XX — FOUND GUILTYTWO or three weeks had passed since the concert on the Low Wood lawn, and Thérèse Clavier had gone back into the obscurity she came from, when Nettie Harding once more stood beside the effigy in Northrop church. It was then late in the afternoon, and the little ancient building was growing shadowy. Hester Earle and Violet Wayne were moving about the aisle with bundles of wheat-ears and streamers of ivy, for the harvest thanksgiving was shortly to be celebrated, while the vicar stood waiting their directions on the chancel steps with a great handful of crimson gladioli.Nettie, however, noticed none of them. She was lost in reflection, and her eyes were fixed on the grim stone face. She had gazed at it often with a vague sense of comprehension and a feeling that the contemplation of it brought within her grasp the spirit of the chivalrous past. Loyalty, she felt, was the predominative motive in the sculptured face, though it bore the stamp of stress and weariness; and she stood very still struggling with a half-formed resolution as she gazed at it.Hester’s voice rose softly from the aisle, and there was a patter of feet and swish of draperies, but it was low, as though the girl who made it felt the silence of the place. The door beside the organ was open wide, and Nettie could hear a faint rustle of moving leaves, and the sighing of a little warm wind about the church, while, lifting her head, she caught a brief glimpse of the dusky beech woods and sunlit valley. It was all very still, impressively quiet, and she felt the peace of it; but it was not peace, but something born of strife and yet akin to it her fancy strained after, and once more she seemed to hear the strident crackle of riflery and the shouts of the Sin Verguenza. The green English valley faded, and she saw in place of it the white walls of the Cuban town rise against the dusky indigo. Then once more she could dimly realize the calm that came of a high purpose, and was beyond and greater than the peace of prosperity. She had seen it beneath the stress and weariness in the faces of the marble knight and a living man.Then with a little swift move of her shoulders she shook off the fancies, and fell to considering the task which it seemed was laid before her. She had made a friend of Bernard Appleby and that meant much with her; while ever since she had heard Miss Clavier’s story the desire to right him had been growing stronger, but she had unpleasant misgivings. She felt the responsibility of breaking the smooth course of other lives almost too great for her, and wondered vaguely whether if she declared the truth in that sheltered land where nothing that was startling or indecorous ever seemed to happen anybody would believe her. She might even have kept silent had Violet Wayne been different, but Nettie already entertained an affection that was largely respectful for her, and determined that if she married Tony Palliser she should at least do so knowing what kind of man he was. Once more, however, her resolution almost failed her, and she glanced at the great glittering angel in the west window with a sense of her presumption in venturing to meddle with the great scheme of destiny. Still, Nettie was daring, and turning suddenly she looked down into the stone face again.“I think you would understand, and at least you would not be afraid. Well, the man who is very like you shall have his rights,” she said.The stillness seemed to grow more intense, the calm face more resolute, while the spirit of the dead sculptor’s conception gripped the girl as it had never done before. She felt that her duty was plain before her, and that fears and misgivings must be trampled on. Then there was a step behind her, and she saw Hester looking at her with a little smile.“Were you talking to the effigy, Nettie?” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie quietly. “I think I was. There is no reason you shouldn’t laugh if you want to, but I seem to fancy that man understands me. What you will not believe, however, is that he answered me.”Hester appeared a trifle astonished, but she smiled again. “I saw you turn and look at the figure in the west window,” she said. “Were you holding communion with the angel too?”“No,” said Nettie with a curious naive gravity. “I’m quite open to admit I don’t know much about angels—I’ve only seen pictures of them. Still, I sometimes think there’s a little of their nature in the hearts of men. That man must have had it, and the Palliser who was killed in Africa had it too. Of course, that’s not the kind of talk you would expect from an American.”Hester realized by the last trace of irony that Nettie did not desire to pursue the topic, and looking round saw that the vicar had joined them unobserved. He was a quiet man with an ascetic face, but there was a little twinkle in his eyes.“Yes,” he said. “I admit I overheard. It seems to me that Miss Harding’s attitude is perfectly comprehensible.”Hester laughed. “That,” she said, “is convincing, coming from you. In the meanwhile I am positively thirsty, and tea will be waiting at Low Wood. You may as well come over with us now since we expect you at dinner.”It was, however, half an hour later when they left the rectory and walked through the fields to Low Wood with Tony, who had been waiting them. Nettie laughed and talked to the vicar with her usual freedom, but she was also sensible of a quiet resolution. Violet Wayne should know the truth and Appleby’s name be cleared, but she was shrewd, and saw the difficulty of attesting it convincingly. She was also very fair, and decided that Tony must have an opportunity of defending himself or admitting his offence. Now and then she felt her heart throbbing as she wondered whether she would fail at her task, but she shook off her misgivings, and it was only afterwards the vicar guessed at the struggle that went on within his companion.They were sitting about the little table on the lawn when an opportunity was made for her, and the scene long remained impressed on Nettie’s memory. The old house showed cool and gray between its wrappings of creepers that were flecked with saffron now, while here and there a tendril gleamed warm crimson against the stone. Its long shadow lay black upon the velvet grass, and there were ruddy gleams from the woodlands from which the yellow light was fading beyond the moss-crusted wall. Still, the river shone dazzlingly where it came rippling out of the gloom of a copse, and a long row of windows blinked in the building beside its bank.Nettie noticed this vacantly, for it was Tony and Violet Wayne she was looking at. The man lay with a curious languid gracefulness in his chair, his straw hat on the back of his head and a smile on his lips, though Nettie fancied that she saw care in his face. Violet sat erect looking down the valley with thoughtful eyes, and though every line of her figure suggested quiet composure it seemed to Nettie that her face was a trifle too colorless, and that her big gray eyes lacked brightness. She could almost fancy that the shadow of care which rested on Tony had touched his sweetheart too. Opposite them sat the vicar, who had, Nettie understood, been a close friend of the Pallisers, and Hester Earle was busy with her spirit kettle close beside him. The latter looked up suddenly.