to her as to a troublesome child with soft persuasion.\n\n\u201cNow you know where it is quite well, but you want to give me the\ntrouble of reminding you. You won\u2019t say you\u2019re sorry, or anything of\nthat sort. Not wise.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpring the trap on me,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cVery well; you put it in the secret drawer in the stand of your lovely\nLamerie looking-glass, the evening we came back from our honeymoon. You\nhad left me talking to father, but as soon as you had gone, I followed\nyou. It was pure chance: I suspected nothing then. But I looked in from\nmy dressing-room and saw you with the secret drawer open, putting\nsomething into it. I went downstairs again. But I am bound to say that\nmy curiosity was aroused; perhaps you might have been having a\nbillet-doux from Nino. So I took a suitable opportunity--I think it was\nwhen you were at church--and satisfied myself about it.\u201d\n\nColin reviewed this speech, which seemed to come to him impromptu,\nexcept for the one fact that underlay it, which in a few minutes now\nwould be made manifest to Violet.\n\n\u201cSo poor Nino was not my rival,\u201d he said. \u201cThat was such a relief, Vi\ndarling, for I should have had to send him away. But I never really gave\na serious thought to that, for I believed you liked your poor Colin. But\nwhat I found did surprise me. I could not believe that any one so clever\ncould have been so stupid as to keep the evidence of her cleverness.\nWhen you have been clever, it is wise to destroy the evidence of your\ncleverness. Shall we come?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut my looking-glass? A secret drawer?\u201d said Violet. \u201cThere\u2019s no secret\ndrawer that I know of.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, of course not,\u201d said Colin. \u201cI shall be obliged to show it you.\nBut wait a minute. I had better have a witness of what I find in the\nsecret drawer of which you are ignorant. My solicitor is here, but with\nthis other disclosure, he might urge me to proceed against you for\nconspiracy, which I don\u2019t at present intend to do. Your maid, now; no,\nyou would not like her to know such things about you. She might\nblackmail you. How about Nino? He will do no more than understand that a\npaper has been found, and that he witnesses to the finding of it. One\nhas to protect oneself. I had to protect myself against Raymond. May I\nring for Nino?\u201d\n\nAt that the Arctic night fell on Violet, and presently the three of them\nwere in her bedroom. Round the base of the looking-glass ran a repouss\u00e9\ncable band, and Colin was explaining to her how, if she pressed the stud\nat the corner of it, just where the silversmith\u2019s name--L. A. for\nLamerie--was punched in the metal, the side of the base would fly open.\nAnd so it was; she pressed it herself while he stood aside, and within\nwas the drawer and the folded paper.\n\nColin took a swift step and plucked the paper out, holding it at arm\u2019s\nlength.\n\n\u201cThere, darling, all your responsibility is over,\u201d he said. \u201cI will keep\nit for you now. I will just open it and show you what it is, but do not\ncome too close or try to snatch it. There! Names of happy couples one\nbelow the other, and in the space next the name the date of their\nmarriage. Half-way down the page you see the names we are looking for,\nRosina Viagi and Philip Lord Stanier and the date, March the first,\n1893.\u201d\n\nHe turned to Nino and spoke in Italian.\n\n\u201cAnd you, Nino,\u201d he said, \u201cyou saw me take this paper out of the drawer\nof the signora\u2019s looking-glass. And now you see me--give me a big\nenvelope from the table--you see me put it in this envelope and close\nit--it is as if I did a conjuring trick--and I sit down and write on the\nenvelope for the signora to read. I say that in your presence and in\nmine the enclosed was taken from the secret drawer in the looking-glass\nwhere it had been placed for safe custody by Violet Stanier, Countess of\nYardley, and given into the care of her husband, Colin Stanier, Earl of\nYardley. Sign it, Nino, and observe that I sign. I date it also. That\u2019s\nall, Nino; you may go.\u201d\n\nColin laid his hand on Violet\u2019s neck.\n\n\u201cIt has been trying for you, dear,\u201d he said. \u201cRest a little. But your\nmind may be at ease now; the anxiety of having that in your possession\nis removed, and it will be in safe keeping. I will give it at once to my\nlawyer, with instructions that it is to be delivered to no one except to\nme in person, and that at my death it is to be destroyed unopened. It\nentirely depends on yourself as to whether it ever sees the light\nagain.... And then, when you are rested, shall we go for one of our\ndelicious rambles in the park. What\u2019s that line of Wordsworth? \u2018This\none day we\u2019ll give to idleness.\u2019 Thank you, darling, for your lovely\nbirthday present.