thelawyer, with a touch of authority in his respect; and when the butlerwas dismissed he laid open the whole matter before her, speakingsympathetically, but leaving out nothing, from the strange escape of thepoet from the wood to the last detail of the dry bones out of the well.No fault could be found with any one of his tones or phrases, and yetCyprian, tingling in every nerve with the fine delicacy of his nationabout the other sex, felt as if she were faced with an inquisitor. Hestood about uneasily, watched the few colored clouds in the clear skyand the bright birds darting about the wood, and he heartily wishedhimself up the tree again.
Soon, however, the way the girl took it began to move him to perplexityrather than pity. It was like nothing he had expected, and yet hecould not name the shade of difference. The final identification of herfather's skull, by the hole in the hat, turned her a little pale, butleft her composed; this was, perhaps, explicable, since she had from thefirst taken the pessimistic view. But during the rest of the tale thererested on her broad brows under her copper coils of hair, a broodingspirit that was itself a mystery. He could only tell himself that shewas less merely receptive, either firmly or weakly, than he would haveexpected. It was as if she revolved, not their problem, but her own. Shewas silent a long time, and said at last:
"Thank you, Mr. Ashe, I am really very grateful for this. After all, itbrings things to the point where they must have come sooner or later."She looked dreamily at the wood and sea, and went on: "I've not only hadmyself to consider, you see; but if you're really thinking THAT,it's time I spoke out, without asking anybody. You say, as if it weresomething very dreadful, 'Mr. Treherne was in the wood that night.'Well, it's not quite so dreadful to me, you see, because I know he was.In fact, we were there together."
"Together!" repeated the lawyer.
"We were together," she said quietly, "because we had a right to betogether."
"Do you mean," stammered Ashe, surprised out of himself, "that you wereengaged?"
"No, no," she said. "We were married."
Then, amid a startled silence, she added, as a kind of afterthought:
"In fact, we are still."
Strong as was his composure, the lawyer sat back in his chair with asort of solid stupefaction at which Paynter could not help smiling.
"You will ask me, of course," went on Barbara in the same measuredmanner, "why we should be married secretly, so that even my poor fatherdid not know. Well, I answer you quite frankly to begin with; because,if he had known, he would certainly have cut me off with a shilling. Hedid not like my husband, and I rather fancy you do not like him either.And when I tell you this, I know perfectly well what you will say--theusual adventurer getting hold of the usual heiress. It is quitereasonable, and, as it happens, it is quite wrong. If I had deceivedmy father for the sake of the money, or even for the sake of a man, Ishould be a little ashamed to talk to you about it. And I think you cansee that I am not ashamed."
"Yes," said the American, with a grave inclination, "yes, I can seethat."
She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, as if seeking words for anobscure matter, and then said:
"Do you remember, Mr. Paynter, that day you first lunched here and toldus about the African trees? Well, it was my birthday; I mean my firstbirthday. I was born then, or woke up or something. I had walked inthis garden like a somnambulist in the sun. I think there are many suchsomnambulists in our set and our society; stunned with health, druggedwith good manners, fitting their surroundings too well to be alive.Well, I came alive somehow; and you know how deep in us are the thingswe first realize when we were babies and began to take notice. I beganto take notice. One of the first things I noticed was your own story,Mr. Paynter. I feel as if I heard of St. Securis as children hear ofSanta Claus, and as if that big tree were a bogey I still believed in.For I do still believe in such things, or rather I believe in themmore and more; I feel certain my poor father drove on the rocks bydisbelieving, and you are all racing to ruin after him. That is why Ido honestly want the estate, and that is why I am not ashamed of wantingit. I am perfectly certain, Mr. Paynter, that nobody can save thisperishing land and this perishing people but those who understand. Imean who understand a thousand little signs and guides in the very soiland lie of the land, and traces that are almost trampled out. My husbandunderstands, and I have begun to understand; my father would never haveunderstood. There are powers, there is the spirit of a place, there arepresences that are not to be put by. Oh, don't fancy I am sentimentaland hanker after the good old days. The old days were not all good; thatis just the point, and we must understand enough to know the good fromthe evil. We must understand enough to save the traces of a saint or asacred tradition, or, where a wicked god has been worshiped, to destroyhis altar and to cut down his grove."