“I can’t help thinking that the Americans are a somewhat inconsistent people,” she said. “It is only a little while since Nettie fancied herself a torpedo, and yet I found her explaining her sentiments to the marble knight this afternoon.”“Well,” said Nettie with a little smile, though she could feel her heart beating, “I feel more like a torpedo than ever just now.”Hester nodded. “That is more or less comprehensible,” she said. “A torpedo is an essentially modern thing stored with potential activities and likely to go off and startle everybody when they least expect it, all of which is characteristically American. The marble knight—and I fancy some people would include the angel—belongs to the past, to the old knightly days when women were worshipped, men believed in saints and guardian angels, and faith wrought miracles.”The vicar glanced at Nettie as he said, “Extremes meet now and then.”“Well,” said Nettie, “women are made much of in my country still, even by impecunious Englishmen who claim descent from men who did their share in those days of chivalry. That is, when they have money enough, but just now I’m not going to be too prickly. You haven’t much voice, Hester, but you sing that little jingly song about the fairies quite prettily, and the notion it’s hung upon gets hold of me. I can feel it better in Northrop church than anywhere. You know what I mean. There is very little to keep us out of fairyland. You have but to touch with your finger tips the ivory gate and golden!”“If Hester understands your meaning I admit that it’s more than I do,” said Tony.“Still,” said Nettie naively, “I didn’t think you would. You have too many possessions, and, you see, there are limitations in the song. You might knock a long while at those ivory gates before they let you in.”There was a little laughter, in which Tony joined, and the vicar said, “Excellent! He deserved it. Please don’t stop. Miss Harding.”“That’s not necessary,” said Hester. “Once Nettie gets started she generally, as she would express it, goes straight through.”“Yes,” said Nettie, “I quite often do. I’m not in the least afraid, like you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling people what we think in my country. Still, I’m not sure about those limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and heiresses—but I don’t want to go trespassing while the vicar’s here.”The vicar nodded. “I claim you as an ally,” he said, “The idea you have taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one.”“Well,” said Nettie, “what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is living still—because it belongs to all time and can never die. It’s with us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old-time men wore their labels—the monk’s girdle, the red-cross shield, the palmer’s shell, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but can’t modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don’t like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic—unless, of course, he’s a clergyman.”There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. “I’m afraid they don’t all come under that category,” he said.“Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost when they saw what was expected of them. Can’t one fancy their passing the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits of those old loyal folk who went before them—they, and the women they believe in?”There was a moment’s silence. Nettie’s face was a trifle flushed, and a faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne’s gray eyes.“I think,” said the vicar reflectively, “you might go further and say—with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a symbol.”Tony, however, laughed indolently. “One would feel tempted to wonder whether there are many men who never did a mean thing.”A curious anger came upon Nettie. Tony Palliser seemed the embodiment of all that her simple strenuous nature despised, and he who had everything had taken from a better man the blameless name which was his one possession. He sat before her honored and prosperous, while she remembered Appleby’s weariness and rags, and obeyed the impulse that drove her to unmask him. Her answer was coldly incisive.“There are. You know one of them,” she said.“No,” said Tony, and there was a trace of anxiety in his glance, “I am not sure that I do, though I have some passable friends.”“Well,” said Nettie, “I certainly met one, and he did not wear a label. In fact, he was a smuggler of rifles and a leader of the Shameless Legion, but he was very loyal to his comrades, and when he was wounded and weary with battle he risked and lost a good deal to take care of a woman who had no claim on him. She had, he felt, been committed to his trust, and he would have been torn to pieces before he failed in it. That was why the knight’s face reminded me of his—but I have told you about him already.”Tony’s face expressed relief, and Nettie sat silent a moment until the vicar said, “It was a generous impulse, but it may have been a momentary one, while in the crusader’s case there must have been a sustaining purpose, and a great abnegation, a leaving of lands and possessions he might never regain.”Nettie realized that her task must be undertaken now, and wondered that she felt so quietly and almost mercilessly collected.