XVII — TONY IS PAINFULLY ASTONISHEDTHE cool shadows were creeping across the velvet grass next afternoon when Nettie Harding lay languidly content in a canvas chair on the Low Wood lawn. Behind her rose a long, low, red-roofed dwelling, whose gray walls showed only here and there through their green mantle of creeper, but in front, beyond the moss-covered terrace wall, wheatfield, coppice, and meadow flooded with golden sunlight melted through gradations of color into the blue distance. It was very hot, and the musical tinkle of a mower that rose from the valley emphasized the drowsy stillness. Opposite her, on the other side of the little table whereon stood dainty china and brass kettle, sat her hostess’s daughter, Hester Earle, and she smiled a little as she glanced at Nettie.“You are evidently not pining for New York!” she said.Nettie Harding laughed as she looked about her with appreciative eyes. “This is quite good enough for me, and we don’t live in New York,” she said. “Nobody who can help it does, and it’s quite a question how to take out of it the men who have to work there. Our place is on the Hudson, and it’s beautiful, though I admit it is different from this. We haven’t had the time to smooth down everything and round the corners off in our country, though when we are as old as you are we’ll have considerably more to show the world.”Hester Earle nodded tranquilly. She was typically English, and occasionally amused at Nettie, with whom she had made friends in London. Her father was chairman of a financial corporation that dealt in American securities, and having had business with Cyrus Harding, thought it advisable to show his daughter what attention he could.“You were enthusiastic over Northrop church and the Palliser memorials yesterday,” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie, “I was, but I should like to see the kind of men to whom they put them up. From what you said there are still some of them living in this part of your country?”“There is one at Northrop just now, and it is rather more than likely that you will see him this afternoon if he suspects that Violet Wayne is coming here. I think I hear her now.”There was a beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels behind the trees that shrouded the lawn, and five minutes later Violet and Tony Palliser crossed the strip of turf. Miss Earle lighted the spirit lamp, and for a space they talked of nothing in particular, while the pale blue flame burnt unwaveringly in the hot, still air. Then when the dainty cups were passed round Violet Wayne said—“I think you told me yesterday the effigy reminded you of somebody you had seen, Miss Harding.”“Yes,” said Nettie, “it did. I don’t mean that the face was like his, because that would be too absurd, but it was the expression—the strength and weariness in it—that impressed me. The man I am thinking of looked just like that when he kept watch one long night through.”“How do you know he did?” asked Hester.“Because I was there. I sat by a little lattice and watched him, knowing that my safety depended upon his vigilance.”“That was why Miss Harding was anxious to see you, Tony,” said Hester Earle. “I almost fancy she is disappointed now.”Tony, who sat with half-closed eyes, teacup in hand, in his chair, looked up and smiled languidly. “I think it is just a little rough on me that I should be expected to emulate the fortitude an unknown sculptor hewed into a marble face hundreds of years ago,” he said. “I wonder if Miss Harding would tell us about the man she is thinking of.”Nettie glanced at Violet Wayne, and fancied that she showed signs of interest. Besides Miss Harding was not averse to discoursing to an attentive audience.“Well,” she said, “I’ll try. It was in Cuba, and he was an Englishman. A little while before the night I am going to speak about he and his American partner captured a Spanish gun.”“Then I don’t see why you should have expected me to resemble him,” said Tony plaintively. “As everybody knows I should never have done such a thing! Will you tell us about the engagement?”Nettie flashed a keen glance at him, and Violet Wayne, who saw it, felt a slight thrill of impatience, but not with the girl. It was, she fancied, evident that Nettie Harding agreed with Tony.“It was in a hot barranco among the hills, and the Spaniards had turned the gun on the Sin Verguenza, and were sweeping them away, when he and the American lowered themselves down the rock side by creepers right into the middle of the loyalist troops. They hurled the gun over a precipice into the barranco, and when it had gone the rest of the Sin Verguenza drove the troops off with rifle fire. It was their colonel told me this. I did not see it.”“Would you mind telling us who the Sin Verguenza were?” said Tony.“The men without shame—that’s what it means in Spanish—an insurgent legion. They took the town in which my father and I were staying—a handful of ragged men, with two companies of drilled troops against them—and I lost my father in the crowd of fugitives. Then I hid in a church, and some drunken brigands were chasing me through the dark streets when I met the Englishman, who took care of me. The Sin Verguenza were breaking into the houses, and I was alone, horribly frightened and helpless, in that Cuban town. He was one of their officers, and he took me to the house they had made their headquarters.”“You went with him?” asked Hester Earle.“Yes,” said Nettie slowly, while a faint flush crept into her face, “I did. Nobody was safe from the Sin Verguenza then, and I felt I could trust him. There are men who make one feel like that, you know.”For no apparent reason she glanced at Violet Wayne, who sat with a curious expression in her eyes, looking—not at Tony, as Miss Harding noticed—but across the valley.“Yes,” she said, “there are. Go on, please!”“I went with him to the rebel headquarters, and then very nearly tried to run away again, because it was like walking into the lion’s den. The patio was littered with the furniture they had thrown out of the windows, and I could hear the men roystering over their wine. Still, when I looked at the man with me, I went in.”She stopped and sat silent a space of seconds, while none of the others spoke. They felt it might not be advisable to ask questions.“Well,” she continued, “he hid me in a room, and then sat down on the veranda that ran round the patio outside it where I could see him from the lattice. The city was in a turmoil, the insurgent leaders were carousing in the house and you will remember they were the Sin Verguenza. There was only that man and his American comrade between me and those horrors. I think he fancied I rested, but all that awful night I scarcely took my eyes off him. He was very like the marble knight just then.”