"His grove," said Paynter automatically, and looked toward the littlewood, where the sunbright birds were flying.
"Mrs. Treherne," said Ashe, with a formidable quietness, "I am not sounsympathetic with all this as you may perhaps suppose. I will not evensay it is all moonshine, for it is something better. It is, if I may sayso, honeymoonshine. I will never deny the saying that it makes the worldgo round, if it makes people's heads go round too. But there are othersentiments, madam, and other duties. I need not tell you your father wasa good man, and that what has befallen him would be pitiable, even asthe fate of the wicked. This is a horrible thing, and it is chieflyamong horrors that we must keep our common sense. There are reasons foreverything, and when my old friend lies butchered do not come to mewith even the most beautiful fairy tales about a saint and his enchantedgrove."
"Well, and you!" she cried, and rose radiantly and swiftly. "With whatkind of fairy tales do you come to me? In what enchanted groves are YOUwalking? You come and tell me that Mr. Paynter found a well wherethe water danced and then disappeared; but of course miracles are allmoonshine! You tell me you yourself fished bones from under the samewater, and every bone was as dry as a biscuit; but for Heaven's sake letus say nothing that makes anybody's head go round! Really, Mr. Ashe, youmust try to preserve your common sense!"
She was smiling, but with blazing eyes; and Ashe got to his feet with aninvoluntary laugh of surrender.
"Well, we must be going," he said. "May I say that a tribute is reallydue to your new transcendental training? If I may say so, I always knewyou had brains; and you've been learning to use them."
The two amateur detectives went back to the wood for the moment, thatAshe might consider the removal of the unhappy Squire's remains. As hepointed out, it was now legally possible to have an inquest, and, evenat that early stage of investigations, he was in favor of having it atonce.
"I shall be the coroner," he said, "and I think it will be a case of'some person or persons unknown.' Don't be surprised; it is often doneto give the guilty a false security. This is not the first time thepolice have found it convenient to have the inquest first and theinquiry afterward."
But Paynter had paid little attention to the point; for his great giftof enthusiasm, long wasted on arts and affectations, was lifted toinspiration by the romance of real life into which he had just walked.He was really a great critic; he had a genius for admiration, and hisadmiration varied fittingly with everything he admired.
"A splendid girl and a splendid story," he cried. "I feel as if I werein love again myself, not so much with her as with Eve or Helen of Troy,or some such tower of beauty in the morning of the world. Don't you loveall heroic things, that gravity and great candor, and the way she tookone step from a sort of throne to stand in a wilderness with a vagabond?Oh, believe me, it is she who is the poet; she has the higher reason,and honor and valor are at rest in her soul."
"In short, she is uncommonly pretty," replied Ashe, with some cynicism."I knew a murderess rather well who was very much like her, and had justthat colored hair."
"You talk as if a murderer could be caught red-haired instead ofred-handed," retorted Paynter. "Why, at this very minute, you could becaught red-haired yourself. Are you a murd
erer, by any chance?"
Ashe looked up quickly, and then smiled.
"I'm afraid I'm a connoisseur in murderers, as you are in poets," heanswered, "and I assure you they are of all colors in hair as wellas temperament. I suppose it's inhumane, but mine is a monstrouslyinteresting trade, even in a little place like this. As for that girl,of course I've known her all her life, and--but--but that is just thequestion. Have I known her all her life? Have I known her at all? Wasshe even there to be known? You admire her for telling the truth; and soshe did, by God, when she said that some people wake up late, who havenever lived before. Do we know what they might do--we, who have onlyseen them
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