“Still,” she said, “the man I mentioned did as much—not to win fame or a pardon for his sins, but to save a comrade who was not worthy of the sacrifice. You would like me to tell you about it?”Hester smiled in languid approbation, and the vicar’s face showed his interest; but Tony sat very still, with the fingers of one hand quivering a little, and Violet’s eyes seemed curiously grave as she fixed them upon the girl.“Then,” said Nettie, “I will try, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant story. There was a man in England who involved himself with a girl whom, because of your notions in this country, he could not marry. It was only a flirtation, but the girl’s father made the most of it, and raised trouble for the man when he wanted to marry a woman of his own degree. He had done nothing wrong as yet, but he was weak—so he sent his friend to bluff off the man who had been squeezing money out of him.”Tony made a little abrupt movement, and a tinge of gray showed in his cheek, but it passed unnoticed by all save Nettie Harding. The vicar was watching her with a curious intentness, and there was apprehension in Violet’s face, while Hester gazed steadily at Nettie with growing astonishment.“It was at night the friend met the blackmailer,” she said. “There was an altercation, and then a struggle. Still, the blackmailer was not seriously hurt, and the other man saw him walk away. It was not until next day they found he had fallen into a river from the bridge.”She stopped a moment, and Violet turned to her, very white in face, with a great horror in her eyes.“You venture to tell me this?” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie, glancing at Tony. “It hurts me, but it’s necessary. If you do not believe me ask the man who sent his friend to meet the man he dared not face.”There was a sound that suggested a gasp, and a dress rustled softly as Violet, moving a little, closed one hand, while Tony’s face showed gray and drawn as he leaned forward in his chair. It was, however, the vicar who broke the tense silence.“Since you have told us so much, Miss Harding, I must ask you to go on,” he said.“Then,” said Nettie, “the friend gave up everything, and took the blame that his comrade might marry the woman he loved, He went to America—and when he comes back there from Cuba we will find room for him.”“I think,” said the vicar very slowly, “in order to make quite sure one of us should ask you for his name.”Nettie glanced at Violet, who made a little sign.“It was Bernard Appleby,” she said.Then Violet turned to Tony, and her voice, which was low and strained, sent a little thrill through the listeners.“Speak!” she said. “Tony, you can, you must, controvert it!”Tony rose very slowly to his feet, and the courage of desperation was his. “I can’t. Miss Harding is quite correct,” he said. “I must ask the rest to leave us. This affair is ours—mine and Violet’s only, you see.”“He is right,” said the vicar, rising. “I will ask you to let the story go no further in the meanwhile, Miss Harding. There is, I think, only one thing Mr. Palliser can do, but the responsibility is his.”The others went away with him, and for a moment or two Violet and Tony stood face to face. Then when the man would have spoken the girl turned from him with a little gesture of repulsion.“No,” she said faintly. “It is too horrible. I can bear nothing further now.”She swept away from him, and Tony, standing rigidly still with hands clenched, let her go. Then he turned and strode with bent head across the lawn.Five minutes later Hester Earle, entering one of the rooms quietly with the vicar, found Nettie lying in a chair and apparently shivering. She looked up when she saw them, and then turned her head away.“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk to me!” she said. “Still, though I feel most horribly mean, I did it because I had to.”“Yes,” said the vicar gently, “I think I understand. It must have cost you a good deal—and I fancy you were warranted.”“Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone,” said Nettie faintly.They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any expression of sympathy.“You will excuse me, Hester,” she said very quietly. “I think I would sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you heard concerns only Tony and me.”Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very straight with an effort.
XX — FOUND GUILTYTWO or three weeks had passed since the concert on the Low Wood lawn, and Thérèse Clavier had gone back into the obscurity she came from, when Nettie Harding once more stood beside the effigy in Northrop church. It was then late in the afternoon, and the little ancient building was growing shadowy. Hester Earle and Violet Wayne were moving about the aisle with bundles of wheat-ears and streamers of ivy, for the harvest thanksgiving was shortly to be celebrated, while the vicar stood waiting their directions on the chancel steps with a great handful of crimson gladioli.Nettie, however, noticed none of them. She was lost in reflection, and her eyes were fixed on the grim stone face. She had gazed at it often with a vague sense of comprehension and a feeling that the contemplation of it brought within her grasp the spirit of the chivalrous past. Loyalty, she felt, was the predominative motive in the sculptured face, though it bore the stamp of stress and weariness; and she stood very still struggling with a half-formed resolution as she gazed at it.Hester’s voice rose softly from the aisle, and there was a patter of feet and swish of draperies, but it was low, as though the girl who made it felt the silence of the place. The door beside the organ was open wide, and Nettie could hear a faint rustle of moving leaves, and the sighing of a little warm wind about the church, while, lifting her head, she caught a brief glimpse of the dusky beech woods and sunlit valley. It was all very still, impressively quiet, and she felt the peace of it; but it was not peace, but something born of strife and yet akin to it her fancy strained after, and once more she seemed to hear the strident crackle of riflery and the shouts of the Sin Verguenza. The green English valley faded, and she saw in place of it the white walls of the Cuban town rise against the dusky indigo. Then once more she could dimly realize the calm that came of a high purpose, and was beyond and greater than the peace of prosperity. She had seen it beneath the stress and weariness in the faces of