“Isn’t that a little rough on the effigy?” said Tony with a smile. “The man was, I think you told us, a leader of shameless brigands.”Violet Wayne saw the gleam in Nettie’s eyes, and noticed the faint ring in her voice as she said, “There are not many men who could lead the Sin Verguenza, but you would understand what I mean if you had seen him. He was ragged and very weary, and had been hurt in the fighting, but he sat there keeping himself awake, with his rifle across his knees, and every time I looked at his face it reassured me. It was haggard, but it was grim and strong—and I knew that man would have to be torn to pieces before any harm could come to me. He was keeping vigil with something entrusted to him which he would guard with his life—and that, I think, is the fancy that stirs one when one looks at your marble knight.”Hester smiled as she admitted that this was probably what the sculptor had wished to express, but it was in Violet Wayne’s eyes that Nettie saw the most complete comprehension.“That man almost deserved so stanch a champion,” said Tony. “Eventually your father found you?”“Yes,” said Nettie. “The Sin Verguenza marched out in the early morning.”Then there was silence until Tony rose languidly. “I think I’ll go and bring some more cake,” he said. “You sit still, Hester. I’ll ask Mrs. Grantly for it.”Hester Earle laughed. “She is out. Perhaps you had better show him where it is, Violet.”The two who were left were silent for awhile, and then Hester Earle smiled at her companion as she said, “You wanted to see Tony Palliser.”Nettie glanced suggestively towards Tony, who was then coming back across the lawn, carrying a tray.“There is no reason why he should not do that kind of thing—but the trouble is that it seems quite natural to him, as though it was what he was meant to do,” she said.“Don’t you think he could do anything else?”Nettie appeared reflective. “It strikes me he wouldn’t want to.”“Tony is a very good fellow,” said Hester. “He has never done an ungraceful thing.”“Well,” said Nettie, “I expect that is just what is wrong with him. It seems to me that the men who do what is worth doing can’t always be graceful. The knight in the chancel had his helmet beaten in, while I fancy his mail was battered and dusty, and if the great glittering angel waited for the Palliser who was shot in Africa it wasn’t because he carried tea trays prettily.”“And yet Violet, who expects a good deal, is content with him.”“Well,” said Nettie gravely, “I’m almost afraid she’s giving herself away. I have seen the man who would have suited her—and he was a ragged leader of the Sin Verguenza.”“Had that man no taste?” asked Hester with a little laugh.Nettie glanced down at the white hand she moved a little so that there was a flash from the ring. “That was there already. It was a man of the same kind who put it on.”Tony and Violet Wayne came up just then, and when they sat down Hester turned to the man. “We are getting up a concert in the Darsley assembly rooms for the sewing guild,” she said. “We are, as usual, short of money. You will bring your banjo, and sing a coon song.”“It’s too hot,” said Tony. “Besides, folks expect a decorum I haven’t been quite accustomed to from me now, and I’m not going to black my face for anybody. I would a good deal sooner give you the money.”“That’s very like you, Tony, but it’s too easy, though we will take the money too. It’s a good cause, or it would not be in difficulties. You will come and sing.”Tony made a gesture of resignation. “Well,” he said “it would take too much trouble to convince you that you had better get somebody else, and, anyway, I can have a cold.”Then the conversation turned on other topics until Tony and Violet took their leave, but when she shook hands with him Hester reminded Tony of his promise. It was, however, almost a month later when he was called upon to keep it and finding no excuse available drove into the neighboring town one evening. He was welcomed somewhat effusively when he entered an ante-room of the assembly hall, and then taken to a place that had been kept for him beside Violet and her mother. The concert very much resembled others of the kind, and neither Tony nor his companions paid much attention to the music until Mrs. Wayne looked up from her programme.“Thérèse Clavier. Costume dance!” she said. “No doubt they called it that to pacify the vicar. Well, she is pretty, if somewhat elaborately got up. Doesn’t she remind you of somebody, Violet?”Tony glanced at the stage, and gasped. A girl with dark hair in voluminous flimsy draperies came on with a curtsey and a smile, and a little chill ran through him before he heard Violet’s answer.“Lucy Davidson. But of course it can’t be she,” she said. “This woman is older and has darker hair, though that, perhaps, does not count for very much, while Lucy could never have acquired her confidence.”Tony said nothing. He was staring across the rows of heads and watching the girl. She appeared older, bolder, and harder than Lucy Davidson had done, but the likeness was still unpleasantly suggestive. She danced well, but it was not the graceful posing or the swift folding and flowing of light draperies that held Tony’s attention. His eyes were fixed upon the smiling face, and he scarcely heard the thunder of applause or Mrs. Wayne’s voice in the silence that followed it.“Effective, and yet nobody could take exception to it,” she said. “But don’t you come on next, Tony?”Tony, who had not remembered it, stood up suddenly, knocking down the hat of a man beside him, and trod upon the girl’s dress as he passed. She glanced up at him sharply, for he was seldom awkward in his movements, but he was looking another way. The audience was also getting impatient, and there was a clapping of hands and stamping of feet before he appeared upon the stage. Then he sat down fingering his banjo pegs, and twice asked the accompanist for a note on the piano.“Any other man would have done that before,” said Mrs. Wayne. “Still, I suppose Tony cannot help it, and he seems contented now.”There was a tinkle from the banjo followed by a chord on the piano, but Tony did not face the audience until the introduction had dragged through. Then Violet noticed that his voice, which was a sweet tenor, was not so clear as usual, and the silence of the piano emphasized his feebler touch on the strings. Still, Tony sang such songs as usually go with the banjo well, for the mingling of faint pathos and mild burlesque was within his grasp, which was, perhaps, not without its significance, and nobody appeared to find any fault with the performance. There was, in fact, enthusiastic applause, though Violet was glad when Tony persisted in leaving the stage, and her mother glanced at her.“I have heard Tony put much more spirit into that song,” she said.Tony in the meanwhile was endeavoring to make his way quietly through the green-room when one of the committee touched his shoulder.“Can’t you spare us a few minutes?” he said. “Miss Clavier seemed to like your singing, and I think she would be pleased if you noticed her. When she heard it was a charity she came down for half her usual fee.”Tony was not grateful to the man who had detained him, and could it have been done without exciting comment would have shaken off his grasp. As it was, however, there was no avoiding the introduction, and he suffered himself to be led forward with unpleasant misgivings. Miss Clavier made him a somewhat dignified bow, but she also made room for him beside her, while something in her dark eyes warned Tony that it would be wise of him to accept the unspoken invitation. He sat down, wondering what she wanted, until she smiled at him.