The Dust of Conflict

“I think you must be mistaken, mother,” she said.

She turned and went into the house, but Mrs. Wayne sighed as she walked thoughtfully up and down the terrace, for she had noticed more than she had mentioned, and had fancies that were not pleasant to her. She had borne much sorrow in her time with a high courage, but she was anxious that afternoon, for it seemed to her that there might be a grim reality behind those fancies.

Godfrey Palliser insisted on dining with his guests that evening, which he had seldom done since his illness, and his four companions, among whom was the lawyer who had done his business for thirty years, long remembered that meal. Their host was dressed with his usual precision, and sat stiffly erect, as though disdaining the support the high-backed chair that had been brought him might afford, but the sombre garments emphasized the pallor of his face, until, as the glow of the sinking sun streamed in through the colored lights above the western window, a ruddy gleam fell upon it. In that forced brilliancy its hollowness and fragility became more apparent, and it was almost a relief to those who sat at meat with him when the hall grew shadowy. He ate very little, and scarcely spoke to any one but Violet, though his voice was curiously gentle when he did so; and when he sat silent his eyes would rest on her and Tony with a little contented smile.

Though they did what they could to hide it, there was a constraint upon the party which the very servants seemed to feel, for Tony fancied they were more swift and noiseless in their movements than usual. He also noticed the curious look in one man’s eyes when, though the light was scarcely fading outside, Godfrey Palliser signed to him.

“Bring lights. I cannot see,” he said.

The lights were brought, naked wax candles in great silver holders, and their pale gleam flung back from glass and silver had a curious effect in the lingering daylight. There was silence for awhile, and Tony was grateful to Mrs. Wayne, who broke it tactfully; but the vague uneasiness remained, and more than one of those who saw the strained expression in his eyes wondered whether it was the last time Godfrey Palliser would dine in state at Northrop Hall. Nobody was sorry when Mrs. Wayne rose, but Palliser smiled at his nephew when Violet went out of the room with her.

“You will spare me a few minutes, Tony. I have something to ask you,” he said. “We need have no diffidence in speaking before Mr. Craythorne.”

The elderly lawyer bent his head, and Tony felt uneasy. “I shall be glad to tell you anything I can, sir,” he said.

“It is rather your opinion than information I want,” said Palliser. “Some time ago you tried to convince me of Bernard’s innocence, while to-day Violet persisted that she could not believe him guilty – even when I pointed out that so far as I could see the culprit was either you or he. Are you still as sure Bernard was not the man responsible for Davidson’s death as you were then? I am not asking without a purpose, and the fact that we are honored with Craythorne’s company will show you that I consider it necessary to set my house in order. It may be yours very soon now, Tony.”

His low, even voice jarred upon one listener, and Tony spoke no more than the truth when he broke out, “I hope you will hold it a good many years yet, sir!”

“Yes,” said Palliser, with a little smile, which something in his eyes redeemed from being coldly formal, “I believe you though I scarcely think it likely. Still, you have not answered my question.”

“My opinion is not worth much, sir.”

“I have asked you for it,” said Palliser. “Nobody knows Bernard so well as you do, and while I have scarcely a doubt in my own mind, Violet’s faith in him had its effect on me. After all, he belongs to us, and I would like to believe him innocent, incredible as it seems, or at least to hear something in extenuation. You will think me illogical in this, Craythorne?”

Craythorne smiled. “Then I admit that, being a lawyer, I am more so, for I would believe in Bernard Appleby against the evidence of my eyes. It also seems to me that the intuitions of young women of Miss Wayne’s kind merit more respect than they usually receive.”

“I am still waiting, Tony,” said Palliser.

Tony sat silent almost too long, for the words “either you or he” troubled him. Had Godfrey Palliser not spoken them he might have answered differently, but as it was his apprehensions overcame him.

“It is a hard thing to admit, but I am afraid my views have changed since then,” he said.

The lawyer regarded him covertly, and noticed the furtiveness of his eyes, but Palliser sighed. “You have,” he said, “nothing to urge in extenuation?”

“No, sir,” said Tony. “I wish I had!”