the marble knight and a living man.Then with a little swift move of her shoulders she shook off the fancies, and fell to considering the task which it seemed was laid before her. She had made a friend of Bernard Appleby and that meant much with her; while ever since she had heard Miss Clavier’s story the desire to right him had been growing stronger, but she had unpleasant misgivings. She felt the responsibility of breaking the smooth course of other lives almost too great for her, and wondered vaguely whether if she declared the truth in that sheltered land where nothing that was startling or indecorous ever seemed to happen anybody would believe her. She might even have kept silent had Violet Wayne been different, but Nettie already entertained an affection that was largely respectful for her, and determined that if she married Tony Palliser she should at least do so knowing what kind of man he was. Once more, however, her resolution almost failed her, and she glanced at the great glittering angel in the west window with a sense of her presumption in venturing to meddle with the great scheme of destiny. Still, Nettie was daring, and turning suddenly she looked down into the stone face again.“I think you would understand, and at least you would not be afraid. Well, the man who is very like you shall have his rights,” she said.The stillness seemed to grow more intense, the calm face more resolute, while the spirit of the dead sculptor’s conception gripped the girl as it had never done before. She felt that her duty was plain before her, and that fears and misgivings must be trampled on. Then there was a step behind her, and she saw Hester looking at her with a little smile.“Were you talking to the effigy, Nettie?” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie quietly. “I think I was. There is no reason you shouldn’t laugh if you want to, but I seem to fancy that man understands me. What you will not believe, however, is that he answered me.”Hester appeared a trifle astonished, but she smiled again. “I saw you turn and look at the figure in the west window,” she said. “Were you holding communion with the angel too?”“No,” said Nettie with a curious naive gravity. “I’m quite open to admit I don’t know much about angels—I’ve only seen pictures of them. Still, I sometimes think there’s a little of their nature in the hearts of men. That man must have had it, and the Palliser who was killed in Africa had it too. Of course, that’s not the kind of talk you would expect from an American.”Hester realized by the last trace of irony that Nettie did not desire to pursue the topic, and looking round saw that the vicar had joined them unobserved. He was a quiet man with an ascetic face, but there was a little twinkle in his eyes.“Yes,” he said. “I admit I overheard. It seems to me that Miss Harding’s attitude is perfectly comprehensible.”Hester laughed. “That,” she said, “is convincing, coming from you. In the meanwhile I am positively thirsty, and tea will be waiting at Low Wood. You may as well come over with us now since we expect you at dinner.”It was, however, half an hour later when they left the rectory and walked through the fields to Low Wood with Tony, who had been waiting them. Nettie laughed and talked to the vicar with her usual freedom, but she was also sensible of a quiet resolution. Violet Wayne should know the truth and Appleby’s name be cleared, but she was shrewd, and saw the difficulty of attesting it convincingly. She was also very fair, and decided that Tony must have an opportunity of defending himself or admitting his offence. Now and then she felt her heart throbbing as she wondered whether she would fail at her task, but she shook off her misgivings, and it was only afterwards the vicar guessed at the struggle that went on within his companion.They were sitting about the little table on the lawn when an opportunity was made for her, and the scene long remained impressed on Nettie’s memory. The old house showed cool and gray between its wrappings of creepers that were flecked with saffron now, while here and there a tendril gleamed warm crimson against the stone. Its long shadow lay black upon the velvet grass, and there were ruddy gleams from the woodlands from which the yellow light was fading beyond the moss-crusted wall. Still, the river shone dazzlingly where it came rippling out of the gloom of a copse, and a long row of windows blinked in the building beside its bank.Nettie noticed this vacantly, for it was Tony and Violet Wayne she was looking at. The man lay with a curious languid gracefulness in his chair, his straw hat on the back of his head and a smile on his lips, though Nettie fancied that she saw care in his face. Violet sat erect looking down the valley with thoughtful eyes, and though every line of her figure suggested quiet composure it seemed to Nettie that her face was a trifle too colorless, and that her big gray eyes lacked brightness. She could almost fancy that the shadow of care which rested on Tony had touched his sweetheart too. Opposite them sat the vicar, who had, Nettie understood, been a close friend of the Pallisers, and Hester Earle was busy with her spirit kettle close beside him. The latter looked up suddenly.“I can’t help thinking that the Americans are a somewhat inconsistent people,” she said. “It is only a little while since Nettie fancied herself a torpedo, and yet I found her explaining her sentiments to the marble knight this afternoon.”“Well,” said Nettie with a little smile, though she could feel her heart beating, “I feel more like a torpedo than ever just now.”Hester nodded. “That is more or less comprehensible,” she said. “A torpedo is an essentially modern thing stored with potential activities and likely to go off and startle everybody when they least expect it, all of which is characteristically American. The marble knight—and I fancy some people would include the angel—belongs to the past, to the old knightly days when women were worshipped, men believed in saints and guardian angels, and faith wrought miracles.”The vicar glanced at Nettie as he said, “Extremes meet now and then.”