Part 5

It was early when he floated into Arcady and there were no violet eyes to greet him. But his impatience was soothed by the happiness which remembrance gave him. He dreamed there in the sunshine, lighting a cigarette now and then and letting it burn itself out unnoticed between his fingers. White clouds floated across the blue sky and across the surface of the pool. Dragon-flies, their metallic-lustred wings ablaze, darted and turned. Birds sang and insects buzzed, the breeze gossiped to the leaves and the moments passed. When he finally awoke fully from his dreaming and looked wonderingly at his watch the morning was almost gone. He turned disappointed eyes toward the brief vista afforded by the jealous trees. No glimpse of white drapery rewarded him. She had said that she might not come. Why? Vaguely troubled, he propelled the canoe to the bank and stepped out. Under the shade of the willow made forever sacred by their meetings he threw himself down and waited while the long hand of his watch crept laggingly half-way around the dial. But patience had flown, and when the time he had set himself had passed he jumped to his feet and set off up the lawn under the trees.

Presently the corner of the white pergola sprang into view. Then the trees thinned away and he was looking across an open, sun-bathed stretch of lawn at the gleaming house. And as he looked, himself a scarcely noticeable figure against the green shadows of the grove, the front veranda of the house became suddenly peopled with a girl in a white frock and a man in gray flannels. They came together through the doorway and paused side by side at the top of the steps. Even at that distance Ethan recognized them only too well. The man had taken the girl’s hand and was speaking to her. Ethan watched for an instant only, yet in that instant he saw with a sudden sinking of the heart how the girl’s head, the sunlight aglint on the brown hair, lifted itself with a little gesture of intimate happiness to her companion. Then, in a sickening panic lest he might see more, Ethan turned quickly and plunged back into the shadows.

All the way back to the Inn, with every stroke and lift of the paddle, a refrain hammered ceaselessly at his brain: “No poaching on my preserves! No poaching on my preserves!” What an ass he had been not to understand! He hated Vincent as he had never hated anyone in his life, realizing all the while the absolute injustice of it. Why hadn’t he guessed from Vincent’s note how the land lay? He might have known that Vincent could have referred to no one but Her. But why couldn’t the fool have come out honestly and told him? A week ago, even three days ago would have been time! Then, in the next moment, he knew that that was not so, that it had always been too late, always since that first meeting! Yet why, if she were Vincent’s, had she allowed him to love her? Why had she virtually acknowledged her love for him? Why――――

He remembered that kiss with a sudden choking, clutching sensation at his throat. Had she meant nothing by that? Nothing? No, she had meant all, everything that he had hoped! She did love him, and neither Vincent Graves nor anyone else could have her! But that exultation was short-lived. What she had meant was of little moment; she belonged to Vincent by promise if by naught else, and Vincent was his friend.

Things were suddenly greatly simplified. His tangled thoughts smoothed themselves out and he gave a sigh that was partly of relief. At least his duty was plain. “No poaching on my preserves!” He had only to heed that warning and take himself out of the way. That thought steadied him down and his pulses ceased their deafening pounding. It wouldn’t be easy, that duty! He knew that well enough, although at this moment he was viewing it almost calmly. When the present excitement passed he would find it hard going!

The prospect of facing Vincent troubled him more than anything else as he drew the canoe from the water and laid it on its rack under the trees. Vincent was probably even now awaiting him up there on the porch. For a moment he thought of taking the canoe again and stealing off up the stream for a ways and then walking across to the station and taking the train for――anywhere out of all this! But it would be a sneaking, cowardly thing to do. Besides, sooner or later Vincent and he must meet, and as well now as any time. He lighted a cigarette with fingers that trembled a little and walked up through the orchard.

As he had expected, Vincent Graves was awaiting him on the porch. He was a tall, dark, fine-looking fellow, with a deep, pleasant voice and a remarkable, careless ease of manner; just the sort of a chap, Ethan told himself, that any sensible girl would fall in love with. Vincent did not see him for a moment, and in that moment Ethan had opportunity to study his friend with a new interest, view him from a novel point. But he found he could not be coldly critical; Vincent was Vincent, wholly admirable and lovable; and Ethan’s heart warmed under a sudden inrush of affection as he went forward with outstretched hand.

