they, because they have foreigncorrespondents. That must be a great expense!"
Sylvia felt she could not endure this any longer. It was like having araw wound stroked. . . .
"Mother, you don't understand," she said. "You don't appreciate what ishappening. In a day or two England will be at war with Germany."
Mrs. Falbe's book had slipped from her knee. She picked it up andflapped the cover once or twice to get rid of dust that might havesettled there.
"But what then?" she said. "It is very dreadful, no doubt, to thinkof dear Hermann being with the German army, but we are getting used tothat, are we not? Besides, he told me it was his duty to go. I do notthink for a moment that France will be able to stand against Germany.Germany will be in Paris in no time, and I daresay Hermann's next letterwill be to say that he has been walking down the boulevards. Of coursewar is very dreadful, I know that. And then Germany will be at war withRussia, too, but she will have Austria to help her. And as for Germanybeing at war with England, that does not make me nervous. Think of ourfleet, and how safe we feel with that! I see that we have twice as manyboats as the Germans. With two to one we must win, and they won't beable to send any of their armies here. I feel quite comfortable againnow that I have talked it over."
Sylvia caught Michael's eye for a moment over the tea-urn. She felt heacquiesced in what she was intending to say.
"That is good, then," she said. "I am glad you feel comfortable aboutit, mother dear. Now, will you read your book out here? Why not, if Ifetch you a shawl in case you feel cold?"
Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and theunclouded sky.
"I don't think I shall even want a shawl, dear," she said. "Listen, howthe newsboys are calling! is it something fresh, do you think?"
A moment's listening attention was sufficient to make it known thatthe news shouted outside was concerned only with the result of a countycricket match, and Michael, as well as Sylvia, was conscious of acertain relief to know that at the immediate present there was no freshclang of the bell that was beating out the seconds of peace that stillremained. Just for now, for this hour on Saturday afternoon, there wasa respite: no new link was forged in the intolerable sequence ofevents. But, even as he drew breath in that knowledge, there camethe counter-stroke in the sense that those whose business it was todisseminate the news that would cause their papers to sell, had just acricket match to advertise their wares. Now, when the country andwhen Europe were on the brink of a bloodier war than all the annals ofhistory contained, they, who presumably knew what the public desiredto be informed on, thought that the news which would sell best was thatconcerned with wooden bats and leather balls, and strong young menin flannels. Michael had heard with a sort of tender incredulity Mrs.Falbe's optimistic reflections, and had been more than content to lether rest secure in them; but was the country, the heart of England, likeher? Did it care more for cricket matches, as she for her book, than forthe maintenance of the nation's honour, whatever that championship mightcost? . . . And the cry went on past the garden-walk. "Fine innings byHorsfield! Result of the Oval match!"
And yet he had just had his tea as usual, and eaten a slice of cake, andwas now smoking a cigarette. It was natural to do that, not to make afuss and refuse food and drink, and it was natural that people shouldstill be interested in cricket. And at the moment his attitude towardsMrs. Falbe changed. Instead of pity and irritation at her normality, hewas suddenly taken with a sense of gratitude to her. It was restful tosuspense and jangled nerves to see someone who went on as usual. The sunshone, the leaves of the plane-trees did not wither, Mrs. Falbe readher book, the evening paper was full of cricket news. . . . And then thereaction from that seized him again. Supposing all the nation was likethat. Supposing nobody cared. . . . And the tension of suspense strainedmore tightly than ever.