“There are coffee and ices in the other room, Tony,” she said. “Will you take me there?”The man realized that this mode of address had its significance, for it had been Mr. Palliser in the old days; but he rose gravely and held out his arm, knowing that what he did would not pass without comment. The feeling was also warranted, for one of the men who watched them pass out into the corridor smiled as he turned to his companion.“Tony seems bent on doing rather more than was expected of him,” he said. “No doubt she knows his standing in the neighborhood, and intends this as a delicate compliment to one or two of our lady amateurs who were not exactly pleasant to her. It’s quite certain she can’t be hungry.”As it happened, there was nobody but the attendant in the buffet when they reached it, and Lucy Davidson flung herself down with a curious, lithe gracefulness in a big chair in a corner.“Bring me some coffee for the look of the thing,” she said.Tony did it, and then stood beside her while she toyed with her cup. Lucy Davidson was distinctly pretty in spite of her get up, but it was unpleasantly evident to her companion that she was not the girl he had flirted with. She seemed to have changed into a capable, determined woman, and there was something that suggested imperiousness in her dark eyes when she looked up at him.“I want to know why you brought me here,” he said.The girl laughed. “That wasn’t civil, Tony. You should have let me think you came because you wanted to.”“I didn’t,” said Tony doggedly. “Nor can I stay here long. Don’t you know that some of these people might recognize you?”“I don’t see why that should worry me, though I don’t think they will. They are Darsley folk, and I fancy I have changed. You are going to be married I hear!”Tony set his lips as he saw the mocking smile in his companion’s face.“Yes,” he said. “We may as well talk plainly. You know of no reason why I shouldn’t.”Lucy Davidson made a little reproachful gesture. “Tony,” she said, “have I objected?”“No. The question is, do you mean to?”“That depends. I really don’t want to cause you trouble. You see, I was fond of you once, Tony—and would you like me to tell you that I am still?”Tony stood rigidly still with the blood in his forehead until the girl laughed.“You needn’t meet trouble before it comes,” she said. “I only wanted to see you.”Again there was silence, until Tony, who felt he must say something, broke it.“Where have you been since you left Northrop?” he asked.“In London. Music-hall stage. I took there, and was in Melbourne, too. Just now I’m resting a little, and only came down here out of curiosity.”“Still,” and Tony’s voice trembled a little, “you will have heard—”“Sit down,” said the girl almost sharply. “I want to talk to you. Yes, I heard in Melbourne. I read it all in a Darsley paper, and thought what fools the folks were to blame Mr. Appleby.”Tony gasped. “It is a painful thing to talk about, and I don’t want to distress you, but—”Lucy Davidson looked at him steadily. “What I felt about it doesn’t concern anybody but myself. I told you they were fools, Tony. You and I know who it was that circumstances really pointed to.”Tony’s cheeks turned a trifle gray, but this time he met her gaze. “Listen to me, Lucy. On my word of honor I had no hand in what happened,” he said. “The solemn truth is that your father had an altercation with Appleby, and afterwards fell over the bridge.”The girl’s eyes flashed, and she slowly straightened herself. “It is fortunate for you that I can take your word, because I had formed my own conclusions,” she said. “Don’t suppose I should sit here talking to you if I had thought you were guilty. This, however, is quite between ourselves.”There was a significance in the last words which was not lost upon the man. “Well,” he said slowly, “we come back to the point again. What do you want from me?”“Just a little kindness. I was, I don’t mind telling you again, fond of you, perhaps because—but we don’t always give reasons, Tony. There is nothing I want to ask you for in the meanwhile.”“I am to be married soon,” the man said in desperation.Lucy Davidson rose with a curious mocking smile. “Well,” she said, “I wish her joy of you. You are, you know, very poor stuff, Tony, and haven’t nerve enough to make either a good man or a rascal. The last, at least now and then, gets something for his pains. Now, you may take me back again.”
XVII — TONY IS PAINFULLY ASTONISHEDTHE cool shadows were creeping across the velvet grass next afternoon when Nettie Harding lay languidly content in a canvas chair on the Low Wood lawn. Behind her rose a long, low, red-roofed dwelling, whose gray walls showed only here and there through their green mantle of creeper, but in front, beyond the moss-covered terrace wall, wheatfield, coppice, and meadow flooded with golden sunlight melted through gradations of color into the blue distance. It was very hot, and the musical tinkle of a mower that rose from the valley emphasized the drowsy stillness. Opposite her, on the other side of the little table whereon stood dainty china and brass kettle, sat her hostess’s daughter, Hester Earle, and she smiled a little as she glanced at Nettie.“You are evidently not pining for New York!” she said.Nettie Harding laughed as she looked about her with appreciative eyes. “This is quite good enough for me, and we don’t live in New York,” she said. “Nobody who can help it does, and it’s quite a question how to take out of it the men who have to work there. Our place is on the Hudson, and it’s beautiful, though I admit it is different from this. We haven’t had the time to smooth down everything and round the corners off in our country, though when we are as old as you are we’ll have considerably more to show the world.”Hester Earle nodded tranquilly. She was typically English, and occasionally amused at Nettie, with whom she had made friends in London. Her father was chairman of a financial corporation that dealt in American securities, and having had business with Cyrus Harding, thought it advisable to show his daughter what attention he could.“You were enthusiastic over Northrop church and the Palliser memorials yesterday,” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie, “I was, but I should like to see the kind of men to whom they put them up. From what you said there are still some of them living in this part of your country?”“There is one at Northrop just now, and it is rather more than likely that you will see him this afternoon if he suspects that Violet Wayne is coming here. I think I hear her now.”There was a beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels behind the trees that shrouded the lawn, and five minutes later Violet and Tony Palliser crossed the strip of turf. Miss Earle lighted the spirit lamp, and for a space they talked of nothing in particular, while the pale blue flame burnt unwaveringly in the hot, still air. Then when the dainty cups were passed round Violet Wayne said—“I think you told me yesterday the effigy reminded you of somebody you had seen, Miss Harding.”