Helena's Path

by Anthony Hope

  _Chapter Six_

  EXERCISE BEFORE BREAKFAST

  "Life--" (The extract is from Lynborough's diary, dated this same 14thof June)--"may be considered as a process (Cromlech's view, conductingto the tomb)--a program (as, I am persuaded, Roger conceives it, markingoff each stage thereof with a duly guaranteed stamp of performance)--oras a progress--in which light I myself prefer to envisage it.Process--program--progress; the words, with my above-avowed preference,sound unimpeachably orthodox. Once I had a Bishop ancestor. He cropsout.

  "Yet I don't mean what he does. I don't believe in growing better inthe common sense--that is, in an increasing power to resist what temptsyou, to refrain from doing what you want. That ideal seems to me, moreand more, to start from the wrong end. No man refrains from doing whathe wants to do. In the end the contradiction--the illogicality--iscomplete. You learn to want more wisely--that's all. Train desire, foryou can never chain it.

  "I'm engaged here and now on what is to all appearance the most trivialof businesses. I play the spiteful boy--she is an obstinate peevishgirl. There are other girls too--one an insinuating tiny minx, who wouldwheedle a backward glance out of Simon Stylites as he remounted hispillar--and, by the sun in heaven, will get little more from this childof Mother Earth! There's another, I hear--Irish!--And Irish is near myheart. But behind her--set in the uncertain radiance of myimagination--lies her Excellency. Heaven knows why! Save that it isgloriously paradoxical to meet a foreign Excellency in this spot, and toget to most justifiable, most delightful, loggerheads with herimmediately. I have conceived Machiavellian devices. I will lure awayher friends. I will isolate her, humiliate her, beat her in the fight.There may be some black eyes--some bruised hearts--but I shall do it.Why? I have always been gentle before. But so I feel toward her. Andtherefore I am afraid. This is the foeman for my steel, I think--I havemy doubts but that she'll beat me in the end.

  "When I talk like this, Cromlech chuckles, loves me as a show, despisesme as a mind. Roger--young Roger Fitz-Archdeacon--is all an incredulousamazement. I don't wonder. There is nothing so small and nothing sogreat--nothing so primitive and not a thing so complex--nothing sounimportant and so engrossing as this 'duel of the sexes.' A proves it atrifle, and is held great. B reckons it all-supreme, and becomespopular. C (a woman) describes the Hunter Man. D (a man) descants of thePursuit by Woman. The oldest thing is the most canvassed and the leastcomprehended. But there's a reputation--and I suppose money--in it foranybody who can string phrases. There's blood-red excitement foreverybody who can feel. Yet I've played my part in other affairs--not somuch in dull old England, where you work five years to become a Memberof Parliament, and five years more in order to get kicked out again--butin places where in a night you rise or fall--in five minutes order theshooting-squad or face it--boil the cook or are stuffed into the potyourself. (Cromlech, this is not exact scientific statement!) Yetalways--everywhere--the woman! And why? On my honor, I don't know. Whatin the end is she?

  "I adjourn the question--and put a broader one. What am I? The humanbeing as such? If I'm a vegetable, am I not a mistake? If I'm an animal,am I not a cruelty? If I'm a soul, am I not misplaced? I'd say 'Yes' toall this, save that I enjoy myself so much. Because I have fortythousand a year? Hardly. I've had nothing, and been as completely out ofreach of getting anything as the veriest pauper that ever existed--andyet I've had the deuce of a fine existence the while. I think there'sonly one solid blunder been made about man--he oughtn't to have beenable to think. It wastes time. It makes many people unhappy. That's notmy case. I like it. It just wastes time.

  "That insinuating minx, possessed of a convenient dog and aningratiating manner, insinuated to-day that I was handsome. Well, she'spretty, and I suppose we're both better off for it. It is anintroduction. But to myself I don't seem very handsome. I have mypride--I look a gentleman. But I look a queer foreign fish. I foundmyself envying the British robustness of that fine young chap who is somisguided as to be a lawyer.

  "Ah, why do I object to lawyers? Tolstoi!--I used to say--or, at therisk of advanced intellects not recognizing one's allusions, one couldgo further back. But that is, in the end, all gammon. Every realconviction springs from personal experience. I hate the law because itinterfered with me. I'm not aware of any better reason. So I'm going onwithout it--unless somebody tries to steal my forty thousand, of course.Ambrose, thou art a humbug--or, more precisely, thou canst not avoidbeing a human individual!"

