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“The door opened and the old woman came in, followed by—oh, what luck is mine 1—my untamed
man of the woods, my primeval giant.”
Synopsis of Preceding Chapters:
I —^ KOM babyhood John Ashley has known no
^ life except that of a lonely English farm,
no society except that of hts moroBe
father and the farm laborers. At the age of
he learns the reason for this—his mother ran
away with his father's closest friend a year after
her marriage. The elder Ashley has been deter,
mined that his son should be spared a fate like
his own and has guarded him against the wiles
of worldly-wise women. Learning of the death
of his wife who forsook him and their child,
the elder Ashley kills himself. A few months
later Hetty Blundell, a charming, but heartless
married coquette, visits at a neighboring farm,
learns John's history, and writes to her London
woman friend. Milly Cator, of her proposed
conquest.
(Continued from Last Sunday)
CHAPTER IV.
The Victim Appears.
A ND then, with her sweet face glowing, her
eyes dancing, and carrying her head
slightly on one side, like an analytical
chemist starting on a new experiment, Hetty
Blundell tripped downstairs and took the turn
ing to the right.
She followed the corn-lined road until, with
in a quarter of a mile from the village, It ran
up a hill. Here she branched off the road Into
a Held, tree-topped, where there was a gap.
Looking down upon a clump of irregular red
roofs grouped, chicken-wtse, under the wing
of their mother church, she stopped, tired,
expectant, amused and resourceful.
The sun was setting. There was a sudden
hush in the world. Little Mrs. Blundell bent
forward as though to give her eyes less dis
tance to peer through. The silver bell marked
off another quarter. A quick smile came sud
denly to Betty's face She could recognize the
height, the breadth, the slow, swinging stride
of the man placed upon earth to amuse her
till the novelty of him wore off, or until it be
came necessary to drop him for reasons of a
diplomatic nature.
On came the man of Nature, head up, arms
behind, long, slow, swinging stride.
Against the sky. directly In his way, with
wide-open, simple eyes, waited the little wom
an of the world like a white, risen moon.
", . .No words of mine, my dear Milly,”
Betty wrote, "can convey the very least idea
of the intense enjoyment that moment gave
me. Even now—1 have been back three hours
—I can feel In my back that pleasant thrill
which an exquisite liar of music or a big mo
ment In a well-written play always causes. Do
you know? A sort of tingling—a fillip to that
part of one which Is genuinely sympathetic
and responsive.
"1 didn't look at him for some minutes—
seconds, 1 suppose—in cold, accurate English
Apparently my eyes were fixed on the sky
with that hungry, dreamy, girlish look, which
it took me so long to acquire, and which has
come In most usefully on many former occa
sions. Nevertheless, I saw him stop with a
great gasp, and stand with his huge arms
hanging loosely at his sides, looking at me as
though I were a will-o’-the-wisp, a vapor, a
live poem. 1 wore that muslin 1 got for the
Veysey's garden party, transparent at the neck
—they call it peck and arms, and the poppy-
hat everybody raved about so much and
copied—the beasts. All Nature seemed to be
helping me, too. The faint red glow, the green
at my feet, the clear gold behlud me. I felt
like one of those angels painted on tinted
tassellated stuff over the little altar in one of
those funny side-chapels In what’s the name of
the church in Home? 1 believe that if I could
have kept it up. we should still be there. But
1 wanted the extra satisfaction of seeing what
he would do when 1 looked into his eyes. So—■
oh. my dear, how thankful 1 am that Provi
dence decided ! should be a girl I gave myself
a little shake, as though 1 had suddenly fallen
to earth, and with one of my best wide-eyed
looks of intense, fearless innocence, suddenly
met his gaze.
"I really thought he would have fallen down.
In all my life, in the whole course of my ex
perience, I never felt so thoroughly warmed
and contented with myself. It was like, 1
take it, a sudden, prolonged burst of applause
from a packed theatre, or a eulogistic criticism
in the pages of some really important paper.
1 wish you could have seen my wild man of
the woods. His mouth fell open, his eyes
seemed to start out of his head, and his heart
jumped and beat, and panted—I could see it
in his neck.