“Yes,” said Nettie, “it did. I don’t mean that the face was like his, because that would be too absurd, but it was the expression—the strength and weariness in it—that impressed me. The man I am thinking of looked just like that when he kept watch one long night through.”“How do you know he did?” asked Hester.“Because I was there. I sat by a little lattice and watched him, knowing that my safety depended upon his vigilance.”“That was why Miss Harding was anxious to see you, Tony,” said Hester Earle. “I almost fancy she is disappointed now.”Tony, who sat with half-closed eyes, teacup in hand, in his chair, looked up and smiled languidly. “I think it is just a little rough on me that I should be expected to emulate the fortitude an unknown sculptor hewed into a marble face hundreds of years ago,” he said. “I wonder if Miss Harding would tell us about the man she is thinking of.”Nettie glanced at Violet Wayne, and fancied that she showed signs of interest. Besides Miss Harding was not averse to discoursing to an attentive audience.“Well,” she said, “I’ll try. It was in Cuba, and he was an Englishman. A little while before the night I am going to speak about he and his American partner captured a Spanish gun.”“Then I don’t see why you should have expected me to resemble him,” said Tony plaintively. “As everybody knows I should never have done such a thing! Will you tell us about the engagement?”Nettie flashed a keen glance at him, and Violet Wayne, who saw it, felt a slight thrill of impatience, but not with the girl. It was, she fancied, evident that Nettie Harding agreed with Tony.“It was in a hot barranco among the hills, and the Spaniards had turned the gun on the Sin Verguenza, and were sweeping them away, when he and the American lowered themselves down the rock side by creepers right into the middle of the loyalist troops. They hurled the gun over a precipice into the barranco, and when it had gone the rest of the Sin Verguenza drove the troops off with rifle fire. It was their colonel told me this. I did not see it.”“Would you mind telling us who the Sin Verguenza were?” said Tony.“The men without shame—that’s what it means in Spanish—an insurgent legion. They took the town in which my father and I were staying—a handful of ragged men, with two companies of drilled troops against them—and I lost my father in the crowd of fugitives. Then I hid in a church, and some drunken brigands were chasing me through the dark streets when I met the Englishman, who took care of me. The Sin Verguenza were breaking into the houses, and I was alone, horribly frightened and helpless, in that Cuban town. He was one of their officers, and he took me to the house they had made their headquarters.”“You went with him?” asked Hester Earle.“Yes,” said Nettie slowly, while a faint flush crept into her face, “I did. Nobody was safe from the Sin Verguenza then, and I felt I could trust him. There are men who make one feel like that, you know.”For no apparent reason she glanced at Violet Wayne, who sat with a curious expression in her eyes, looking—not at Tony, as Miss Harding noticed—but across the valley.“Yes,” she said, “there are. Go on, please!”“I went with him to the rebel headquarters, and then very nearly tried to run away again, because it was like walking into the lion’s den. The patio was littered with the furniture they had thrown out of the windows, and I could hear the men roystering over their wine. Still, when I looked at the man with me, I went in.”She stopped and sat silent a space of seconds, while none of the others spoke. They felt it might not be advisable to ask questions.“Well,” she continued, “he hid me in a room, and then sat down on the veranda that ran round the patio outside it where I could see him from the lattice. The city was in a turmoil, the insurgent leaders were carousing in the house and you will remember they were the Sin Verguenza. There was only that man and his American comrade between me and those horrors. I think he fancied I rested, but all that awful night I scarcely took my eyes off him. He was very like the marble knight just then.”“Isn’t that a little rough on the effigy?” said Tony with a smile. “The man was, I think you told us, a leader of shameless brigands.”Violet Wayne saw the gleam in Nettie’s eyes, and noticed the faint ring in her voice as she said, “There are not many men who could lead the Sin Verguenza, but you would understand what I mean if you had seen him. He was ragged and very weary, and had been hurt in the fighting, but he sat there keeping himself awake, with his rifle across his knees, and every time I looked at his face it reassured me. It was haggard, but it was grim and strong—and I knew that man would have to be torn to pieces before any harm could come to me. He was keeping vigil with something entrusted to him which he would guard with his life—and that, I think, is the fancy that stirs one when one looks at your marble knight.”Hester smiled as she admitted that this was probably what the sculptor had wished to express, but it was in Violet Wayne’s eyes that Nettie saw the most complete comprehension.“That man almost deserved so stanch a champion,” said Tony. “Eventually your father found you?”“Yes,” said Nettie. “The Sin Verguenza marched out in the early morning.”Then there was silence until Tony rose languidly. “I think I’ll go and bring some more cake,” he said. “You sit still, Hester. I’ll ask Mrs. Grantly for it.”Hester Earle laughed. “She is out. Perhaps you had better show him where it is, Violet.”The two who were left were silent for awhile, and then Hester Earle smiled at her companion as she said, “You wanted to see Tony Palliser.”Nettie glanced suggestively towards Tony, who was then coming back across the lawn, carrying a tray.“There is no reason why he should not do that kind of thing—but the trouble is that it seems quite natural to him, as though it was what he was meant to do,” she said.“Don’t you think he could do anything else?”Nettie appeared reflective. “It strikes me he wouldn’t want to.”“Tony is a very good fellow,” said Hester. “He has never done an ungraceful thing.”“Well,” said Nettie, “I expect that is just what is wrong with him. It seems to me that the men who do what is worth doing can’t always be graceful. The knight in the chancel had his helmet beaten in, while I fancy his mail was battered and dusty, and if the great glittering angel waited for the Palliser who was shot in Africa it wasn’t because he carried tea trays prettily.”“And yet Violet, who expects a good deal, is content with him.”“Well,” said Nettie gravely, “I’m almost afraid she’s giving herself away. I have seen the man who would have suited her—and he was a ragged leader of the Sin Verguenza.”