  Lord Lynborough completed the entry in his diary--he was tolerably wellaware that he might just as well not have written it--and cast his eyestoward the window of the library. The stars were bright; a crescent moondecorated, without illuminating, the sky. The regular recurrent beat ofthe sea on the shore, traversing the interval in night's silence, struckon his ear. "If God knew Time, that might be His clock," said he."Listen to its inexorable, peaceable, gentle, formidable stroke!"

  His sleep that night was short and broken. A fitful excitement was onhis spirit: the glory of the summer morning wooed his restlessness. Hewould take his swim alone, and early. At six o'clock he slipped out ofthe house and made for Beach Path. The fortified gate was too strong forhis unaided efforts. Roger Wilbraham had told him that, if the way wereimpeded, he had a right to "deviate." He deviated now, lightly vaultingover the four-foot-high stone wall. None was there to hinder him, and,with emotions appropriate to the occasion, he passed Nab Grange andgained the beach. When once he was in the water, the emotions went away.

  They were to return--or, at any rate, to be succeeded by their brethren.After he had dressed, he sat down and smoked a cigarette as he regardedthe smiling sea. This situation was so agreeable that he prolonged itfor full half-an-hour; then a sudden longing for Coltson's coffee cameover him. He jumped up briskly and made for the Grange gate.

  He had left it open--it was shut now. None had been nigh when he passedthrough. Now a young woman in a white frock leant her elbows comfortablyon its top rail and rested her pretty chin upon her hands. Lady Norah'sblue eyes looked at him serenely from beneath black lashes of noticeablelength--at any rate Lynborough noticed their length.

  Lynborough walked up to the gate. With one hand he removed his hat, withthe other he laid a tentative hand on the latch. Norah did not move oreven smile.

  "I beg your pardon, madam," said Lynborough, "but if it does notincommode you, would you have the great kindness to permit me to openthe gate?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry; but this is a private path leading to Nab Grange. Isuppose you're a stranger in these parts?"

  "My name is Lynborough. I live at Scarsmoor there."

  "Are you Lord Lynborough?" Norah sounded exceedingly interested. "_The_Lord Lynborough?"

  "There's only one, so far as I'm aware," the owner of the titleanswered.

  "I mean the one who has done all those--those--well, those funnythings?"

  "I rejoice if the recital of them has caused you any amusement. And now,if you will permit me----"

  "Oh, but I can't! Helena would never forgive me. I'm a friend of hers,you know--of the Marchesa di San Servolo. Really you can't come throughhere."

  "Do you think you can stop me?"

  "There isn't room for you to get over as long as I stand here--and thewall's too high to climb, isn't it?"

  Lynborough studied the wall; it was twice the height of the wall on theother side; it might be possible to scale, but difficult and laborious;nor would he look imposing while struggling at the feat.

  "You'll have to go round by the road," remarked Norah, breaking into asmile.

  Lynborough was enjoying the conversation just as much as she was--but hewanted two things; one was victory, the other coffee.

  "Can't I persuade you to move?" he said imploringly. "I really don'twant to have to resort to more startling measures."

  "You surely wouldn't use force against a girl, Lord Lynborough!"

  "I said startling measures--not violent ones," he reminded her. "Areyour nerves good?"

  "Excellent, thank you.
"

  "You mean to stand where you are?"

  "Yes--till you've gone away." Now she laughed openly at him. Lynboroughdelighted in the merry sound and the flash of her white teeth.

  "It's a splendid morning, isn't it?" he asked. "I should think you standabout five feet five, don't you? By the way, whom have I the pleasure ofconversing with?"

  "My name is Norah Mountliffey."

  "Ah, I knew your father very well." He drew back a few steps. "So youmust excuse an old family friend for telling you that you make acharming picture at that gate. If I had a camera--Just as you are,please!" He held up his hand, as though to pose her.

  "Am I quite right?" she asked, humoring the joke, with her merrymischievous eyes set on Lynborough's face as she leaned over the top ofthe gate.

  "Quite right. Now, please! Don't move!"

  "Oh, I've no intention of moving," laughed Norah mockingly.

  She kept her word; perhaps she was too surprised to do anything else.For Lynborough, clapping his hat on firmly, with a dart and a springflew over her head.

  Then she wheeled round--to see him standing two yards from her, his hatin his hand again, bowing apologetically.

