A Laodicean

Chapter 10

At ten o'clock they met in the same room, Paula appearing in a

straw hat having a bent-up brim lined with plaited silk, so

that it surrounded her forehead like a nimbus; and Somerset

armed with sketch-book, measuring-rod, and other apparatus of

his craft.

'And Mr. Havill?' said the young man.

'I have not decided to employ him: if I do he shall go round

with me independently of you,' she replied rather brusquely.

Somerset was by no means sorry to hear this. His duty to

Havill was done.

'And now,' she said, as they walked on together through the

passages, 'I must tell you that I am not a mediaevalist

myself; and perhaps that's a pity.'

'What are you?'

'I am Greek--that's why I don't wish to influence your

design.'

Somerset, as they proceeded, pointed out where roofs had been

and should be again, where gables had been pulled down, and

where floors had vanished, showing her how to reconstruct

their details from marks in the walls, much as a comparative

anatomist reconstructs an antediluvian from fragmentary bones

and teeth. She appeared to be interested, listened

attentively, but said little in reply. They were ultimately

in a long narrow passage, indifferently lighted, when

Somerset, treading on a loose stone, felt a twinge of weakness

in one knee, and knew in a moment that it was the result of

the twist given by his yesterday's fall. He paused, leaning

against the wall.

'What is it?' said Paula, with a sudden timidity in her voice.

'I slipped down yesterday,' he said. 'It will be right in a

moment.'

'I--can I help you?' said Paula. But she did not come near

him; indeed, she withdrew a little. She looked up the

passage, and down the passage, and became conscious that it

was long and gloomy, and that nobody was near. A curious coy

uneasiness seemed to take possession of her. Whether she

thought, for the first time, that she had made a mistake--that

to wander about the castle alone with him was compromising, or

whether it was the mere shy instinct of maidenhood, nobody

knows; but she said suddenly, 'I will get something for you,

and return in a few minutes.'

'Pray don't--it has quite passed!' he said, stepping out

again.

But Paula had vanished. When she came back it was in the rear

of Charlotte De Stancy. Miss De Stancy had a tumbler in one

hand, half full of wine, which she offered him; Paula

remaining in the background.

He took the glass, and, to satisfy his companions, drank a

mouthful or two, though there was really nothing whatever the

matter with him beyond the slight ache above mentioned.

Charlotte was going to retire, but Paula said, quite

anxiously, 'You will stay with me, Charlotte, won't you?

Surely you are interested in what I am doing?'

'What is it?' said Miss De Stancy.

'Planning how to mend and enlarge the castle. Tell Mr.

Somerset what I want done in the quadrangle--you know quite

well--and I will walk on.'

She walked on; but instead of talking on the subject as

directed, Charlotte and Somerset followed chatting on

indifferent matters. They came to an inner court and found

Paula standing there.

She met Miss De Stancy with a smile. 'Did you explain?' she

asked.

'I have not explained yet.' Paula seated herself on a stone

bench, and Charlotte went on: 'Miss Power thought of making a

Greek court of this. But she will not tell you so herself,

because it seems such dreadful anachronism.

'I said I would not tell any architect myself,' interposed

Paula correctingly. 'I did not then know that he would be Mr.

Somerset.'

'It is rather startling,' said Somerset.

'A Greek colonnade all round, you said, Paula,' continued her

less reticent companion. 'A peristyle you called it--you saw

it in a book, don't you remember?--and then you were going to

have a fountain in the middle, and statues like those in the

British Museum.'

'I did say so,' remarked Paula, pulling the leaves from a

young sycamore-tree that had sprung up between the joints of

the paving.

From the spot where they sat they could see over the roofs the

upper part of the great tower wherein Somerset had met with

his misadventure. The tower stood boldly up in the sun, and

from one of the slits in the corner something white waved in

the breeze.

'What can that be?' said Charlotte. 'Is it the fluff of owls,

or a handkerchief?'

'It is my handkerchief,' Somerset answered. 'I fixed it there

with a stone to attract attention, and forgot to take it

away.'