“Had that man no taste?” asked Hester with a little laugh.Nettie glanced down at the white hand she moved a little so that there was a flash from the ring. “That was there already. It was a man of the same kind who put it on.”Tony and Violet Wayne came up just then, and when they sat down Hester turned to the man. “We are getting up a concert in the Darsley assembly rooms for the sewing guild,” she said. “We are, as usual, short of money. You will bring your banjo, and sing a coon song.”“It’s too hot,” said Tony. “Besides, folks expect a decorum I haven’t been quite accustomed to from me now, and I’m not going to black my face for anybody. I would a good deal sooner give you the money.”“That’s very like you, Tony, but it’s too easy, though we will take the money too. It’s a good cause, or it would not be in difficulties. You will come and sing.”Tony made a gesture of resignation. “Well,” he said “it would take too much trouble to convince you that you had better get somebody else, and, anyway, I can have a cold.”Then the conversation turned on other topics until Tony and Violet took their leave, but when she shook hands with him Hester reminded Tony of his promise. It was, however, almost a month later when he was called upon to keep it and finding no excuse available drove into the neighboring town one evening. He was welcomed somewhat effusively when he entered an ante-room of the assembly hall, and then taken to a place that had been kept for him beside Violet and her mother. The concert very much resembled others of the kind, and neither Tony nor his companions paid much attention to the music until Mrs. Wayne looked up from her programme.“Thérèse Clavier. Costume dance!” she said. “No doubt they called it that to pacify the vicar. Well, she is pretty, if somewhat elaborately got up. Doesn’t she remind you of somebody, Violet?”Tony glanced at the stage, and gasped. A girl with dark hair in voluminous flimsy draperies came on with a curtsey and a smile, and a little chill ran through him before he heard Violet’s answer.“Lucy Davidson. But of course it can’t be she,” she said. “This woman is older and has darker hair, though that, perhaps, does not count for very much, while Lucy could never have acquired her confidence.”Tony said nothing. He was staring across the rows of heads and watching the girl. She appeared older, bolder, and harder than Lucy Davidson had done, but the likeness was still unpleasantly suggestive. She danced well, but it was not the graceful posing or the swift folding and flowing of light draperies that held Tony’s attention. His eyes were fixed upon the smiling face, and he scarcely heard the thunder of applause or Mrs. Wayne’s voice in the silence that followed it.“Effective, and yet nobody could take exception to it,” she said. “But don’t you come on next, Tony?”Tony, who had not remembered it, stood up suddenly, knocking down the hat of a man beside him, and trod upon the girl’s dress as he passed. She glanced up at him sharply, for he was seldom awkward in his movements, but he was looking another way. The audience was also getting impatient, and there was a clapping of hands and stamping of feet before he appeared upon the stage. Then he sat down fingering his banjo pegs, and twice asked the accompanist for a note on the piano.“Any other man would have done that before,” said Mrs. Wayne. “Still, I suppose Tony cannot help it, and he seems contented now.”There was a tinkle from the banjo followed by a chord on the piano, but Tony did not face the audience until the introduction had dragged through. Then Violet noticed that his voice, which was a sweet tenor, was not so clear as usual, and the silence of the piano emphasized his feebler touch on the strings. Still, Tony sang such songs as usually go with the banjo well, for the mingling of faint pathos and mild burlesque was within his grasp, which was, perhaps, not without its significance, and nobody appeared to find any fault with the performance. There was, in fact, enthusiastic applause, though Violet was glad when Tony persisted in leaving the stage, and her mother glanced at her.“I have heard Tony put much more spirit into that song,” she said.Tony in the meanwhile was endeavoring to make his way quietly through the green-room when one of the committee touched his shoulder.“Can’t you spare us a few minutes?” he said. “Miss Clavier seemed to like your singing, and I think she would be pleased if you noticed her. When she heard it was a charity she came down for half her usual fee.”Tony was not grateful to the man who had detained him, and could it have been done without exciting comment would have shaken off his grasp. As it was, however, there was no avoiding the introduction, and he suffered himself to be led forward with unpleasant misgivings. Miss Clavier made him a somewhat dignified bow, but she also made room for him beside her, while something in her dark eyes warned Tony that it would be wise of him to accept the unspoken invitation. He sat down, wondering what she wanted, until she smiled at him.“There are coffee and ices in the other room, Tony,” she said. “Will you take me there?”The man realized that this mode of address had its significance, for it had been Mr. Palliser in the old days; but he rose gravely and held out his arm, knowing that what he did would not pass without comment. The feeling was also warranted, for one of the men who watched them pass out into the corridor smiled as he turned to his companion.“Tony seems bent on doing rather more than was expected of him,” he said. “No doubt she knows his standing in the neighborhood, and intends this as a delicate compliment to one or two of our lady amateurs who were not exactly pleasant to her. It’s quite certain she can’t be hungry.”As it happened, there was nobody but the attendant in the buffet when they reached it, and Lucy Davidson flung herself down with a curious, lithe gracefulness in a big chair in a corner.“Bring me some coffee for the look of the thing,” she said.Tony did it, and then stood beside her while she toyed with her cup. Lucy Davidson was distinctly pretty in spite of her get up, but it was unpleasantly evident to her companion that she was not the girl he had flirted with. She seemed to have changed into a capable, determined woman, and there was something that suggested imperiousness in her dark eyes when she looked up at him.“I want to know why you brought me here,” he said.The girl laughed. “That wasn’t civil, Tony. You should have let me think you came because you wanted to.”“I didn’t,” said Tony doggedly. “Nor can I stay here long. Don’t you know that some of these people might recognize you?”“I don’t see why that should worry me, though I don’t think they will. They are Darsley folk, and I fancy I have changed. You are going to be married I hear!”Tony set his lips as he saw the mocking smile in his companion’s face.“Yes,” he said. “We may as well talk plainly. You know of no reason why I shouldn’t.”Lucy Davidson made a little reproachful gesture. “Tony,” she said, “have I objected?”“No. The question is, do you mean to?”