Роберт Чамберс - Who Goes There!

"The era of physical vastness, of spheres of influence, of scope is dying. The supreme wickedness of the world is Force. That must end for nations and for men. Only one conflict remains inevitable and eternal; the battle of minds, which can have no end."

For an American and an operator in real estate, Darrel's philosophy was harmlessly respectable if not very new. But he thought it both new and original, which pleased him intensely.

As for Karen, she had been thinking of Guild for the last few minutes. Her sewing lay in her lap, her dark, curly head rested in the depths of her arm–chair. Sunlight had almost faded on the wall.

Through the window she could see the trees. The golden–green depths of the beech–wood were growing dusky. Against the terrace masses of salvia and geraniums glowed like coals on fire. The brown–eyed girl had been away with him a long while.

Mrs. Courland came in, looking more youthful and pretty than ever, and seated herself with her knitting. The very last ray from the sinking sun fell on her ruddy hair.

"Think you are right, Harry," she said quietly to Darrel. "I think we will sail when you do. The men on the place are becoming very much excited over this Uhlan raid on the cattle. I could hear them from my bedroom window out by the winter fold, and they were talking loudly as well as recklessly."

"There's no telling what these forest people may do," admitted Darrel. "I am immensely relieved to know that you and Valentine are to sail when I do. As for Kervyn Guild—" he made a hopeless gesture—"his mind is made up and that always settles it with him."

"He won't return with you?"

"No. He's joining the Belgians."

"Really!"

"Yes. You see his people were Belgian some generations back. It's a matter of honour with him and argument is wasted. But it hits me pretty hard."

"I can understand. He is a most delightful man."

"He is as straight and square as he is delightful. His mother is charming; his younger brother is everything you'd expect him to be after knowing Kervyn. Theirs is a very united family, but, do you know I am as certain as I am of anything that his mother absolutely approves of what he is about to do. She is that sort. It may kill her, but she'll die smiling."

Mrs. Courland's serious, sweet eyes rested on him, solemn with sympathy for the mother she had never met.

"The horrid thing about it all," continued Darrel, "is that Kervyn is one man in a million;—and in a more terrible sense that is all he can be in this frightful and endless slaughter which they no longer even pretend to call one battle or many.

"He's a drop in an ocean, only another cipher in the trenches where hell's hail rains day and night, day and night, beating out lives without distinction, without the intelligence of choice—just raining, raining, and beating out life!…I can scarcely endure the thought of Kervyn ending that way—such a man—my friend―"

His voice seemed hoarse and he got up abruptly and walked to the window.

Ashes of roses lingered in the west; the forest was calm; not a leaf stirred in the lilac–tinted dusk.

Karen, who had been listening, stirred in the depths of her chair and clasped her fingers over her sewing.

Mrs. Courland said quietly:

"It is pleasant for any woman to have known such a man as Mr. Guild."

"Yes," said Karen.

"If the charm of his personality so impresses us who have known him only a very little while, I am thinking what those who are near and dear to him must feel."

"I, too," said Karen, faintly.

"Yet she loves him best who would not have it otherwise it seems."

"Yes; he must go," said Karen. "Some could not have it—otherwise."

A man came to light the lamps. And a little while after they were lighted Mrs. Courland quietly looked up from her knitting. One swift, clear glance she gave; saw in the young girl's eyes what she had already divined must be there. Then bent again above her ivory needles. After a while she sighed, very lightly.

"They're late," remarked Darrel from the window.

"They are probably strolling up the drive; Valentine knows enough not to get lost," said her mother.

After a few moments Karen said: "Would my playing disturb you?"

"No, dear. Please!"

So Karen rose and walked to the piano. Presently Darrel turned and seated himself to listen to the deathless sanity of Beethoven flowing from the keys under a young girl's slender fingers.

She was still seated there when Valentine came in, and turned her head from the keyboard, stilling the soft chords.

"We had such a good time," said Valentine. "We caught half a dozen trout, and then I took him to the Pulpit where we sat down and remained very quiet; and just at sunset three boar came out to feed on the oak mast; and he said that one of them was worth shooting!"

"You evidently have had a good time," said Darrel, smiling. "What happened to Guild. Did the boar tree him ?"

"I think he'd be more likely to tree the boar," remarked the girl. And to her mother she said: "He went on toward the winter fold to talk to Michaud who has just returned from Trois Fontaines. There were a lot of men there, ours and a number of strangers. So I left him to talk to Michaud. What have you all been doing this afternoon?" turning to Karen, and from her, involuntarily to Darrel.

"Miss Girard and I have conversed philosophically and satisfactorily concerning everything on earth," he said. "I wish my conversations with you were half as satisfactory."

Valentine laughed, but there was a slight flush on her cheeks, and again she glanced at Karen, whose lovely profile only was visible where she bent in silence above the keyboard.

"Your mother," remarked Darrel, "has decided to sail with me. Would you condescend to join us, Valentine?"

"Mother, are you really going back when Harry sails?"

"Yes. I don't quite like the attitude of the men here. And Harry thinks there is very likely to be trouble between them and the Germans across the border."

The girl looked thoughtfully at her mother, then at Darrel, rather anxiously.

"Mother," she said, "I think it is a good idea to get Harry out of the country. He is very bad–tempered, and if the Germans come here and are impudent to us he'll certainly get himself shot!"

"I! I haven't the courage of a caterpillar!" protested Darrel.

"You're the worst fibber in the Ardennes! You did kill that grey boar this morning! What do you mean by telling us that you went up a tree! Maxl, the garde–de–chasse at the Silverwiltz gate, heard your shot and came up. And you told him to dress the boar and send a cart for it. Which he did!—you senseless prevaricator!"

"Oh, my!" said Darrel meekly.

"And you're wearing a bandage below your knee where the boar bit you when you gave him the coup–de–grâce! Maxl washed and bound it for you! What a liar you are, Harry! Does it hurt?"

"To be a liar?"

"No! where you were tusked?"

"Maxl was stringing you, fair maid," he said lightly.

"He wasn't! You walk lame!"

"Laziness and gout account for that débutante slouch of mine. But of course if you care to hold my hand―"

The girl looked at him, vexed, yet laughing:

"I don't want people who do not know you to think you really are the dub you pretend to be! Do you wish Miss Girard to believe it?"

"Truth is mighty and must―"

"I know more about you than you think I do, Harry. Mr. Guild portrayed for me a few instances of your 'mouse'–like courage. And I don't wish you to lose your temper and be shot if the Uhlans ride into Lesse and insult us all! Therefore I approve of our sailing for home. And the sooner the better!"

"You frighten me," he said; "I think I'll ask Jean to pack my things now." And he got up, limping, and started for the door.