The stranger straightened herself a trifle, but there was rather appreciation than anger in her eyes.

"Well," she said, "I am proud of my country, but he was an Englishman, and it was in Cuba-in the rebellion."

She turned and looked curiously at her companion, in a fashion that almost suggested that she recognized the finely moulded figure, grave gray eyes, and gleaming hair, while Violet made a slight deprecatory gesture.

"I can show you another memorial which is almost as beautiful," she said. "In this case, however, what it stands for is at least authentic.

A famous artist designed it."

The girl turned and gazed backwards along the shafts of light that pierced the dusky nave until her eyes caught the gleam of the gilded Gloria high up the dimness, above the west window. Then they rested with awed admiration on the face of a great winged angel stooping with outstretched hand. She drew in her breath with a little sigh of appreciation which warmed Violet's heart to her, and then glancing down from the flaming picture read: "To the glory of G.o.d, and in memory of Walthew Palliser, killed in the execution of his duty in West Africa."

"Yes," she said, "it's beautiful. But they should be together. The great compa.s.sionate angel over the effigy. It makes you feel the words, 'Well done!'"

Violet smiled gravely, "I think I understand, and one could fancy that they were spoken. The man to whom they raised that window went, unarmed, sick of fever, and knowing the risk he ran, to make peace with a rebellious tribe, because it was evident that it would provoke hostilities if he took troops with him. He found a stockade on the way, and, though his bearers tried to hinder him, went forward alone to parley. He was shot almost to pieces with ragged cast iron."

"He was splendid," said the stranger. "And his name was Walthew-it is a curious one. I must thank you for telling me the story."

She would apparently have said more, but that a girl in light dress and big white hat came in through a little door behind the organ, and laughed as she approached them.

"So you have been making friends with Nettie, Violet! I was going to bring her over one of these days," she said. "Netting Harding of Glenwood on the Hudson-Violet Wayne! Nettie is staying with me, and as she is enthusiastic over antiquities I was bringing her here when Mrs.

Vicar b.u.t.tonholed me. They are short of funds for the Darsley sewing guild again. Will you come over to-morrow afternoon? Tea on the lawn."

Violet promised and took her departure, while when the other two went out into the sunshine again Nettie Harding's companion glanced at her.

"How did Violet Wayne strike you,-which I think is how you would put it?" she said.

Nettie appeared reflective. "I think I should like her. The curious thing is that a friend of mine pictured her to me almost exactly, though he did not tell me who she was. Still, at first I fancied she meant me to feel my inferiority."

"That is a thing Violet Wayne would never do," said her companion. "I don't know where she got that repose of hers-but it's part of her, and she doesn't put it on. Who was the man who spoke about her?"

"He didn't speak of her-he only told me about somebody who must have been like her," said Nettie Harding, who considered it advisable not to answer the question. "The Pallisers are evidently big people here. Is Walthew a usual name in the family? Miss Wayne seemed to know a good deal about them."

The other girl laughed. "I believe there were several Walthews, and Violet is, perhaps, proud of the connection," she said. "They are an old family, and she is going to marry one of them."

XVII - TONY IS PAINFULLY ASTONISHED

THE cool shadows were creeping across the velvet gra.s.s next afternoon when Nettie Harding lay languidly content in a canvas chair on the Low Wood lawn. Behind her rose a long, low, red-roofed dwelling, whose gray walls showed only here and there through their green mantle of creeper, but in front, beyond the moss-covered terrace wall, wheatfield, coppice, and meadow flooded with golden sunlight melted through gradations of color into the blue distance. It was very hot, and the musical tinkle of a mower that rose from the valley emphasized the drowsy stillness.

Opposite her, on the other side of the little table whereon stood dainty china and bra.s.s kettle, sat her hostess's daughter, Hester Earle, and she smiled a little as she glanced at Nettie.

"You are evidently not pining for New York!" she said.

Nettie Harding laughed as she looked about her with appreciative eyes.

"This is quite good enough for me, and we don't live in New York," she said. "n.o.body who can help it does, and it's quite a question how to take out of it the men who have to work there. Our place is on the Hudson, and it's beautiful, though I admit it is different from this. We haven't had the time to smooth down everything and round the corners off in our country, though when we are as old as you are we'll have considerably more to show the world."

Hester Earle nodded tranquilly. She was typically English, and occasionally amused at Nettie, with whom she had made friends in London.

Her father was chairman of a financial corporation that dealt in American securities, and having had business with Cyrus Harding, thought it advisable to show his daughter what attention he could.

