The guests of hercules

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Guests Of Hercules, by C N Williamson and A M Williamson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Guests Of Hercules Author: C N Williamson and A M Williamson Illustrator: M Leone Bracker and Arthur H Buckland Release Date: October 18, 2006 [EBook #19569] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUESTS OF HERCULES *** Produced by Chris Nash, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Books by C N and A M WILLIAMSON Frontispiece Title Page Dedication List of Illustrations I XI XXI XXXI II XII XXII XXXII III XIII XXIII XXXIII IV XIV XXIV XXXIV V XV XXV XXXV VI XVI XXVI XXXVI VII XVII XXVII XXXVII VIII IX X XVIII XIX XX XXVIII XXXVIII XXIX XXXIX XXX The End Transcriber's Notes Books by C N and A M WILLIAMSON THE GOLDEN SILENCE THE MOTOR MAID LORD LOVELAND DISCOVERS AMERICA SET IN SILVER THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR THE PRINCESS PASSES MY FRIEND THE CHAUFFEUR LADY BETTY ACROSS THE WATER ROSEMARY IN SEARCH OF A FATHER THE PRINCESS VIRGINIA THE CAR OF DESTINY THE CHAPERON "Mary was a goddess on a golden pinnacle This was life; the wine of life" "MARY WAS A GODDESS ON A GOLDEN PINNACLE THIS WAS LIFE; THE WINE OF LIFE" THE Guests of Hercules BY C N and A M WILLIAMSON anchor ornament ILLUSTRATED BY M LEONE BRACKER & ARTHUR H BUCKLAND GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1912 Copyright, 1912, by C N & A M WILLIAMSON All rights reserved, including that of translation into Foreign Languages, including the Scandinavian TO THE LORD OF THE GARDEN ILLUSTRATIONS "Mary was a goddess on a golden pinnacle This was life; the wine of life" Frontispiece FACING PAGE Mary Grant 22 "'I can't promise!' she exclaimed 'I've never wanted to marry.'" 286 "'It was Fate brought you—to give you to me Do you regret it?'" 398 I THE GUESTS OF HERCULES Long shadows of late afternoon lay straight and thin across the garden path; shadows of beech trees that ranged themselves in an undeviating line, like an inner wall within the convent wall of brick; and the soaring trees were very old, as old perhaps as the convent itself, whose stone had the same soft tints of faded red and brown as the autumn leaves which sparsely jewelled the beeches' silver A tall girl in the habit of a novice walked the path alone, moving slowly across the stripes of sunlight and shadow which inlaid the gravel with equal bars of black and reddish gold There was a smell of autumn on the windless air, bitter yet sweet; the scent of dying leaves, and fading flowers loth to perish, of roseberries that had usurped the place of roses, of chrysanthemums chilled by frost, of moist earth deprived of sun, and of the green moss-like film overgrowing all the trunks of the old beech trees The novice was saying goodbye to the convent garden, and the long straight path under the wall, where every day for many years she had walked, spring and summer, autumn and winter; days of rain, days of sun, days of boisterous wind, days of white feathery snow—all the days through which she had passed, on her way from childhood to womanhood Best of all, she had loved the garden and her favourite path in spring, when vague hopes like dreams stirred in her blood, when it seemed that she could hear the whisper of the sap in the veins of the trees, and the crisp stir of the buds as they unfolded She wished that she could have been going out of the garden in the brightness and fragrance of spring The young beauty of the world would have been a good omen for the happiness of her new life The sorrowful incense of Nature in decay cast a spell of sadness over her, even of fear, lest after all she were doing a wrong thing, making a mistake which could never be amended The spirit of the past laid a hand upon her heart Ghosts of sweet days gone long ago beckoned her back to the land of vanished hours The garden was the garden of the past; for here, within the high walls draped in flowering creepers and ivy old as history, past, present, and future were all as one, and had been so for many a tranquil generation of calm-faced, dark-veiled women Suddenly a great homesickness fell upon the novice like an iron weight She longed to rush into the house, to fling herself at Reverend Mother's feet, and cry out that she wanted to take back her decision, that she wanted everything to be as it had been before But it was too late to change What was done, was done Deliberately, she had given up her home, and all the kind women who had made the place home for her, from the time when she was a child eight years old until now, when she was twenty-four Sixteen years! It was a lifetime Memories of her child-world before convent days were more like dreams than memories