When I entered my garden I saw Môme sprawling1 on the stone doorstep. He eyed me sideways and flopped2 his tail.
"Don't act as though I was in the habit of beating you to death," I said, disgusted. I had never in my life raised whip to the brute6. "But you are a fool dog," I continued. "No, you needn't come to be babied and wept over; Lys can do that, if she insists, but I am ashamed of you, and you can go to the devil."
Môme slunk off into the house, and I followed, mounting directly to my wife's boudoir. It was empty.
"Where has she gone?" I said, looking hard at Môme, who had followed me. "Oh! I see you don't know. Don't pretend you do. Come off that lounge! Do you think Lys wants tan-colored hairs all over her lounge?"
I rang the bell for Catherine and Fine, but they didn't know where "madame" had gone; so I went into my room, bathed, exchanged my somewhat grimy shooting clothes for a suit of warm, soft knickerbockers, and, after lingering some extra moments over my toilet—for I was particular, now that I had married Lys—I went down to the garden and took a chair out under the fig-trees.
"Where can she be?" I wondered, Môme came sneaking7 out to be comforted, and I forgave him for Lys's sake, whereupon he frisked.
"You bounding cur," said I, "now what on earth started you off across the moor8? If you do it again I'll push you along with a charge of dust shot."
As yet I had scarcely dared think about the ghastly hallucination of which I had been a victim, but now I faced it squarely, flushing a little with mortification9 at the thought of my hasty retreat from the gravel10 pit.
"To think," I said aloud, "that those old woman's tales of Max Fortin and Le Bihan should have actually made me see what didn't exist at all! I lost my nerve like a schoolboy in a dark bedroom." For I knew now that I had mistaken a round stone for a skull11 each time, and had pushed a couple of big pebbles12 into the pit instead of the skull itself.
"By jingo!" said I, "I'm nervous; my liver must be in a devil of a condition if I see such things when I'm awake! Lys will know what to give me."
I felt mortified and irritated and sulky, and thought disgustedly of Le Bihan and Max Fortin.
But after a while I ceased speculating, dismissed the mayor, the chemist, and the skull from my mind, and smoked pensively13, watching the sun low dipping in the western ocean. As the twilight14 fell for a moment over ocean and moorland, a wistful, restless happiness filled my heart, the happiness that all men know—all men who have loved.
Suddenly the sky above burned with the afterglow, and the world was alight again.
Cloud after cloud caught the rose dye; the cliffs were tinted16 with it; moor and pasture, heather and forest burned and pulsated17 with the gentle flush. I saw the gulls18 turning and tossing above the sand bar, their snowy wings tipped with pink; I saw the sea swallows sheering the surface of the still river, stained to its placid19 depths with warm reflections of the clouds. The twitter of drowsy20 hedge birds broke out in the stillness; a salmon21 rolled its shining side above tidewater.
The interminable monotone of the ocean intensified22 the silence. I sat motionless, holding my breath as one who listens to the first low rumor23 of an organ. All at once the pure whistle of a nightingale cut the silence, and the first moonbeam silvered the wastes of mist-hung waters.
I raised my head.
Lys stood before me in the garden.
When we had kissed each other, we linked arms and moved up and down the gravel walks, watching the moonbeams sparkle on the sand bar as the tide ebbed24 and ebbed. The broad beds of white pinks about us were atremble with hovering25 white moths26; the October roses hung all abloom, perfuming the salt wind.
"Sweetheart," I said, "where is Yvonne? Has she promised to spend Christmas with us?"
"Yes, Dick; she drove me down from Plougat this afternoon. She sent her love to you. I am not jealous. What did you shoot?"
"A hare and four partridges. They are in the gun room. I told Catherine not to touch them until you had seen them."
Now I suppose I knew that Lys could not be particularly enthusiastic over game or guns; but she pretended she was, and always scornfully denied that it was for my sake and not for the pure love of sport. So she dragged me off to inspect the rather meager27 game bag, and she paid me pretty compliments, and gave a little cry of delight and pity as I lifted the enormous hare out of the sack by his ears.
"Unhappy little bunny—and what a beauty! O Dick, you are a splendid shot, are you not?"
"Poor little dead things'" said Lys in a whisper; "it seems a pity—doesn't it, Dick? But then you are so clever——"
"We'll have them broiled," I said guardedly, "tell Catherine."
Catherine came in to take away the game, and presently 'Fine Lelocard, Lys's maid, announced dinner, and Lys tripped away to her boudoir.