“Well,” said Nettie, “women are made much of in my country still, even by impecunious Englishmen who claim descent from men who did their share in those days of chivalry. That is, when they have money enough, but just now I’m not going to be too prickly. You haven’t much voice, Hester, but you sing that little jingly song about the fairies quite prettily, and the notion it’s hung upon gets hold of me. I can feel it better in Northrop church than anywhere. You know what I mean. There is very little to keep us out of fairyland. You have but to touch with your finger tips the ivory gate and golden!”“If Hester understands your meaning I admit that it’s more than I do,” said Tony.“Still,” said Nettie naively, “I didn’t think you would. You have too many possessions, and, you see, there are limitations in the song. You might knock a long while at those ivory gates before they let you in.”There was a little laughter, in which Tony joined, and the vicar said, “Excellent! He deserved it. Please don’t stop. Miss Harding.”“That’s not necessary,” said Hester. “Once Nettie gets started she generally, as she would express it, goes straight through.”“Yes,” said Nettie, “I quite often do. I’m not in the least afraid, like you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling people what we think in my country. Still, I’m not sure about those limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and heiresses—but I don’t want to go trespassing while the vicar’s here.”The vicar nodded. “I claim you as an ally,” he said, “The idea you have taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one.”“Well,” said Nettie, “what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is living still—because it belongs to all time and can never die. It’s with us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old-time men wore their labels—the monk’s girdle, the red-cross shield, the palmer’s shell, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but can’t modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don’t like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic—unless, of course, he’s a clergyman.”There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. “I’m afraid they don’t all come under that category,” he said.“Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost when they saw what was expected of them. Can’t one fancy their passing the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits of those old loyal folk who went before them—they, and the women they believe in?”There was a moment’s silence. Nettie’s face was a trifle flushed, and a faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne’s gray eyes.“I think,” said the vicar reflectively, “you might go further and say—with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a symbol.”Tony, however, laughed indolently. “One would feel tempted to wonder whether there are many men who never did a mean thing.”A curious anger came upon Nettie. Tony Palliser seemed the embodiment of all that her simple strenuous nature despised, and he who had everything had taken from a better man the blameless name which was his one possession. He sat before her honored and prosperous, while she remembered Appleby’s weariness and rags, and obeyed the impulse that drove her to unmask him. Her answer was coldly incisive.“There are. You know one of them,” she said.“No,” said Tony, and there was a trace of anxiety in his glance, “I am not sure that I do, though I have some passable friends.”“Well,” said Nettie, “I certainly met one, and he did not wear a label. In fact, he was a smuggler of rifles and a leader of the Shameless Legion, but he was very loyal to his comrades, and when he was wounded and weary with battle he risked and lost a good deal to take care of a woman who had no claim on him. She had, he felt, been committed to his trust, and he would have been torn to pieces before he failed in it. That was why the knight’s face reminded me of his—but I have told you about him already.”Tony’s face expressed relief, and Nettie sat silent a moment until the vicar said, “It was a generous impulse, but it may have been a momentary one, while in the crusader’s case there must have been a sustaining purpose, and a great abnegation, a leaving of lands and possessions he might never regain.”Nettie realized that her task must be undertaken now, and wondered that she felt so quietly and almost mercilessly collected.“Still,” she said, “the man I mentioned did as much—not to win fame or a pardon for his sins, but to save a comrade who was not worthy of the sacrifice. You would like me to tell you about it?”Hester smiled in languid approbation, and the vicar’s face showed his interest; but Tony sat very still, with the fingers of one hand quivering a little, and Violet’s eyes seemed curiously grave as she fixed them upon the girl.“Then,” said Nettie, “I will try, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant story. There was a man in England who involved himself with a girl whom, because of your notions in this country, he could not marry. It was only a flirtation, but the girl’s father made the most of it, and raised trouble for the man when he wanted to marry a woman of his own degree. He had done nothing wrong as yet, but he was weak—so he sent his friend to bluff off the man who had been squeezing money out of him.”Tony made a little abrupt movement, and a tinge of gray showed in his cheek, but it passed unnoticed by all save Nettie Harding. The vicar was watching her with a curious intentness, and there was apprehension in Violet’s face, while Hester gazed steadily at Nettie with growing astonishment.“It was at night the friend met the blackmailer,” she said. “There was an altercation, and then a struggle. Still, the blackmailer was not seriously hurt, and the other man saw him walk away. It was not until next day they found he had fallen into a river from the bridge.”She stopped a moment, and Violet turned to her, very white in face, with a great horror in her eyes.“You venture to tell me this?” she said.“Yes,” said Nettie, glancing at Tony. “It hurts me, but it’s necessary. If you do not believe me ask the man who sent his friend to meet the man he dared not face.”There was a sound that suggested a gasp, and a dress rustled softly as Violet, moving a little, closed one hand, while Tony’s face showed gray and drawn as he leaned forward in his chair. It was, however, the vicar who broke the tense silence.“Since you have told us so much, Miss Harding, I must ask you to go on,” he said.