“That depends. I really don’t want to cause you trouble. You see, I was fond of you once, Tony—and would you like me to tell you that I am still?”Tony stood rigidly still with the blood in his forehead until the girl laughed.“You needn’t meet trouble before it comes,” she said. “I only wanted to see you.”Again there was silence, until Tony, who felt he must say something, broke it.“Where have you been since you left Northrop?” he asked.“In London. Music-hall stage. I took there, and was in Melbourne, too. Just now I’m resting a little, and only came down here out of curiosity.”“Still,” and Tony’s voice trembled a little, “you will have heard—”“Sit down,” said the girl almost sharply. “I want to talk to you. Yes, I heard in Melbourne. I read it all in a Darsley paper, and thought what fools the folks were to blame Mr. Appleby.”Tony gasped. “It is a painful thing to talk about, and I don’t want to distress you, but—”Lucy Davidson looked at him steadily. “What I felt about it doesn’t concern anybody but myself. I told you they were fools, Tony. You and I know who it was that circumstances really pointed to.”Tony’s cheeks turned a trifle gray, but this time he met her gaze. “Listen to me, Lucy. On my word of honor I had no hand in what happened,” he said. “The solemn truth is that your father had an altercation with Appleby, and afterwards fell over the bridge.”The girl’s eyes flashed, and she slowly straightened herself. “It is fortunate for you that I can take your word, because I had formed my own conclusions,” she said. “Don’t suppose I should sit here talking to you if I had thought you were guilty. This, however, is quite between ourselves.”There was a significance in the last words which was not lost upon the man. “Well,” he said slowly, “we come back to the point again. What do you want from me?”“Just a little kindness. I was, I don’t mind telling you again, fond of you, perhaps because—but we don’t always give reasons, Tony. There is nothing I want to ask you for in the meanwhile.”“I am to be married soon,” the man said in desperation.Lucy Davidson rose with a curious mocking smile. “Well,” she said, “I wish her joy of you. You are, you know, very poor stuff, Tony, and haven’t nerve enough to make either a good man or a rascal. The last, at least now and then, gets something for his pains. Now, you may take me back again.”
THE cool shadows were creeping across the velvet grass next afternoon when Nettie Harding lay languidly content in a canvas chair on the Low Wood lawn. Behind her rose a long, low, red-roofed dwelling, whose gray walls showed only here and there through their green mantle of creeper, but in front, beyond the moss-covered terrace wall, wheatfield, coppice, and meadow flooded with golden sunlight melted through gradations of color into the blue distance. It was very hot, and the musical tinkle of a mower that rose from the valley emphasized the drowsy stillness. Opposite her, on the other side of the little table whereon stood dainty china and brass kettle, sat her hostess’s daughter, Hester Earle, and she smiled a little as she glanced at Nettie.
“You are evidently not pining for New York!” she said.
Nettie Harding laughed as she looked about her with appreciative eyes. “This is quite good enough for me, and we don’t live in New York,” she said. “Nobody who can help it does, and it’s quite a question how to take out of it the men who have to work there. Our place is on the Hudson, and it’s beautiful, though I admit it is different from this. We haven’t had the time to smooth down everything and round the corners off in our country, though when we are as old as you are we’ll have considerably more to show the world.”
Hester Earle nodded tranquilly. She was typically English, and occasionally amused at Nettie, with whom she had made friends in London. Her father was chairman of a financial corporation that dealt in American securities, and having had business with Cyrus Harding, thought it advisable to show his daughter what attention he could.
“You were enthusiastic over Northrop church and the Palliser memorials yesterday,” she said.
“Yes,” said Nettie, “I was, but I should like to see the kind of men to whom they put them up. From what you said there are still some of them living in this part of your country?”
“There is one at Northrop just now, and it is rather more than likely that you will see him this afternoon if he suspects that Violet Wayne is coming here. I think I hear her now.”
There was a beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels behind the trees that shrouded the lawn, and five minutes later Violet and Tony Palliser crossed the strip of turf. Miss Earle lighted the spirit lamp, and for a space they talked of nothing in particular, while the pale blue flame burnt unwaveringly in the hot, still air. Then when the dainty cups were passed round Violet Wayne said—
“I think you told me yesterday the effigy reminded you of somebody you had seen, Miss Harding.”
“Yes,” said Nettie, “it did. I don’t mean that the face was like his, because that would be too absurd, but it was the expression—the strength and weariness in it—that impressed me. The man I am thinking of looked just like that when he kept watch one long night through.”
“How do you know he did?” asked Hester.
“Because I was there. I sat by a little lattice and watched him, knowing that my safety depended upon his vigilance.”
“That was why Miss Harding was anxious to see you, Tony,” said Hester Earle. “I almost fancy she is disappointed now.”
Tony, who sat with half-closed eyes, teacup in hand, in his chair, looked up and smiled languidly. “I think it is just a little rough on me that I should be expected to emulate the fortitude an unknown sculptor hewed into a marble face hundreds of years ago,” he said. “I wonder if Miss Harding would tell us about the man she is thinking of.”
Nettie glanced at Violet Wayne, and fancied that she showed signs of interest. Besides Miss Harding was not averse to discoursing to an attentive audience.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll try. It was in Cuba, and he was an Englishman. A little while before the night I am going to speak about he and his American partner captured a Spanish gun.”
“Then I don’t see why you should have expected me to resemble him,” said Tony plaintively. “As everybody knows I should never have done such a thing! Will you tell us about the engagement?”
Nettie flashed a keen glance at him, and Violet Wayne, who saw it, felt a slight thrill of impatience, but not with the girl. It was, she fancied, evident that Nettie Harding agreed with Tony.
“It was in a hot barranco among the hills, and the Spaniards had turned the gun on the Sin Verguenza, and were sweeping them away, when he and the American lowered themselves down the rock side by creepers right into the middle of the loyalist troops. They hurled the gun over a precipice into the barranco, and when it had gone the rest of the Sin Verguenza drove the troops off with rifle fire. It was their colonel told me this. I did not see it.”
“Would you mind telling us who the Sin Verguenza were?” said Tony.