For the next forty-eight hours, while day and night the telegraph wiresof Europe tingled with momentous questions and grave replies, whileMinisters and Ambassadors met and parted and met again, rumoursflew this way and that like flocks of wild-fowl driven backwards andforwards, settling for a moment with a stir and splash, and then withrush of wings speeding back and on again. A huge coal strike in thenorthern counties, fostered and financed by German gold, was supposed tobe imminent, and this would put out of the country's power the abilityto interfere. The Irish Home Rule party, under the same suasion, wassaid to have refused to call a truce. A letter had been received inhigh quarters from the German Emperor avowing his fixed determination topreserve peace, and this was honey to Lord Ashbridge. Then in turn eachof these was contradicted. All thought of the coal strike in this crisisof national affairs was abandoned; the Irish party, as well as theConservatives, were of one mind in backing up the Government, no matterwhat postponement of questions that were vital a month ago, theircohesion entailed; the Emperor had written no letter at all. But throughthe nebulous mists of hearsay, there fell solid the first drops of theimminent storm. Even before Michael had left Sylvia that afternoon,Germany had declared war on Russia, on Sunday Belgium received a Notefrom Berlin definitely stating that should their Government not grantthe passage to the German battalions, a way should be forced for them.On Monday, finally, Germany declared war on France also.
The country held its breath in suspense at what the decision of theGovernment, which should be announced that afternoon, should be. Onefact only was publicly known, and that was that the English fleet, onlylately dismissed from its manoeuvres and naval review, had vanished.There were guard ships, old cruisers and what not, at certain ports,torpedo-boats roamed the horizons of Deal and Portsmouth, but the greatfleet, the swift forts of sea-power, had gone, disappearing no one knewwhere, into the fine weather haze that brooded over the midsummer sea.There perhaps was an indication of what the decision would be, yet therewas no certainty. At home there was official silence, and from abroad,apart from the three vital facts, came but the quacking of rumour,report after report, each contradicting the other.
Then suddenly came certainty, a rainbow set in the intolerable cloud. OnMonday afternoon, when the House of Commons met, all parties were knownto have sunk their private differences and to be agreed on one pointthat should take precedence of all other questions. Germany should not,with England's consent, violate the neutrality of Belgium. As far asEngland was concerned, all negotiations were at an end, diplomacy hadsaid its last word, and Germany was given twenty-four hours in which toreply. Should a satisfactory answer not be forthcoming, England woulduphold the neutrality she with others had sworn to respect by forceof arms. And at that one immense sigh of relief went up from the wholecountry. Whatever now might happen, in whatever horrors of long-drawnand bloody war the nation might be involved, the nightmare of possibleneutrality, of England's repudiating the debt of honour, was removed.The one thing worse than war need no longer be dreaded, and for themoment the future, hideous and heart-rending though it would surely be,smiled like a land of promise.
Michael woke on the morning of Tuesday, the fourth of August, with thefeeling of something having suddenly roused him, and in a few seconds heknew that this was so, for the telephone bell in the room next door sentout another summons. He got straight out of bed and went to it, with ahundred vague shadows of expectation crossing his mind. Then he learnedthat his mother was gravely ill, and that he was wanted at once. And inless than half an hour he was on his way, driving swiftly through theserene warmth of the early morning to the private asylum where she hadbeen removed after her sudden homicidal outburst in March.
CHAPTER XIV
Michael was sitting that same afternoon by his mother's bedside. Hehad learned the little there was to be told him on his arrival in themorning; how that half an hour before he had been summoned, she had hadan attack of heart failure, and since then, after recovering from theacute and immediate danger, she had lain there all day with closed eyesin a state of but semi-conscious exhaustion. Once or twice only, andthat but for a moment she had shown signs of increasing vitality, and
then sank back into this stupor again. But in those rare short intervalsshe had opened her eyes, and had seemed to see and recognise him, andMichael thought that once she had smiled at him. But at present she hadspoken no word. All the morning Lord Ashbridge had waited there too, butsince there was no change he had gone away, saying that he would returnagain later, and asking to be telephoned for if his wife regainedconsciousness. So, but for the nurse and the occasional visits of thedoctor, Michael was alone with his mother.
In this long period of inactive waiting, when there was nothing to bedone, Michael did not seem to himself to be feeling very vividly, andbut for one desire, namely, that before the end his mother would comeback to him, even if only for a moment, his mind felt drugged andstupefied. Sometimes for a little it would sluggishly turn over thoughtsabout his father, wondering with a sort of