of real things that had befallen her, Mary Grant And yet, on this her last day in the convent, recollections of the first were crystal clear, as they never had been in the years that lay between Her father had brought her a long way, in a train Something dreadful had happened, which had made him stop loving her She could not guess what, for she had done nothing wrong so far as she knew: but a few days before, her nurse, a kind old woman of a comfortable fatness, had put her into a room where her father was and gently shut the door, leaving the two alone together Mary had gone to him expecting a kiss, for he was always kind, though she did not feel that she knew him well—only a little better, perhaps, than the radiant young mother whom she seldom saw for more than five minutes at a time But instead of kissing her as usual, he had turned upon her a look of dislike, almost of horror, which often came to her afterward, in dreams Taking the little girl by the shoulder not ungently, but very coldly, and as if he were in a great hurry to be rid of her, he pushed rather than led her to the door Opening it, he called the nurse, in a sharp, displeased voice "I don't want the child," he said "I can't have her here Don't bring her to me again without being asked." Then the kind, fat old woman had caught Mary in her arms and carried her upstairs, a thing that had not happened for years And in the nursery the good creature had cried over the "poor bairn" a good deal, mumbling strange things which Mary could not understand But a few words had lingered in her memory, something about its being cruel and unjust to visit the sins of others on innocent babies A few days afterward Mary's father, very thin and strange-looking, with hard lines in his handsome brown face, took her with him on a journey, after nurse had kissed her many times with streaming tears At last they had got out of the train into a carriage, and driven a long way At evening they had come to a tall, beautiful gateway, which had carved stone animals on high pillars at either side That was the gate of the Convent of Saint Ursula-of-the-Lake, the gate of Mary's home-tobe: and in a big, bare parlour, with long windows and a polished oak floor that reflected curious white birds and dragons of an escutcheon on the ceiling, Reverend Mother had received them She had taken Mary on her lap; and when, after much talk about school and years to come, the child's father had gone, shadowy, dark-robed women had glided softly into the room They had crowded round the little girl, like children round a new doll, petting and murmuring over her: and she had been given cake and milk, and wonderful preserved fruit, such as she had never tasted Some of those dear women had gone since then, not as she was going, out into an unknown, maybe disappointing, world, but to a place where happiness was certain, according to their faith Mary had not forgotten one of the kind faces— and all those who remained she loved dearly; yet she was leaving them to-day Already it was time She had wished to come out into the garden alone for this last walk, and to wear the habit of her novitiate, though she had voluntarily given up the right to it forever She must go in and dress for the world, as she had not dressed for years which seemed twice their real length She must go in, and bid them all goodbye—Reverend Mother, and the nuns, and novices, and the schoolgirls, of whose number she had once been She stood still, looking toward the far end of the path, her back turned toward the gray face of the convent "Goodbye, dear old sundial, that has told so many of my hours," she said "Goodbye, sweet rose-trees that I planted, and all the others I've loved so long Goodbye, dear laurel bushes, that know my thoughts Goodbye, everything." Her arms hung at her sides, lost in the folds of her veil Slowly tears filled her eyes, but did not fall until a delicate sound of light-running feet on grass made her start, and wink the tears away They rolled down her white cheeks in four bright drops, which she hastily dried with the back of her hand; and no more tears followed When she was sure of herself, she turned and saw a girl running to her from the house, a pretty, brown-haired girl in a blue dress that looked very frivolous and worldly in contrast to Mary's habit But the bushes and the sundial, and the fading flowers that tapestried the ivy on the old wall, were used to such frivolities Generations of schoolgirls, taught and guarded by the Sisters of Saint Ursula-of-the-Lake, had played and whispered secrets along this garden path "Dearest Mary!" exclaimed the girl in blue "I begged them to let me come to you just for a few minutes—a last talk Do you mind?" Mary had wanted to be alone, but suddenly she