“Hello, Vin!” he said.

Vincent swung about, seized the hand and grasped it warmly.

“Why, you old chump!” he responded, smiling broadly. “Aren’t you ashamed to look me in the eye? What have you been doing with yourself? How’s mythology?”

“When did you come up?” asked Ethan, echoing the smile.

“This morning. Stopped at――――” He looked at Ethan with a quick lowering of the eyebrows. “Look here, what’s the matter with you? You have the cheerful, care-free countenance of a gentleman strolling to the gallows! Been ill?”

“Ill?” laughed Ethan. “Certainly not; never felt better in my life.”

“If you felt any better you’d scream, eh? Well, you’ve been up to something, Ethan, and you can lie yourself black in the face for all I care. You’re going back with me this evening; that’s settled. I came over in your machine and for a wonder it didn’t even spring a leak. I left it at The Larches,” he went on in response to Ethan’s questioning survey of the driveway and stable-yard. “I stopped there and made a call.” He paused, smiling mysteriously.

“Oh,” said Ethan.

“Yes, I――look here, let’s take a walk. What time is it? What? Oh, dinner be blowed! Come on, I want to talk a bit. Hang it, Eth, I’ll have to talk or bust up like one of your tires!”

“All right,” answered Ethan, without enthusiasm. “Smoke?”

Vincent accepted a cigarette and when they had lighted up they passed down the steps and along the road, under the arching elms, Vincent’s hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“It’s largely your fault, old chap,” he said presently. He chuckled to himself a moment before continuing. “You see, I got uneasy about your sudden and mysterious affection for this rural paradise. I’ve never heard you enthuse about it before; in fact I remember several violently disparaging remarks on the subject of Riverdell. So when you wrote that you were stopping here a while to study mythology I got scared. Understand?”

“Perfectly! What are you jawing about?”

“Lord, you’re dense! I’ll explain in words of one――――”

“Thanks.”

“You see, Eth, you’re a very captivating beggar; you have a wonderful way with the fair sex. For instance, there was that girl at college――――”

“Cut it out,” growled Ethan.

“Still touchy? Well, I wasn’t taking any chances. Being interested over this way myself I thought I’d better take a run over and look after things. Thought maybe you were making love to my girl; poaching, you know. Couldn’t have blamed you, old chap, for she’s just about the swellest thing you ever saw.”

“So you came up to head me off, eh?” inquired Ethan uninterestedly.

“Exactly. And found to my surprise that you hadn’t been near the honey. You don’t know what you’ve missed, Eth. They’re awfully nice folks, the whole push; and they’d have been tickled to death to have you call. Why didn’t you?”

“Consideration for your future happiness, Vin,” answered the other calmly.

“And you haven’t been near the place?”

“I got as far as the gate one day when taking a walk.”

“Well, will you tell me what in blazes you’ve been doing here for the last week?”

“No.”

Vincent studied him silently a moment.

“All right, old chap; I don’t want to be rudely inquisitive.”

“You’re not; only don’t bother your head about me. I’m off to-day, anyhow.”

“Yes, you’re coming with me. The mater made me swear by the graves of my ancestors that I’d fetch you back. And I’ve also promised to bring you to dinner to-night at the Devereuxs’.”

“Sorry, Vin.”

“You won’t?”

“You’ve guessed it.”

“Why not? Look here, I want you to meet Laura!”

Ethan winced.

“That’s nice of you, Vin, but really I can’t. I’ve simply got to be in Boston this evening. Tell them, please, that I’m very sorry, will you? And that I hope to have the pleasure some other time. Make it all right, like a good chap.”

“Well. But you’re coming over to Stillhaven later, aren’t you?”

“Maybe; perhaps in a week or two.”

“That’s rotten! Look here, Eth, can’t I get in on this? I don’t know what’s up, and I won’t ask, but if I can help you any way――――”

“Of course, old man. If you could I’d say so. But there isn’t anything wrong. I’ll explain later. It’s all right.”

“Doubt it. But you know best, I dare say.”

They turned by mutual consent and strolled back toward the Inn. Presently Vincent broke the silence again.

“By the way, I haven’t told you quite all, Eth; I’m engaged.”

“The deuce you are!” Ethan simulated intense surprise.

