28
SOON enough there began to be a fuss about Lychnis and Yuan. It appeared that Fulke and Ruby, on their ascent into the familiar world, had taken a red cockle-shell skiff and spent the afternoon floating about the Lake, tasting a certain joy in their common misery. No harm in that. But on landing and returning home to the Pavilion, and on finding it in the sole occupation of Sprot, they had communicated to him their fears. These he received with the liveliest satisfaction, spoke much of the accuracy of his forecasting, and spent the evening stamping up and down in a resolved manner. When the party from the island returned, he drew Quentin aside and significantly questioned him, in the presence of Fulke and Terence, as to the proceedings of the afternoon.
“What are you getting at, Sprotling?” asked Quentin.
“I am going to make representations to Lord Sombrewater. I am going to convince him that it is desirable for us to leave the valley without delay.”
Terence lifted up his face and spoke inspired words: “I have a most convincing reason for that. This afternoon, in a dream, I saw the mountains of my native country, and a picture of the whole party of us eating honey in Innisfree. And there came on me a great impulse to arise and go there, which I would have obeyed at once had not the vision clearly said that the rest of you are to go, too.” He stood for a moment looking into the distance, and his grey eyes were undoubtedly alight with the apprehension of something not immediately attainable. “I starve here,” he added, “for the sights and the sounds of Europe. I am out of touch with the Other Side. There is no veil of misery to pierce; no heaven to reach, because no hell to reach from.”
“The dirt and the poverty,” said Quentin, “the factories and the brothels, the advertisements, the bankruptcy courts, the demure women who know the game of love—I agree. I hate this calm, this perfection. What you say is true. There are no arcs here, consequently no perfect rounds to long for.”
“Oh, for some work to do!” cried Fulke. “A world to redeem from the clutches of industrialism—a State to build—a race to create!”
“I am with you in the last item only,” said Quentin, putting out his crisp, curly beard.
“At all events,” summed up Sprot with enthusiasm, “we hate this neighbourhood. We are all for returning to the ship. But first, how to get rid of this Chink, this Yuan?”
“I could knife him, if necessary,” said Quentin, with a certain genuine earnestness.
“Why not?” asked Sprot. “Nobody would know. It’s often done in these Asiatic countries. There are no police here. But first—evidence. Lychnis must be watched.”
Fulke swung round. “You damned, newt-livered, beetle-tongued, slug-sticky, crawling miasma! Use Lychnis, will you? Besmirch her reputation because you’re unhappy away from your kennel? My God! if I hear her name on your slime-coated tongue one single time again, I’ll drag your entrails out through your eye-sockets!”
“He’s in a temper,” explained Quentin. “He’s in love—but hopelessly, I fear.”
Fulke looked at him with a light in his eyes like a sullen sunset drowning in a tide of misery. “Oh!” he cried, “you’re not capable of love. You’re not clean men. And I that am clean am of all of you the most miserable. I hate life!” He broke off, and made for the house. He met Ruby coming out, and once more a circuit of emotion was established between them.
“Where’s Lychnis?” she asked, with some anxiety.
The others listened.
“Heaven knows,” he answered. “Can’t you find her?”
On investigation it turned out that Lychnis had disappeared. There was no sign of her anywhere. “Where can she be?” asked Ruby, with tears in her voice.
They all stood on the lawn staring over the Lake like men who have lost a vision. Sombrewater and Frew-Gaff, returning late from a geological expedition in the mountains, were met with the intelligence by an almost elated Sprot.
“I knew it,” said the little man. “I have warned you, Lord Sombrewater.”
Lord Sombrewater turned and stared at him so that he began fumbling with his collar. “You have warned me of what?”
He had nothing to say.
“Be so good as to keep your thoughts to yourself.”
Lord Sombrewater went abruptly into the Pavilion.