  "Forgive me for getting between you and the sunshine for a moment," hesaid. "But I thought I could still do five feet five; and you weren'tstanding upright either. I've done within an inch of six feet, you know.And now I'm afraid I must reluctantly ask you to excuse me. I thank youfor the pleasure of this conversation." He bowed, put on his hat,turned, and began to walk away along Beach Path.

  "You got the better of me that time, but you've not done with me yet,"she cried, starting after him.

  He turned and looked over his shoulder: save for his eyes his face wasquite grave. He quickened his pace to a very rapid walk. Norah foundthat she must run, or fall behind. She began to run. Again that gravelyderisory face turned upon her. She blushed, and fell suddenly towondering whether in running she looked absurd. She fell to a walk.Lynborough seemed to know. Without looking round again, he abated hispace.

  "Oh, I can't catch you if you won't stop!" she cried.

  "My friend and secretary, Roger Wilbraham, tells me that I have no rightto stop," Lynborough explained, looking round again, but not standingstill. "I have only the right to pass and repass. I'm repassing now.He's a barrister, and he says that's the law. I daresay it is--but Iregret that it prevents me from obliging you, Lady Norah."

  "Well, I'm not going to make a fool of myself by running after you,"said Norah crossly.

  Lynborough walked slowly on; Norah followed; they reached the turn ofthe path towards the Grange hall door. They reached it--and passedit--both of them. Lynborough turned once more--with a surprised lift ofhis brows.

  "At least I can see you safe off the premises!" laughed Norah, and witha quick dart forward she reduced the distance between them tohalf-a-yard. Lynborough seemed to have no objection; proximity madeconversation easier; he moved slowly on.

  Norah seemed defeated--but suddenly she saw her chance, and hailed itwith a cry. The Marchesa's bailiff--John Goodenough--was approaching thepath from the house situated at the southwest corner of the meadow. Hercry of his name caught his attention--as well as Lynborough's. Thelatter walked a little quicker. John Goodenough hurried up. Lynboroughwalked steadily on.

  "Stop him, John!" cried Norah, her eyes sparkling with new excitement."You know her Excellency's orders? This is Lord Lynborough!"

  "His lordship! Aye, it is. I beg your pardon, my lord, but--I'm verysorry to interfere with your lordship, but----"

  "You're in my way, Goodenough." For John had got across his path, andbarred progress. "Of course I must stand still if you impede my steps,but I do it under protest. I only want to repass."

  "You can't come this way, my lord. I'm sorry, but it's her Excellency'sstrict orders. You must go back, my lord."

  "I am going back--or I was till you stopped me."

  "Back to where you came from, my lord."

  "I came from Scarsmoor and I'm going back there, Goodenough."

  "Where you came from last, my lord."

  "No, no, Goodenough. At all events, her Excellency has no right to driveme into the sea." Lynborough's tone was plaintively expostulatory.

  "Then if you won't go back, my lord, here we stay!" said John,bewildered but faithfully obstinate.

  "Just your tactics!" Lynborough observed to Norah, a keen spectator ofthe scene. "But I'm not so patient of them from Goodenough."

  "I don't know that you were very patient with me."

  "Goodenough, if you use sufficient force I shall, of course, beprevented from continuing on my way. Nothing short of that, however,will stop me. And pray take care that the force is sufficient--neithermore nor less than sufficient, Goodenough."

  "I don't want to use no violence to your lordship. Well now, if I lay myhand on your lordship's shoulder, will that do to satisfy yourlordship?"

  "I don't know until you try it."

  John's face brightened. "I reckon that's the way out. I reckon that'slaw, my lord. I puts my hand on your lordship's shoulder like that----"

  He suited the action to the word. In an instant Lynborough's long lithearms were round him, Lynborough's supple lean leg twisted about his.Gently, as though he had been a little baby, Lynborough laid the sturdyfellow on the grass.

  For all she could do, Norah Mountliffey cried "Bravo!" and clapped herhands. Goodenough sat up, scratched his head, and laughed feebly.

  "Force not quite sufficient, Goodenough," cried Lynborough gaily. "Now Irepass!"

  He lifted his hat to Norah, then waved his hand. In her open impulsiveway she kissed hers back to him as he turned away.

  By one of those accidents peculiar to tragedy, the Marchesa's maid,performing her toilet at an upper window, saw this nefarious andtraitorous deed!

  "Swimming--jumping--wrestling! A good morning's exercise! And allbefore those lazy chaps, Roger and Cromlech, are out of bed!"

  So saying, Lord Lynborough vaulted the wall again in high good humor.