“The men without shame—that’s what it means in Spanish—an insurgent legion. They took the town in which my father and I were staying—a handful of ragged men, with two companies of drilled troops against them—and I lost my father in the crowd of fugitives. Then I hid in a church, and some drunken brigands were chasing me through the dark streets when I met the Englishman, who took care of me. The Sin Verguenza were breaking into the houses, and I was alone, horribly frightened and helpless, in that Cuban town. He was one of their officers, and he took me to the house they had made their headquarters.”
“You went with him?” asked Hester Earle.
“Yes,” said Nettie slowly, while a faint flush crept into her face, “I did. Nobody was safe from the Sin Verguenza then, and I felt I could trust him. There are men who make one feel like that, you know.”
For no apparent reason she glanced at Violet Wayne, who sat with a curious expression in her eyes, looking—not at Tony, as Miss Harding noticed—but across the valley.
“Yes,” she said, “there are. Go on, please!”
“I went with him to the rebel headquarters, and then very nearly tried to run away again, because it was like walking into the lion’s den. The patio was littered with the furniture they had thrown out of the windows, and I could hear the men roystering over their wine. Still, when I looked at the man with me, I went in.”
She stopped and sat silent a space of seconds, while none of the others spoke. They felt it might not be advisable to ask questions.
“Well,” she continued, “he hid me in a room, and then sat down on the veranda that ran round the patio outside it where I could see him from the lattice. The city was in a turmoil, the insurgent leaders were carousing in the house and you will remember they were the Sin Verguenza. There was only that man and his American comrade between me and those horrors. I think he fancied I rested, but all that awful night I scarcely took my eyes off him. He was very like the marble knight just then.”
“Isn’t that a little rough on the effigy?” said Tony with a smile. “The man was, I think you told us, a leader of shameless brigands.”
Violet Wayne saw the gleam in Nettie’s eyes, and noticed the faint ring in her voice as she said, “There are not many men who could lead the Sin Verguenza, but you would understand what I mean if you had seen him. He was ragged and very weary, and had been hurt in the fighting, but he sat there keeping himself awake, with his rifle across his knees, and every time I looked at his face it reassured me. It was haggard, but it was grim and strong—and I knew that man would have to be torn to pieces before any harm could come to me. He was keeping vigil with something entrusted to him which he would guard with his life—and that, I think, is the fancy that stirs one when one looks at your marble knight.”
Hester smiled as she admitted that this was probably what the sculptor had wished to express, but it was in Violet Wayne’s eyes that Nettie saw the most complete comprehension.
“That man almost deserved so stanch a champion,” said Tony. “Eventually your father found you?”
“Yes,” said Nettie. “The Sin Verguenza marched out in the early morning.”
Then there was silence until Tony rose languidly. “I think I’ll go and bring some more cake,” he said. “You sit still, Hester. I’ll ask Mrs. Grantly for it.”
Hester Earle laughed. “She is out. Perhaps you had better show him where it is, Violet.”
The two who were left were silent for awhile, and then Hester Earle smiled at her companion as she said, “You wanted to see Tony Palliser.”
Nettie glanced suggestively towards Tony, who was then coming back across the lawn, carrying a tray.
“There is no reason why he should not do that kind of thing—but the trouble is that it seems quite natural to him, as though it was what he was meant to do,” she said.
“Don’t you think he could do anything else?”
Nettie appeared reflective. “It strikes me he wouldn’t want to.”
“Tony is a very good fellow,” said Hester. “He has never done an ungraceful thing.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “I expect that is just what is wrong with him. It seems to me that the men who do what is worth doing can’t always be graceful. The knight in the chancel had his helmet beaten in, while I fancy his mail was battered and dusty, and if the great glittering angel waited for the Palliser who was shot in Africa it wasn’t because he carried tea trays prettily.”
“And yet Violet, who expects a good deal, is content with him.”
“Well,” said Nettie gravely, “I’m almost afraid she’s giving herself away. I have seen the man who would have suited her—and he was a ragged leader of the Sin Verguenza.”
“Had that man no taste?” asked Hester with a little laugh.
Nettie glanced down at the white hand she moved a little so that there was a flash from the ring. “That was there already. It was a man of the same kind who put it on.”
Tony and Violet Wayne came up just then, and when they sat down Hester turned to the man. “We are getting up a concert in the Darsley assembly rooms for the sewing guild,” she said. “We are, as usual, short of money. You will bring your banjo, and sing a coon song.”
“It’s too hot,” said Tony. “Besides, folks expect a decorum I haven’t been quite accustomed to from me now, and I’m not going to black my face for anybody. I would a good deal sooner give you the money.”
“That’s very like you, Tony, but it’s too easy, though we will take the money too. It’s a good cause, or it would not be in difficulties. You will come and sing.”
Tony made a gesture of resignation. “Well,” he said “it would take too much trouble to convince you that you had better get somebody else, and, anyway, I can have a cold.”
Then the conversation turned on other topics until Tony and Violet took their leave, but when she shook hands with him Hester reminded Tony of his promise. It was, however, almost a month later when he was called upon to keep it and finding no excuse available drove into the neighboring town one evening. He was welcomed somewhat effusively when he entered an ante-room of the assembly hall, and then taken to a place that had been kept for him beside Violet and her mother. The concert very much resembled others of the kind, and neither Tony nor his companions paid much attention to the music until Mrs. Wayne looked up from her programme.
“Thérèse Clavier. Costume dance!” she said. “No doubt they called it that to pacify the vicar. Well, she is pretty, if somewhat elaborately got up. Doesn’t she remind you of somebody, Violet?”
Tony glanced at the stage, and gasped. A girl with dark hair in voluminous flimsy draperies came on with a curtsey and a smile, and a little chill ran through him before he heard Violet’s answer.
“Lucy Davidson. But of course it can’t be she,” she said. “This woman is older and has darker hair, though that, perhaps, does not count for very much, while Lucy could never have acquired her confidence.”
Tony said nothing. He was staring across the rows of heads and watching the girl. She appeared older, bolder, and harder than Lucy Davidson had done, but the likeness was still unpleasantly suggestive. She danced well, but it was not the graceful posing or the swift folding and flowing of light draperies that held Tony’s attention. His eyes were fixed upon the smiling face, and he scarcely heard the thunder of applause or Mrs. Wayne’s voice in the silence that followed it.
