Part 20 (2/2)

”Well, as we haven't seen each other since, it comes to the same thing.”

”But she knows you've been there; she would have thought much more of you if you hadn't been.”

”Why?”

”It would have made her more repentant. Now she only thinks that you've tired of it.”

”Ah, well, she promised to pray for me,” said Max.

”Oh, I pray for you, my dear,” sighed the Countess; ”not that I suppose that does any good!”

And therein may be discerned a difference between the two women who most concerned themselves for the good of Max's soul; for the other had been quite confident that her prayers would do good. And it is curious how often those who have faith prove to be in the right.

IV

Max had given up the quest, but he had not given up hope. Though love had humbled him, he yet believed in his star, and reminded himself that the world was small.

In the late spring the Jubilee celebrations took up some of his time; maneuvers followed. He went and played at soldiering for the public satisfaction; then returned to his more private and serious avocations, put the finis.h.i.+ng touches to his book, and began to receive proofs from the foreign printing-house to which through the Countess's hands he had entrusted it. She herself with kind, charitable intent stayed on; more than ever now he needed some one to talk to and--he did not worry her.

Others were trying to worry him. The Queen, after voluminous correspondence, had found and offered him choice of two German princesses whose photographs said flattering things of them; and, when he declined both propositions, had looked at him very sadly indeed--had almost broached the unmentionable subject. ”Oh, Max, what are we to do with you?” she sighed; for she was still keeping herself badly informed of his goings-on. ”That woman is back again,” she informed her husband; ”I really think we ought to consult the Archbishop.”

The King saw no hope in that. ”You must leave Max to take his own time,”

he said. He did not just then want to worry about Max, since he was preparing to plunge on his own account. ”Alone I did it,” was to be his boast, and he knew that if once he resumed fathering Max, Max would be fathering him, and his small spurt of initiative would be over.

But all that must be kept for another chapter. This one belongs to Max and his love affairs, past, present, and future; and it is still Max and his fortunes that we are following as we step back into the limelight of publicity.

At the first Court following on the Jubilee celebrations the Bishops appeared in force. It was their final demonstration of loyalty to the throne before the political battle joined, for they were now preparing to reject, just as a last fling, the whole of the Government's program, and then to see what the country thought of it.

As a bilious man sticks out his tongue toward the gla.s.s in order to know whether he looks as he feels, so the Bishops were sticking out their tongues toward the country in the hopes of looking as brave as they were pretending to be. And they came to Court that they might advertise their att.i.tude.

They came in silken court-ca.s.socks, preceded by their croziers and followed by their women-folk, a nice expression of that ecclesiastical and domestic blend on which the Church of Jingalo prided itself. These Church ladies were moral emblems in another respect as well: they had the privilege of appearing at Court functions more highly dressed--that is to say, less denuded--than others of a more aristocratic connection.

The sacred and unfleshly calling of a bishop threw a protecting mantle over the modest shoulders of his wife and daughters; and these did not go unclad. In accordance with Pauline teaching they were covered in the a.s.sembly, expressing in their own persons that ”moderation in all things” which was the accepted motto and policy of the Church.

The Archbishop of Ebury was there also; his crozier was different in shape from the rest, and as an addition to his silken ca.s.sock he wore a train. He was accompanied by his daughter. Daring in her a.s.sertion of the vocation which had withdrawn her from the gaieties of life she wore the gray robe of a little lay-sister of Poverty.

”His Grace the Archbishop of Ebury, Prince Palatine of the Southern Sees, Archdeacon of Rome, Vicar of Jerusalem, and Primate of all the Churches,” so, upon entry to the Presence, his full and canonical t.i.tles were proclaimed by an usher of the Court.

After so high a flourish more impressive in its way was the simple announcement that followed: ”Sister Jenifer Chantry.”

Dignity led, quiet una.s.suming modesty came after; indifferent to her surroundings, obedient to the call of duty, she advanced in her father's wake toward the royal circle. They bowed their way round; and there, suddenly before him, Prince Max beheld the face of his dreams.

The eyes of the beloved met his; and he, struggling desperately to conceal his excitement and emotion from those who stood looking on, saw himself recognized without shock or quiver of disturbance. No heightening of color belied that look of quiet a.s.surance and peace; with disciplined ease, perfect in self-possession, she courtesied and pa.s.sed him by. And suddenly it seemed to him that all the air was filled with a strange humming sound, soft yet penetrating, like the populous murmur of a summer's day. Above the rustle of robes, the patter of feet, the subdued murmur of voices, and the regulated tones wherein Court ushers were announcing fresh names, that high vibratory note went on; elated and thrilled he listened to it and wondered, not knowing its cause--the quickened murmur of his own blood at the touch of Love's index finger upon his heart.

Now at last he knew who she was; now he could find her again on unforbidden ground, follow her where she had no excuse to hide, and press against all obstacles for an earthly fulfilment of that unpractically directed thing called prayer. For now it should not be only her prayer for him, but his for her; her very name--Chantry--expressed the need he had of her. She was the shrine within which his soul kneeled down to pray--not to any G.o.d, but to life itself. Here was the matrix from which all his desultory and scattered forces had been waiting to receive form and direction; to his own small fragment of that general outpouring which we call life, purpose and destiny had come. He with his adventurous theories, she with her patient and unflinching practice, how gloriously together they could tumble old monarchy to the dust and build it anew. For the first time in his life he felt almost fiercely desirous to step into his father's shoes.

Strange that such sudden ambitions should be sprung on him by contact with a heart which apparently held none.

All this while he was returning the bows of bishops and their wives.

They flowed by in solid file forty or fifty strong; for this was a demonstration with political import behind it, this was going to be in all the press to be understanded of the people; the Bishops about to fight for their own order were pa.s.sing before the steps of the throne to indicate in dumb show that allegiance to Crown and Const.i.tution which animated their hearts.

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