Stephen, called out Alderdene, anxiously counting the web loops in his khaki vest, what do you call fair shooting at these damnable ruffed grouse? You neednt be civil about it, you know.
Five shells to a bird is good shooting, answered Siward. Dont you think so, Miss Page?
You have a better score, Mr. Siward, said Marion Page with a hostile glance at Alderdene, who had not made good.
That was chanceand this years birds. Ive taken ten shells to an old drummer in hard wood or short pines. He smiled to himself, adding: A drove of six in the open got off scot free a little while ago. Miss Landis saw it.
That he was inclined to turn it all to banter relieved her at once. It was pitiable, she nodded gravely to Marion; his nerve left him when they made such a din in the briers.
Miss Page glanced at her indifferently.
What I need is practice like the chasseurs of Tarascon, admitted Siward.
I willingly offer my hat, monsieur, said Sylvia.
Marion Page, impatient to start, had turned her tailor-made back to the company, and was instructing his crestfallen lordship very plainly: You fire too quickly, Blinky; two seconds is what you must count when a grouse flushes. You must say Mark! Right! or Mark! Left! Bang!
I might as well say Bang! for all Ive done to-day, he muttered, adjusting his shooting-goggles and snapping his eyes like fury. Then exploding into raucous laughter he moved off southward with Marion Page, who had exchanged a swift handshake with Siward; the twins followed, convoying Eileen and Rena, neither maiden excitedly enthusiastic. And so the luncheon party, lord and lady, twins and maidens, guides and dogs, trailed away across the ridge, distant silhouettes presently against the sky, then gone. And after a little while the far, dry, accentless report of smokeless powder announced that the opening of the season had been resumed and the Lesser Children were dying fast in the glory of a perfect day.
Are you ready, Mr. Siward? She stood waiting for him at the edge of the thicket; Miles resumed his game sack and her fowling-piece; the dog came up, looking him anxiously in the eyes.
So he walked forward beside her into the dappled light of the thicket.
Within a few minutes the dog stood twice; and twice the whirring twitter of woodcock startled her, echoed by the futile crack of his gun.
Beg pardon, sir
Yes, Miles, with a glint of humour.
Overshot, sir,excusin the liberty, Mr. Siward. Both marked down forty yard to the left if you wish to start em again.
No, he said indifferently, I had my chance at them. Theyre exempt.
Then Sagamore, tail wildly whipping, came smack on the trail of an old stager of a cock-grouseon, on over rock, log, wet gully, and dry ridge, twisting, doubling, circling, every wile, every trick employed and met, until the dog crawling noiselessly forward, trembled and froze, and Siward, far to left, wheeled at the muffled and almost noiseless rise. For an instant the slanting barrels wavered, grew motionless; but only a stray sunbeam glinting struck a flash of cold fire from the muzzle, only the feathery whirring whisper broke the silence of suspense. Then far away over sunny tree tops a big grouse sailed up, rocketing into the sky on slanted wings, breasting the height of green; dipped, glided downward with bowed wings stiffened, and was engulfed in the misty barriers of purpling woods.
Vale! said Siward aloud, I salute you!
He came strolling back across the crisp leaves, the dappled sunshine playing over his face like the flicker of a smile.
Miles, he said, my nerve is gone. Such things happen. Im all in. Come over here, my friend, and look at the sun with me.
The discomfited keeper obeyed.
Where ought that refulgent luminary to scintilate when I face Osprey Ledge?
Sir?
The sun. How do I hold it?
On the pint of your right shoulder, sir.You aint quittin, Mr. Siward, sir! anxiously; that Shotover Cup is easy yours, sir! eagerly; Wots a miss on a old drummer, Mr. Siward? Wots twice over-shootin cock, sir, when a blind dropper can see you are the cleanest, fastest, hard-shootin shot in the null county!
But Siward shook his head with an absent glance at the dog, and motioned the astonished keeper forward.
Line the easiest trail for us, he said; I think we are already a trifle tired. Twigs will do in short cover; use a hatchet in the big timber.... And go slow till we join you.
And when the unwilling and perplexed keeper had started, Siward, unlocking his gun, drew out the smooth yellow cartridges and pocketed them.
Sylvia looked up as the sharp metallic click of the locked breech rang out in the silence.
Why do you do this, Mr. Siward?
I dont know; really I am honest; I dont know.
