erect again, and smiled, while he joined her on his feet.
"Thanks, Helga! Yet I also remember that so they kiss the brows of the dead."
"You are to live to see Ingrid married," was all her shocked answer.
When, however, he had gone out, leaving her still standing facing the door that had merely been pulled-to after him, her thoughts went quietly back of their own accord to that man whose reproduced features were quite like no one else's whom she had ever seen. His must be a very determined, powerful, dynamic nature. It was Saltfleet's face, of course, that she mentally contemplated. She could not help feeling—it was like some small, insistent, very deep-down and distant voice calling out to her from the profundities of her own soul—that he it was who was to bring Hugh to his fate. She wished she had begged to be allowed to retain that photograph.
If he came after Hugh to Whitestone, she should see him in the body. How ought she to treat him, when nothing had been planned, no attitude decided upon? The true stroke of genius would be for her to win such a man to compassionate and assist Hugh, in place of throwing down the gage. She did not know what weaknesses he had; perhaps none, for a woman. The other man would be like a fish, and hardly seemed to count, although probably the principal.
Couldn't she send Hugh away somewhere—to one of her friends, further away from town—till the business had blown over? Then Saltfleet would negotiate personally with her. But Hugh would have bound her beforehand, and still nothing would get settled. If in the meantime his presentiment came true. … but that would need to be an accident. What kind of accident? Why, anything. He might fall downstairs. At that, Helga recollected that he was intending to venture down those uncovered ancient stairs on Devil's Tor, in but a very few hours' time. If absolutely an accident was fated for him, where likelier than there? But she supposed it was his toughness and expertness and experience that prevented her from feeling the slightest genuine alarm regarding that excursion. No, Saltfleet was in some manner associated with Hugh's crisis to come, of that she was superstitiously convinced.
How could he, a modern Englishman, very possibly having a university education, be a Sulla, with the ferocity and perfect recklessness of one! No doubt it was partly because it was one o'clock in the morning that she was imagining absurd things. For all that, she wished she could have seen him before Hugh went back. Had she still any remains of her old power to fascinate? She hadn't seriously asked herself such a question for years, for nowadays few men came, and none preferred her to her daughter. Five-and-twenty years ago she had but to sit in a chair, and the men would arrive. …
She trod sadly to the mirror on the wall, and stayed in front of it for a long time, regarding her image, with only occasional changes of pose.
Chapter VI
THE THREE STRAINS
Drapier rose again soon after five, before it was quite light indoors, made a quick toilet, and let himself out of the house while no one else was yet stirring. Notwithstanding the preceding evening's fatigue and his late going to bed, he had hardly slept, so that for an interminable time he had watched with sick impatience the slow changing of his room from black to grey. When at last he might, he had got up with that fagged relief that brings no contentment with it.
Insomnia had already begun to plague him in India before coming away; now, in England, the condition had grown so evil that his resting hours were a nightmare to be expected. Another man would have sought drugs for it, but to Drapier, who neither drank nor smoked, the idea never occurred. He had sustained plenty of hardships in his trekking life, whereas his purity of body was a very real asset to him.
So his account to Helga of his reason for early walking had not been strictly accurate, though it did in fact represent a supporting motive.
"Thanks, Helga! Yet I also remember that so they kiss the brows of the dead."
"You are to live to see Ingrid married," was all her shocked answer.
When, however, he had gone out, leaving her still standing facing the door that had merely been pulled-to after him, her thoughts went quietly back of their own accord to that man whose reproduced features were quite like no one else's whom she had ever seen. His must be a very determined, powerful, dynamic nature. It was Saltfleet's face, of course, that she mentally contemplated. She could not help feeling—it was like some small, insistent, very deep-down and distant voice calling out to her from the profundities of her own soul—that he it was who was to bring Hugh to his fate. She wished she had begged to be allowed to retain that photograph.
If he came after Hugh to Whitestone, she should see him in the body. How ought she to treat him, when nothing had been planned, no attitude decided upon? The true stroke of genius would be for her to win such a man to compassionate and assist Hugh, in place of throwing down the gage. She did not know what weaknesses he had; perhaps none, for a woman. The other man would be like a fish, and hardly seemed to count, although probably the principal.
Couldn't she send Hugh away somewhere—to one of her friends, further away from town—till the business had blown over? Then Saltfleet would negotiate personally with her. But Hugh would have bound her beforehand, and still nothing would get settled. If in the meantime his presentiment came true. … but that would need to be an accident. What kind of accident? Why, anything. He might fall downstairs. At that, Helga recollected that he was intending to venture down those uncovered ancient stairs on Devil's Tor, in but a very few hours' time. If absolutely an accident was fated for him, where likelier than there? But she supposed it was his toughness and expertness and experience that prevented her from feeling the slightest genuine alarm regarding that excursion. No, Saltfleet was in some manner associated with Hugh's crisis to come, of that she was superstitiously convinced.
How could he, a modern Englishman, very possibly having a university education, be a Sulla, with the ferocity and perfect recklessness of one! No doubt it was partly because it was one o'clock in the morning that she was imagining absurd things. For all that, she wished she could have seen him before Hugh went back. Had she still any remains of her old power to fascinate? She hadn't seriously asked herself such a question for years, for nowadays few men came, and none preferred her to her daughter. Five-and-twenty years ago she had but to sit in a chair, and the men would arrive. …
She trod sadly to the mirror on the wall, and stayed in front of it for a long time, regarding her image, with only occasional changes of pose.
Chapter VI
THE THREE STRAINS
Drapier rose again soon after five, before it was quite light indoors, made a quick toilet, and let himself out of the house while no one else was yet stirring. Notwithstanding the preceding evening's fatigue and his late going to bed, he had hardly slept, so that for an interminable time he had watched with sick impatience the slow changing of his room from black to grey. When at last he might, he had got up with that fagged relief that brings no contentment with it.
Insomnia had already begun to plague him in India before coming away; now, in England, the condition had grown so evil that his resting hours were a nightmare to be expected. Another man would have sought drugs for it, but to Drapier, who neither drank nor smoked, the idea never occurred. He had sustained plenty of hardships in his trekking life, whereas his purity of body was a very real asset to him.
So his account to Helga of his reason for early walking had not been strictly accurate, though it did in fact represent a supporting motive.
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