"For just a second I confess I was scared.
He is so big, so strong, so—so untutored, so
much a child of Nature, that for a moment I
thought he might catch hold of me and—
well, 1 took my eyes away, and went quickly
past him down the hill.
"I was afraid to turn at first to see what he
was doing, because, of course, I thought he
would be looking after me. They usually do,
you know. But finally, as I didn't wish to lose
any of the enjoyment of the thing, I stooped
down, pretending to pick some grass, and
looked back under my arm. My dear, he
hadn't moved! There he was, just as I had
left him. with his back to me, his arms still
hanging at his sides, hts shoulders heaving.
"As 1 looked, he moved, pulled himself to
gether, and staggering like a man who wakes
from a sleeping-draught, went away—never
once looking back. 1 wonder if he still thinks
1 came from the sky? I say sky, because it
sounds better than the other word 1 was
thinking of. I remember betng awfully pleased
once because Reggie Rawnsley—dear old
Reggie!—suddenly shook me quite violently
and told me I was a she-devil. Funny thing
to be pleased about, wasn't it?”
CHAPTER V.
The Joy of Love.
TTERLY unable to settle down to the
work on the farm, young Ashley wan
dered about the house restlessly. His
thoughts were chaotic. His whole mental out
look had undergone a tremendous change.
It seemed to him Incredible, almost ludicrous,
that so many years of his life should have been
entirely devoted to the common round, the
daily task, when the world contained such a
creature as the woman he had seen upon the
hill; a creature so exquisite, so sweet, so won
derful! Compared with her, how commonplace,
how trivial seemed inanimate nature. The
breaking of day, the setting of the sun, the
bursting of the bud, the crash of thunder—
what were they when compared with the lift
ing of a beautiful woman's eyelid, the touch of
her hand, the soft murmur of her voice?
All the man in him cried aloud for that
woman. One sight of her had killed every de
sire to look at everything else. Nothing else
mattered. In an instant he had seen the empti
ness, the incompleteness of his life. He wanted
that woman. He wanted to lie at her feet and
watch her mouth as she smiled. He wanted
to feel her cool hand on his face, to taste her
breath, to hold her tight in his arms, to kiss
her hair and eyes and lips. The birds had their
mates, the very flowers knew the joy of mar
riage. Was he to be the one man In the world
(o remain unsatisfied?
He asked himself these things as he paced
the house. When he went into the sitting room,
however, he kept his eyes away from the direc
tion of the fireplace. There was a look in the
eyes of the photograph that he could not meet.
His dinner remained untouched. The son
of his father’s dead sheep dog licked his hand,
and received no affectionate word. Old Sloke
got no response to his nervous "Good night."
The canaries in the cage In the window sat
blinking at the lamp. No one had put the
cover over the cage. The clock struck nine
and ten and eleven, and still young Ashley
paced the long room. Then suddenly he cried
out, "Father, father!" and ran hatless Into the
night.
John Ashley stopped at the grave of his
father. It had been dug at the farthest corner
of the churchyard, away from the graves of
the people who had not left the world by a
shorter cut than death takes them, but In con
secrated ground, for the parson was a humble
man, who cultivated some of the spirit of his
Master, and paid little heed to the ignorant
and pompous hypocrisy of his kind.
A plain, square stone marked the place where
the man lay who died forgiving. The letters
of his name,' “John Everard Campbell Ashley,”
were Tiot yet blurred by the passing of time,
and the sentence beneath them stood out
clearly: “For 1 loved."
"Father," whispered young Ashley, “father!”
He paused for an instant and listened. The
leaves of a weeping willow rustled softly.
Young Ashley bent lower over the stone.
“Father, all women are not like that—not
all women. Even you forgave, and left me here
to go to the one you loved. Father!”
He bent still lower, and flung his arm over
the stone caressingly.
“You asked too much of me. I can’t keep
my promise. Let me off. 1 was happy until I
understood what it meant to go without.
Until yesterday 1 never had a wish to break
my promise. But now you must let me off.
You must. I love too—madly as you did—at
once, and forever. There’s no fighting It.
