"Yes," said Nettie, "I quite often do. I'm not in the least afraid, like you, of being thought sentimental. In fact, we are fond of telling people what we think in my country. Still, I'm not sure about those limitations. The gates should open to everybody, even business men and heiresses-but I don't want to go trespa.s.sing while the vicar's here."

The vicar nodded. "I claim you as an ally," he said, "The idea you have taken up is not, however, exactly a novel one."

"Well," said Nettie, "what I feel is this. The old loyal spirit is living still-because it belongs to all time and can never die. It's with us now in these days of steam engines and magazine rifles. Those old- time men wore their labels-the monk's girdle, the red-cross shield, the palmer's sh.e.l.l, and some, according to the pictures, the nimbus too; but can't modern men, even those who play poker, which is a game of nerve as well as chance, and smoke green cigars, be as good as they? Now, I don't like a man to be ostensibly puritanical and ascetic-unless, of course, he's a clergyman."

There was a little laughter, and the vicar shook his head. "I'm afraid they don't all come under that category," he said.

"Still, there are men who never did a mean thing or counted the cost when they saw what was expected of them. Can't one fancy their pa.s.sing the gates of that fairyland the easier because they are stained with the dust of the strife, and reaching out towards communion with the spirits of those old loyal folk who went before them-they, and the women they believe in?"

There was a moment's silence. Nettie's face was a trifle flushed, and a faint gleam showed in Violet Wayne's gray eyes.

"I think," said the vicar reflectively, "you might go further and say- with all angels and archangels! We will take it that fairyland is only a symbol."

Tony, however, laughed indolently. "One would feel tempted to wonder whether there are many men who never did a mean thing."

A curious anger came upon Nettie. Tony Palliser seemed the embodiment of all that her simple strenuous nature despised, and he who had everything had taken from a better man the blameless name which was his one possession. He sat before her honored and prosperous, while she remembered Appleby's weariness and rags, and obeyed the impulse that drove her to unmask him. Her answer was coldly incisive.

"There are. You know one of them," she said.

"No," said Tony, and there was a trace of anxiety in his glance, "I am not sure that I do, though I have some pa.s.sable friends."

"Well," said Nettie, "I certainly met one, and he did not wear a label.

In fact, he was a smuggler of rifles and a leader of the Shameless Legion, but he was very loyal to his comrades, and when he was wounded and weary with battle he risked and lost a good deal to take care of a woman who had no claim on him. She had, he felt, been committed to his trust, and he would have been torn to pieces before he failed in it.

That was why the knight's face reminded me of his-but I have told you about him already."

Tony's face expressed relief, and Nettie sat silent a moment until the vicar said, "It was a generous impulse, but it may have been a momentary one, while in the crusader's case there must have been a sustaining purpose, and a great abnegation, a leaving of lands and possessions he might never regain."

Nettie realized that her task must be undertaken now, and wondered that she felt so quietly and almost mercilessly collected.

"Still," she said, "the man I mentioned did as much-not to win fame or a pardon for his sins, but to save a comrade who was not worthy of the sacrifice. You would like me to tell you about it?"

Hester smiled in languid approbation, and the vicar's face showed his interest; but Tony sat very still, with the fingers of one hand quivering a little, and Violet's eyes seemed curiously grave as she fixed them upon the girl.

"Then," said Nettie, "I will try, though it isn't exactly a pleasant story. There was a man in England who involved himself with a girl whom, because of your notions in this country, he could not marry. It was only a flirtation, but the girl's father made the most of it, and raised trouble for the man when he wanted to marry a woman of his own degree.

He had done nothing wrong as yet, but he was weak-so he sent his friend to bluff off the man who had been squeezing money out of him."

Tony made a little abrupt movement, and a tinge of gray showed in his cheek, but it pa.s.sed unnoticed by all save Nettie Harding. The vicar was watching her with a curious intentness, and there was apprehension in Violet's face, while Hester gazed steadily at Nettie with growing astonishment.

"It was at night the friend met the blackmailer," she said. "There was an altercation, and then a struggle. Still, the blackmailer was not seriously hurt, and the other man saw him walk away. It was not until next day they found he had fallen into a river from the bridge."

She stopped a moment, and Violet turned to her, very white in face, with a great horror in her eyes.

"You venture to tell me this?" she said.

