V

The prince, who had just been joined by Stephen, had descended from his car and was waiting in the road when Louise and John approached. He came a few paces forward to meet her, and held out both his hands.

"My dear wandering guest!" he exclaimed. "So I have found you at last! What shall I say to this mishap which has robbed me of so many hours of your visit? I am too happy, though, to know that you have suffered no personal inconvenience."

"Thanks to the great kindness of my hosts," Louise replied, smiling a little mockingly at Stephen, "I have been completely spoiled here, prince, and I can only regard my accident as a delightful little interlude."

The prince bowed, and half held out his hand to Stephen. The latter, however appeared not to notice the movement.

"I shall always remember with gratitude," the prince declared, "the kindness of Mr. Strangewey and his brother to my lost guest. I fear," he went on regretfully, "that I do not seem very neighborly. I am not often at Raynham Castle, except in August and September. I find your northern air somewhat too severe for me."

"Your tenants, prince," Stephen remarked calmly, "would like to see a little more of you."

The prince shrugged his shoulders. He was a man of medium height, slender, with a long and almost colorless face. He carried himself with the good-humored air of the man of the world among strange surroundings toward which he desired to express his toleration. His clothes and voice were perfectly English, although the latter was unusually slow and soft. At first sight there was no apparent evidence of his foreign birth. He turned once more toward Stephen.

"My agent, Mr. Simon, is a very excellent man, and I have every confidence in his discretion. My tenants here could scarcely feel toward me as they might have done if Raynham had come into my possession in the direct line. However, this year, as it happens, I have made up my mind to spend more time here. My keepers tell me that after four bad seasons the prospects for grouse on my higher moors are excellent. I shall hope," he added, turning to John, "to have you join us often. I must confess that the only time I had ever heard your name, before the newspapers advertised your recent good fortune, was in connection with shooting. They tell me that you are the best shot and the finest horseman in Cumberland."

"You were probably told that at Raynham," John remarked. "Our people always exaggerate the prowess of their own folk, and my brother and I are natives."

"I trust," the prince concluded, "that you will give me the opportunity of judging for myself. And now, dear lady," he went on, turning to Louise, "I am loath to lose another minute of my promised visit. I have taken the liberty of telling your maid to place your wraps in my car. We can reach Raynham in time for a late lunch. Your own car can follow us and bring your maid."

For a moment Louise did not reply. The prince had moved a few steps away, to give some directions to his chauffeur, and he saw nothing of the strange look of indecision that had suddenly crept into her face. Her eyebrows were contracted. She had turned, and was gazing up the precipitous strip of moorland toward the gray-walled church. Then she glanced at John Strangewey, and her eyes seemed filled with the questioning of a child. It was as if she had abandoned the rôle of mentor, as if she herself were seeking for guidance or help.

John's unspoken response was prompt and unmistakable; and she smiled ever so slightly. She no longer thought him narrow and prejudiced, an unfair judge of things beyond his comprehension. He had helped her in a moment of trial. An idea had flashed between them, and she acted upon it with amazing promptitude.

"Alas, prince," she sighed, as he turned back toward them, "I am so sorry, but I fear that this little accident must change all my plans! As you know, mine was to have been only a brief stay at Raynham, and I fear now that even that is impossible."

The prince drew a step nearer. Something of the calm suavity had suddenly gone from his manner. When he spoke, his measured words were full of appeal.

"But, my dear friend," he begged, "you will not rob me altogether of this visit, to which I have looked forward so eagerly? It was to receive you for a few hours that I came from Paris and opened Raynham Castle. You yourself shall decide the length of your stay, and a special train shall take you back to London the moment you give the word. In that way you will both save time and spare me—one of the greatest disappointments of my life!"

She shook her head, slowly and very decisively.

"You cannot imagine how sorry I am, prince," she said, "but as it is I must take a special train from Kendal, if there is not one starting soon after I reach the station. I wish to reach London either this evening or very early in the morning."

The prince was holding himself in restraint with a visible effort. His eyes were fixed upon Louise's face, as if trying to read her thoughts.

"Is the necessity so urgent?" he asked.

"Judge for yourself," she replied. "Henri Graillot is there, waiting for me. You know how impatient he is, and all London is clamoring for his play. Night to him is just the same as day. I shall telegraph from Kendal the hour of my arrival."

The prince sighed.

"I think," he said quietly, "that I am the most unfortunate man in the world! At least, then, you will permit me to drive you to Kendal? I gather from your chauffeur that your car, although temporarily repaired, is not altogether reliable."

She answered him only after a slight hesitation. For some reason or other, his proposition did not seem wholly welcome.

"That will be very kind of you," she assented.

"If we start at once," the prince suggested, "we shall catch the Scotch mail."

"You will surely lunch first—and you, prince?" John begged.

She laid her hand upon his arm.

"My friend, no," she replied. "I am feverishly anxious to get back to London. Walk with me to the car. I will wave my adieus to Peak Hall when we are up among the hills."

She drew him on a few paces ahead.