“Then you will be so much the richer,” said Palliser dryly. “Now Violet will be waiting, and Craythorne and I have a good deal to do. I shall retire when we have finished. Good night, Tony!”

He held out his hand when Tony rose, and the younger man noticed how cold his fingers felt. “Good night, sir,” he said. “I trust you will feel brighter in the morning.”

The chilly fingers still detained him and Palliser said very quietly, “One never knows what may happen, Tony; but it would be my wish that you and Violet did not wait very long.”

Tony went out with a curious throbbing of his pulses and a horrible sense of degradation, for he knew that he had perjured himself to a dying man who trusted him. The room he entered was dimly lighted, but he knew where the spirit stand and siphon were kept, and a liberal measure of brandy was frothing in the glass, when there was a light step behind him and a hand touched his arm.

“No!” said a low voice with a little ring of command in it.

Tony started, and swinging round with a dark flush in his face saw Violet Wayne looking at him. There was also a little more color than usual in her cheeks, but her eyes were steady, which Tony’s were not.

“I never expected you, Violet,” he said. “You made me feel like a boy caught with his hand in the jam-pot. It’s humiliating as well as ludicrous!”

The girl smiled very faintly. “I am afraid it is,” she said. “Do you know, Tony, that this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life?”

Tony saw the slight trembling of her lips, and laughed somewhat inanely as he held out his hands.

“I think I needed it!” he said; and in a sudden fit of rage seized the glass and, moving a few steps forward, flung it crashing into the grate. Then he turned and faced the girl, flushed to the forehead, but stirred to almost unwilling respect.

“There is not one woman of your station in a thousand who would have had the courage to do that,” he said. “Still, it is preposterous to think that there was the least reason for it.”

“Tony,” said the girl very slowly, “I fancy I should hate you if you ever made it necessary for me to do as much again, but we will try not to remember it. What has been troubling you?”

Tony was glad of the opening, though under different circumstances he would not have availed himself of it.

“I’ll try to tell you,” he said. “I am afraid Godfrey Palliser is very shaky. In fact he was oppressively morbid to-night.”

“No,” said the girl. “I know what you mean, but morbid is not the right word. Your uncle is now and then pedantic but one could only feel respect for him to-day.”

“Of course!” said Tony. “I shall be very genuinely sorry if his fancies turn out right. That, however, is not the question. He asked me if I still believed in Bernard, and I had a difficult thing to do. It seems that your faith in the man had almost convinced him. He wanted to believe him innocent, and leave him something in his will.”

“And you told him – ”

“What could I tell him? Only that I was not so sure of Bernard as I had been.”

There was a gleam of something very like anger in Violet Wayne’s eyes. “So you shattered the faint hope he clung to, and turned the forgiveness, which, mistaken or not, would have been a precious thing just now, into vindictive bitterness!”

“He asked me,” said Tony. “What could I do?”

“You could have defended your friend – the man who has done so much for you.”

Tony stared at her, and once more the girl felt a little shiver of apprehension when she saw his face, but in a moment he recovered himself.

“I want to know exactly what you mean by that?” he said.

“Isn’t it evident from what you have told me of your early days?”

Tony’s apprehension disappeared, for it seemed he had been mistaken. “Of course!” he said. “Still, the difficulty was that I couldn’t urge anything. I can’t see why you believe in Bernard, Violet. Isn’t it plain that – it must have been either he or I?”

Tony was not devoid of a certain cunning, and the boldness of the question had its effect, but the girl’s eyes gleamed as she said, “I could almost as soon believe you guilty as Bernard Appleby.”

“Then,” said Tony with a quietness which served him very well, “I am sorry you have so little confidence in me!”

Violet stood still a moment, a trifle pale in face, and very erect. Then she made a little gesture, and her lips trembled.

“Tony,” she said simply, “you will forgive me that, though I scarcely deserve it. If I could have meant it would I have done – what I did a little while ago?”

Tony caught her hands, and would have drawn her to him, but the girl shook off his grasp and slipped away, while the man stood still until the door closed behind her, and then shook his head.

“Angry yet!” he said. “If one could only understand her – but it’s quite beyond me, and I’ve no inclination for further worries of any kind just now.”

