john gazed after them with longing in his eyes and resentment in his heart. the longing was for the unattainable; the resentment that it should be unattainable.

what a crassly idiotic, what an altogether blindly stupid, doltish, and utterly mulish thing was convention! here were three young, gay, and delightful creatures enjoying the summer day in company, together revelling in the glowing sun, the caress of the air soft as thistledown upon one’s face, the scent of the flowers and the warm earth, while he—john—was condemned to loneliness, because, forsooth, of the lack of four words. “may i introduce you.”

there was the password, the magic utterance which would have smoothed away all difficulties. it could be spoken carelessly as you please. it could be spoken by his worst enemy with as great [pg 26]effect as by his dearest friend. without it a barrier, high as the highest peaks of the andes, loomed between him and them, a barrier to him insurmountable, indestructible, and named, labelled, and placarded in letters at least a foot long, convention. small wonder that john fumed inwardly, the while his eyes gazed after the vanishing three, distilled essence of concentrated longing in their depths.

chance alone could destroy the barrier,—chance, the freakish, puckish sprite, who sits with watchful eyes, smiling softly, impishly, till the chosen moment arrives. then, heigh presto! chance springs light-footed to your aid, is caught by you laughing, or in deadly earnest, according to your needs. and if the latter, and your grasp is sure, you will find it is no longer an impish, freakish sprite you hold, but a very little demon, battling for you, trampling upon well-nigh incredible difficulties, leading you triumphant to victory.

we cannot see chance coming in deadly earnest to john at the moment. the imp came mischievous, laughing, and perched, if you will believe me, between the horns of a goat,—a [pg 27]large, a black and white, an over-playful goat. it came prancing over the purple crest of the hill, and bounded, curved, and gavotted in the direction of the momentarily unconscious three.

the younger boy was the first to see it. he turned, startled atom, to clutch at the lady’s white dress, thereby causing her to become aware of the presence of the intruder on the scene. the elder boy, likewise made aware of its presence, seized a small stick from among the heather, a fragile enough weapon, but with it he stood his ground, a veritable small champion, facing the enemy boldly.

but think you that chance, perched between those horns, was to be daunted by a small boy in green knickerbockers, and holding a flimsy stick? not a bit of it! for no such paltry pretext would he desert our john. i am very sure he but urged the goat forward, its advance in the face of this defence lending greater colour to the danger.

“oh!” breathed the white-robed lady, her hands going out protectingly to the little figure clutching at her skirts. and then, “take care, tony,” on a note of intense anxiety.

[pg 28]

here was the moment supplied by the mischievous imp. john recognized the sprite’s wiles with fine intuition, cried him a fervent word of thanks, and sprang to the rescue.

that chance had never intended the slightest peril to the three, you may be certain; since, once seized laughing from his perch by john, he joined with him in ordering the goat to retire. slightly bewildered at this change of front, the goat gazed for a moment with reproachful eyes.

“i was but playing the game you told me to play,” you could fancy him murmuring. nevertheless, perceiving that the game was indubitably at an end, he indulged in something very akin to a shake of his head, and retired disconsolate whence he had come.

“oh, thank you,” breathed the lady in white fervently. “boys, thank—” she paused. “this gentleman” savours too largely of the shop-walker; the word has long since lost its rightful meaning. “our preserver” smacks of the pedant.

“my name is john mortimer,” announced john, with one of his inimitable smiles.

“mr. mortimer,” she concluded, the word supplied. “i am rosamund delancey, and this—”[pg 29] she indicated the whilom champion, “is antony, and this is michael. it was very good of you to come to our rescue.”

john murmured the usual polite formula. for the life of him he could find no original observation to make.

“possibly,” continued rosamund, half-meditative, a trifle rueful, “the goat intended mere play. but as biddy, our old nurse, often used to say—and still does, for that matter—‘there’s play and play, and if one of the parties ceases to be liking it, it will be no play at all.’” the little laugh in her eyes found reflection in john’s.

