They had been lodging1 at the Green Dragon for the past fortnight, and he had discovered that English milords, whatever else they might be, were not niggardly2 with their money. They required a good deal of attention, it is true, and had a strange, outlandish predilection3 for innumerable baths, demanding a quite unheard-of quantity of water for the same. And at all unlikely hours of the day, too—when returning from a ride or before going up to the castle to dine, mark you!
Still, they made no difficulty about paying—and paying handsomely—for all they wanted, and if a man chooses to spend his money upon the superfluous4 scrubbing of his epidermis5, it is, after all, his own affair!
And now the two English milords were taking their departure from the Green Dragon and, so the landlord understood, proposed to stay at the castle itself until their return to England.
It appeared that their lady-mother—who, it was rumoured6 in the village, was the daughter of an English archduke, no less!—was coming to Beirnfels and there was much talk amongst the village girls of weddings and the like. Apparently7 the Green Dragon’s two eccentric visitors, not withstanding their altogether abnormal liking9 for soap and water, were much as most men in other respects and had lost their hearts to the two pretty English ladies living at the castle.
So, no doubt, the “daughter of an English archduke, no less” was coming from England post haste to enquire10 into the suitability of the brides-elect—and also into the important point of the amount of the dowry each might be expected to bring her future husband.
There was no question that Lady Anne was certainly coming post haste—in reply to a series of joyful11 and imperative12 telegrams demanding that she should pack up and come to Beirnfels immediately—“for we are all enjoying ourselves far too much to return to England at present,” as Nick wired her with an iniquitous14 disregard for the cost per word of foreign telegrams. And Lady Anne, who always considered money well-spent if it purchased happiness, proceeded to wire back with equal extravagance that she was delighted to hear it and that she and her maid would start at once.
It was a very happy party that gathered round the table in the great dining-hall at Beirnfels on the night of Lady Anne’s arrival, and beneath all the surface laughter and gaiety lay the deep, quiet thanksgiving that only comes to those who have emerged out of the night of darkness and sorrow into a glorious sunlight of happiness and hope.
After dinner, in the soft, candle-lit dusk—for Peterson had never introduced the garish16 anomaly of electric light into the ancient castle—Jean sang to them in that quaintly17 appealing, husky voice of hers, simple tender folk-songs of the country-side, and finally, at a murmured request from Blaise, she gave them The House of Dreams.
"It’s a strange road leads to the House of Dreams,
To the House of Dreams-Come-True,
Its hills are steep and its valleys deep,
And salt with tears the Wayfarers18 weep,
The Wayfarers—I and you.
"But there’s sure a way to the House of Dreams,
To the House of Dreams-Come-True.
We shall find it yet, ere the sun has set,
If we fare straight on, come fine, come wet,
Wayfarers—I and you.”
As the last words died away into silence, she looked up and met Blaise’s eyes. He was leaning against the piano, looking down at her with a tranquil19 happiness in his gaze.
“Our House of Dreams-Come-True, Jean, at last,” he said softly.
She met his glance with one of utter trust.
“And we needn’t ever fear, now, that it will tumble down. But oh! Blaise, if we had built on a rotten foundation, we should never have felt safe—not safe like this!”
“No. You were right, belovedest—as you always have been, always will be.” Then, very low, so that none but she should hear: “Thank God for you, my sweet!”
It was ultimately settled that the whole party should remain at Beirnfels until the latter end of June, when they would all return to England together and the two weddings should take place as soon as possible afterwards.
“But we won’t have a double wedding,” declared Jean. “It’s always supposed to be unlucky.”
“Do you believe in good and bad luck, then?” asked Lady; Anne, smiling.
“I don’t know,” Jean answered seriously. “But it’s always just as well to be on the safe side. Anyway, we won’t tempt21 Fate by running unnecessary risks!”
“Besides, madonna,” added Nick, “in the excitement of the moment we might get mixed and the parson hitch22 us up to the wrong people. The average nerve-strain attendant upon the r么le of bridegroom will be quite sufficient for me, thank you, without the added uncertainty24 as to whether I’m getting tied up to the right woman or not.”
So spring lengthened25 out into summer, and, as the heat increased, boating and swimming on the big lake that nestled in a basin of the hills were added to the long rides and excursions with which they whiled away the pleasant, sunshiny days.
Ever afterwards, the memory of those tranquil months at Beirnfels would linger in the minds of those who shared them as something rare and precious. It was as though for this little span of time, passed so far away from the noise and bustle26 of the big world, they had pulled their barque out of the busy fairway of the river and moored27 it in some quiet, shady backwater. Then, when they were rested and refreshed, they would be ready to face anew, with fresh strength and courage, the difficulties and dangers of midstream.
“I’m sorry it’s so nearly over—this long, long holiday of ours,” said Jean regretfully. “The only thing that reconciles me to the fact is that after we’re married Blaise and I propose to spend at least six months out of every year at Beirnfels.”
