Hanbury-Green in her sitting-room, whose balcony hung over the beautiful ca.n.a.l. No one could say a word--Arabella's discretion could always be counted upon; and pleasure was secured.

She looked, perhaps, more beautiful than she had ever done in her life as they started. Mr. Hanbury-Green had hired a special gondola, not the one they were accustomed to float about in,--and off they went. Where was the harm, in broad daylight! and with Arabella to accompany them--as far as the last steps, and then to be dropped? Cecilia felt like a school-girl on a forbidden treat.

When they were well out of sight of all observation, Mr. Hanbury-Green began. He told her that he loved her, in all the most impressive language he was master of; he felt that with her he might with safety and success use the same flamboyant metaphors and exaggerations with which he was accustomed to move his const.i.tuents. No restraint or attention to accuracy was necessary here. And if his voice in his honest excitement would have sounded a little c.o.c.kney in Arabella's cultured ears, Cecilia Cricklander did not notice it. On the contrary, she thought the whole thing was the finest-sounding harangue she had ever heard in her life.

He went on to say that he could not live without her, and implored her to throw over John Derringham and promise to be his wife.

"He thinks you are madly in love with him, darling," he said, knowing this would sting, "and will stand any of his airs. Let him see you are not. Give him the snub he deserves for deserting you, and fling his dismissal in his face."

Cecilia Cricklander reddened and thrilled, too. Here, at all events, was warmth. But she was not won yet. So she looked down, as if too full of emotion to speak. She must gain time to consider what this would mean, and, if worth while, how to lay her plans.

Should the scheme contain certain elevation for herself and certain humiliation for John Derringham, then there was something worthy of consideration in it, for undoubtedly Percy Hanbury-Green suited her the better of the two, as far as just the men themselves were concerned. She knew she would get desperately tired of having to live up to John Derringham's standard, and a divorce in England would not be so easily obtained or so free from scandal, as her original one in America had been. But she must think well, and weigh the matter before plunging in.

Mr. Hanbury-Green saw her hesitation and instantly applied another forceful note. He dwelt upon the political situation and grew eloquent and magnetic, as when he was on the platform--for was he not playing for stakes which, for the moment, he valued even more than some thousands of votes?

It was no wonder Cecilia Cricklander's imagination grew inflamed. He let her see that as his wife she would, for seven years or more, ride on the crest of the wave of an ever-rising tide to undreamed-of heights of excitement and intrigue. "With you at my side, darling," Mr. Green said pa.s.sionately, "I could be stimulated into being Dictator myself. The days of kings and const.i.tutions are over. The people want a strong despotic leader who has first brought about their downfall. And they will get him--in ME!"

This clinched the matter, and Cecilia, seeing visions of herself as Madame Tallien, allowed herself to be drawn into his arms!

"Do you know, my beauty," the triumphant lover said as they floated back to pick up Arabella upon the last steps, rather late in the afternoon, "I had meant to get you somehow to-day. If you had refused to listen, I intended to take you to the Lido and keep you there all night--the gondolier and the people there are bribed--then you would have had no choice but to marry me. Oh, you cannot balk me!"

And all Cecilia Cricklander replied was, with a girlish giggle of pleasure:

"Oh, Percy, dear!"

In the innermost recesses of their hearts there are a number of cold women who adore a bold buccaneer!

She had made one stipulation with him before they landed, and this was one which in the future--little as she knew it then--would rob her of all her triumph over John Derringham, and plant an everlasting and bitter sting in her breast.

She insisted that, as she did not wish to create a nine days' wonder, no mention of his engagement to herself should be made public by Mr.

Hanbury-Green for at least a month after people were aware that she had closed hers with John Derringham. All should be done with decency and in order, so as not to militate in any way against her future position as queen of the winning side.

And, knowing that he had already telegraphed the announcement that the marriage arranged between the Right Honorable John Derringham and Mrs.

Vincent Cricklander would not take place, so that it should appear in the Monday morning papers--Mr. Hanbury-Green felt he could safely comply with her caprice and bide his time. He had not the slightest intention of ever permitting a whim of hers to interfere with his real wishes in any way, and having a full command of her own weapons and methods, he looked forward to a time of uninterrupted bliss when once she should be his wife. To dissemble for a month or so would not hurt him, and might even amuse him as a new game.

So they entered Daniellis in subdued triumph, and said good night before Arabella, with prim decorum, and then Cecilia mounted to make herself look beautiful for the flinging of his _conge_ in John Derringham's face.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

When Halcyone left the Fortezza she was conscious of no feeling of depression or grief. Rather a gladness and security filled her heart.

She had seen him with her mortal eyes--her dear lover--and he was in truth greatly in need of all her care and tender thoughts. Her beliefs were so intense in those forces of protection with which that G.o.d Whom she worshiped so truly surrounded her, that she never for a moment doubted but these invisible currents would be directed to the disentangling of destiny's threads.

She made no speculations as to how this would be--G.o.d would find the way. Her att.i.tude was never one of pious resignation to a divine chastis.e.m.e.nt. She did not believe G.o.d ever meant to chastise anyone. For good or ill each circ.u.mstance was brought about by the individual's own action in setting the sequence of events in motion, as the planting of seed in the early spring produced fair flowers in the summer--or the bruising of a limb produced pain. And the motion must go on until the price had been paid or the pleasure obtained. And, when long ago she had heard Cheiron and John Derringham having abstruse arguments upon Chance, she used silently to wonder how they could be so dull as not to understand there was no such thing really as Chance--if people were only enabled to see clearly enough. If they could only trace events in their lives to their sources, they would find that they themselves had long ago--even perhaps in some former existence--put in motion the currents to draw the events to themselves. What could be called "chance" in the matter was only another name for ignorance.