He turned towards the cupboard again, stopped a moment, and then, with a little impatient gesture, went out of the room. He did not see Violet again that night, and went to bed early, though it was long before he slept. It was early morning when he was awakened by the sound of a door being opened suddenly and a hasty running up and down. In a few minutes there were voices beneath him in the hall, while he huddled on his clothes; and going out he stood a moment, irresolute, in the corridor. A man who seemed to tread in a curious fashion was coming down the stairs, and passed apparently without noticing him. Then Tony gasped as the Darsley doctor he had sent for touched his arm, for he could see the man’s face dimly in the faint gray light.

“Yes,” said the doctor quietly, answering the unspoken question. “I never expected it would come so suddenly, or I would have sent for you. Godfrey Palliser passed away ten minutes ago.”

XVI – DANE COP

IT was a dismal wet afternoon when Tony Palliser stood bareheaded beside a dripping yew tree under the eastern window of Northrop church. His head was aching, for the last few days and nights had not passed pleasantly with him, and confused as his thoughts were he realized what he owed to the man the bearers were then waiting to carry to his resting place. Godfrey Palliser had been autocratic and a trifle exacting, but he had taken his nephew into the place of his dead son, and bestowed all he had on him, while Tony remembered what his part had been. He had with false words hindered the dying man making a reparation which would have lightened his last hours.

Tony was not usually superstitious, or addicted to speculation about anything that did not concern the present world, but as he glanced at the faces close packed beyond the tall marble pillar with its gleaming cross, and heard the words of ponderous import the surpliced vicar read, he was troubled by a vague sense of fear. Godfrey Palliser had gone out into the unknown, unforgiving, and with heart hardened against his kinsman who had done no wrong, but it seemed to Tony that the man who had deceived him would be held responsible.

By and by somebody touched his arm, the droning voice died away, there was a shuffle of feet, and he watched the bearers, who vanished with their burden beyond a narrow granite portal. Then the voice that seemed faint and indistinct went on again, there was a grinding of hinges, an iron gate closed with a crash, and though Tony felt the damp upon his forehead he straightened himself with a little sigh of relief. He need, at least, no longer fear the righteous indignation of Godfrey Palliser, who had gone down into the darkness with his trust in him unshaken.

Still, it was with an effort he met the rows of faces that were turned in his direction as he walked slowly between them to the gate. They were respectfully sympathetic, for Godfrey Palliser had held the esteem of his tenants and neighbors, who had only good will for the man who would succeed him. They still stood bareheaded, for the most part, in the rain, and Tony closed the fingers of one hand tight, for he had erred from fear and weakness and not with deliberate intent, and the men’s silent homage hurt him.

It was but a short drive back to the hall, and bracing himself for a last effort he met the little group of kinsmen and friends who were assembled about lawyer Craythorne in the great dining-room. Nobody desired to prolong the proceedings, and there was a little murmur of approbation when the elderly lawyer took out the will. He read it in a low, clear voice, while the rain lashed the windows and the light grew dim. Providing for certain charges and a list of small legacies it left Tony owner of the Northrop property. His nearest kinsman shook hands with him.

“It is a burdened inheritance, Tony, and perhaps the heaviest obligation attached to it is that of walking in its departed owner’s steps,” he said. “There are not many men fit to take his place, but you have our confidence, and, I think, the good will of everybody on the estate.”

There was a little murmur, and a gray-haired farmer, who was a legatee, also shook Tony’s hand.

“I’ve lived under your uncle, and his father too,” he said. “They were gentlemen of the right kind, both of them, and this would have been a sadder day for Northrop if we hadn’t a man we trusted to step into Godfrey Palliser’s shoes!”

Tony did not know what he answered, but his voice broke, and he stood leaning silently on a chair back while the company filed out and left him with the lawyer. The latter was, however, a little puzzled by his attitude, for he had seen other men betray at least a trace of content under similar circumstances, while there was apparently only care in Tony’s face.