She was lying on her back in the shady wood whither they had ridden out to lunch that day, staring up at the bits of blue sky overhead which showed between the interlacing branches of the trees. The remainder of the party were grouped around her, reclining in various attitudes of a dolce far niente nature, while from a little distance away, where the horses were picketed28 in charge of a groom23, came the drowsy29, rhythmic30 sound of the munching31 of corn, punctuated32 by an occasional stamp of an impatient hoof33.
“Yes, it’s been good,” agreed Lady Anne. “I shall never settle down again properly as a dowager at the Dower House!” And she laughed gleefully.
To her, it had been almost like a return to the days of her youth, for “her four children”—as she called them—had insisted on her sharing in all their active pursuits, and Lady Anne, who in her girlhood and early married life had been a first-class horsewoman and a magnificent swimmer, had consented con15 amore.
Blaise pulled himself lazily up into a sitting posture34 and glanced toward the crimson35 glow of westering sun where it struck athwart the tall trunks of the trees.
“You’ll none of you live to go back to England. Instead, you’ll be dying of pneumonia36 and a few other complaints—if we don’t get a move on soon,” he observed. “It’s almost sunset, and after that it grows abominably37 chilly38 in this eastern paradise of Jean’s. Besides, I fancy it’s going to blow great guns before long.”
It was true. Already a little chill whisper of wind was shaking the tops of the trees, and before the party was fairly mounted and away, the whisper had changed to a shrill39 whistling, heralding40 the big gale41 which drove along behind the innocent seeming breeze which at first had barely rocked the topmost branches.
It was a longish ride back to Beirnfels, and the sun had dipped below the horizon in a sullen42 splendour of purple and red before the shoulder of the hill, upon the further side of which the castle stood, came into sight.
Now and again the moon peered out between the racing43, wind-driven clouds, clearly limning44 the bold, black curve of the hill against a background of lowering sky.
Jean and Blaise were riding abreast45, a little in advance of the rest, engrossed46 by the difficulties of carrying on an animated47 conversation in a high wind. As they swung round the bend in the road which brought the hill’s great shoulder into view, Jean threw back her head and stared at the sky above it with a puzzled frown on her face.
“Why... how queer!” she ejaculated. “The sun set nearly half an hour ago and yet there’s still quite a brilliant red glow in the sky. Look, Blaise—just above where Beirnfels stands.”
Blaise glanced up casually48 in the direction indicated, then suddenly reigned49 in his horse and half-rose in the stirrups, staring at the red glow deepening in the sky ahead.
“That’s no sunset!” he exclaimed sharply. “It’s—Great heavens, Jean! Beirnfels is on fire!”
Even as he spoke50 a tongue of flame, mocking the dull glow with its gleaming blaze, shot up like a thin red knife into the sky and sank again.
A shout came from behind. The others had seen it, also, and recognised its deadly import. The next moment the clatter51 of galloping52 hoofs53 echoed along the road as the whole party urged their horses on towards home as fast as they could cover the ground.
Soon they struck off from the road, taking a bridle-path which slanted54 through the woods clothing the base of the hill, and as they emerged on to the broad plateau where Beirnfels had stood sentinel through wind and weather for so many years, the whole extent of the catastrophe55 was revealed.
By this time the angry glow in the sky had turned dusk into day, while from the doors and windows of the castle fire vomited56 forth57 as from a furnace—upward in long, sinuous58 tongues of flame, licking the blackened walls, downward in spangled showers of sparks that drifted towards the earth like flights of golden butterflies.
Little groups of men and women, helpless as ants to stay the fire, rushed futilely59 hither and thither60 with hosepipe and engine, while on the smooth sward which fronted the castle lay piled enormous quantities of household stuff a medley61 of fine old furniture, tom tapestry62 wrenched63 from its place against the walls, pictures, mirrors—anything and everything that could be dragged out into the open by eager hands and willing arms.
The major-domo, an elderly, grey-haired man who had been born and reared upon the estate and who had taken service with Glyn Peterson on the day when he had first brought Jacqueline, a bride, to Beirnfels, caught sight of the riding-party returned and came hurrying to Jean’s side.
The tears were running down his wrinkled face as he recounted the discovery of the fire, which must have started either just before or during the servants’ dinner-hour, when few people, of course, were about the castle, and which had obtained a firm hold before it was detected.
The household staff, practised to a limited extent,—a fire drill had been held once a month in Peterson’s time—had done their hest to cope with the flames, but vainly. The high wind which had arisen had thwarted64 their utmost efforts, and finally giving up all hope of saving the interior from being gutted65, they had confined themselves to rescuing such valuables as could be easily removed.
There was the usual mystery as to how the fire had originated, and several stories circulated amongst the chattering66 throng67 which hurried hither and thither, momentarily augmented68 by the peasants who, at sight of the castle in flames, had come trooping up the hill from the village below.