And, if people knew about these wonderful forces of nature, they could connect themselves with only the good ones, and protect themselves from the bad. Misfortune came through--figuratively--not knowing just where to put the feet, and through not looking ahead to see what would be the result of actions.

Only, above and beyond all these forces of nature and these currents of cause and effect, there was still the great, eternal Source of all things, who was able to dispel ignorance and to endow one individual with the power to help another by his prayers and thoughts. This G.o.d could hasten and bring Happiness, if only He were believed in with absolute faith. But that He would ever stoop to punish was an unheard-of blasphemy. He was only and entirely concerned with good. Punishments came as the results of actions. It followed then that John Derringham, having paid the price of much sorrow for all his mistakes, would now come into peace--and her prayers, and exceptional advantages in having been allowed for years to learn the forces of nature, would be permitted to help him. That he would be obliged to marry Mrs. Cricklander would seem to be an overexaction, and not just. But they were not the judges, and must in all cases fulfill their part of honesty and truth, no matter what might betide.

These were her convictions, and so they caused her to feel only a G.o.d-like calm--as she went away into the purple shadows of the old streets.

Cheiron and she had been at San Gimignano for half a week, and almost every child in the place knew and loved her. She had always a gracious word or a merry smile when they cl.u.s.tered round her, as is their friendly way with all travelers, when she came from the Cathedral or the strange old solitary chapel of St. Jacopo.

The Professor was waiting for her on the hotel steps, and he saw by some extra radiance in her face that something unusual had happened.

"What is it, my child?" he asked, as they went in and up to their dinner in the big _salle a manger_ upon the first floor, which was then nearly always empty of guests.

"John Derringham is here, Master," she said--"and we have talked, and now all shadows are gone--and we must only wait."

"I am glad to hear it," replied Cheiron, and bristled his brows.

This is all that was said between them on the subject, and, immediately the meal was over, they retired to their rooms. But when alone in hers, Halcyone took from the silken wrappings the G.o.ddess Aphrodite, and in the divine eyes read a glad blessing, and, as soon as her head touched her pillow, she fell into a soft sweet sleep, while the warm night winds flew in at the wide-opened windows and caressed her hair.

And John Derringham, when the dark had fallen, came down from his high watch tower, and walked slowly back to the hotel, leaning upon his stick. He was still filled with the hush of his loved one's serene calm.

Surely, after all, there must be some truth in her beliefs, and he would trust to them, too, and wait and hope--and above all keep his word, as she had said, with that honor which is entailed upon a gentleman.

He ordered his motor for dawn the next morning, so as to be away before the chance of disturbing the two should occur.

The rare and wonderful sight of a motor in those days caused a crowd to collect whenever one should arrive or depart. It was an unheard-of thing that two should visit the city at the same time--there had only been three in the whole year--so Halcyone, when she heard the whizz next morning, bounded from her bed and rushed to peep between the green shutters. Some instinct told her that the noise indicated it was he--her dear lover--about to start, and she had the happiness of gazing down upon his upturned face unperceived, as his eyes searched the windows, perhaps in some vague hope of being able to discern which was hers.

And she showered upon him blessings of love and tenderness, and called all the currents of good from the sky and the air, to comfort and protect him and give him strength to go back and keep his word. And, just as he was starting, a white pigeon flew down and circled round John Derringham's head--and he was conscious that at the same moment the sun must have risen above the horizon, for it suddenly gilded the highest towers. And he pa.s.sed out of the dark gate into its glory, and took the Siena road, a mighty purpose of strength in his heart.

After a few days of wandering, during which he strove not to let grief or depression master him again, he sent a telegram to Venice to Cecilia Cricklander. And on that Sat.u.r.day evening, he walked into her sitting-room with a pale and composed face.

She was seated upon the sofa and arranged with every care, and was looking triumphantly beautiful as she smoked a cigarette. Her fine eyes had in them all the mocking of the fiend as she greeted him lazily.

"How are you, John?" she said casually--and puffed rings of smoke, curling up her red lips to do so in a manner that, John Derringham was unpleasantly aware, he would once have found attractive, but that now only filled him with disgust.

"I am well," he said, "thank you,--better for the change and the sight of some most interesting things."

"And I, also," she responded with provoking glances from under her lids, "am better--for the change! I have seen--a man, since which I seem to be able the better to value your love!"

And she leaned back and laughed with rasping mockery, which galled his ears--although for some strange reason she could no longer gall his soul. He felt calm and blandly indifferent to her, like someone acting in a dream.

"I am glad you were, and are, amused," he said. He had not made the slightest attempt to kiss her in greeting--and she had not even held out her hand.

"You are quite rich now, John, aren't you?" after a short silence she presently asked nonchalantly--"that is, as you English count riches--ten or twelve thousand a year. I suppose it will keep you in comfort."

He leaned back and smiled one of his old cynical smiles.

"Yes," he said, "it is extremely rich for me; my personal wants are not great."

"That is splendid, then," she went on, "because I shall not feel I am really depriving you of anything by doing what I intend to do in throwing you over--otherwise I should have been glad to settle something upon you for life!"