CHAPTER X
GODFREY BECOMES A HERO
The truth is that Godfrey was no true sportsman, really he did notenjoy exterminating other and kindred life to promote his ownamusement. Like most young men, he was delighted if he made a goodshot; moreover, he had some aptitude for shooting, but unlike mostyoung men, to him afterwards came reflections. Who gave him the rightto kill creatures as sentient, and much more beautiful in their waythen himself, just because it was "great fun"? Of course, he wasfamiliar with the common answer, that day by day his body was nourishedupon the flesh of other animals destroyed for that purpose. But thenthis was a matter of necessity, so arranged by a law, that personally,he thought dreadful, but over which he had no manner of control. It waspart of the hellish system of a world built upon the foundation stoneof death.
Nature told him that he must live, and that to live, not being avegetarian, which for most of us is difficult in a cold climate, hemust kill, or allow others to kill for him. But to his fancy, perhapsmeticulous, between such needful slaughter and that carried out for hisown amusement, and not really for the purposes of obtaining food, thereseemed to be a great gulf fixed. To get food he would have killedanything, and indeed, often did in later days, as he would and alsooften did in after days, have destroyed noxious animals, such as tigers.
But to inflict death merely to show his own skill or to gratify man'sinnate passion for hunting, which descends to him from a more primitiveperiod, well, that was another matter. It is true, that he was notlogical, since always he remained an ardent fisherman, partly becausehe had convinced himself from various observations, that fish feel verylittle, and partly for the reason that there is high authority forfishing, although, be it admitted, with a single exception, always inconnection with the obtaining of needful food.
In these conclusions Godfrey was strengthened by two circumstances;first, his reading, especially of Buddhistic literature, that enjoinsthem so strongly, and in which he found a great deal to admire, andsecondly, by the entire concurrence of the Pasteur Boiset, whom headmired even more than he did Buddhistic literature.
"I am delighted, my young friend," said the Pasteur, beaming at himthrough the blue spectacles, "to find someone who agrees with me.Personally, although you might not believe it, I love the chase withardour; when I was young I have shot as many astwenty-five--no--twenty-seven blackbirds and thrushes in one day, tosay nothing of thirty-one larks, and some other small game. Also, onceI wounded a chamois, which a bold hunter with me killed. It was aglorious moment. But now, for the reasons that you mention, I havegiven up all this sport, which formerly to me was so great anexcitement and relaxation. Yet I admit that I still fish. Only lastyear I caught a large hatful of perch and dace, of which I persuadedMadame to cook some that Juliette would not eat and gave to the cat.Once, too, there was a big trout in the Lake Lucerne. He broke my line,but, my boy, we will go to fish for that trout. No doubt he is stillthere, for though I was then young, these fishy creatures live for manyyears, and to catch him would be a glory."
After Godfrey had given up his fox-shooting, not because in itself is aterrible crime, like fishing for salmon with herring roe, but forreasons which most of his countrymen would consider effeminate andabsurd, he took to making expeditions, still in company with Juliette,for Madame stretched Continental conventions in his case, in search ofcertain rare flowers which grew upon the lower slopes of these Alps. Inconnection with one of these flowers an incident occurred, ratherabsurd in itself, but which was not without effect upon his fortunes.
The search for a certain floral treasure was long and arduous.
"If only I could find that lovely white bloom," exclaimed Juliette inexasperation at the close of a weary hour of climbing, "why, I wouldkiss it."
"So would I," said Godfrey, mopping himself with a pocket handkerchief,for the sun was hot, "and with pleasure."
"Hidden flower," invoked Juliette with appropriate heroic gestures,"white, secret, maiden flower, hear us! Discover thyself, O shrinkingflower, and thou shalt be kissed by the one that first finds thee."
"I don't know that the flower would care for that," remarked Godfrey,as they renewed their quest.
At length behind a jutting mass of rock, in a miniature valley, notmore than a few yards wide that was backed by other rocks, this flowerwas found. Godfrey and Juliette, passing round either side of theblack, projecting mass to the opening of the toy vale beyond,discovered it simultaneously. There it stood, one lovely, lily-likebloom growing alone, virginal, perfect. With a cry of delight theysprang at it, and plucked it from its root, both of them grasping thetall stem.