“I would not ask your attention just now, only that the affair is somewhat urgent, and I must go back to town this evening,” he said. “As you know, the electrical manufacturing company have been desirous of purchasing a site for a factory at Dane Cop, and I expect the manager to-morrow. The price he is willing to pay is, I think, a fair one; and as they will get their power from the river there will be little smoke or other nuisance, while the establishing of this industry cannot fail to improve the value of the adjacent land. I have their proposals with me, and I fancy we could see the suggested site for the dam and factory from the window.”

Tony went with him and looked out on the dripping valley which lay colorless under the rain and driving cloud. The swollen river which had spread across the low meadows flowed through the midst of it, and all the prospect was gray and dreary.

“Of course we need the money, but I do not feel greatly tempted,” he said. “Rows of workmen’s dwellings are scarcely an ornament to an estate, and there are other drawbacks to the introduction of a manufacturing community. I am not sure that it would not rather be my duty to make up for what we should lose through letting them find another site by personal economy.”

The lawyer nodded. “Your point of view is commendable, but as the company seem quite willing to agree to any reasonable stipulations as to the type of workmen’s dwellings, and would do what they could to render the factory pleasant to the eye, I should urge you to make the bargain,” he said. “I wonder if you know that your uncle had for a long while decided that Dane Cop should go to Bernard Appleby. It has but little agricultural value, and is almost cut off from the estate by Sir George’s property, but he realized that with its abundant water power it would, now the local taxation in the cities is growing so burdensome, sooner or later command attention as a manufacturing site. It is somewhat curious that this offer should come just when it has passed out of Appleby’s hands.”

Tony made a little abrupt movement. “This is the only time I have heard of it,” he said. “Well, if you are convinced it would be a wise thing you may sell.”

The lawyer looked at him curiously, and wondered what had so swiftly changed his views. “You have until to-morrow afternoon to consider it in,” he said. “In any case, I should not commit myself until you have approved of all conditions and stipulations.”

“If you consider them reasonable you can sell, but I would have the purchase money invested separately, and whatever dividend or interest I derive from it kept apart in the accounts. You understand?”

“It is only a question of book-keeping. You have no doubt a reason for wishing it?”

“I think you would call it a fancy,” said Tony, with a curious smile. “Still, I want it done.”

The lawyer went out, and for half an hour Tony sat alone with a haggard face in the gloomy room listening to the patter of the rain. It had ceased, however, when he drove Violet Wayne, who had remained at Northrop with her mother, home. Mrs. Wayne was to follow with a neighbor, and Tony and the girl were alone in the dog-cart, which went splashing down the miry road until he pulled the horse up where the river came roaring down in brown flood under a straggling wood on the side of a hill. Tony glanced at the flying vapors overhead, wet trees, and dimly gleaming water that spread among the rushes on the meadow land, while the hoarse clamor of the flood almost drowned his voice when he turned to his companion.

“That force will no longer go to waste. I told Craythorne to-day he could let the people who want to put up their mill have the land,” he said. “He told me something I have not heard before. It appears that Godfrey Palliser had intended this strip of the property for Appleby. It could be converted into money without any detriment to the rest, you see.”

“Hopkins always complained that Dane Cop was not worth the rent, but it will bring you in a good revenue now,” said the girl. “Still, doesn’t that seem a little hard upon the man who has lost it?”

Tony flicked the horse with the whip. “The land was Godfrey Palliser’s, and he did what he thought was right with it.”

“I almost fancy he would not have left it to you if you had only had a little more faith in your friend.”

Tony turned his head away. “You mean if I had defended Bernard when Godfrey sent for me? Still, I would like you to believe that if he had left the land to Bernard it would have pleased me.”

“Of course! Could you have urged nothing in his favor, Tony?”

“No,” said Tony, and Violet noticed how his fingers tightened on the reins. “Nothing whatever. I don’t want to remember that night. What took place then hurt me.”

“Have you ever heard from Appleby?”

“Once. He was then in Texas.”

“You answered him?”

“No,” said Tony slowly, “I did not. The whole affair was too painful to me. I thought it would be better if I heard no more of him.”

Violet said nothing, but she turned and looked back at the flooded meadows and dripping hillside that should have been Appleby’s, and a vague feeling of displeasure against Tony for his unbelief came upon her. She knew that everybody would agree with his attitude, but she could not compel herself to admit that it was warranted. When she turned again she saw that he was looking at her curiously.