“Then,” said Nettie, “the friend gave up everything, and took the blame that his comrade might marry the woman he loved, He went to America—and when he comes back there from Cuba we will find room for him.”“I think,” said the vicar very slowly, “in order to make quite sure one of us should ask you for his name.”Nettie glanced at Violet, who made a little sign.“It was Bernard Appleby,” she said.Then Violet turned to Tony, and her voice, which was low and strained, sent a little thrill through the listeners.“Speak!” she said. “Tony, you can, you must, controvert it!”Tony rose very slowly to his feet, and the courage of desperation was his. “I can’t. Miss Harding is quite correct,” he said. “I must ask the rest to leave us. This affair is ours—mine and Violet’s only, you see.”“He is right,” said the vicar, rising. “I will ask you to let the story go no further in the meanwhile, Miss Harding. There is, I think, only one thing Mr. Palliser can do, but the responsibility is his.”The others went away with him, and for a moment or two Violet and Tony stood face to face. Then when the man would have spoken the girl turned from him with a little gesture of repulsion.“No,” she said faintly. “It is too horrible. I can bear nothing further now.”She swept away from him, and Tony, standing rigidly still with hands clenched, let her go. Then he turned and strode with bent head across the lawn.Five minutes later Hester Earle, entering one of the rooms quietly with the vicar, found Nettie lying in a chair and apparently shivering. She looked up when she saw them, and then turned her head away.“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk to me!” she said. “Still, though I feel most horribly mean, I did it because I had to.”“Yes,” said the vicar gently, “I think I understand. It must have cost you a good deal—and I fancy you were warranted.”“Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone,” said Nettie faintly.They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any expression of sympathy.“You will excuse me, Hester,” she said very quietly. “I think I would sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you heard concerns only Tony and me.”Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very straight with an effort.
TWO or three weeks had passed since the concert on the Low Wood lawn, and Thérèse Clavier had gone back into the obscurity she came from, when Nettie Harding once more stood beside the effigy in Northrop church. It was then late in the afternoon, and the little ancient building was growing shadowy. Hester Earle and Violet Wayne were moving about the aisle with bundles of wheat-ears and streamers of ivy, for the harvest thanksgiving was shortly to be celebrated, while the vicar stood waiting their directions on the chancel steps with a great handful of crimson gladioli.
Nettie, however, noticed none of them. She was lost in reflection, and her eyes were fixed on the grim stone face. She had gazed at it often with a vague sense of comprehension and a feeling that the contemplation of it brought within her grasp the spirit of the chivalrous past. Loyalty, she felt, was the predominative motive in the sculptured face, though it bore the stamp of stress and weariness; and she stood very still struggling with a half-formed resolution as she gazed at it.
Hester’s voice rose softly from the aisle, and there was a patter of feet and swish of draperies, but it was low, as though the girl who made it felt the silence of the place. The door beside the organ was open wide, and Nettie could hear a faint rustle of moving leaves, and the sighing of a little warm wind about the church, while, lifting her head, she caught a brief glimpse of the dusky beech woods and sunlit valley. It was all very still, impressively quiet, and she felt the peace of it; but it was not peace, but something born of strife and yet akin to it her fancy strained after, and once more she seemed to hear the strident crackle of riflery and the shouts of the Sin Verguenza. The green English valley faded, and she saw in place of it the white walls of the Cuban town rise against the dusky indigo. Then once more she could dimly realize the calm that came of a high purpose, and was beyond and greater than the peace of prosperity. She had seen it beneath the stress and weariness in the faces of the marble knight and a living man.
Then with a little swift move of her shoulders she shook off the fancies, and fell to considering the task which it seemed was laid before her. She had made a friend of Bernard Appleby and that meant much with her; while ever since she had heard Miss Clavier’s story the desire to right him had been growing stronger, but she had unpleasant misgivings. She felt the responsibility of breaking the smooth course of other lives almost too great for her, and wondered vaguely whether if she declared the truth in that sheltered land where nothing that was startling or indecorous ever seemed to happen anybody would believe her. She might even have kept silent had Violet Wayne been different, but Nettie already entertained an affection that was largely respectful for her, and determined that if she married Tony Palliser she should at least do so knowing what kind of man he was. Once more, however, her resolution almost failed her, and she glanced at the great glittering angel in the west window with a sense of her presumption in venturing to meddle with the great scheme of destiny. Still, Nettie was daring, and turning suddenly she looked down into the stone face again.
“I think you would understand, and at least you would not be afraid. Well, the man who is very like you shall have his rights,” she said.
The stillness seemed to grow more intense, the calm face more resolute, while the spirit of the dead sculptor’s conception gripped the girl as it had never done before. She felt that her duty was plain before her, and that fears and misgivings must be trampled on. Then there was a step behind her, and she saw Hester looking at her with a little smile.
“Were you talking to the effigy, Nettie?” she said.
“Yes,” said Nettie quietly. “I think I was. There is no reason you shouldn’t laugh if you want to, but I seem to fancy that man understands me. What you will not believe, however, is that he answered me.”
Hester appeared a trifle astonished, but she smiled again. “I saw you turn and look at the figure in the west window,” she said. “Were you holding communion with the angel too?”