The most likely story, and the one to which Blaise inclined to give most credence69, was that the child of a woman who worked daily at the castle, escaping from its mother’s care and launched on an independent voyage of discovery through the rooms, had knocked over a burning lamp. Then, terrified at the immediate13 consequences—the sudden flaring70 of some ancient tapestry, dry as tinder with the summer heat, near which the lamp had fallen—he had bolted away, out of the castle and so home, too scared to tell anyone of the accident.
But, as Jean commented mournfully, what did it matter how it happened? Except from the prosaic71 viewpoint of the fire insurance company, who would probably desire to know: all kinds of details that it was impossible to supply!
For her, nothing mattered except that Beirnfels, her home from childhood and the place where she and Blaise had proposed to spend a great part of their married life, was a furnace of flames.
It was a splendid but very terrible sight The great, grim walls of the castle stood four-square against the sky, charred72 and blackened but defiantly73 impervious74 to the flames that were licking covetously75 against the solid stone which fashioned them. Sentinel to the very end, they reared themselves unvanquished, guardians76 still, though all that they had sheltered through their centuries of watch and ward20 lay consumed within their very heart.
Jean, standing8 beside Blaise and watching the upward tossing flames and the crimson banner of the lowering heavens, spoke suddenly:
“‘And the sky as red as blood above it.’ Blaise, the last of Keturah Stanley’s prophecies has come true!”
An hour later help was forthcoming from the distant town to which a messenger had been despatched post haste as soon as it was realised that the household staff, even with assistance from the village, was hopelessly inadequate77 to cope with a fire of such magnitude. But it was already too late to accomplish very much in the way of salvage78. All that remained possible was to quench79 that inferno80 of fire as soon as might be and so, perhaps, save some of the outbuildings.
Hour after hour through the night, human endeavour fought with the flames—subduing them again and again only to find them kindling81 into fresh life at the gusty82 bidding of the wind, leaping redly from the lambent heart of the conflagration83, which glowed and pulsed and heaved like some living monster intent upon destruction.
It was not until dawn was breaking that, with the dying down of the wind, the flickering84 crimson light faded finally from the sky; and half an hour later, when the fire had been at last extinguished, the village folk, gathered about the scene of the catastrophe, had dispersed85 to their homes.
Lady Anne, accompanied by Nick and Claire, started for the inn of the Green Dragon, whither the landlord had hurried on ahead to prepare temporary quarters for the now homeless little company from the castle. But Joan and Blaise still lingered by the deserted86 ruins, loth to say farewell to the place that had meant so much to them.
Beneath the misty87 azure88 of the summer morning sky, fanned by little vagrant89 zephyrs—rearguard of the hurricane which had passed—stood all that remained of Beirnfels—blackened, naked walls, stark90 against that tender blue, brooding above a mass of cooling wreckage91.
Jean’s mouth quivered a little as her glance took in the scene of utter desolation.
“My House of Dreams,” she whispered brokenly.
She was silent for a few moments, her eyes embracing all that had once been Beirnfels in a gaze which held both farewell and retrospect92. And something more—some vision of the future. In the dawn-light pearling the sky above she recognised the eternal promise of Him Who “commanded the light to shine out of darkness.”
Her House of Dreams! The inner meaning of the song had grown suddenly clear to her.
When she turned again to Blaise, her expression was serene93 and tranquil. Touched with regret perhaps, but bravely confident.
“I don’t think it matters, Blaise,” she said simply. “Beirnfels was only a symbol, after all. My House of Dreams-Come-True isn’t built of stones and mortar94. No one’s is. It’s just—where love is.”
The End
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1
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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niggardly
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| adj.吝啬的，很少的 | |
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predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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epidermis
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| n.表皮 | |
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rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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9
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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10
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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11
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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12
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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13
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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iniquitous
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| adj.不公正的；邪恶的；高得出奇的 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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wayfarers
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| n.旅人，（尤指）徒步旅行者( wayfarer的名词复数 ) | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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25
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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27
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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abominably
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| adv. 可恶地，可恨地，恶劣地 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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heralding
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| v.预示( herald的现在分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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limning
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| v.画( limn的现在分词 )；勾画；描写；描述 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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51
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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vomited
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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medley
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| n.混合 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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63
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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gutted
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| adj.容易消化的v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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69
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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70
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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71
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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72
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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73
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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74
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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covetously
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| adv.妄想地，贪心地 | |
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76
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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77
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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78
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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79
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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80
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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81
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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82
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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83
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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84
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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85
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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86
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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87
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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88
azure
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| adj.天蓝色的，蔚蓝色的 | |
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89
vagrant
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| n.流浪者，游民；adj.流浪的，漂泊不定的 | |
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90
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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91
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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92
retrospect
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| n.回顾，追溯；v.回顾，回想，追溯 | |
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93
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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94
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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