Wherever she goes I must go. Father!”
He listened again. His voice, when he spoke
next, was no longer pleading; it was eager,
hopeful, excited.
“Father, you should see her! She Isn’t the
kind of woman to treat me as you were treated.
She is different. She is like a flower—a sweet, #
slim flower. I thought when I came upon her
that she was growing where she stood. When
I knew that she was a woman I ran away. Ah,
ha! think of that. I can’t live alone any longer.
I know now that it isn’t life alone. It Is a—
a mere pretence; not the real thing. Why
shouldn’t I be allowed to live? I say that she
isn’t a woman who Isn’t worthy of a man’s
whole love. She Is too beautiful, too wonder
ful for that. I must be let off and take my
chance. Father, don’t stand in my way.
Father, father!”
Young Ashley drew back and rested for a
long, listening moment on his knees. Then
with a little cry, half gladness, half excite
ment, queerly boyish, he leant over the stone
and kissed the letters of the name.
Then he rose and flung back his head and
squared his shoulders. The cloud passed away
from the moon, and its light showed a face
aglow, with shining eyes and a smile on the
lips.
Walking quickly, young Ashley left the
churchyard, made his way through the village
and back through the copse. The branches
and roots did their best more eagerly than ever
to hold him back. But on went Ashley, young
Ashley—and the way he considered the right
way was the way he wanted to go.
On the hill where the little woman of the
world has risen, young Ashley stopped and
flung out his arms. A feeling of enormous re
lief passed over him. He was free! Free, and
still friends with his father.
And he was in love for the first time in his
life. He joyed in it. It was delicious. He
would marry her, of course, and take her home
to his farm, or go Into the world with her.
Where, it didn’t matter, so long as she was at
his side. God! what a day! Books were all
very well once. Pictures were all very well
in the old days. Nature, whose every mood he
understood, was all very well so long ago. But
what were they as compared to flesh and
blood, the beauty, the grace, the mystery of a
woman?
“Dead things,” he cried, “dead things. I
want life!”
CHAPTER VI.
The Mountain does to Mahomet.
^ WENT out to my hill again this after-
I noon,” wrote little Mrs. Blundell—“hut
my man wasn’t there. The grass was
still flat and sorry for itself where his great
body had been; and, having nothing better to
do, I sat there to wait for him.
“I had plenty to think about. I had that
morning received, among the batch you sent
me from the flat, a most Insolent, and yet a
most ingenious letter from Valentine Worthing.
He said, in effect, that he had all along per
fectly well understood the game I had been
playing with him, and that he had been play- .
ing precisely the' same game with me. Of
course 1 don’t believe this. It is so easy to
guess the solution of a riddle after one has
been told the answer. My suddenly going
away gave him the cue to my pastime. But I
couldn't feel any annoyance with him. All I
felt was that, after all, he was merely an ordi
nary, commonplace person, with the addition of
a hideous deformity. What, I confess, did
anger me were the letters from my trades
people asking me for immediate settlement.
What a peculiar race tradespeople are. Im
mediate settlement Is the most ridiculous ex
pression. Of course, naturally—like any one
else who is expected to do with the pittance
of a naval officer’s wife—I am hideously In
debt. My dressmaker's bill makes my blood
run cold. What Evelyn will say I can con
ceive only too well. That one of Friola’s alone
would, if settled as it stands, swamp a year's
pay! And I have repeatedly assured him that
1 have done extremely well on the allowance
he made me. I know what it means. It
means that I shall b ive to devote all my time
and all my best sn to him to get him to
write to his uncle f the money. He’ll kick,
anyhow. He calls It eating the pie of humilia
tion to borrow money. In the end the payment
I shall make him for doing so will heal his
wounded pride—but at what Inconvenience
to me!
“Well, I waited oil our hill in this ecstatic
mood for two hours, and 1 believe I should
.