All three looked up at the handkerchief with interest. 'Why

did you want to attract attention?' said Paula.

'O, I fell into the turret; but I got out very easily.'

'O Paula,' said Charlotte, turning to her friend, 'that must

be the place where the man fell in, years ago, and was starved

to death!'

'Starved to death?' said Paula.

'They say so. O Mr. Somerset, what an escape!' And Charlotte

De Stancy walked away to a point from which she could get a

better view of the treacherous turret.

'Whom did you think to attract?' asked Paula, after a pause.

'I thought you might see it.'

'Me personally?' And, blushing faintly, her eyes rested upon

him.

'I hoped for anybody. I thought of you,' said Somerset.

She did not continue. In a moment she arose and went across

to Miss De Stancy. 'Don't YOU go falling down and becoming a

skeleton,' she said--Somerset overheard the words, though

Paula was unaware of it--after which she clasped her fingers

behind Charlotte's neck, and smiled tenderly in her face.

It seemed to be quite unconsciously done, and Somerset thought

it a very beautiful action. Presently Paula returned to him

and said, 'Mr. Somerset, I think we have had enough

architecture for to-day.'

The two women then wished him good-morning and went away.

Somerset, feeling that he had now every reason for prowling

about the castle, remained near the spot, endeavouring to

evolve some plan of procedure for the project entertained by

the beautiful owner of those weather-scathed walls. But for a

long time the mental perspective of his new position so

excited the emotional side of his nature that he could not

concentrate it on feet and inches. As Paula's architect

(supposing Havill not to be admitted as a competitor), he must

of necessity be in constant communication with her for a space

of two or three years to come; and particularly during the

next few months. She, doubtless, cherished far too ambitious

views of her career to feel any personal interest in this

enforced relationship with him; but he would be at liberty to

feel what he chose: and to be the victim of an unrequited

passion, while afforded such splendid opportunities of

communion with the one beloved, deprived that passion of its

most deplorable features. Accessibility is a great point in

matters of love, and perhaps of the two there is less misery

in loving without return a goddess who is to be seen and

spoken to every day, than in having an affection tenderly

reciprocated by one always hopelessly removed.

With this view of having to spend a considerable time in the

neighbourhood Somerset shifted his quarters that afternoon

from the little inn at Sleeping-Green to a larger one at

Markton. He required more rooms in which to carry out Paula's

instructions than the former place afforded, and a more

central position. Having reached and dined at Markton he

found the evening tedious, and again strolled out in the

direction of the castle.

When he reached it the light was declining, and a solemn

stillness overspread the pile. The great tower was in full

view. That spot of white which looked like a pigeon

fluttering from the loophole was his handkerchief, still

hanging in the place where he had left it. His eyes yet

lingered on the walls when he noticed, with surprise, that the

handkerchief suddenly vanished.

Believing that the breezes, though weak below, might have been

strong enough at that height to blow it into the turret, and

in no hurry to get off the premises, he leisurely climbed up

to find it, ascending by the second staircase, crossing the

roof, and going to the top of the treacherous turret. The

ladder by which he had escaped still stood within it, and

beside the ladder he beheld the dim outline of a woman, in a

meditative attitude, holding his handkerchief in her hand.

Somerset softly withdrew. When he had reached the ground he

looked up. A girlish form was standing at the top of the

tower looking over the parapet upon him--possibly not seeing

him, for it was dark on the lawn. It was either Miss De

Stancy or Paula; one of them had gone there alone for his

handkerchief and had remained awhile, pondering on his escape.

But which? 'If I were not a faint-heart I should run all risk

and wave my hat or kiss my hand to her, whoever she is,' he

thought. But he did not do either.

So he lingered about silently in the shades, and then thought

of strolling to his rooms at Markton. Just at leaving, as he

passed under the inhabited wing, whence one or two lights now

blinked, he heard a piano, and a voice singing 'The Mistletoe

Bough.' The song had probably been suggested to the romantic

fancy of the singer by her visit to the scene of his

captivity.