“Godfrey Palliser told me another thing that night I have not mentioned yet,” he said. “It was his wish that what he seems to have known would happen should not keep us waiting. Now, I feel the responsibility thrust upon me, and know that he was right when he foresaw that you would help me to bear it as he had done. I want you, Violet – more than I can tell you.”

Tony’s appeal was perfectly genuine. Godfrey Palliser could ask no more questions, Appleby’s silence could be depended upon, and the cautious inquiries he had made through a London agency respecting Lucy Davidson had elicited the fact that she had taken to the stage and then apparently sailed for Australia. He had, he admitted, done wrong, but he resolved that he would henceforward live honorably, and, if it were permitted him, make Appleby some convenient reparation. Violet, who noticed the wistfulness in his eyes, responded to the little thrill in his voice, and but for what had passed a few minutes earlier might perhaps have promised to disregard conventionalities and hasten the wedding. As it was, however, she felt a curious constraint upon her, and a hesitation she could not account for.

“No,” she said quietly. “We must wait, Tony.”

“Why?” said the man. “It was his wish that we should not.”

His companion looked at him, and there was something he failed to attach a meaning to in her eyes. “I can’t tell you,” she said slowly. “Still, you must not urge me, Tony. I feel that no good can come of it if we fail to show respect to him.”

“But – ” said the man; and Violet laid her hand upon his arm.

“Tony,” she said, “be patient. I can’t make what I feel quite plain, but we must wait.”

“Well,” said Tony with a sigh, “I will try to do without you until your mother thinks a fitting time has come.”

“Then, if nothing very dreadful happens in the meanwhile, I will be ready.”

Tony flicked the horse until it endeavored to break into a gallop, and then viciously tightened his grip on the reins.

“You put it curiously,” he said. “What could happen?”

“I don’t know,” said the girl. “Perhaps what took place so unexpectedly a few days ago has shaken me, for I feel vaguely apprehensive just now. I know of no reason why this should be, but we are all a prey to fancies now and then.”

Tony looked down on her compassionately. “The last few days at Northrop have been too much for you – and I was a selfish brute for not sending you home,” he said.

Violet made no answer, and there was silence between them while the dog-cart splashed on down the muddy road.

It was some weeks later when one afternoon Violet Wayne, who had undertaken the embroidery of an altar cloth, entered Northrop church. It was little and old and shadowy, but the colored lights of the high west window drove a track of brilliancy through its quiet duskiness. Nobody knew the exact history of Northrop church, but it had evidently once been larger than it was then, for the spacious chancel with its carved stalls and rood screen bore no proportion to the contracted nave. Violet entered it softly, with eyes still partly dazzled by the contrast with the sunlit meadows she had crossed, and then stopped in faint astonishment as she saw a girl of her own age standing in evident admiration before an effigy on a tomb. It had been hewn in marble by an unknown sculptor centuries ago, but there was a rude grandeur in his conception, and the chivalric spirit of bygone ages seemed living in the stone.

The girl who stood before it started visibly when Violet walked up the aisle. She was slight and spare, with vivacious blue eyes and fluffy brown hair.

“I am afraid I startled you,” said Violet.

“Yes,” said the stranger, “you did. I was too intent on the sculpture to hear you coming. It’s – just lovely. I wonder whether you could tell me who he was, or what it means, if you live round here.”

There was very little accent in her speech, but it was quick and Violet knew that most Englishwomen would not have expressed themselves so frankly to a stranger. Still, it was evident that the girl had artistic tastes, for the effigy had often stirred her own appreciation. It portrayed a mailed knight, not recumbent, but kneeling on one knee, with hands clenched on the hilt of a sword. A dinted helm lay beside him, and though it and his mail had suffered from iconoclastic zeal or time, the face was perfect, and almost living in its intensity of expression. It was not, however, devotional, but grim and resolute, and it had seemed to Violet that there was a great purpose in those sightless eyes.

“I am afraid I can’t,” she said. “He is supposed to have been one of the Pallisers, but it is not certain that he is even buried here, and nobody knows what he did. The sculpture may be purely allegorical. Still, the face is very suggestive.”