ADAMX CLAY
THE J’TORY ©F A .TOTOUDEJT COQUITTI
AMP THE HE/yPlTjr «FHE BROKE
have been there two hours longer but for a
sudden clap of thunder, following a vivid flash
of lightning. Without my noticing them, a
great bank of clouds had been gathering be
hind me. I jumped up as the first spot of rain
hit me—positively hit me—on the cheek. With
it—what an odd thing the brain is!—came a
sudden inspiration. Time was short, and as
Mahomet wouldn’t come to the mountain, the
mountain would have_ to go to Mahomet. Do
you see? 1 made up my mind to take advan
tage of the storm, make my way quickly to
his farm house, run to the door with my best
expression of timid fright, and beg for shelter.
“This 1 djd, half regretting It when 1 found
that I was bound to cover at least a mile and
a half. My dear. It came down, literally, in
buckets. Luckily I had on one of my oldest
frocks, for It was wringing wet in no time.
Every time a flash came and the flame darted
about among the trees, I wished I hadn’t come.
Every time I saw how my frock clung to me,
I was glad I had. I was dead beat when at last,
a drowned rat, I reached the farm. I wasn’t
sure that it was his farm, but It was the only
one about, so I ran up to the door and rang
the bell. It was opened by an old man, with a
prim, crinkled face, who looked as though he
saw a ghost. I begged him to let me sit
somewhere out of the storm, giving him a faint,
sweet smile. Gasping with sutprise and with
a wistful attempt at politeness, he asked me
to enter the mister’s room.
“My heart jumped. The blinds were down,
the fire Irons and the glass were covered up
with a cloth. I stood for a moment, looking
around—such a lovely old room, beautifully
furnished—and the old person murmured
something about fetching his wife and ran off.
“The old woman came almost at once. A
nice old body, quite flustered with excitement.
‘Oh, poor lady,’ she cried; ‘such a beautiful
dress too!’ And then, talking all the time, she
ran upstairs, and presently came down with a
towel and a man’s dressing gown and slippers.
Shutting the door, talking nineteen to the
dozen, she undid my frock, rubbed my hands
and face, took off my hat and shoes and stock
ings, put on the dressing gown—‘Mr. Ashley’s,
she said—his, Milly dear!—and then ran to the
kitchen with my wet things.
“Isn’t my luck astounding? Here was I, not
only in his own room, but in hts own room in
such a helpful costume! Think of It from the
purely artistic point of view. The dressing
gown—evidently one John Ashley wore in his
early youth—showed my neck, and my ankles
and feet—my feet thrust Into a pair
of red list slippers of the most ele
phantine description. The rain had
made my always curly hair all the
more curly. I felt like Trilby In
the studio, and I’m sure I looked
infinitely sweeter than the one I
saw.
‘‘Suddenly I heard a deep voice;
then two others excitedly joining In.
The door opened and the old wom
an came in, followed by—oh, what
luck is mine!—my untamed man of
the woods, m.v primeval giant.”
Mrs. Blundell put her pen dowu,
threw back her head, and burst In
to a peal of laughter. The silver
notes of it danced about the little
room long after she started writ
ing again.
“For some time he stood in the
doorway, his handsome, unusual head
almost touching the framework,
blushing like a school boy. I stood
up, timid, shy, constrained, clutch
ing the dressing gown nervously
about me, wordless, like an image
in a play. The old woman, with all
the latent romance in her nature
stirred, babbled the story of my ar
rival, while the old man got a word
in here and there, whenever she was
positively obliged to stop for breath.
The situation was immensely amus
ing. What more picturesque Intro
duction to him could I have posibly
desired?
” ‘I will go and make some tea
for the young lady, sir,’ said the old.
Woman at last. ‘Come, Jesse, quick.’
The door closed upon them, and we
were alone.
“Have you ever experienced that
horrible desire to laugh In church,
or at a funeral, or in the midst of
some quiet serious scene at the
theatre? The desire to laugh in
ordinately seized me then. Luckily a
sneeze came, and gave me relief, or
I feel certain I should have fallen
into the nearest chair and yelled!
“My dear Milly, his face was a
picture. It was positively alight!
His eyes danced and gleamed with
pleasure aud excitement. He looked
at me as though he could have eaten
me. But he made no attempt to speak.
He simply stood behind a tall black
chair (quite a good chair, excellent
ly carved, and so old), leaning on
the back of It, gazing at'me.