I stood an instant contemplating31 her blissfully, thinking, "My boy, you're the happiest fellow in the world—you're in love with your wife'"
I walked into the dining-room, beamed at the plates, walked out again; met Tregunc in the hallway, beamed on him; glanced into the kitchen, beamed at Catherine, and went up stairs, still beaming.
Before I could knock at Lys's door it opened, and Lys came hastily out. When she saw me she gave a little cry of relief, and nestled close to my breast.
"There is something peering in at my window," she said.
"What!" I cried angrily.
"A man, I think, disguised as a priest, and he has a mask on. He must have climbed up by the bay tree."
I was down the stairs and out of doors in no time. The moonlit garden was absolutely deserted32. Tregunc came up, and together we searched the hedge and shrubbery around the house and out to the road.
"Jean Marie," said I at length, "loose my bulldog—he knows you—and take your supper on the porch where you can watch. My wife says the fellow is disguised as a priest, and wears a mask."
Tregunc showed his white teeth in a smile. "He will not care to venture in here again, I think, Monsieur Darrel."
I went back and found Lys seated quietly at the table.
"The soup is ready, dear," she said. "Don't worry; it was only some foolish lout33 from Bannalec. No one in St. Gildas or St. Julien would do such a thing."
I was too much exasperated34 to reply at first, but Lys treated it as a stupid joke, and after a while I began to look at it in that light.
Lys told me about Yvonne, and reminded me of my promise to have Herbert Stuart down to meet her.
"Don't you think he might spare a week to flirt37 with the prettiest girl in Finistere?" inquired Lys innocently.
"Prettiest girl! Not much!" I said.
"Who is, then?" urged Lys.
I laughed a trifle sheepishly.
"I suppose you mean me, Dick," said Lys, coloring up.
"Now I bore you, don't I?"
"Bore me? Ah, no, Dick."
"Poor Jean! He will be glad, won't he? What a dear fellow you are!"
"Nonsense," said I; "we need a gardener; you said so yourself, Lys."
But Lys leaned over and kissed me, and then bent39 down and hugged Môme—who whistled through his nose in sentimental40 appreciation41.
"I am a very happy woman," said Lys.
"Môme was a very bad dog to-day," I observed.
"Poor Môme!" said Lys, smiling.
When dinner was over and Môme lay snoring before the blaze—for the October nights are often chilly42 in Finistere—Lys curled up in the chimney corner with her embroidery43, and gave me a swift glance from under her dropping lashes44.
"You look like a schoolgirl, Lys," I said teasingly. "I don't believe you are sixteen yet."
"Have we been married four years? I don't believe it," I said.
She gave me another swift glance and touched the embroidery on her knee, smiling faintly.
"I see," said I, also smiling at the embroidered47 garment. "Do you think it will fit?"
"Fit?" repeated Lys. Then she laughed
"Perfectly," said Lys. A delicate color touched her cheeks and neck. She held up the little garment, all fluffy49 with misty50 lace and wrought51 with quaint52 embroidery.
"It is very gorgeous," said I; "don't use your eyes too much, dearest. May I smoke a pipe?"
"Of course," she said selecting a skein of pale blue silk.
For a while I sat and smoked in silence, watching her slender fingers among the tinted silks and thread of gold.
"Dick!"
"Dearest?"
"Don't be flippant."
"But I really forget. It's an ordinary crest; everybody in New York has them. No family should be without 'em."
"You are disagreeable, Dick. Send Josephine upstairs for my album."
"Are you going to put that crest on the—the—whatever it is?"
"I am; and my own crest, too."
I thought of the Purple Emperor and wondered a little.
"You didn't know I had one, did you?" she smiled.
"What is it?" I replied evasively.
"You shall see. Ring for Josephine."
I rang, and, when 'Fine appeared, Lys gave her some orders in a low voice, and Josephine trotted55 away, bobbing her white-coiffed head with a "Bien, Madame!"
After a few minutes she returned, bearing a tattered56, musty volume, from which the gold and blue had mostly disappeared.
I took the book in my hands and examined the ancient emblazoned covers.
"Lilies!" I exclaimed.
"Oh!" said I, astonished, and opened the book.
"You know I haven't. Hello! What's this? Oho! So there should be a de before Trevec? Lys de Trevec? Then why in the world did the Purple Emperor——"
"Dick!" cried Lys.