It could not be because I
No, of course not, he said, too seriously to reassure her.
Mr. Siward, in quick displeasure.
Yes?
What you do for your amusements cannot concern me.
Right as usual, he said so gaily that a reluctant smile trembled on her lips.
Then why have you done this? It is unreasonableif you dont feel as I do about killing things that are having a good time in the world.
He stood silent, absently looking at the fowling-piece cradled in his left arm. Shall we sit here a moment and talk it over? he suggested listlessly.
Her blue gaze swept him; his vague smile was indifferently bland.
If you are determined not to shoot, we might as well start for Osprey Ledge, she suggested; otherwise, what reason is there for our being here together, Mr. Siward?
Awaiting his commentperhaps expecting a counter-propositionshe leaned against the tree beside which he stood. And after a while, as his absent-minded preoccupation continued:
Do you think the leaves are dry enough to sit on?
He slipped off his shooting-coat and placed it at the base of the tree. She waited for a second, uncertain how to meet an attitude which seemed to take for granted matters which might, if discussed, give her at least the privilege of yielding. However, to discuss a triviality meant forcing emphasis where none was necessary. She seated herself; and, as he continued to remain standing, she stripped off her shooting-gloves and glanced up at him inquiringly: Well, Mr. Siward, I am literally at your feet.
Which redresses the balance a little, he said, finding a place near her.
That is very nice of you. Can I always count on you for civil platitudes when I stir you out of your day-dreams?
You can always count on stirring me without effort.
No, I cant. Nobody can. You are never to be counted on; you are too absent-minded. Like a veil you wrap yourself in a brown study, leaving everybody outside to consider the pointed flattery of your withdrawal. What happens to you when you are inside that magic veil? Do you change into anything interesting?
He sat there, chin propped on his linked fingers, elbows on knees; and, though there was always the hint of a smile in his pleasant eyes, always the indefinable charm of breeding in voice and attitude, something now was lacking. And after a moment she concluded that it was his attention. Certainly his wits were wool-gathering again; his eyes, edged with the shadow of a smile, saw far beyond her, far beyond the sunlit shadows where they sat.
In his preoccupation she had found him negatively attractive. She glanced at him now from time to time, her eyes returning always to the beauty of the subdued light where all about them silver-stemmed birches clustered like slim shining pillars, crowned with their autumn canopy of crumpled gold.
In his preoccupation she had found him negatively attractive. She glanced at him now from time to time, her eyes returning always to the beauty of the subdued light where all about them silver-stemmed birches clustered like slim shining pillars, crowned with their autumn canopy of crumpled gold.
Enchantment! she said under her breath. Surely an enchanted sleeper lies here somewhere.
You, he observed, unawakened.
Asleep? I? She looked around at him. You are the dreamer here. Your eyes are full of dreaming even now. What is your desire?
He leaned on one arm, watching her; she had dropped her ungloved hand, searching among the newly fallen gold of the birch leaves drifted into heaps. On the third finger a jewel glittered; he saw it, conscious of its meaningbut his eyes followed the hand idly heaping up autumn gold, a white slim hand, smoothly fascinating. Then the little, restless hand swept near to his, almost touching it; and then instinctively he took it in his own, curiously, lifting it a little to consider its nearer loveliness. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of it, perhaps it was sheer amazement that left her hand lying idly relaxed like a white petalled blossom in his. His bearing, too, was so blankly impersonal that for a moment the whole thing appeared inconsequent. Then, as her hand lay there, scarcely imprisoned, their eyes encountered,and hers, intensely blue now, considered him without emotion, studied him impersonally without purpose, incuriously acquiescent, indifferently expectant.
After a little while the consciousness of the contact disconcerted her; she withdrew her fingers with an involuntary shiver.
Is there no chance? he asked.
Perplexed with her own emotion, the meaning of his low-voiced question at first escaped her; then, like its own echo, came ringing back in her ears, re-echoed again as he repeated it:
Is there no chance for me, Miss Landis?
The very revulsion of self-possession returning chilled her; then anger came, quick and hot; then pride. She deliberated, choosing her words coolly enough: What chance do you mean, Mr. Siward?
A fighting chance. Can you give it to me?
A fighting chance? For what?very low, very dangerous.
For you.
Then, in spite of her, her senses became unsteady; a sudden ringing confusion seemed to deafen her, through which his voice, as if very far away, sounded again:
Men who are worth a fighting chance ask for it sometimesbut take it always. I take it.