"I am going back to London," she continued, lowering her voice a little, "with some very strange impressions and some very pleasant memories. I feel that your life here is, in its way, very beautiful, and yet the contemplation of your future fills me with an immense curiosity. I have not talked to you for very long, Mr. Strangewey, and you may not be quite the sort of person I think you are, but I am seldom mistaken. I am an artist, you see, and we have perceptions. I think that even here the time will come when the great unrest will seize you, too, in its toils. Though the color may not fade from your hills, and though the apple-blossom may still glorify your orchard, and your flowers bloom and smell as sweetly, and your winds bring you the same music, I think that the time will come when the note in you which answers to these things, and which gives you contentment, will fail to respond. Then I think—I hope, perhaps—that we may meet."

She spoke very softly, almost under her breath, and when she had finished there seemed everywhere a strange emptiness of sound. The panting of the engine from the motor-car, Stephen's measured words as he walked with his uncongenial companion, seemed to come to John from some other world.

His voice, when he spoke, sounded a little harsh. Although he was denying it fiercely to himself, he was filled with a dim, harrowing consciousness that the struggle had already begun. Notwithstanding the unrealized joy of these few hours, his last words to Louise were almost words of anger; his last look from beneath his level, close-drawn eyebrows was almost militant.

"I hope," he declared, "that what you have said may not be true. I hope fervently that the time may never come when I shall feel that I need anything more in life than I can find in the home I love, in the work which is second nature to me, in my books and my sports!"

The prince, escaping gracefully from a companion who remained adamant to all his advances, had maneuvered his way to their side. The last few steps were taken together. In a few moments they were in the car and ready to start. Stephen, with a stiff little bow, had already departed. Louise leaned out from her place with outstretched hands.

"And now good-by, dear Mr. Strangewey! Your brother would not let me make my little speech to him, so you must accept the whole of my thanks. And," she went on, the corners of her mouth twitching a little, although her face remained perfectly grave, "if the time should come when the need of reinvestments, or of some new machinery for your farm, brings you to London, will you promise that you will come and see me?"

"I will promise that with much pleasure," John answered.

She leaned back and the prince took her place, holding out his hand.

"Mr. Strangewey, although your luck has been better than mine, and you have robbed me of a visit to which I had looked forward for months, I bear you no ill-will. I trust that you will do me the honor of shooting with me before long. My head keeper arranges for the local guns, and I shall see that he sends you a list of the days on which we shall shoot. May I beg that you will select the most convenient to yourself? If you have no car here, it will give me additional pleasure to welcome you at Raynham as my guest."

John, struggling against an instinctive dislike of which, for many reasons, he was a little ashamed, murmured a few incoherent words. The prince leaned back and the car glided away, followed, a few minutes later, by Louise's own landaulet, with Aline in solitary state inside.

John watched the little procession until it finally disappeared from sight; then he turned on his heel and went into the house. Stephen, who had just filled a pipe, was smoking furiously in the hall.

"Have they gone?" he demanded.

John nodded.

"They are racing into Kendal to catch the Scotchman for London."

"The sooner she gets there, the better," Stephen growled.

John raised his head. The light of battle flashed for a moment in his eyes.

"She came here unbidden," he said, "and we did no more than our bounden duty in entertaining her. For the rest, what is there that you can say against her? Women there must be in the world. Why do you judge those who come your way so harshly?"

Stephen withdrew the pipe from his mouth and dealt the black oak table in front of him a blow with his great fist. Even John himself was struck with the sudden likeness of his brother's face to the granite rocks which were piled around their home.

"I'll answer your question, John," he said. "I'll tell you the truth as I see it and as I know it. Women there must be to breed men's sons, to care for their households; even, I grant you, to be their companions and to lighten the dark days when sorrow comes. But she isn't that sort. She is as far removed from them as our mountain road is from the scented thoroughfares of Bond Street or the Rue de la Paix, where she might take her daily exercise. I'll tell you about her, John. She is one of those who have sown the hatred of women in my heart. Do you know what I call them, John? I call them witch-women. There's something of the devil in their blood. They call themselves artists. They have the gift of turning the heads and spoiling the lives of sober, well-living men, till they make them dance to their bidding along the ways of shame, and turn their useful lives into the dotage of a love-sick boy. They aren't child-bearing women, that sort! They don't want to take their proper place in your household by your side, breed sons and daughters for you, sink their own lives in the greater duties of motherhood. There's generally a drop of devilish foreign blood in their veins, as she has. Our grandmother had it. You know the result. The empty frame in the lumber-room will tell you."

John, half angry, half staggered by his brother's vehemence, was for the moment a little confused.

"There may be women like that, Stephen," he confessed. "I am not denying the truth of much that you say. But what right have you to class her among them? What do you know of her?"

"It's written in her face," Stephen answered fiercely. "Women like her breathe it from their lips when they speak, just as it shines out of their eyes when they look at you. An actress, and a friend of the Prince of Seyre! A woman who thought it worth her while, during her few hours' stay here—" John had suddenly straightened himself. Stephen clenched his teeth. "Curse it, that's enough!" he said. "She's gone, anyway. Come, let's have our lunch!"