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNever on Walpurgis Night nor at Black Mass had there ever been so\nfervent an adorer to his god as Colin, so satanic a rite as that which\nhe had performed on this birthday morning. No need was there for him to\nmake any vow of lip-service, or by any acceptation of the parchment that\nwas set in the frame of the Holbein, to confirm his allegiance. The\nspirit was more than the letter, and in no wanton ecstasy of evil could\nhe have made a more sacramental dedication of himself. It was not enough\nfor him to have forged, ever so cunningly, the evidence which, while\nRaymond lived, proved his illegitimacy, nor, more cunningly yet, to have\ngot rid of that evidence when Raymond\u2019s death cleared for him the steps\nto the throne. He must in the very flower and felicity of wickedness\npreserve that evidence in order to produce it as the handiwork of his\nwife. The edifice would have been incomplete otherwise; it would have\nlacked that soaring spire of infamy. But now all was done, and on his\nbirthday came the consecration of the abominable temple of himself to\nthe spirit he adored.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe came to her room that night and sat as he so often did on the edge of\nher bed.\n\n\u201cYou have been perfect to me to-day, darling,\u201d he said. \u201cYou have given\nme the happiest birthday. You have been so quiet and serene and\ncontrolled. And have you been happy?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Colin,\u201d said she.\n\nHe pulled off his tie and flapped her fingers with the end of it.\n\n\u201cI think I shall go south again,\u201d he said. \u201cI was defrauded of my stay\nin Capri owing to my father\u2019s death. What about you? Had you not better\nstay quietly at home? Get your father and mother to come down.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust as you please,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cLet us settle it like that, then. And look at me a minute, Violet.\u201d\n\nShe raised her eyes to his.\n\n\u201cAh, that\u2019s right,\u201d he said. \u201cYou\u2019ve had a lesson to-day, darling. It\nhas tired you, and I will leave you to sleep in one moment. We can\u2019t\nhave you tired; you must take great care of yourself; eat well, sleep\nwell, be out a great deal. About that lesson. Take it to heart, Vi.\nNever again try to cross my path: it\u2019s much too dangerous. And you\u2019ve no\ndelusions left about letters and registers, have you? Answer me, dear.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s good. Now I\u2019ll leave you.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe March night was warm and moonlit, and Colin stood by the open window\nletting the breeze stream in against his skin, and looked out over\nterrace and lake and woodland. All that he had so passionately desired\nsince first he toddled about this stately home of his race was his, and\nnothing now could upset his rights. And how wonderful the process of\narriving at it had been: every step of that way was memorable; fraud,\nintrigue, trickery, matchless cruelty, had paved the road, and to-day\nthe road was finished.\n\nHe put out his light, and curled himself up in bed.... Violet\u2019s\nfirst-born must surely be a son, who should learn early and well from\nlips that knew what they were saying the sober truth of that which in\nthe legend wore the habiliment of medi\u00e6val superstition. He should learn\nhow poor Uncle Raymond had allowed himself to love--yes, there was a\ntime when he had loved mother, and--was not that tiresome for\nhim--mother happened to prefer father. Well, poor Uncle Raymond had\nloved, and that, perhaps, was his undoing, for he had fallen into the\nlake, under the ice, and the icy water had smothered him, and the fishes\nhad nibbled him.... Colin chuckled to himself at the thought of\nrecounting that.\n\nFor a moment, as he looked out on to the night, he had experienced a\ndulness and dimness of spirit as of a cloud passing over the bright\ncircle of the moon at the thought that he had accomplished all that had\nso thrillingly occupied him. But at the thought of his fatherhood, the\nbrightness shone forth again. How fascinating it would be to till and to\nsow in that soft soil, to rear the seedlings that he would water and\ntend so carefully, to watch them putting forth the buds of poisonous\nflowers that swelled and prospered till they burst the sheaths of\nchildhood and opened wide-petalled to night and day.\n\nHis thoughts, drowsy and content, turned towards Violet. Certainly there\nhad been noticeable in her all day a freezing, a congealment. She was\nbecoming like those impassive portraits of her predecessors, marble\nwomen out of whose eyes looked some half-hidden horror....\n\nA flash of lightning, very remote, blinked in through the uncurtained\noblong of the window opposite his bed, and a mutter of thunder, as\ndrowsy as himself, answered it. He slid his hand underneath his cheek,\nand fell asleep.\n\n\nTHE END","title":"Colin","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":110740}