was glad that, after all, this girl was with her "You call me 'Mary'!" she said "How strange it seems to be Mary again—almost wrong, and—frightening." "But you're not Sister Rose any longer," the girl in blue answered "There's nothing remote about you now You're my dear old chum, just as you used to be And will you please begin to be frivolous by calling me Peter?" Mary smiled, and two round dimples showed themselves in the cheeks still wet with tears She and this girl, four years younger than herself, had begun to love each other dearly in school days, when Mary Grant was nineteen, and Mary Maxwell fifteen They had gone on loving each other dearly till the elder Mary was twenty-one, and the younger seventeen Then Molly Maxwell—who named herself "Peter Pan" because she hated the thought of growing up—had to go back to her home in America and "come out," to please her father, who was by birth a Scotsman, but who had made his money in New York After three gay seasons she had begged to return for six months to school, and see her friend Mary Grant—Sister Rose—before the final vows were taken Also she had wished to see another Mary, who had been almost equally her friend ("the three Maries" they had always been called, or "the Queen's Maries"); but the third of the three Maries had disappeared, and about her going there was a mystery which Reverend Mother did not wish to have broken "Peter," Sister Rose echoed obediently, as the younger girl clasped her arm, making her walk slowly toward the sundial at the far end of the path "It does sound good to hear you call me that again," Molly Maxwell said "You've been so stiff and different since I came back and found you turned into Sister Rose Often I've been sorry I came And now, when I've got three months still to stay, you're going to leave me If only you could have waited, to change your mind!" "If I had waited, I couldn't have changed it at all," Sister Rose reminded her "You know——" "Yes, I know It was the eleventh hour Another week, and you would have taken your vows Oh, I don't mean what I said, dear I'm glad you're going—thankful You hadn't the vocation It would have killed you." "No For here they make it hard for novices on purpose, so that they may know the worst there is to expect, and be sure they're strong enough in body and heart I wasn't fit I feared I wasn't——" "You weren't—that is, your body and heart are fitted for a different life You'll be happy, very happy." "I wonder?" Mary said, in a whisper "Of course you will You'll tell me so when we meet again, out in my world that will be your world, too I wish I were going with you now, and I could, of course Only I had to beg the pater so hard to let me come here, I'd be ashamed to cable him, that I wanted to get away before the six months were up He wouldn't understand how different everything is because I'm going to lose you." "In a way, you would have lost me if—if I'd stayed, and—everything had been as I expected." "I know They've let you be with me more as a novice than you could be as a professed nun Still, you'd have been under the same roof I could have seen you often But I am glad I'm not thinking of myself And we'll meet just as soon as we can, when my time's up here Father's coming back to his dear native Fifeshire to fetch me, and I'll make him take me to you, wherever you are, or else you'll visit me; better still But it seems a long time to wait, for I really did come back here to be a 'parlour boarder,' a heap more to see you than for any other reason And, besides, there's another thing Only I hardly know how to say it, or whether I dare say it at all." Sister Rose looked suddenly anxious, as if she were afraid of something that might follow "What is it?" she asked quickly, almost sharply "You must tell me." "Why, it's nothing to tell—exactly It's only this: I'm worried I'm glad you're not going to be a nun all your life, dear; delighted—enchanted You're given back to me But—I worry because I can't help feeling that I've got something to do with the changing of your mind so suddenly; that if ever you should regret anything— not that you will, but if you should—you might blame me, hate me, perhaps." "I never shall either, whatever happens," the novice said, earnestly and gravely She did not look at her friend as she spoke, though they were so nearly of the same height as they walked, their arms linked together, that they could gaze straight into one another's eyes Instead, she looked up at the sky, through the groined gray ceiling of tree-branches, as if offering a vow And seeing her uplifted profile with its pure features and clear curve of dark lashes, Peter thought how beautiful she was, of a beauty quite unearthly, and perhaps unsuited going at once; but I'm too fond of poor