"I saw it first, and I will kiss it!" cried Juliette, "in token ofpossession."
"No," said Godfrey, "I did, and I will. I want that flower for mycollection."
"So do I, for mine," answered Juliette.
Then they both tried to set this seal of possession upon that lilybloom, with the strange result that their young lips met through itsfragile substance and with so much energy that it was crushed andruined.
"Oh!" said Godfrey with a start, "look what you have done to theflower."
"I! I, wicked one! Well, for the matter of that, look what you havedone to my lips. They feel quite bruised."
Then first she laughed, and next looked as though she were going to cry.
"Don't be sad," said Godfrey remorsefully. "No doubt we shall findanother, now that we know where they are."
"Perhaps," she answered, "but it is always the first that oneremembers, and it is finished," and she threw down the stalk andstamped on it.
Just then they heard a sound of laughter, and looking up, to theirhorror perceived that they were not alone. For there, seated uponstones at the end of the tiny valley, in composed and comfortableattitudes, which suggested that they had not arrived that moment, weretwo gentlemen, who appeared to be highly amused.
Godfrey knew them at once, although he had not seen them since theprevious autumn. They were Brother Josiah Smith, the spiritualist, andProfessor Petersen, the investigating Dane, whom he used to meet at theseances in the Villa Ogilvy.
"I guess, young Brother Knight," said the former, his eyes sparklingwith sarcastic merriment, "that there is no paint on you. When you finda flower, you know how to turn it to the best possible use."
"The substance of flowers is fragile, especially if of the lily tribe,and impedes nothing," remarked the learned Dane in considered tones,though what he meant Godfrey did not understand at the moment. Onconsideration he understood well enough.
"Our mutual friend, Madame Riennes, who is absent in Italy, will begreatly amused when she hears of this episode," said Brother Smith."She is indeed a remarkable woman, for only this morning I received aletter in which she informed me that very soon I should meet you, youngman, under peculiar circumstances, how peculiar she did not add. Well,I congratulate you and the young lady. I assure you, you made quite apretty picture with nothing but that flower between you, though, Iadmit, it was rough on the flower. If I remember right you are fond ofthe classics, as I am, and will recall to mind a Greek poet namedTheocritus. I think, had he been wandering here in the Alps to-day, hewould have liked to write one of his idylls about you two and thatflower."
"Because of the interruption give pardon, for it is owed an apology,"said the solemn Professor, adding, "I think it must have been theemanation of Madame Riennes herself which led us to this place, wherewe did not at all mean to come, for she is very anxious to know how youprogress and what you are doing."
"Yes, young friend," broke in Brother Smith, not without a touch ofmalice, for like the rest he was resentful of Godfrey's desertion oftheir "circle," "and now we shall be able to tell her."
"Say then," said Juliette, "who are these gentlemen, and of what dothey talk?"
"They--are--friends of mine," Godfrey began to explain with awkwardhesitation, but she cut him short with:
"I like not your friends. They make a mock of me, and I will neverforgive you."
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bsp; "But Juliette, I----" he began, and got no further, for she turned andran away. Anxious to explain, he ran after her, pursued by the loudhilarity of the intruding pair. In vain, for Juliette was singularlyswift of foot, and he might as well have pursued Atalanta.
She reached the Maison Blanche, which fortunately was empty, a clearten yards ahead of him, and shut herself in her room, whence, declaringthat she had a headache, she did not emerge till the following morning.
Godfrey departed to the observatory where he often worked in summer,feeling very sore and full of reflections. He had not really meant tokiss Juliette, at least he thought not, and it was unthinkable that shemeant to kiss him, since, so far as he was aware, no young woman everwanted to do such a thing, being, every one of them, doubtless, asunapproachable and frigid as the topmost, snowy peak of the Alps. (Suchwas, and always remained his attitude, where the other sex wasconcerned, one not without inconvenience in a practical world ofdisillusions.) No, it was that confounded flower which brought aboutthis pure accident--as though Nature, which designs such accidents, hadnot always a flower, or something equally serviceable, up her sleeve.
Moreover, had it not been for that accursed pair, sent, doubtless, tospy on him by Madame Riennes, the accident would never have mattered;at least not much. He could have apologized suitably to Juliette, thatis, if she wanted an apology, which she showed no signs of doing untilshe saw the two men. Indeed, at the moment, he thought that she seemedrather amused.