“a very sound maxim,” quoth he. and inwardly he found himself ejaculating, “what an adorable voice, what an altogether flexible, musical and charming voice.”

rosamund was looking down the heather-covered slope. at the further side, a quarter of a mile or so away, was a hedge, and in the hedge a gate. beyond the gate was a lane, which, after a series of turns, would lead one eventually to the village and delancey castle. this latter, it is perhaps somewhat obvious to remark, was her goal, and the way across the [pg 30]heather towards the gate by far the nearest route to it. yet how attempt that route with the black and white goat still at large adown the hill, eating sprays of heather—or what appeared to be sprays of heather—in a deceitfully placid and amicable manner?

“i wonder if that goat—” she began, her eyes vaguely troubled, her brow slightly puckered.

“which way do you want to go?” demanded john promptly, the promptitude mingled with a nice degree of deferential courtesy,—the courtesy quite apparent, the deference a tiny subtle flavour.

“to that gate.” she indicated it.

“then,” said john, “please allow me to accompany you. i think antony and i between us will prove a match for goats. i dare to boast on our behalf, since we have already proved our prowess in the matter.”

he threw antony a glance, a little friendly, understanding glance. by such glances are bonds established that will last a lifetime.

“me too,” quoth michael, breaking silence for the first time.

“in very sooth, you too,” said john. “antony as advance guard,—not more than a couple of [pg 31]paces advance, mind you,—michael and i on either side. are we ready? then, quick march.”

this last was mere pandering to accepted custom. you cannot well say, “slow march,” though it is what your whole soul intends. here is a fine illustration of the fact that speech is but a poor mode of expressing a man’s thoughts. and then an inspiration came to him.

“not too quickly,” said he to the advance guard. “if he thinks we are attempting to elude him, he may pursue us. a nonchalant, a mere careless strolling, will be our wisest course.”

“oh, do you think he might follow?” cried rosamund. the suggestion had evidently given cause for renewed anxiety.

“it is possible,” returned john gravely, “though, i fancy, not probable. however, we will take no risks.”

slowly, therefore, in mere dilatory fashion, they set forth. the goat raised his read to look at them; but, having his orders, he dropped it again towards the heather.

some hundred yards or so they walked in silence, two, at least, of the party casting occasional furtive glances to the right. john was the first to speak.

[pg 32]

“this,” he said, with the air of a man who has just made a discovery, “is really beautiful country.”

“it is your first visit to this neighbourhood?” queried rosamund.

“my first,” returned john, “but i dare swear it will not be my last. my friend, corin elmore, dragged me down here, somewhat against my will at the outset, i’ll allow. he’s uncovering the mural paintings in the church down yonder.”

“ah!” rosamund turned towards him, a light of interest in her eyes. “has he found much?”

“he only started on the job this morning,” returned john. “we arrived last night. but he’s full of confidence. there must be a curious fascination in the work,—delving into the past, bringing traces of bygone, forgotten ages into the light of day.”

“and a certain sadness,” she suggested.

“and a certain sadness,” echoed john, “though i doubt me if corin experiences it greatly. he’s an anomaly. for all that he’s a poet and a bit of a dreamer, there’s a strain of the scientific dissector running through him. it finds its outlet in theosophic tendencies.” john pulled a wry face.

[pg 33]

he had forgotten that he was talking to an absolute stranger. yet was she a stranger in the true sense of the word? one afternoon—six months ago as we crudely count and label time, though to john it was centuries ago—he had had sight of her, a mere passing glimpse, truly, since it was of length only sufficient to allow of her mounting the steps of the brompton oratory, at a moment when john was about to descend them. he had put a question to a friend who was with him. and thenceforth john’s dreams had been coloured—i might almost say suffused—by one subject, a face with dark eyes, framed in copper-coloured hair, and shadowed by a largish black hat. being, therefore, no stranger to his dreams in spirit, it was small wonder that he regarded her as no stranger to his perceptions in the flesh.

rosamund looked at him, half amused, half questioning.