"Yes," said Nettie, glancing at Tony. "It hurts me, but it's necessary.

If you do not believe me ask the man who sent his friend to meet the man he dared not face."

There was a sound that suggested a gasp, and a dress rustled softly as Violet, moving a little, closed one hand, while Tony's face showed gray and drawn as he leaned forward in his chair. It was, however, the vicar who broke the tense silence.

"Since you have told us so much, Miss Harding, I must ask you to go on,"

he said.

"Then," said Nettie, "the friend gave up everything, and took the blame that his comrade might marry the woman he loved, He went to America-and when he comes back there from Cuba we will find room for him."

"I think," said the vicar very slowly, "in order to make quite sure one of us should ask you for his name."

Nettie glanced at Violet, who made a little sign.

"It was Bernard Appleby," she said.

Then Violet turned to Tony, and her voice, which was low and strained, sent a little thrill through the listeners.

"Speak!" she said. "Tony, you can, you must, controvert it!"

Tony rose very slowly to his feet, and the courage of desperation was his. "I can't. Miss Harding is quite correct," he said. "I must ask the rest to leave us. This affair is ours-mine and Violet's only, you see."

"He is right," said the vicar, rising. "I will ask you to let the story go no further in the meanwhile, Miss Harding. There is, I think, only one thing Mr. Palliser can do, but the responsibility is his."

The others went away with him, and for a moment or two Violet and Tony stood face to face. Then when the man would have spoken the girl turned from him with a little gesture of repulsion.

"No," she said faintly. "It is too horrible. I can bear nothing further now."

She swept away from him, and Tony, standing rigidly still with hands clenched, let her go. Then he turned and strode with bent head across the lawn.

Five minutes later Hester Earle, entering one of the rooms quietly with the vicar, found Nettie lying in a chair and apparently shivering. She looked up when she saw them, and then turned her head away.

"Oh, I know you don't want to talk to me!" she said. "Still, though I feel most horribly mean, I did it because I had to."

"Yes," said the vicar gently, "I think I understand. It must have cost you a good deal-and I fancy you were warranted."

"Then go away, both of you, and leave me alone," said Nettie faintly.

They turned away, and met Violet Wayne in the hall. She made a little gesture when she saw their faces, as though to warn them from any expression of sympathy.

"You will excuse me, Hester," she said very quietly. "I think I would sooner walk home alone. I will not ask you to remember that what you heard concerns only Tony and me."

Then she turned and left them, walking slowly, and holding herself very straight with an effort.

XXI - TONY'S DECISION

TONY PALLISER walked home to Northrop, and was glad when he reached it, for he found even the slight physical effort difficult. He felt half- dazed, and brushed past two of his tenants who greeted him on the road without recognizing them. He did not remember whether he offered any explanation as to why he had not remained at Low Wood, as he had purposed, but by and by he found himself sitting in G.o.dfrey Palliser's chair at the head of the great dinner-table. The big candles were lighted, for the evenings were drawing in, and as he vacantly noticed the glitter of the light on the gla.s.s and silver he remembered the opportunity that had been given him there. He had let it pa.s.s, and now another had spoken.

Still, as he strove to eat because he felt the servants' eyes upon him it was the loneliness of the shadowy hall that most troubled him. He had noticed it often since G.o.dfrey Palliser died, for Tony was not fond of his own company; but he had pictured Violet Wayne sitting opposite him then, and now it was borne in upon him that she would never smile at him across his table. As yet he scarcely realized the depth of his humiliation, for it was the result of it which must be faced, and not the thing itself that filled him with horror.

It was a relief when somebody took his plate away, and he went out with a cigar he did not remember lighting into the cool night air and flung himself down in a seat on the terrace. There was no moon in the sky, but the stars were clear, and-for the night was still-a chilly dampness settled on everything. He felt it pleasantly cold upon his skin, and lay still huddled limply in the garden chair, trying to realize the position, but found the attempt almost useless, for his thoughts had no cohesion. It was, however, evident that the love of the woman he desired could never be his. She had given him her promise, and he fancied that if he insisted she would redeem it, for he vaguely understood her sense of responsibility; but it was evident that he could not insist, and with the courage of desperation he nerved himself to face the fact that he must let her go. He could think of nothing else, for he was still bewildered by the blow, and could only realize what had been taken from him.