“Yep!” Vincent grinned triumphantly.

“Who to, you idiot?”

“Why, haven’t I told you? To Laura Devereux. They’re the folks I’ve been talking about. They have The Larches. You knew that!”

“Yes, but――when did it happen?”

“About an hour or so ago. I didn’t mean to do it to-day, but――hang it, Eth, I just simply had to! She’s the best girl in the world, old chap, and the prettiest too. I want you to see her. When you do you’ll understand. I told her about you and she wants me to bring you up to-night.”

“I hope you’ll be mighty happy, Vin.” They shook hands there in the empty road very gravely in spite of their smiling faces. “And congratulate her, too, old man. You’re rather a good sort――at times. And of course I’ll get you to take me to see her just as soon as I come back. I’ll have to get on the good side of her so she’ll let me come and see you once in a while when you’re married. When’s it to be?”

“Don’t be an ass!” grunted Vincent. “As for when, well, we haven’t settled that yet. Maybe it won’t be until Spring; I fancy she would rather wait until then. And I ought to get things fixed up a bit first, too,” he added vaguely.

“Oh, it won’t take you long to burn a few letters and photographs,” answered Ethan flippantly.

“Go to the deuce! Do we eat now?”

After dinner they sat together on the porch until such time as Vincent thought he might venture to return to The Larches, and Ethan listened patiently and with attempted enthusiasm to his friend’s mild ravings. Vincent was ludicrously happy.

“It’s all so darned funny!” he kept repeating. “A few hours ago I was scared to death for fear she wouldn’t have me, and now――――”

“And now you’re a goner,” finished Ethan.

“Laugh if you want to,” replied Vincent happily. “I expected you would. I thought you’d cut up worse than you have, old chap. My time will come!”

“When it does, you let me know,” scoffed Ethan.

“Look here, I wish you’d give up this Boston business and go along with me to-night, Eth. I――there’s a reason.”

“Nonsense, you’re beyond reason. Besides, I can’t give it up, Vin. Sorry; wish I could.”

“Oh, go to blazes! You could if you wanted to. Look here, I lay you any odds you like that you’ve been caught yourself! You’ve met some girl here and she’s gone home and you’re tagging after! You ought to have more pride, Eth!”

“I dare say, Mr. Solomon. By the way, I don’t want to hurry you, but it’s nearly half after two, and――――”

“The deuce it is!” Vincent leaped to his feet and Ethan laughed loudly and cruelly. Vincent viewed him in amazement a moment and then joined.

“Talk about tagging!” chuckled Ethan.

“You haven’t seen her, you old scoffer,” responded his friend.

At a little after three Ethan tossed his luggage into the car, climbed in beside the unruffled Farrell and swung the big blue monster toward Boston. And while it ate up the long miles Ethan, his hands on the wheel, scowled miserably ahead and honestly strove to forget that he had ever stumbled into Arcady.

XI.

A few days later Ethan walked into the office of the law firm in Providence, hung his hat on a hook in the closet and blandly inquired for his desk. The members of the firm discussed it later in the privacy of the inner office.

“Looks as though he might be in earnest, anyway,” suggested the senior. “Apparently not afraid of work, eh?”

“Something funny about it,” replied the junior, who was a bit of a pessimist. “It isn’t like a fellow of his sort to give up his summer and buckle down to reading law in July.” He shook his head with misgivings. “It won’t last, mark my word.”

But it did. Business was slack throughout the hot weather and Ethan had plenty of time for reading; and he made the most of it. Several letters came from Vincent reminding him of his promise and urging him to come down to Stillhaven for a while. But always Ethan pleaded press of duties, until Vincent, whose own law shingle had been hanging out for a year and who had yet to find business pressing, felt more convinced than ever that his friend had, to use his own expression, “come a cropper somehow!”

In September Vincent ran down and spent Sunday. Ethan didn’t press him to come again, for his conversation was not of a sort calculated to reconcile a disappointed lover to his lot. The Devereuxs were still at Riverdell, but were returning to their Boston apartments the last of the month.

“She hasn’t forgiven you for not calling,” warned Vincent, “and you’ll have to eat dirt when you do see her, old chap.”