"All right," said I. "Shall I read about the Sieur de Trevec who rode to Saladin's tent alone to seek for medicine for St. Louise? Or shall I read about—what is it? Oh, here it is, all down in black and white—about the Marquis de Trevec who drowned himself before Alva's eyes rather than surrender the banner of the fleur-de-lis to Spain? It's all written here. But, dear, how about that soldier named Trevec who was killed in the old fort on the cliff yonder?"
"He dropped the de, and the Trevecs since then have been Republicans," said Lys—"all except me."
"That's quite right," said I; "it is time that we Republicans should agree upon some feudal59 system. My dear, I drink to the king!" and I raised my wine glass and looked at Lys.
"To the king," said Lys, flushing. She smoothed out the tiny garment on her knees; she touched the glass with her lips; her eyes were very sweet. I drained the glass to the king.
"His majesty," repeated Lys softly.
"Or hers," I laughed. "Who knows?"
"Who knows?" murmured Lys; with a gentle sigh.
"I? No, not about a giant-killer, but I know all about the werewolf, and Jeanne-la-Flamme, and the Man in Purple Tatters, and—O dear me, I know lots more."
"You are very wise," said I. "I shall teach his majesty, English."
"And I Breton," cried Lys jealously.
"I shall bring playthings to the king," said I—"big green lizards62 from the gorse, little gray mullets to swim in glass globes, baby rabbits from the forest of Kerselec——"
"And I," said Lys, "will bring the first primrose63, the first branch of aubepine, the first jonquil, to the king—my king."
"Our king," said I; and there was peace in Finistere.
I lay back, idly turning the leaves of the curious old volume.
"I am looking," said I, "for the crest."
"The crest, dear? It is a priest's head with an arrow-shaped mark on the forehead, on a field——"
I sat up and stared at my wife.
"Dick, whatever is the matter?" she smiled. "The story is there in that book. Do you care to read it? No? Shall I tell it to you? Well, then: It happened in the third crusade. There was a monk64 whom men called the Black Priest. He turned apostate65, and sold himself to the enemies of Christ. A Sieur de Trevec burst into the Saracen camp, at the head of only one hundred lances, and carried the Black Priest away out of the very midst of their army."
"So that is how you come by the crest," I said quietly; but I thought of the branded skull in the gravel pit, and wondered.
"Yes," said Lys. "The Sieur de Trevec cut the Black Priest's head off, but first he branded him with an arrow mark on the forehead. The book says it was a pious66 action, and the Sieur de Trevec got great merit by it. But I think it was cruel, the branding," she sighed.
"Did you ever hear of any other Black Priest?"
"Yes. There was one in the last century, here in St. Gildas. He cast a white shadow in the sun. He wrote in the Breton language. Chronicles, too, I believe. I never saw them. His name was the same as that of the old chronicler, and of the other priest, Jacques Sorgue. Some said he was a lineal descendant of the traitor67. Of course the first Black Priest was bad enough for anything. But if he did have a child, it need not have been the ancestor of the last Jacques Sorgue. They say he was so good he was not allowed to die, but was caught up to heaven one day," added Lys, with believing eyes.
I smiled.
"But he disappeared," persisted Lys.
"I'm afraid his journey was in another direction," I said jestingly, and thoughtlessly told her the story of the morning. I had utterly68 forgotten the masked man at her window, but before I finished I remembered him fast enough, and realized what I had done as I saw her face whiten.
"Lys," I urged tenderly, "that was only some clumsy clown's trick. You said so yourself. You are not superstitious69, my dear?"
Her eyes were on mine. She slowly drew the little gold cross from her bosom70 and kissed it. But her lips trembled as they pressed the symbol of faith.
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1
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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2
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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3
mortified
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| v.使受辱( mortify的过去式和过去分词 )；伤害（人的感情）；克制；抑制（肉体、情感等） | |
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4
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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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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8
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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9
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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10
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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12
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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13
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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15
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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16
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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17
pulsated
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| v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的过去式和过去分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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18
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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19
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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21
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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22
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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24
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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25
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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26
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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27
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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29
assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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30
evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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31
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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32
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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lout
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| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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37
flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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38
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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39
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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40
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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41
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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42
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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43
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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44
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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45
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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46
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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47
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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48
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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49
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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50
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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51
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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52
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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53
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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54
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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55
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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56
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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57
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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58
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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59
feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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60
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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61
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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62
lizards
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| n.蜥蜴( lizard的名词复数 ) | |
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63
primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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64
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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65
apostate
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| n.背叛者，变节者 | |
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66
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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67
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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68
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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69
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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70
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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