" ‘I—1 am so very sorry to put everybody to
so much trouble,’ I said, In that high pitched,
girlish voice which has always been one of my
most valuable stock in trades. ‘I don’t think
1 ever remember such a violent storm, I am
dreadfully nervous of lightning.’
“1 paused and looked up at him. A smile
passed over his face. It had the most ex
traordinary effect upon it. It looked as a field
looks when a sudden shaft of sun sweeps across
it. But he said nothing. I don’t think he was
nervous or shy as we mean it ordinarily. He
merely seemed infinitely delighted in a boyish
kind of way. He made me feel as though I
were a new horse, or the latest gun presented
to him on his birthday. At first his continu
ous, wide-eyed stare made me quite uncom
fortable, and I don’t think he listened to a
single word of my small talk. He simply stood
there, in an easy, unselfconscious attitude, his
deeply tanned hands clasped round the back
of the chair, devouring me.
“I babbled on. I said how very kind he was
to take me in, how very sorry I was to put his
servants to any inconvenience, and what a
lovely old house it seemed to be. Quite twenty
minutes of this one sided conversation went
on—if a conversation can be called one sided
when one person replies silently through the
medium of extremely expressive eyes, and
says things which no one except a poet would
have the pluck to say, unless he were engaged
to be married. .
"I confess I was a little relieved when the
old couple brought in a tea tray. I had begun
to feel that I had exhausted every subject of
a commonplace nature I had ever thought
about.
“ ’Shall I pour out the tea?’ I asked, with a
tiny, timid smile, when we were alone again.
“ ’Thank you,’ he said.
“And all the time he stood in front of me,
watching me intently with an interest almost
whimsical. It made the old occupation almost
a new one, when I suddenly remembered that
I was the first woman—gentlewoman—who had
ever done so for him. He bowed as he took
his cup in his hand, watched me as I stirred
mine and sipped it.
“Having nothing more to say, and not feel
ing the need of making conversation, I con
tented myself with returning his smile when I
caught his rapt eyes, and ate. The run, and
the cooler air, had made me ravenous, and the
cakes were home made and perfectly delicious.
And while I ate and drank I looked about me.
Such a dear old room, Milly—just the sort of
room one reads about in books, and so rarely
comes across in real life. It was long and
narrow—at least its length gave it the appear
ance of narrowness—and was lined, five feet
from the old oak floor, with bulging book
shelves, except where the great Dutch fire
place stood.
“The whole place fitted my giant like a
glove. It was all, like him, so good to look at,
so simple, so upright, so clean, picturesque,
and unconscious. It all, like him, seemed to
be utterly behind the times, utterly unknow
ing, utterly unspoilt. And as he stood there,
tanned a brick dust color, with his eyes clear
and steady and childlike, his eyebrows and
hair burnt copper, his back broad and straight,
his long, well-set legs firm and strong; upon
my honor, he seemed to be related to the Scotch
firs, the very child of the old wonderful books,
the dark, beautiful prints,
“When I looked at him, after all these things
had flashed through my head, there he was still
standing in front of me, untouched cup in hand,
watching.
“Any < :her man would have been boorish,
impossible. But oddly enough, I looked for
nothing else in my giant.
"Nothing that he could have said, of course,
could have fed my vanity half so satisfactorily
as this long, silent, meaning stare. Every
second the expression In his eyes changed.
Wonder came, love came—that new-born won
derful love—the first love—passion came. But
not, I must own, till in an experimental way I
slipped my foot out of its red felt barge, and
pushed it out from under-the dressing gown.
Then he clutched the chair tight and turned
his eyes away, with quick breath coming and
going, and when he looked again my foot was
out of sight.
“Oh, Milly, what a power it is! Beast or
not, I know nothing in this world that gives me
so keen, so delirious a pleasure as the exercise
of it. I feel almost magical. It gives me the
faculty of turning a man into a hungry animal
—-even such a man as this one, who is ashamed
and fearful, and who, for choice, would forget
everything except just that I am beautiful and
dainty and ethereal.