Her pallor faded under the flood of bright colour; the blue of her eyes darkened ominously to velvet.
Mr. Siward, she said, very distinctly and slowly, I am notevensorryfor you.
Then my chance is desperate indeed, he retorted coolly.
Chance! Do you imagine Her anger choked her.
Are you not a little hard? he said, paling under his tan. I supposed women dismissed men more gentlyeven such a man as I am.
For a full minute she strove to comprehend.
Such a man as you! she repeated vaguely; you mean a crimson wave dyed her skin to the temples and she leaned toward him in horror-stricken contrition; I didnt mean that, Mr. Siward! II never thought of that! It had no weight, it was not in my thoughts. I meant only that you had assumed what is unwarrantedthat youyour question humiliated me, knowing that I am engagedknowing me so littleso
Yes, I knew everything. Ask yourself why I risk everything to say this to you? There can be only one answer.
Then after a long silence: Have I ever she began tremblinglyever by word or look
No.
Have I even
No. Ive simply discovered how I feel. Thats what I was dreaming about when you asked me. I was afraid I might do this too soon; but I meant to do it anyway before it became too late.
It was too late from the very moment we met, Mr. Siward. And, as he reddened painfully again, she added quickly: I mean that I had already decided. Why will you take what I say so dreadfully different from the way I intend it? Listen to me. II believe I am not very experienced yet; I was aastonishedquite stunned for a moment. Then it hurt meand I said that I was not sorry for you I am sorry, now.
And, as he said nothing: You were a little rough, a little sudden with me, Mr. Siward. Men have asked me that questionseveral times; but never so soon, so unreasonably soonnever without some preliminary of some sort, so that I could foresee, be more or less prepared.... But you gave me no warning. Iif you had, I would have known how to be gentle. II wish to be now. I like youenough to say this to you, enough to be seriously sorry; if I could bring myself to really believe thisfeeling
Still he said nothing; he sat there listlessly studying the sun spots glowing, waxing, waning on the carpet of dead leaves at his feet.
As forwhat you have said, she added, a little smile curving the sensitive mouth, it is impulsive, unconsidered, a trifle boyish, Mr. Siward. I pay myself the compliment of your sincerity; it is rather nice to be a girl who can awaken the romance in a man within a day or twos acquaintance.... And that is all it isa romantic impulse with a pretty girl. You see I am frank; I am really glad that you find me attractive. Tell me so, if you wish. We shall not misunderstand each other again. Shall we?
He raised his head, considering her, forcing the smile to meet her own.
We shall be better friends than ever, she asserted confidently.
Yes, better than ever.
Because what you have done means the nicest sort of friendship, you see. You cant escape its duties and responsibilities now, Mr. Siward. I shall expect you to spend the greater part of your life in devotedly doing things for me. Besides, I am now privileged to worry you with advice. Oh, you have invested me with all sorts of powers now!
He nodded.
She sprang to her feet, flushed, smiling, a trifle excited.
Is it all over, and are we the very ideals of friends? she asked.
The very ideals.
You are nice! she said impulsively, holding out both gloveless hands. He held them, she looking at him very sweetly, very confidently.
Allons! Without malice? she asked.
Without malice.
Without afterthoughts?
Without afterthoughts.
Andyou are content? persuasively.
Of course not, he said.
Oh, but you must be.
I must be, he repeated obediently.
And you are! Say it!
But it does not make me unhappy not to be contented
Say it, please; ordo you desire me to be unhappy?
Her small, smooth hands lying between his, they stood confronting one another in the golden light. She might easily have brought the matter to an end; and why she did not, she knew no more than a kitten waking to consciousness under its first caress.
Say it, she repeated, laughing uncertainly back into his smiling eyes of a boy.
Say what?
That you are contented.
I cant.
Mr. Siward, it is unkind, it is shameless
I know it; I am that sort.
Then I am sorry for you. Look at that! turning her left hand in his so that the jewel on the third finger caught the light.
I see it.
And yet
And yet.
That, she observed with composure, is sheer obstinacy.... Isnt it?
It is what I said it was: a hopeful discontent.
How can it be? impatiently now, for the long, unaccustomed contact was unnerving heryet she made no motion to withdraw her hands. How can you really care for me? Do you actually believe thatdevotioncomes like that?