“Effective, and yet nobody could take exception to it,” she said. “But don’t you come on next, Tony?”
Tony, who had not remembered it, stood up suddenly, knocking down the hat of a man beside him, and trod upon the girl’s dress as he passed. She glanced up at him sharply, for he was seldom awkward in his movements, but he was looking another way. The audience was also getting impatient, and there was a clapping of hands and stamping of feet before he appeared upon the stage. Then he sat down fingering his banjo pegs, and twice asked the accompanist for a note on the piano.
“Any other man would have done that before,” said Mrs. Wayne. “Still, I suppose Tony cannot help it, and he seems contented now.”
There was a tinkle from the banjo followed by a chord on the piano, but Tony did not face the audience until the introduction had dragged through. Then Violet noticed that his voice, which was a sweet tenor, was not so clear as usual, and the silence of the piano emphasized his feebler touch on the strings. Still, Tony sang such songs as usually go with the banjo well, for the mingling of faint pathos and mild burlesque was within his grasp, which was, perhaps, not without its significance, and nobody appeared to find any fault with the performance. There was, in fact, enthusiastic applause, though Violet was glad when Tony persisted in leaving the stage, and her mother glanced at her.
“I have heard Tony put much more spirit into that song,” she said.
Tony in the meanwhile was endeavoring to make his way quietly through the green-room when one of the committee touched his shoulder.
“Can’t you spare us a few minutes?” he said. “Miss Clavier seemed to like your singing, and I think she would be pleased if you noticed her. When she heard it was a charity she came down for half her usual fee.”
Tony was not grateful to the man who had detained him, and could it have been done without exciting comment would have shaken off his grasp. As it was, however, there was no avoiding the introduction, and he suffered himself to be led forward with unpleasant misgivings. Miss Clavier made him a somewhat dignified bow, but she also made room for him beside her, while something in her dark eyes warned Tony that it would be wise of him to accept the unspoken invitation. He sat down, wondering what she wanted, until she smiled at him.
“There are coffee and ices in the other room, Tony,” she said. “Will you take me there?”
The man realized that this mode of address had its significance, for it had been Mr. Palliser in the old days; but he rose gravely and held out his arm, knowing that what he did would not pass without comment. The feeling was also warranted, for one of the men who watched them pass out into the corridor smiled as he turned to his companion.
“Tony seems bent on doing rather more than was expected of him,” he said. “No doubt she knows his standing in the neighborhood, and intends this as a delicate compliment to one or two of our lady amateurs who were not exactly pleasant to her. It’s quite certain she can’t be hungry.”
As it happened, there was nobody but the attendant in the buffet when they reached it, and Lucy Davidson flung herself down with a curious, lithe gracefulness in a big chair in a corner.
“Bring me some coffee for the look of the thing,” she said.
Tony did it, and then stood beside her while she toyed with her cup. Lucy Davidson was distinctly pretty in spite of her get up, but it was unpleasantly evident to her companion that she was not the girl he had flirted with. She seemed to have changed into a capable, determined woman, and there was something that suggested imperiousness in her dark eyes when she looked up at him.
“I want to know why you brought me here,” he said.
The girl laughed. “That wasn’t civil, Tony. You should have let me think you came because you wanted to.”
“I didn’t,” said Tony doggedly. “Nor can I stay here long. Don’t you know that some of these people might recognize you?”
“I don’t see why that should worry me, though I don’t think they will. They are Darsley folk, and I fancy I have changed. You are going to be married I hear!”
Tony set his lips as he saw the mocking smile in his companion’s face.
“Yes,” he said. “We may as well talk plainly. You know of no reason why I shouldn’t.”
Lucy Davidson made a little reproachful gesture. “Tony,” she said, “have I objected?”
“No. The question is, do you mean to?”
“That depends. I really don’t want to cause you trouble. You see, I was fond of you once, Tony—and would you like me to tell you that I am still?”
Tony stood rigidly still with the blood in his forehead until the girl laughed.
“You needn’t meet trouble before it comes,” she said. “I only wanted to see you.”
Again there was silence, until Tony, who felt he must say something, broke it.
“Where have you been since you left Northrop?” he asked.
“In London. Music-hall stage. I took there, and was in Melbourne, too. Just now I’m resting a little, and only came down here out of curiosity.”
“Still,” and Tony’s voice trembled a little, “you will have heard—”
“Sit down,” said the girl almost sharply. “I want to talk to you. Yes, I heard in Melbourne. I read it all in a Darsley paper, and thought what fools the folks were to blame Mr. Appleby.”
Tony gasped. “It is a painful thing to talk about, and I don’t want to distress you, but—”
Lucy Davidson looked at him steadily. “What I felt about it doesn’t concern anybody but myself. I told you they were fools, Tony. You and I know who it was that circumstances really pointed to.”
Tony’s cheeks turned a trifle gray, but this time he met her gaze. “Listen to me, Lucy. On my word of honor I had no hand in what happened,” he said. “The solemn truth is that your father had an altercation with Appleby, and afterwards fell over the bridge.”
The girl’s eyes flashed, and she slowly straightened herself. “It is fortunate for you that I can take your word, because I had formed my own conclusions,” she said. “Don’t suppose I should sit here talking to you if I had thought you were guilty. This, however, is quite between ourselves.”
There was a significance in the last words which was not lost upon the man. “Well,” he said slowly, “we come back to the point again. What do you want from me?”
“Just a little kindness. I was, I don’t mind telling you again, fond of you, perhaps because—but we don’t always give reasons, Tony. There is nothing I want to ask you for in the meanwhile.”
“I am to be married soon,” the man said in desperation.
Lucy Davidson rose with a curious mocking smile. “Well,” she said, “I wish her joy of you. You are, you know, very poor stuff, Tony, and haven’t nerve enough to make either a good man or a rascal. The last, at least now and then, gets something for his pains. Now, you may take me back again.”