He thought of searching out Brother Smith and Professor Petersen, andexplaining to them exactly what had happened in full detail, and shouldthey still continue their ribald jests, of punching their heads, whichas a manly young fellow, he was quite capable of doing. Reflectionshowed him, however, that this course might not be wise, since suchadventures are apt to end in the police-court, where the flower, andits fruit, would obtain undue publicity. No, he must leave the businessalone, and trust that Juliette would be merciful. Supposing that shewere to tell Madame that he had tried to kiss her, though probably shewould _not_ mention that he had actually succeeded!
The mere idea made him feel cold down the back. He felt sure thatMadame would believe the worst of him; to judge from theirconversations, ladies, good as they all were, invariably did seem tobelieve the worst in such affairs. Should he throw himself upon themercy of the Pasteur? Again, no. It would be so hard to make himcomprehend. Also, if he did, he might suggest that the altar was theonly possible expiation. And--and, oh! he must confess it, she was verynice and sweet, but he did _not_ wish to marry Juliette and live withher all his life.
No, there was but one thing to be done: keep the burden of his secretlocked in his own breast, though, unfortunately, it was locked as wellin those of Juliette and of two uninvited observers, and probably wouldsoon also be locked in the capacious bosom of Madame Riennes. For therest, towards Juliette in the future, he would observe an attitude ofstrictest propriety; never more should she have occasion to complain ofhis conduct, which henceforth would be immaculate. Alas! how easy it isfor the most innocent to be misjudged, and apparently, not withoutreason.
This reflection brought something to Godfrey's mind which had escapedit in his first disturbance, also connected with a flower. There camebefore him the vision of a London square, and of a tall, pale girl, inan antique dress, giving a rose to a man in knight's armour, which roseboth of them kissed simultaneously. Of course, when he saw it he hadruled out the rose and only thought of the kisses, although, now thathe came to think of it, a rose is of a much thicker texture than alily. As he had witnessed that little scene, and drawn his ownconclusions, so others had witnessed another little scene thatafternoon, and made therefrom deductions which, in his innocent soul,he knew to be totally false. Suppose, then, that _his_ deductions werealso false. Oh! it was not possible. Besides, a barrier built of roseleaves was not sufficient, which again, with perfect justice, heremembered was exactly what Brother Smith and Professor Petersen hadthought of one composed of lily petals.
There for the time the matter ended. Juliette reappeared on the morrowquite cured of her headache, and as gay and charming as ever. Possiblyshe had confided in her mamma, who had told her that after all thingswere not so terrible, even if they _had_ been seen.
At any rate, the equilibrium was restored. Godfrey acted on his solemnresolutions of haughtiness and detachment for quite an hour, afterwhich Juliette threw a kitten at him and asked what was the matter, andthen sang him one of her pretty _chansonettes_ to the accompaniment ofa guitar with three strings, which closed the incident. Still therewere no more flower hunts and no new adventures. Tacitly, butcompletely, everything of the sort was dropped out of theirrelationship. They remained excellent friends, on affectionate termsindeed, but that was all.
Meanwhile, owing to his doubts arising out of a singular coincidenceconcerned with flowers and kisses, Godfrey gradually made up his mindto write to Isobel. Indeed, he had half composed the epistle when atthe end of one of his brief letters his father informed him that shehad gone to Mexico with her uncle. So it came about that it was neverposted, since it is a kind of superstition with young people thatletters can only be delivered at the place where the addressee lastresided. It rarely occurs to them that these may be forwarded, andultimately arrive. Nor, indeed, did it occur to Godfrey that asIsobel's uncle was the British Minister to a certain country, anenvelope addressed to her in his care in that country probably wouldhave reached her.
She was gone and there was an end; it was of no use to think more ofthe matter. Still, he was sorry, because in that same letter his fatherhad alluded casually to the death of Lady Jane, which had caused Hawk'sHall to be shut up for a while, and he would have liked to condole withIsobel on her loss. He knew that she loved her mother dearly, and ofthis gentle lady he himself had very affectionate remembrances, sinceshe had always been most kind to him. Yet for the reasons stated, henever did so.