“No,” said Nettie with a curious naive gravity. “I’m quite open to admit I don’t know much about angels—I’ve only seen pictures of them. Still, I sometimes think there’s a little of their nature in the hearts of men. That man must have had it, and the Palliser who was killed in Africa had it too. Of course, that’s not the kind of talk you would expect from an American.”
Hester realized by the last trace of irony that Nettie did not desire to pursue the topic, and looking round saw that the vicar had joined them unobserved. He was a quiet man with an ascetic face, but there was a little twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “I admit I overheard. It seems to me that Miss Harding’s attitude is perfectly comprehensible.”
Hester laughed. “That,” she said, “is convincing, coming from you. In the meanwhile I am positively thirsty, and tea will be waiting at Low Wood. You may as well come over with us now since we expect you at dinner.”
It was, however, half an hour later when they left the rectory and walked through the fields to Low Wood with Tony, who had been waiting them. Nettie laughed and talked to the vicar with her usual freedom, but she was also sensible of a quiet resolution. Violet Wayne should know the truth and Appleby’s name be cleared, but she was shrewd, and saw the difficulty of attesting it convincingly. She was also very fair, and decided that Tony must have an opportunity of defending himself or admitting his offence. Now and then she felt her heart throbbing as she wondered whether she would fail at her task, but she shook off her misgivings, and it was only afterwards the vicar guessed at the struggle that went on within his companion.
They were sitting about the little table on the lawn when an opportunity was made for her, and the scene long remained impressed on Nettie’s memory. The old house showed cool and gray between its wrappings of creepers that were flecked with saffron now, while here and there a tendril gleamed warm crimson against the stone. Its long shadow lay black upon the velvet grass, and there were ruddy gleams from the woodlands from which the yellow light was fading beyond the moss-crusted wall. Still, the river shone dazzlingly where it came rippling out of the gloom of a copse, and a long row of windows blinked in the building beside its bank.
Nettie noticed this vacantly, for it was Tony and Violet Wayne she was looking at. The man lay with a curious languid gracefulness in his chair, his straw hat on the back of his head and a smile on his lips, though Nettie fancied that she saw care in his face. Violet sat erect looking down the valley with thoughtful eyes, and though every line of her figure suggested quiet composure it seemed to Nettie that her face was a trifle too colorless, and that her big gray eyes lacked brightness. She could almost fancy that the shadow of care which rested on Tony had touched his sweetheart too. Opposite them sat the vicar, who had, Nettie understood, been a close friend of the Pallisers, and Hester Earle was busy with her spirit kettle close beside him. The latter looked up suddenly.
“I can’t help thinking that the Americans are a somewhat inconsistent people,” she said. “It is only a little while since Nettie fancied herself a torpedo, and yet I found her explaining her sentiments to the marble knight this afternoon.”
“Well,” said Nettie with a little smile, though she could feel her heart beating, “I feel more like a torpedo than ever just now.”
Hester nodded. “That is more or less comprehensible,” she said. “A torpedo is an essentially modern thing stored with potential activities and likely to go off and startle everybody when they least expect it, all of which is characteristically American. The marble knight—and I fancy some people would include the angel—belongs to the past, to the old knightly days when women were worshipped, men believed in saints and guardian angels, and faith wrought miracles.”
The vicar glanced at Nettie as he said, “Extremes meet now and then.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “women are made much of in my country still, even by impecunious Englishmen who claim descent from men who did their share in those days of chivalry. That is, when they have money enough, but just now I’m not going to be too prickly. You haven’t much voice, Hester, but you sing that little jingly song about the fairies quite prettily, and the notion it’s hung upon gets hold of me. I can feel it better in Northrop church than anywhere. You know what I mean. There is very little to keep us out of fairyland. You have but to touch with your finger tips the ivory gate and golden!”
“If Hester understands your meaning I admit that it’s more than I do,” said Tony.
“Still,” said Nettie naively, “I didn’t think you would. You have too many possessions, and, you see, there are limitations in the song. You might knock a long while at those ivory gates before they let you in.”
There was a little laughter, in which Tony joined, and the vicar said, “Excellent! He deserved it. Please don’t stop. Miss Harding.”
“That’s not necessary,” said Hester. “Once Nettie gets started she generally, as she would express it, goes straight through.”
“Yes,” said Nettie, “I quite often do. I’m not in the least afraid, like you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling people what we think in my country. Still, I’m not sure about those limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and heiresses—but I don’t want to go trespassing while the vicar’s here.”
The vicar nodded. “I claim you as an ally,” he said, “The idea you have taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is living still—because it belongs to all time and can never die. It’s with us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old-time men wore their labels—the monk’s girdle, the red-cross shield, the palmer’s shell, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but can’t modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don’t like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic—unless, of course, he’s a clergyman.”
There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. “I’m afraid they don’t all come under that category,” he said.
“Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost when they saw what was expected of them. Can’t one fancy their passing the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits of those old loyal folk who went before them—they, and the women they believe in?”
There was a moment’s silence. Nettie’s face was a trifle flushed, and a faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne’s gray eyes.
“I think,” said the vicar reflectively, “you might go further and say—with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a symbol.”
