The House of the White Shadows. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

for the children, they would have followed her to the world's end, I do believe, out of pure admiration. They carry now in their little heads the vision of the beautiful lady. Even Father Capel was struck by her beauty."

      "Priests are mortals, Fritz. On which side did you walk-next to my lady or Dionetta?"

      "I should be wrecked in a tempest. I sail only in quiet lakes."

      "And the maid-did she object to your walking close to her? – for you are other than I take you to be if you did not walk close."

      "Why should she object? Am I not a man? Women rather like fools."

      "How stands the pretty maid with her new mistress?"

      "In high favour, if one can judge from fingers."

      "Fritz, your wit resembles a tide that is for ever flowing. Favour me with your parable."

      "It is a delicate point to decide where actual love commences. Have you ever considered it, Master Lamont?"

      "Not deeply, fool. In my young days I was a mad-brain; you are a philosopher. Like a bee, I took what fell in my way, and did not puzzle myself or the flower with questions. Where love commences? In the heart."

      "No."

      "In the brain."

      "No."

      "In the eye."

      "No."

      "Where, then?"

      "In the finger-tips. Dionetta and I, walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder, our arms hanging down, brought into close contact our finger-tips. What wonder that they touched!"

      "Natural magnetism, Fritz."

      "With our finger-tips touching, we walked along, and if her heart palpitated as mine did, she must have experienced an inward commotion. Master Lamont, this is a confession for your ears only. I should be base and ungrateful to hide it from you."

      "Your confidence shall be respected."

      "It leads to an answer to your question as to how Dionetta stands with her new mistress. First the finger-tips, then the fingers, and her little hand was clasped in mine. It was then I felt the ring upon her finger."

      "Ah!"

      "Now, Dionetta never till yesterday owned a ring. I felt it, as a man who is curious would do, and suddenly her hand was snatched from mine. A moment or two afterwards, her hand was in mine again, but the ring was gone. A fine piece of conjuring. A man is no match for a woman in these small ways. To-day I saw her for about as long as I could count three. 'Who gave you the ring?' I asked. 'My lady,' she answered. 'Don't tell grandmother that I have got a ring.' Therefore, Master Lamont, Dionetta stands well with her mistress."

      "Logically carried out, Fritz. The saints prosper your wooing."

      CHAPTER XII

      THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND DUTY

      In his lonely room in the mountain hut in which he had taken up his quarters, Christian Almer sat writing. It was early morning; he had risen before the sun. During the past week he had struggled earnestly with the terror which oppressed him; his suffering had been great, but he believed he was conquering. The task he had imposed upon himself of setting his duty before him in clear terms afforded him consolation. The book in which he was writing contained the record of a love which had filled him with unrest, and threatened to bring dishonor into his life.

* * * * * *

      "I thank Heaven," he wrote, "that I am calmer than I have been for several days. Separation has proved an inestimable blessing. The day may come when I shall look upon my love as dead, and shall be able to think of it as one thinks of a beloved being whom death has snatched away.

      "Even now, as I think of her, there is no fever in the thought. I have not betrayed my friend.

      "How would he regard me if he were acquainted with my mad passion-if he knew that the woman he adored looked upon him with aversion, and gave her love to the friend whom he trusted as a brother?

      "There was the error. To listen to her confession of love, and to make confession of my own.

      "That a man should so forget himself-should be so completely the slave of his passions!

      "How came it about? When were the first words spoken?

      "She sat by my side, radiant and beautiful. Admiring glances from every part of the theatre were cast upon her. In a corner of the box sat her husband, silent and thoughtful, heedless of the brilliant scene before him, heedless of her, as it seemed, heedless of the music and the singers.

      "Royalty was there, immediately facing us, and princes levelled their opera-glasses at her.

      "There are moments of intoxication when reason and conscience desert us.

      "We were stepping into the carriage when a note was delivered to him. He read it, and said, 'I cannot go with you; I am called away. You will not miss me, as I do not dance. I will join you in a couple of hours."

      "So we went alone, we two together, and her hand rested lightly upon mine. And in the dance the words were spoken-words never to be recalled.

      "What demon prompted them? Why did not an angel whisper to me, 'Remember. There is a to-morrow.'

      "But in the present the morrow is forgotten. A false sense of security shuts out all thoughts of the consequences of our actions. A selfish delight enthrals us, and we do not see the figure of Retribution hovering above us.

      "It is only when we are alone with our conscience that this figure is visible. Then it is that we tremble; then it is that we hear words which appal us.

      "Again and again has this occurred to me, and I have vowed to myself that I would tear myself from her-a vow as worthless as the gambler's resolve to play no more. Drawn irresistibly forward, and finding in every meeting a shameful justification in the delusion that I was seeing her for the last time; and leaving her with a promise to come again soon. Incredible infatuation! But to listen to the recital of her sorrows and unhappiness without sympathising with her-it was not possible; and to hear her whisper, 'I love you, and only you,' without being thrilled by the confession-a man would need to be made of stone.

      "How often has she said to me, when speaking of her husband, 'He has no heart!'

      "Can I then, aver with any semblance of honesty that I have not betrayed my friend? Basely have I betrayed him.

      "If I were sure that she would not suffer-if I were sure that she would forget me! Coldness, neglect, indifference-they are sharp weapons, but I deserve to bleed.

      "Still, I cry out against my fate. I have committed no crime. Love came to me and tortured me. But a man must perform a man's duty. I will strive to perform mine. Then in years to come I may be able to think of the past without shame, even with pride at having conquered.

      "I have destroyed her portrait. I could not look upon her face and forget her."

* * * * * *

      A voice from an adjoining room caused him to lay aside his pen. It was the peasant, the master of the hut, calling to him, and asking if he was ready. He went out to the man.

      "I heard you stirring," said the peasant, "and my young ones are waiting to show you where the edelweiss can be found."

      The children, a boy and a girl, looked eagerly at Christian Almer. It had been arranged on the previous day that the three should go for a mountain excursion in search of the flower that brings good luck and good fortune to the finder. The children were sturdy-limbed and ruddy-faced, and were impatient to be off.

      "Breakfast first," said Christian Almer, pinching the little girl's cheek.

      Brown bread, honey, goat's milk, and an omelette were on the table, and the stranger, who had been as a godsend to the poor family, enjoyed the homely fare. The peasant had already calculated that if his lodger lived a year in the hut, they could save five hundred francs-a fortune. Christian Almer had been generous to the children, in whose eyes he was something more than mortal. Money is a magic power.

      "Will the day be fine?" asked Christian.

      "Yes," said the peasant;