“But I had broken the spell. He put down
his cup and awoke. His smile became self-
conscious and nervous. He fidgeted shyly, be
gan sentences and left them unfinished. Luck
ily, the old woman came in and said my dress
was dry, and the storm had passed some time.
There would be no more lightning. And so,
with a smile as nervous as his own, and every
bit as shy, I hurried after the old body out of
the room and upstairs to hers.
“It cost me half a sovereign. I would glad
ly have paid fifty times that amount for the
afternoon.
“I dressed quietly, listening to the garrulous
chatter of the well-meaning dame—my frock
was utterly ruined—and then followed her
down to the hall.
“ ‘Good-bye, Mr. Ashley,’ I said, giving him
my hand timidly. ‘Thank you so much!’
“He took my hand for an instant, and then
letting it go said, stammering, ’May I . . ,
may I . . .’
•
%
“ ’Oh, that’s very kind of you. Indeed I
shall be delighted. I think the storm has
made me nervous.’
“On the face of the old woman as she
watched us go out together there was a pecu
liar smile in which I could read a reawakened
romance, an almost pathetic hope. But the
old man scowled at me. I was a new inven
tion, and therefore—he was thoroughly Eng
lish—a danger. I had the satisfaction of know
ing that I was the first unvillagy woman—I
,hate the word lady, it reeks of tram-cars and
clearance sales and suburban tea-fights—who
had ever been seen with ‘the master.’
‘“The white dust of the morning had be
come mud. Pools had formed along the edges
of the road. The freshness of everything was
contagious. We both walked on springs. For
no reason at all we both laughed. We were
like two school-children let loose after school.
I believe if I had started running helter-skelter
along the road he would have chased me.
"All his shyness faded. With the pride of
the proprietor he pointed out to me the ex
cellence of the crops, laughingly explaining
the difference between corn and barley, barley
and oats. He never referred to his first meet
ing me, on the hill, but he referred to the hill,
and told me—no doubt thinking what a diplo
matic touch It was—that he always spent a
certain amount of time there every day In the
Summer, reading.
“ ‘To-morrow,’ he added, T shall be there in
the afternoon.’
"The sun had begun to set when I got back
to the cottage. My dear, we had taken two
hours to walk two miles. This time he had
done all the talking, and if I needed any con
vincing on the subject, he had convinced me
as to his being the most interesting person on
whom to exercise my peculiar gifts of any I
had ever met. He had proved what a boy he
was, and what a man he was, how immense
was his knowledge of Nature, and how infini
tesimal of hurhan nature—what an artist he
•vas, and what a Goth. Oh, my dear, I feel
that 1 am going to have some of the most en
joyable days I shall ever have in my life.”
CHAPTER VII.
Love's Golden Key.
SMILE was still playing round his mouth
as Ashley swung into the road. He had
removed his cap to Mrs. Blundell with
the air of a Quixote. He had not forgotten to
put it back. He kept his head bare to the soft
breeze as a tribute to her as he made his way
unconsciously to the hill where he had seen
her first.
He stood there erect and firm as the sun
slipped away.
A thousand voices sang to him. It was a
new song, a song he had never heard before.
It stirred and soothed and excited him. It
made' him smile and tremble. It filled him
with fear and joy. Love had thrust her golden
key into his long-closed heart, turned it in the
rusty lock, and flung the door wide open.
He understood everything. He had not been
living hitherto. He had thought that it was
right that life should get everything out of
him that was in him to devote to it. Now he
knew that he should get everything out of life
that there was in it to devote to him. The
whole aspect of things was suddenly changed.
It was as though someone had suddenly planted
him on his feet after he had been standing
all his life on his head.
He was amazed to think that he could have
spent all his years in such a position. Every
thing, for the first time, looked right. The sun
became his servant Instead of his master, the
earth his very good friend, instead of a tyrant
at whose very change of mood he shuddered.
Everything that had seemed great became tiny!
minute, a matter of slight consequence. What
did it matter now if frost spoilt his early roots ^
rain his crops? Nothing. Nothing mattered!’
To Be Continued Kext Sunday.
Copyright by Ess Ess Publishing Co., and
Brentano’B.
t