Mary to leave her property at the mercy of the only servant in the house—a horrible woman, who would murder one for a franc She knows about the jewels, and as the Prince won't look after them and Mary isn't able to, I meant to take them back to Mrs Winter." "How good of you! I'll save you the trouble," Peter said Lady Dauntrey looked at her with narrow eyes, Dauntrey standing apart listlessly "I don't know you," Eve objected "You can ask Mr James Schuyler's chauffeur about me," Peter suggested "Or if you won't accept his word, wait a little while, and I'll take you both to Monte Carlo and Mrs Winter's house, where I'm staying." "I really think you had better trust this lady," Dauntrey said He looked at his wife with his sad, tired eyes Eve shrugged her shoulders, and handed Peter the bag "Well, the responsibility is off my hands, anyhow!" she cried "That's one comfort And it's much more convenient for us not to go to Monte Carlo, on other people's business Mary Grant's jewels are nothing to us." "Of course not," Peter agreed, pleasantly "I hope Mary's well?" "Then you'll be disappointed," Eve replied, her eyes very bright "She's far from well My husband, an experienced doctor, has been treated unbearably by the Prince You can bear witness that he leaves his patient only because he was insulted I advise you, if you're fond of Mary Grant, to get in some one else, or it may be too late It's impossible to know what she may have done, but my private opinion is that her love troubles were too much for her, and she took something ——" "Eve!" Dauntrey stopped his wife "Be careful what you say." "Well, it's no longer our affair, since the Prince has taken matters into his own hands, and practically turned out Mary's best friends Good afternoon, Miss Maxwell." They walked off quickly, without looking back, the two tall figures marching shoulder to shoulder in the direction of Latte, the nearest railway station "You oughtn't to have said what you did," Dauntrey reproached Eve "I'm sorry," she replied "That girl nearly drove me mad To think she's got the jewels! Nothing to pay us for it all, except the money from the cheque." "Serves us right," Dauntrey said grimly "I'd thank God we're out of it at any price, if God was likely to be looking after us Better thank the devil." "Don't talk like that," Eve implored him "There's nothing against us, nothing I'm sorry I blurted out that about her taking some stuff, but it can't us any harm You said yourself, nobody could find out what——" "They couldn't prove, but they might suspect God! What hideous days! I never thought the stuff would act on her like that, or I wouldn't have let you persuade me——" "I know you wouldn't," Eve cut him short "It was my fault You thought there was only a slight risk——" "Yes, but it acted differently from the beginning I didn't suppose it would send her to sleep God knows I did everything I knew to wake her up——" "Well, we're out of it all now," Eve soothed him "Remember, they can't prove anything Even if they send after us, and make us come back, they'll have their trouble for their pains We've been clever." "You have!" "Everything's for and nothing against us Perhaps it's as well the fellow came, after all He's given us our excuse to go in a hurry And we've got money—in gold, no notes, thank goodness Only—I shall dream of those jewels at night." "Best to be rid of them, as things have turned out If she'd given them to us, as you hoped, it would have been all right, but——" "No use crying over spilt milk," Eve sighed "Let's walk faster There ought to be a train for Genoa in twenty minutes, if your time-table is right That reminds me, I never posted her letter to the convent, but it doesn't matter now." Mary lay on her back between the pillows, her hair loose around her face, a thick plait of it tossed out over the faded green silk quilt One arm supported her head, the other was hidden by the bed covering The bright light that streamed through the window was an illumination Suddenly it was as if an iron hand seized Vanno's heart and slowly pressed the blood out of it The thought had flashed into his head that she was more than ever before like a gentle and lovely Juliet, but Juliet in the tomb, her white beauty lit by many candles If she were dead—if those people had killed her—— Never had Vanno seen any one sleep so soundly There was no flicker of the eyelids, no quivering of the nostrils, no rising and falling of the breast He laid his hand over her heart, and could not feel it beating, yet he was not sure that it did not beat very faintly There were bounding pulses in his hand as he touched her He could not tell whether it was his own blood that throbbed, or whether hers spoke to his, through living veins Very gently he lifted her