Tony, however, laughed indolently. “One would feel tempted to wonder whether there are many men who never did a mean thing.”
A curious anger came upon Nettie. Tony Palliser seemed the embodiment of all that her simple strenuous nature despised, and he who had everything had taken from a better man the blameless name which was his one possession. He sat before her honored and prosperous, while she remembered Appleby’s weariness and rags, and obeyed the impulse that drove her to unmask him. Her answer was coldly incisive.
“There are. You know one of them,” she said.
“No,” said Tony, and there was a trace of anxiety in his glance, “I am not sure that I do, though I have some passable friends.”
“Well,” said Nettie, “I certainly met one, and he did not wear a label. In fact, he was a smuggler of rifles and a leader of the Shameless Legion, but he was very loyal to his comrades, and when he was wounded and weary with battle he risked and lost a good deal to take care of a woman who had no claim on him. She had, he felt, been committed to his trust, and he would have been torn to pieces before he failed in it. That was why the knight’s face reminded me of his—but I have told you about him already.”
Tony’s face expressed relief, and Nettie sat silent a moment until the vicar said, “It was a generous impulse, but it may have been a momentary one, while in the crusader’s case there must have been a sustaining purpose, and a great abnegation, a leaving of lands and possessions he might never regain.”
Nettie realized that her task must be undertaken now, and wondered that she felt so quietly and almost mercilessly collected.
“Still,” she said, “the man I mentioned did as much—not to win fame or a pardon for his sins, but to save a comrade who was not worthy of the sacrifice. You would like me to tell you about it?”
Hester smiled in languid approbation, and the vicar’s face showed his interest; but Tony sat very still, with the fingers of one hand quivering a little, and Violet’s eyes seemed curiously grave as she fixed them upon the girl.
“Then,” said Nettie, “I will try, though it isn’t exactly a pleasant story. There was a man in England who involved himself with a girl whom, because of your notions in this country, he could not marry. It was only a flirtation, but the girl’s father made the most of it, and raised trouble for the man when he wanted to marry a woman of his own degree. He had done nothing wrong as yet, but he was weak—so he sent his friend to bluff off the man who had been squeezing money out of him.”
Tony made a little abrupt movement, and a tinge of gray showed in his cheek, but it passed unnoticed by all save Nettie Harding. The vicar was watching her with a curious intentness, and there was apprehension in Violet’s face, while Hester gazed steadily at Nettie with growing astonishment.
“It was at night the friend met the blackmailer,” she said. “There was an altercation, and then a struggle. Still, the blackmailer was not seriously hurt, and the other man saw him walk away. It was not until next day they found he had fallen into a river from the bridge.”
She stopped a moment, and Violet turned to her, very white in face, with a great horror in her eyes.
“You venture to tell me this?” she said.
“Yes,” said Nettie, glancing at Tony. “It hurts me, but it’s necessary. If you do not believe me ask the man who sent his friend to meet the man he dared not face.”
There was a sound that suggested a gasp, and a dress rustled softly as Violet, moving a little, closed one hand, while Tony’s face showed gray and drawn as he leaned forward in his chair. It was, however, the vicar who broke the tense silence.
“Since you have told us so much, Miss Harding, I must ask you to go on,” he said.
“Then,” said Nettie, “the friend gave up everything, and took the blame that his comrade might marry the woman he loved, He went to America—and when he comes back there from Cuba we will find room for him.”
“I think,” said the vicar very slowly, “in order to make quite sure one of us should ask you for his name.”
Nettie glanced at Violet, who made a little sign.
“It was Bernard Appleby,” she said.
Then Violet turned to Tony, and her voice, which was low and strained, sent a little thrill through the listeners.
“Speak!” she said. “Tony, you can, you must, controvert it!”
Tony rose very slowly to his feet, and the courage of desperation was his. “I can’t. Miss Harding is quite correct,” he said. “I must ask the rest to leave us. This affair is ours—mine and Violet’s only, you see.”
“He is right,” said the vicar, rising. “I will ask you to let the story go no further in the meanwhile, Miss Harding. There is, I think, only one thing Mr. Palliser can do, but the responsibility is his.”
The others went away with him, and for a moment or two Violet and Tony stood face to face. Then when the man would have spoken the girl turned from him with a little gesture of repulsion.
“No,” she said faintly. “It is too horrible. I can bear nothing further now.”
She swept away from him, and Tony, standing rigidly still with hands clenched, let her go. Then he turned and strode with bent head across the lawn.
Five minutes later Hester Earle, entering one of the rooms quietly with the vicar, found Nettie lying in a chair and apparently shivering. She looked up when she saw them, and then turned her head away.
“Oh, I know you don’t want to talk to me!” she said. “Still, though I feel most horribly mean, I did it because I had to.”
“Yes,” said the vicar gently, “I think I understand. It must have cost you a good deal—and I fancy you were warranted.”
“Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone,” said Nettie faintly.
They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any expression of sympathy.
“You will excuse me, Hester,” she said very quietly. “I think I would sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you heard concerns only Tony and me.”
Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very straight with an effort.