Thus by tacit consent did the whole question of Peter Masters’ Fortune and the Refusal slip into the background of the lives of those mostly concerned, and only for Christopher did that background colour all the present and alter the perspective of his outlook.

He told Aymer plainly that it was a bitter thought to him to be indebted to Peter Masters for even a share of the Patrimondi success.

“According to Saunderson he must have subsidised the Exhibition people,” he said moodily.

“It was a very excellent advertisement.”

“It meant he had his own way and left me indebted to him when I had refused his help.”

“Good heavens, what a mercy you two were not flung together earlier in life!”

Christopher faced him abruptly.

“Am I so like him then?”

“Absurdly so. Your own way and no one else to interfere.”

Christopher was silent for a while, but presently he said in a low voice, “That’s not quite true, CÆsar, is it? You can interfere as much as you like.”

“I’d be sorry to try.”

Again Christopher was silent, but his face softened. He thought of how the personality and jealous love of this man to whom he owed so much had stood between him and Patricia and how he felt no shadow of resentment at it.

“I think I shall adopt Max when he leaves school,” remarked CÆsar languidly, “he’ll let me manage him in my own way till he is an octogenarian.”

“CÆsar, you have no discrimination at all. Once 353 you wanted to adopt Sam, now Max. Both as pliable as elastic, and as unmalleable.”

“I’ve a great affection for Max.”

“So have I. Is Nevil going to give him to Patrimondi?”

“No, to me.”

“Honestly?”

Aymer nodded. “He’ll have to manage the estate some day, not so far off, either.”

Christopher patted the sofa rug absently.

“When he’s at Cambridge he’ll have to spend the Long Vacation learning from his ancient uncle.”

Christopher gave an involuntary sigh.

“Jealous again?” demanded Aymer quizzically, but he put his hand on Christopher’s and they both smiled.

Patricia and Christopher were married at Christmas, Charlotte having given her consent with the remark, it was better than having a horrid stranger in the family anyway.

They established themselves in a house on the verge of the sea, within easy motor or train distance of Marden and the Patrimondi works. It was a relief to all to find how easily CÆsar appeared to take the new separation, but the quiet peace and unspoken happiness of the united lives seemed to include him in its all-embracing results. There could be no room for jealousy in a love that usurped no rights, but only filled its own place.

The days of doubt which Patricia had feared came and passed in the autumn weeks preceding the marriage, and Christopher had kept his word and held her firmly against the weak terrors that assailed her. Once they were married, however, she seemed to pass out of the shadow of the fear, and to break from the bondage of her race. In some wonderful way her husband’s clear, perpetual vision of her as separate 354 from the tyranny of heredity, did actually free her. She too saw herself free, and in so seeing, the fetters were loosed. If it were a miracle, as little Renata sometimes thought, it was only one in so far as the Love which can inspire such faith and vision is yet but a strange unknown power with us, to which nature seldom rises, and can rarely hold when grasped.

But these two held it, rising with each other’s efforts, sinking with each other’s daily failures; their lives so intricately woven together that they needed no outward semblance of interests or visible companionship to bring the knowledge of their Love to their hearts.

Christopher continued his work, journeying far and wide. Sometimes she accompanied him actually, sometimes she remained in their home on the cliff edge, alone but not solitary, looking with joy for his return, but free from aching need. Quite slowly the Woman learnt to recognise her unseen, unreckoned sway over the Man, to discover how he could only rise to the full height of his manhood by strength of the inspiring love she brought him. She was pressed by an uncomprehending world to fill her leisure hours with many occupations, useful and useless, but she resisted steadily. She took life as it came to her, day by day, wasting no strength, but refusing no task, shirking no responsibility, drinking in every joy, and holding always faithfully in her heart his true image as he had held hers, knowing that when perchance the outward man blurred that image for a moment it was but the outward casing; the inner soul remained true to the likeness in which it was created.

As the months slipped by Christopher saw that his work continued to grow, that the good roads of which he had dreamed stretched far and wide across the country, and he knew he had won for himself a place in the history of men. Moreover, he loved his work. 355

It was a never-ceasing pleasure, and when it ended came the greater, deeper joy of his undivided love. If the aim of man is happiness, he had achieved that end as far as any human being might do so.

Yet all the while a black thread wove itself into the warp of his existence. He tried not to see it, for recognition of it would cancel that white web of life that grew daily beneath his hand. Still it was there, and the white web became uneven and knotted. He was restless, even irritable, the white turned to grey, yet still he resisted the unknown forces that pressed him onward to the dissolution of this present beautiful life. And Patricia herself, with her unbroken faith in his readiness to follow the highest when he saw it, fought with the silent Powers till at length that silence was broken by a cry so imperious that even his dogged will could refuse sight and hearing no longer.