"You were enthusiastic over Northrop church and the Palliser memorials yesterday," she said.

"Yes," said Nettie, "I was, but I should like to see the kind of men to whom they put them up. From what you said there are still some of them living in this part of your country?"

"There is one at Northrop just now, and it is rather more than likely that you will see him this afternoon if he suspects that Violet Wayne is coming here. I think I hear her now."

There was a beat of hoofs and rattle of wheels behind the trees that shrouded the lawn, and five minutes later Violet and Tony Palliser crossed the strip of turf. Miss Earle lighted the spirit lamp, and for a s.p.a.ce they talked of nothing in particular, while the pale blue flame burnt unwaveringly in the hot, still air. Then when the dainty cups were pa.s.sed round Violet Wayne said-

"I think you told me yesterday the effigy reminded you of somebody you had seen, Miss Harding."

"Yes," said Nettie, "it did. I don't mean that the face was like his, because that would be too absurd, but it was the expression-the strength and weariness in it-that impressed me. The man I am thinking of looked just like that when he kept watch one long night through."

"How do you know he did?" asked Hester.

"Because I was there. I sat by a little lattice and watched him, knowing that my safety depended upon his vigilance."

"That was why Miss Harding was anxious to see you, Tony," said Hester Earle. "I almost fancy she is disappointed now."

Tony, who sat with half-closed eyes, teacup in hand, in his chair, looked up and smiled languidly. "I think it is just a little rough on me that I should be expected to emulate the fort.i.tude an unknown sculptor hewed into a marble face hundreds of years ago," he said. "I wonder if Miss Harding would tell us about the man she is thinking of."

Nettie glanced at Violet Wayne, and fancied that she showed signs of interest. Besides Miss Harding was not averse to discoursing to an attentive audience.

"Well," she said, "I'll try. It was in Cuba, and he was an Englishman. A little while before the night I am going to speak about he and his American partner captured a Spanish gun."

"Then I don't see why you should have expected me to resemble him," said Tony plaintively. "As everybody knows I should never have done such a thing! Will you tell us about the engagement?"

Nettie flashed a keen glance at him, and Violet Wayne, who saw it, felt a slight thrill of impatience, but not with the girl. It was, she fancied, evident that Nettie Harding agreed with Tony.

"It was in a hot barranco among the hills, and the Spaniards had turned the gun on the Sin Verguenza, and were sweeping them away, when he and the American lowered themselves down the rock side by creepers right into the middle of the loyalist troops. They hurled the gun over a precipice into the barranco, and when it had gone the rest of the Sin Verguenza drove the troops off with rifle fire. It was their colonel told me this. I did not see it."

"Would you mind telling us who the Sin Verguenza were?" said Tony.

"The men without shame-that's what it means in Spanish-an insurgent legion. They took the town in which my father and I were staying-a handful of ragged men, with two companies of drilled troops against them-and I lost my father in the crowd of fugitives. Then I hid in a church, and some drunken brigands were chasing me through the dark streets when I met the Englishman, who took care of me. The Sin Verguenza were breaking into the houses, and I was alone, horribly frightened and helpless, in that Cuban town. He was one of their officers, and he took me to the house they had made their headquarters."

"You went with him?" asked Hester Earle.

"Yes," said Nettie slowly, while a faint flush crept into her face, "I did. n.o.body was safe from the Sin Verguenza then, and I felt I could trust him. There are men who make one feel like that, you know."

For no apparent reason she glanced at Violet Wayne, who sat with a curious expression in her eyes, looking-not at Tony, as Miss Harding noticed-but across the valley.

"Yes," she said, "there are. Go on, please!"

"I went with him to the rebel headquarters, and then very nearly tried to run away again, because it was like walking into the lion's den. The patio was littered with the furniture they had thrown out of the windows, and I could hear the men roystering over their wine. Still, when I looked at the man with me, I went in."

She stopped and sat silent a s.p.a.ce of seconds, while none of the others spoke. They felt it might not be advisable to ask questions.

"Well," she continued, "he hid me in a room, and then sat down on the veranda that ran round the patio outside it where I could see him from the lattice. The city was in a turmoil, the insurgent leaders were carousing in the house and you will remember they were the Sin Verguenza. There was only that man and his American comrade between me and those horrors. I think he fancied I rested, but all that awful night I scarcely took my eyes off him. He was very like the marble knight just then."

"Isn't that a little rough on the effigy?" said Tony with a smile. "The man was, I think you told us, a leader of shameless brigands."