head, and laying it down again, higher on the pillow whence it seemed to have slipped, he moved the arm that had supported it Then kneeling beside the bed, he kissed her hand again and again It was very cold, cold as a lily, he thought, yet not so cold as a lily killed by the frost If some one had come to him at that moment and said, "Mary is dead," he would have believed that it was the truth, for she looked as if her eyes had seen the light beyond this world She was not smiling, yet there was a radiance on her face which did not seem to be given by the sunset Rather did the light appear to come from within Yet, because no one said aloud the words that went echoing through his heart, Vanno would not believe that Mary was dead "If I have lost you in this world," he said aloud, as though she could hear him, "I will follow where you are, to tell you that we belong to one another through all eternity, and nothing can part us But you haven't gone You could not leave me so." As he spoke to her, on his knees, her cold hand pressed against his warm throat, he kept his eyes upon her face, hungrily, watching for some sign that her spirit heard him from very far off But there was no change The dark, double line of her lashes did not break Her lips kept their faint, mysterious half-smile Vanno resolved that if she had gone, he too would go, for without her the world was empty and dead It was then that Peter stole to the open door with Apollonia, and looked in Her impulse was to cry out, and run into the room to sob at her friend's feet; but something held her back It was as if she caught a strain of music; and she remembered the air It came from the opera of "Romeo è Giuletta," which she had heard in New York a year ago The music was as reminiscently distinct as if her brain were a gramophone She had seen a tableau like this, of two lovers, while that music played in the theatre; and with tears in her eyes she had thought, "If only Romeo had waited, if he had had faith, he could have called her back again." She did not enter the room, but standing by the door she said softly yet clearly, "Don't let her go Call her spirit Maybe it is near Tell her that you are calling her back to happiness and love I believe she will come to you, because you are her heart and her soul I am going, and I will bring a doctor But you are the only one who can save her now." The girl's voice had no personality for Vanno He did not turn his mind for an instant to Peter It was as if his own thoughts spoke aloud and gave him counsel what to do He rose from his knees, and sitting on the side of the bed gathered Mary up into his arms He held her closely against his breast, her hair twined in his clasping fingers Then he bent his head over the upturned face, and whispered "Darling," he said, "heart of my heart, wherever you are have mercy and come back to me I can't live without you You are my all God will give you to me if you will come You look so happy, but you will be happier with me, for you can't go and leave everything unfinished Best and dearest one, I need you Come back! Come back!" Mary's spirit had crossed the threshold and stood looking out into the unknown, which stretched on and on into endlessness, like a sea of light ringing round the world; and in this sea there was music which seemed to be part of the light She thought that she had been almost engulfed in a terrible storm with waves mountain-high arising over her head in a great darkness, and explosive noises of machinery loud in her ears as when Carleton took her through the water of the harbour in his hydro-aeroplane But the noise had ceased, and the darkness was gone All was light and peace She was conscious that she had struggled and suffered, that she had borne a burden of unhappiness which had been too heavy for her shoulders The burden had fallen off She was no longer unhappy, and though her heart was empty of joy, dimly she seemed to hear an assurance that soon it would be filled to overflowing The promise was in the music that was part of the light, and of the great sea over which she was passed She knew that she was far above it now, and rising higher, as she had risen in the aeroplane when she had felt the wonder after the shrinking But something which had been herself lay under the sea, down in the storm and the darkness she had left behind Then, suddenly, the music was disturbed Through it she listened to a vague undertone of sorrow; and she became aware that some one was suffering as she had suffered, some one whom she had loved—some one whom she would always love Out of the darkness a voice was calling her to come back Indistinct and far away at first, it became clear, insistent, irresistible A faint shiver ran through Mary's body, and Vanno's heart