Ethan expressed entire willingness to grovel, but flatly refused to set a date for the proceedings. Vincent departed somewhat huffed, and for some time there was a perceptible coolness between them. Ethan regretted it, but he wasn’t ready yet to trust himself in the rôle of Vincent’s friend.

His first vacation since he had gone to work came early in October. Then a letter from a real estate agent who had the renting of his property made a journey to Riverdell advisable. He left Providence, with Farrell, in the car one Friday morning, intending to stay in Riverdell over Saturday, and at two o’clock swung the machine in through the big gate of The Larches. It had been a glorious brisk day, they had made record time and Ethan’s spirits had been high. But now, as they rumbled slowly up the circling driveway, old memories were asserting themselves and buoyancy gave place to depression. The maples were aflame in the afternoon sunlight, the Virginia creeper about the porches was radiantly crimson, and along the gleaming white pergola bunches of purple grapes were still aglow. But for all this The Larches had a lonesome look. The windows on the lower floor were shuttered and told eloquently of desertion.

Ethan’s summons at the bell went unanswered for a time. Then footsteps sounded on the marble tiles inside and the big door swung open, revealing a comfortably stout, double-chinned woman who wiped her damp, red hands on her blue calico apron.

“Why, Mr. Ethan!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, it’s I, Mrs. Billings,” he replied. “Farrell, take the car around to the stable and I’ll have William open up for you.”

He stepped into the dimly lighted hall, already filled with the chill of approaching winter, and looked about him. Everything was apparently the same in spite of its recent occupancy. The house had been rented furnished, and plainly the Devereuxs had been satisfied to leave things as they had found them. He took off his coat and tossed it on to the big old-fashioned mahogany couch. Mrs. Billings, the housekeeper, was still chattering volubly.

“If we’d known you was coming, sir, we’d have had the blinds open and the fires lighted.”

“Never mind,” answered Ethan. “Have your husband build a fire in the library and in my room. I shan’t be here beyond Sunday morning. You can give me my meals in the library. I had a letter from Stearns a day or so ago telling me that the Devereuxs had left and asking whether I wanted to rent for the winter. I don’t believe I do. I don’t think I shall rent again at all. Well how have you been, you and that good-for-nothing husband of yours?”

“Nicely, sir, for myself, thank you. And Jonas, he isn’t one of the complaining sort, sir, but he do have the rheumatism something awful in wet weather. And how has your health been, Mr. Ethan?”

“I’ve been frightfully healthy, thank you. Where’s your husband?”

“I’ll call him, sir, at once. He’s out somewheres on the grounds, sir. And I’ll have a fire lit in no time, sir. He’ll be very pleased to see you, sir, will Jonas.” She stopped at the end of the hall and sank her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I fear he’s getting old and failing, Mr. Ethan,” she said despondently. “It――it’s his head sir.”

“Eh?”

“Yes, sir. Along in June it was, Mr. Ethan, or maybe early in the month following, sir, that he came in quite excited like and wild, saying as he had seen you with his own eyes over toward the grove there. Yes, sir. ‘Jonas,’ says I, ‘it’s the sun.’ ‘No, ’taint,’ says he. ‘I saw him with my own eyes,’ says he, ‘a-standing under the trees. And when I looked again he was gone,’ he says. It gave me quite a shock, sir, as you might say.”

“Naturally. And since then you have observed no other symptoms?”

“No, sir, not particular, but he do seem a heap fonder of his victuals than he used to, and I’ve heard tell as that’s a sure sign of a failing intellect, Mr. Ethan.”

“In the case of your victuals, Mrs. Billings,” replied Ethan, “I’d say it was an indication of wisdom.”

The housekeeper bridled and beamed.

“But, really,” continued Ethan, smiling, “I wouldn’t worry about Billings. The fact is, I was down here for a day or so about the time you speak of.”

“Here, sir? And you never came to see us, sir?”

“There――er――there were reasons, Mrs. Billings. And now how about that fire? And send your husband out to unlock the carriage house, please.”

“Yes, sir, directly, sir. And Jonas really saw you, Mr. Ethan, same as he said he did?”

“I think it more than likely, Mrs. Billings.”

“Well, that’s a great load off my mind, sir. Softening of the brain do be so unfortunate!”

