Part 10 (1/2)

He muttered this so fiercely that Harry said no more, and the white beard shone in the light of the fire, and his blind eye opened and shut like a box, and his wrinkled hand shook on his knee. The fis.h.i.+ng had been bad of late, and here again they spoke as if some personal power had been at work. There were few there who had not lost some one during the years that they had served her, and the memory of what this had been and the foreshadowing of the dangerous future hung over them in the room. Songs were sung, jokes were made, but they were the songs and laughter of men on guard, with the enemy to be encountered, perhaps, in the morning.

Harry sat in his corner of the great seat, watching the leaping of the flames, his hand on Newsome's shoulder, listening to the murmuring voices at his side. He scarcely knew whether he were awake or sleeping; their laughter came to him dimly, and it seemed that he was alone there with only Newsome by his side and the dog sleeping at his feet. The tobacco smoke hung in grey-blue wreaths above his head and the gold light of the two lamps shone mistily, without shape or form.

Perhaps it was really a dream. The old man with the white beard and the blind eye was sleeping, his head on his breast. A man with a vacant expression was telling a tale, heavily, slowly, gazing at the fire. The others were not listening--or at any rate not obviously so.

They, too, gazed at the fire--it had, as it were, become personal and mesmerised the room. Perhaps it was a dream. He would wake and find himself at ”The Flutes.” There would be Clare and Garrett and--Robin!

He would put all that away now; he would forget it for a moment, at least. He had failed them; they had not wanted him and had told him so,--but here they had known him and loved him; they had welcomed him back as though there had been no intervening s.p.a.ce of years. They at least had known what life was. They had not played with it, like those others. They had not surrounded themselves with barricades of artificiality, and glanced through distorting mirrors at their own exaggerated reflection; they had seen life simply, fearlessly, accepting their peril like men and enjoying their fate with the greatness of soul that simplicity had given them. They were not like those others; those on the hill had invaded the sea with noisy clamour, had greeted her familiarly and offered her bathing-machines and boarding-houses; these others had reverenced her and learnt to know her, alone on the downs in the first grey of the dawn, or secretly, when the breakers had rolled in over the sand, carrying with them the red and gold of some gorgeous sunset.

He contrasted them in his mind--the Trojans and the Greeks. He turned round a little in his seat and listened to the story: ”It were a man--a strange man with horns and hoofs, so he said--and a merry, deceiving eye; but he couldn't see him clear because of the mist that hung there, with the moon pus.h.i.+ng through like a candle, he said. The man was laughing to himself and playing with leaves that danced at his feet under the wind. It can't have been far from the town, because Joe heard St. Elmo's bell ringin' and he could hear the sea quite plain.

He ...”

The voice seemed to trail off again into the distance; Harry's thoughts were with his future. What was he to do? It seemed to him that his crisis had come and was now facing him. Should he stay or should he flee? Why should he not escape--away into the country, where he could live his life without fear, where there would be no contempt, no hampering family traditions? Should he stay and wait while Robin learnt to hate him? At the thought his face grew white and he clenched his hands. Robin ... Robin ... Robin ... it always came back to that--and there seemed no answer. That dream of love between father and son, the dream that he had cherished for twenty years, was shattered, and the bubble had burst....

”So Joe said he didn't know but he thought it was to the left and down through the Cove--to the old church he meant; and the man laughed and danced with the leaves through the mist; and once Joe thought he was gone, and there he was back again, laughin'.”

No, he would face it. He would take his place as he had intended--he would show them of what stuff he was made--and Robin would see, at last. The boy was young, it would of course take time----

The door of the inn opened and some one came in. The lamps flared in the wind, and there was a cry from the fireplace. ”Mr. Bethel! Well, I'm right glad!”

Harry started. Bethel--that had been the name of his friend--the girl who had come to tea. The new-comer was a large man, over six feet in height, and correspondingly broad. His head was bare, and his hair was a little long and curly. His eyes were blue and twinkled, and his face was pleasantly humorous and, in the mouth and chin, strong and determined. He wore a grey flannel suit with a flannel collar, and he was smoking a pipe of great size. Newsome, starting to his feet, went forward to meet him. Bethel came to the fire and talked to them all; there was obviously a free companions.h.i.+p between them that told of long acquaintance. He was introduced to Harry.

”I've heard of you, Mr. Trojan,” he said, ”and have been expecting to meet you. I think that we have interests in common--at least an affection for Cornwall.”

Harry liked him. He looked at him frankly between the eyes--there was no hesitation or disguise; there had been no barrier or division; and Harry was grateful.

Bethel sat down by the fire, and a discussion followed about matters of which Harry knew nothing. There was talk of the fis.h.i.+ng prospects, which were bad; a gloom fell upon them all, and they cursed the new Pendragon--the race had grown too fast for them and compet.i.tion was too keen. But Harry noticed that they did not yet seem to have heard of the proposed destruction of the Cove. Then he got up to go. They asked him to come again, and he promised that he would. Bethel rose too.

”If you don't object, Mr. Trojan,” he said, ”I'll make one with you. I had only looked in for a moment and had never intended to stay. I was on my way back to the town.”

They went out into the street together, and Harry s.h.i.+vered for a moment as the wind from the sea met them.

”Ah, that's good,” Bethel said; ”your fires are well enough, but that wind is worth a bag of gold.”

They walked for a little in silence, and then Harry said: ”Those are a fine lot of men. They know what life really is.”

Bethel laughed. ”I know what you feel about them. You are glad that there's no change. Twenty years has made little difference there. It is twenty years, isn't it?”

”Yes,” said Harry. ”One thinks that it is nothing until one comes back, and then one thinks that it's more than it really is.”

”Yes, you're disappointed,” Bethel said. ”I know. Pendragon has become popular, and to your mind that has destroyed its beauty--or, at any rate, some of it.”

”Well, I hate it,” Harry said fiercely, ”all this noise and show. Why couldn't they have left Pendragon alone? I don't hate it for big places that are, as it were, in the line of march. I suppose that they must move with the day. That is inevitable. But Pendragon! Why--when I was a boy, it was simply a little town by the sea. No one thought about it or worried about it: it was a place wonderfully quiet and simple. It was too quiet for me then; I should wors.h.i.+p it now. But I have come back and it has no room for me.”

”I haven't known it as long as you,” Bethel answered, ”but I confess that the very charm of it lies in its contrast. It is invasion, if you like, but for that very reason exciting--two forces at work and a battle in progress.”

”With no doubt as to the ultimate victory,” said Harry gloomily. ”Yes, I see what you mean by the contrast. But I cannot stand there and see them dispa.s.sionately--you see I am bound up with so much of it. Those men to-night were my friends when I was a boy. Newsome is the best man that I have ever known, and there is the place; I love every stone of it, and they would pull it down.”

They had left the Cove and were pressing up a steep path to the moor.

The moon was struggling through a bank of clouds; the wind was whistling over their heads.

Bethel suddenly stopped and turned towards Harry. ”Mr. Trojan,” he said, ”I'm going to be impulsive and perhaps imprudent. There's nothing an Englishman fears so much as impulse, and he is terribly ashamed of imprudence. But, after all, there is no time to waste, and if you think me impertinent you have only to say so, and the matter ends.”

Harry laughed. ”I am delighted,” he began, but the other stopped him.