leaped against her breast, as if he sent his life to warm her heart "Come back to me, if you loved me!" he called her Very slowly she opened her eyes, dazzled still with the light she had seen through the open door "Mary, come back and save me!" he cried to her out of the darkness "I am coming," she whispered, not sure if she was answering in a dream to a voice in a dream But the light of the wondrous sea was dimmed to the light of an earthly sunset Through it Vanno's eyes called to her as his voice had called— those eyes which had been her stars of love—and she forgot the brighter light, just seen and lost "You!" she said "It's like—heaven——" "It is heaven—now," he answered, as he held her closely When Mary was well again, the curé married her to her Prince, and the two went together into the desert that Vanno loved There it did not matter to them that Angelo was thinking coldly and harshly of them both; and perhaps there was even an added sweetness in Mary's happiness because a sacrifice of hers could spare pain to one very near to Vanno She would not let her husband say that he could not forgive his brother "But if our love is to be perfect, we must forgive Angelo, and poor Marie too," she told him Late in the summer (they had left Egypt long ago, and were in the high mountains of Algeria), one day a letter came to Vanno, forwarded on from place after place, where it had missed him Angelo had written at last "Perhaps you may have seen," he said, "in some paper, that in giving me a little daughter my wife died She left a letter to be handed me after her death, if a presentiment she had were fulfilled If she had lived, I would have forgiven her Will you and Mary forgive me?" There was no question as to what their answer would be "When two people love each other as we do," Vanno said, "I see now that there can be no room for any bitterness in their hearts." THE END Country Life Press emblem THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N Y Endpapers - a view of Monte Carlo TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES Page numbers and line numbers in tables of contents and in these notes refer to the original printed version Minor punctuation errors and incorrect accented characters in the original have been silently corrected Some words are ambiguously hyphenated in the original, for example compare "birdlike" (page 40) with "bird-like" (page 383) These have been left as in the original version The following words appear to be typographical errors in the original and have been corrected in this text: Page 32, line 24, "Authur" (Arthur) Page 56, line 8, "playng" (playing) Page 73, line 2, "red" (read) Page 80, line 15, "expecially" (especially) Page 109, line 29, "Austrain" (Austrian) Page 155, line 20, "roulettle" (roulette) Page 224, line 8, "susperstition" (superstition) Page 225, line 9, "chesnuts" (chestnuts) Page 242, line 5, "nonenities" (nonentities) Page 307, line 17, "figuers" (figures) Page 364, line 5, "to" (To) Page 383, line 11, "pebblé" (pebble) Page 432, line 5, "craemy" (creamy) Page 475, line 10, "oblingingly" (obligingly) Page 488, line 7, "che" (chez) End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Guests Of Hercules, by C N Williamson and A M Williamson *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GUESTS OF HERCULES *** ***** This file should be named 19569-h.htm or 19569-h.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/5/6/19569/ Produced by Chris Nash, Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Updated editions will replace the previous one the old editions will be renamed Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties Special rules, set 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For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S unless a copyright notice is included Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: http://www.gutenberg.org This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks ... the whisper of the sap in the veins of the trees, and the crisp stir of the buds as they unfolded She wished that she could have been going out of the garden in the brightness and fragrance of spring... were doing a wrong thing, making a mistake which could never be amended The spirit of the past laid a hand upon her heart Ghosts of sweet days gone long ago beckoned her back to the land of vanished hours The garden was the garden of the past; for here, within the high walls draped in flowering creepers and ivy... the bag; and with her heart beating as if this decision had changed the whole face of the world, Mary hurried after the stout brown figure, and joined the end of the procession as it poured from the wagon lit on to the platform V Mary followed the other people who had left the train