Part 39 (2/2)
”I thought,”--submitted Helmsley, with the well-a.s.sumed air of a man who was not very conversant with literature--”that it was a religious book?”
”So it is. A religious novel. And a splendid one! But humanity's gone past that now--it wants a wider view--a bigger, broader outlook. Do you know--” and here he stopped in the middle of the rugged winding street, and looked earnestly at his companion--”do you know what I see men doing at the present day?--I see them rus.h.i.+ng towards the verge--the very extreme edge of what they imagine to be the Actual--and from that edge getting ready to plunge--into Nothingness!”
Something thrilling in his voice touched a responsive chord in Helmsley's own heart.
”Why--that is where we all tend!” he said, with a quick sigh--”That is where _I_ am tending!--where _you_, in your time, must also tend--nothingness--or death!”
”No!” said Reay, almost loudly--”That's not true! That's just what I deny! For me there is no 'Nothingness'--no 'death'! s.p.a.ce is full of creative organisms. Dissolution means re-birth. It is all life--life:--glorious life! We live--we have always lived--we _shall_ always live!” He paused, flus.h.i.+ng a little as though half ashamed of his own enthusiasm--then, dropping his voice to its normal tone he said--”You've got me on my hobby horse--I must come off it, or I shall gallop too far! We're just at the top of the street now. Shall I leave you here?”
”Please come on to the cottage,”--said Helmsley--”I'm sure Mary--Miss Deane--will give you a cup of tea.”
Angus Reay smiled.
”I don't allow myself that luxury,”--he said.
”Not when you're invited to share it with others?”
”Oh yes, in that way I do--but I'm not overburdened with friends just now. A man must have more than twenty pounds to be 'asked out'
anywhere!”
”Well, _I_ ask you out!”--said Helmsley, smiling--”Or rather, I ask you _in_. I'm sure Miss Deane will be glad to talk to you. She is very fond of books.”
”I've seen her just once in the village,”--remarked Reay--”She seems to be very much respected here. And what a beautiful woman she is!”
”You think so?” and Helmsley's eyes lighted with pleasure--”Well, I think so, too--but they tell me that it's only because I'm old, and apt to see everyone beautiful who is kind to me. There's a good deal in that!--there's certainly a good deal in that!”
They could now see the garden gate of Mary's cottage through the boughs of the great chestnut tree, which at this season was nearly stripped of all its leaves, and which stood like a lonely forest king with some scanty red and yellow rags of woodland royalty about him, in solitary grandeur at the bending summit of the hill. And while they were yet walking the few steps which remained of the intervening distance, Mary herself came out to the gate, and, leaning one arm lightly across it, watched them approaching. She wore a pale lilac print gown, high to the neck and tidily finished off by a plain little muslin collar fastened with a coquettish knot of black velvet,--her head was uncovered, and the fitful gleams of the sinking sun shed a russet glow on her s.h.i.+ning hair and reddened the pale clear transparency of her skin. In that restful waiting att.i.tude, with a smile on her face, she made a perfect picture, and Helmsley stole a side-glance at his companion, to see if he seemed to be in any way impressed by her appearance. Angus Reay was certainly looking at her, but what he thought could hardly be guessed by his outward expression. They reached the gate, and she opened it.
”I was getting anxious about you, David!”--she said; ”you aren't quite strong enough to be out in such a cold wind.” Then she turned her eyes enquiringly on Reay, who lifted his cap while Helmsley explained his presence.
”This is a gentleman who is staying in the village--Mr. Reay,”--he said--”He's been very kind in helping me up the hill--and I said you would give him a cup of tea.”
”Why, of course!”--and Mary smiled--”Please come in, sir!”
She led the way, and in another few minutes, all three of them were seated in her little kitchen round the table and Mary was busy pouring out the tea and dispensing the usual good things that are always found in the simplest Somersets.h.i.+re cottage,--cream, preserved fruit, scones, home-made bread and fresh b.u.t.ter.
”So you met David on the seash.o.r.e?” she said, turning her soft dark-blue eyes enquiringly on Reay, while gently checking with one hand the excited gambols of Charlie, who, as an epicurean dog, always gave himself up to the wildest enthusiasms at tea-time, owing to his partiality for a small saucer of cream which came to him at that hour--”I sometimes think he must expect to pick up a fortune down among the sh.e.l.ls and seaweed, he's so fond of walking about there!”--And she smiled as she put Helmsley's cup of tea before him, and gently patted his wrinkled hand in the caressing fas.h.i.+on a daughter might show to a father whose health gave cause for anxiety.
”Well, _I_ certainly don't go down to the sh.o.r.e in any such expectation!” said Reay, laughing--”Fortunes are not so easily picked up, are they, David?”
”No, indeed!” replied Helmsley, and his old eyes sparkled up humorously under their cavernous brows; ”fortunes take some time to make, and one doesn't meet millionaires every day!”
”Millionaires!” exclaimed Reay--”Don't speak of them! I hate them!”
Helmsley looked at him stedfastly.
”It's best not to hate anybody,”--he said--”Millionaires are often the loneliest and most miserable of men.”
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