Later, just at dusk, Ethan emerged from the library on to the broad cement-paved porch at the side of the house. Pausing to light a cigarette, he passed down the stone steps to the pergola and traversed its length. Fallen leaves rustled softly under his feet and the purple clusters showed the effects of the frost. Once out of the arbor, his steps led him almost unconsciously across the open lawn, russet now and streaked with the long sombre shadows of the trees. He found himself swayed by two desires; one to see the lotus pool again, the other to avoid it. He went on through the twilight grove, filled with a gentle――I had almost said pleasant――sadness. Underfoot the ground was carpeted with the red leaves of the maples. Here and there a white birch stood like a pale gold flame in the dying sunlight. The dark green larches alone held themselves unchanged.

The pool was sadly different. Yellowing lily-pads floated upon the surface, but no blossoms caught the slanting rays of the sun. Ethan sat down under the willow, took his knees into his arms and puffed blue smoke-wreaths into the amber light. Presently a shadow presence came and sat beside him. The presence had violet eyes and red, red lips that smiled wistfully. He didn’t turn his head, for he knew that if he did he would find himself again alone. And presently they talked.

“You were very cruel,” he said sadly.

“I didn’t mean to be,” she answered.

“No, I don’t think you did. You――you just didn’t think, I suppose. It was all a bit of good fun with you. But――it played the deuce with me.”

“Did it?” she asked regretfully.

“But I’m not blaming you――now,” he went on. “I did at first. It seemed needlessly cruel and heartless. But I understand now that it was all my fault. You see, dear, I took it for granted, I thought, that you――cared――the way I did. It was my silly conceit.”

He thought he heard a little sob beside him, but he resisted the temptation to turn and look.

“If only there hadn’t been that kiss,” he continued dreamily. “That――I’ve never quite understood that. Sometimes――I dare say it’s my conceit again――but sometimes I can’t help thinking that you did care――a little――just then! That is the hardest to forgive, dear,――and forget, that kiss. If it wasn’t for the memory of that I think I could stand it better. Why did you do it? _Why?_”

There was no answer save the sighing of a little breeze which crept down the slope in a floating shower of dead leaves.

“Ah, but I want to know!” he insisted doggedly. “Was it just in fun? Was it merely in pity? It couldn’t have been, I tell you! You never kissed me like that for pity, dear! There was love in your eyes, sweetheart; I saw it; fathoms deep in that purple twilight! Love, do you hear? You can’t deny it, you can’t! And you trembled in my arms! Why did you do it?” he asked sharply.

He turned impetuously,――and sighed. He was all alone. The presence had fled.

He tossed aside the dead cigarette in his hand and shivered. The breeze was growing as the day passed, a chill October breeze laden with the heavy, melancholy aroma of dying leaves. He arose and retraced his steps to the house.

XII.

Ethan drank the last drop of excellent black coffee in the tiny cup and swung his chair about so that he faced the cheerfully crackling logs in the library fire-place. He had enjoyed his dinner, and he began to feel delightfully restful and drowsy. The day spent in the open air, with the wind rushing past him, the hearty repast and now the dancing flames were all having their natural effect. He reached lazily for his cigarette case, his gaze travelling idly over the high mantel above him. Then his hand had dropped from his pocket and he was on his feet, peering intently at a small photograph tucked half out of sight behind one of the old Liverpool pitchers which flanked the clock. A moment after he had it in his hands and was bending over it in the glare of the light from the chandelier.

It was evidently an amateur production, but it was good for all that. And Ethan was troubling his head not at all as to its origin or its merits or defects. It was sufficient for him that it showed a small, graceful figure in white against a background of foliage, and that the eyes which looked straight into his from under the waving hair with its golden fillet were Hers. It was Clytie. One hand rested softly on a flower-clustered spray of azalea, one bare sandaled foot gleamed forth from under the straight white folds of the peplum and the lips were parted in a little startled smile. Ethan devoured it eagerly while his heart glowed and ached at once. He remembered telling her that he would like to see those pictures, and remembered her laughing response: “I’m afraid you never will!” And now he was looking at one of them after all! And he was still looking when the gardener entered with the replenished wood-basket.

“Where did this come from, Billings?” Ethan asked carelessly.