“but why theosophic tendencies?” she demanded. “i am,” she added, “peculiarly ignorant of that trend of thought.”

john laughed.

“nor am i vastly learned, for that matter. if i were to attempt to define i think i should [pg 34]say that, where your scientist pure and simple may deny the existence of god at all, your man, like corin, with the curious intermixture of a dreamer, acknowledges the existence of this supreme power, even endows that power with a certain mysticism, but at the same time reduces—or attempts to reduce—all the actions and manifestations of the power to terms comprehensible by the finite understanding.”

“yes?” she queried. it was evident she desired to hear more.

“oh,” smiled john, “it’s too complicated an affair to compress into a sentence or two. but take, for instance, pain—the apparently undeserved and ghastly suffering with which one is sometimes brought in contact. instead of saying, as we do, that there are endless mysteries of pain and suffering which our finite minds cannot possibly understand, they wish to find some quite definite and tangible solution, therefore they adopt the buddhistic theory of reincarnation and karma. we work out, they say, our karma in each succeeding incarnation for the sins of the last. there is, in their eyes, no such thing as an innocent victim—with one exception. all suffering,[pg 35] even that of the veriest babe, is the suffering it has deserved for former sins.”

“oh!” a moment she was silent. “how about the exception?”

“the exception, in their eyes, is any great teacher, who, having fulfilled all his own karma, voluntarily returns to teach and aid those in a lower state of evolution. you understand that, according to their theory, a man is bound to return to this earth, whether he will or no, till his debt of karma has been paid. it is only when that debt is paid, that the return becomes voluntary; and, when sought, is purely for the good of mankind.”

she looked across the heather.

“it would seem,” said she reflective, “that even that theory makes something of a call upon faith.”

“it does,” returned john. “and yet you must see that it reduces the mystery of pain to terms capable of being grasped by the human intelligence. it’s the same with every other mystery. there’s the makeshift in the whole business. on the one hand they allow the existence of a god presumably infinite; but, on the other hand, they wish to reduce him, and his dealings with creation, [pg 36]to terms capable of understanding by their finite intelligence. but i forgot, strictly speaking they would not, i suppose, consider their intelligence finite, since, according to them, there is in every man the potential divinity.”

“what do they mean?” she asked. “are they talking about the soul?”

“in a sense, yes,” returned john. “but the soul, apparently, has no exact individuality of its own; at least, not a lasting individuality. it is a spark, an atom, of the great whole, which when it has developed to its utmost, and finished all its work, including possible return in the body to the earth as a teacher, will eventually receive its reward by becoming merged and absorbed in the divine whole from whence it proceeded. apparently, also, if a soul refuses to develop, it can eventually be extinguished, or what is equivalent to being extinguished.”

“it doesn’t seem exactly a pleasant creed,” said she meditative. “absorption or extinction, as the two final alternatives, are not what one might term precisely satisfactory to contemplate. it is certainly nicer to believe that one retains one’s individuality.”

[pg 37]

“that,” john assured her, “is merely our unconquerable egotism.”

“then,” she retorted smiling, “let us hope that it is an egotism your friend will shortly acquire.”

there was a little silence. monsieur le chèvre had been, for the moment, forgotten. certainly his own quiet self-effacement was conducive to their forgetfulness of him. they were almost at the gate before she spoke again.

“i suppose,” she remarked tentatively, “your friend is not perverting you to his theories.”

“i trust not,” said john solemnly. and then he added, “i am a catholic.”

“oh!” the ejaculation held the tiniest note of pleasure. then, after a second’s pause. “you know that we have a chapel at the castle.”

they had gained the lane by now. antony, who had felt the full responsibility of defence to rest on his shoulders from the moment john’s attention had been occupied by a wholly unintelligible—and probably, in antony’s eyes, unintelligent—conversation, heaved a deep sigh.

“goats,” said he, “are horrid things.”

“do you know,” quoth john, “i really have a slight partiality towards goats myself.”

which speech would have savoured more strongly of truth had the partiality remained unqualified.