Stephen Archer, and Other Tales Part 22

_Col. G._ He says he saw her come out of the house.

_Ger. Has_ there been any girl here? Have you seen any about?

_Col. G._ No, sir.

_Ger._ My aunt had a dressmaker to meet her here the other evening. I have had no model since I came back.

_Col. G._ The man was in a sad taking about her, sir. I didn't know what to make of it. There seemed some truth--something suspicious.

_Ger._ Perhaps my aunt can throw some light upon it. (COL. G.

_lingers_.) That will do. (_Exit_ COL. G.) How oddly the man behaves!

A sun-stroke in India, perhaps. Or he may have had a knock on the head. I must keep my eye on him. (_Stops working, steps backward, and gazes at the Psyche_.) She is growing very like some one! Who can it be? She knows she is puzzling me, the beauty! See how she is keeping back a smile! She knows if she lets one smile out, her whole face will follow it through the clay. How strange the half-lights of memory are!

You know and you don't know--both at once. Like a bat in the twilight you are sure of it, and the same moment it is nowhere. Who _is_ my Psyche like?--The forehead above the eyebrow, and round by the temple?

The half-playful, half-sorrowful curve of the lip? The hope in the lifted eyelid? There is more there than ever I put there. Some power has been shaping my ends. By heaven, I have it!--No--yes--it is--it is Constance--momently dawning out of the clay! What _does_ this mean?

_She_ never gave me a sitting--at least, she has not done so for the last ten years--yet here she is--she, and no other! I never thought she was beautiful. When she came with my aunt the other day though, I did fancy I saw a new soul dawning through the lovely face. Here it is--the same soul breaking through the clay of my Psyche!--I will give just one touch to the corner of the mouth.

_Gives a few touches, then steps back again and contemplates the figure. Turns away and walks up and down. The light darkens to slow plaintive music, which lasts for a minute. Then the morning begins to dawn, gleaming blue upon the statues and casts, and revealing_ GER. _seated before his Psyche, gazing at her. He rises, and exit.

Enter_ COL. G. _and looks about_.

_Col. G._ I don't know what to make of it! Or rather I'm afraid I do know what to make of it! It looks bad. He's not been in bed all night.

But it shows he has some conscience left--and that's a comfort.

_Enter_ Mrs. CLIFFORD, _peeping round cautiously_.

_Col. G._ What, Clara! you here so early!

_Mrs. C._ Well, you know, brother, you're so fond of mystery!

_Col. G._ It's very kind of you to come! But we must be very careful; I can't tell when my master may be home.

_Mrs. C._ Has he been out all night, then?

_Col. G._ Oh no; he's just gone.

_Mrs. C._ I never knew him such an early bird. I made sure he was safe in bed for a couple of hours yet. But I do trust, Walter, you have had enough of this fooling, and are prepared to act like a rational man and a gentleman.

_Col. G._ On the contrary, Clara, with my usual obstinacy, I am more determined than ever that my boy shall not know me, until, as I told you, I have rendered him such service as may prove me not altogether unworthy to be his father. Twenty years of neglect will be hard to surmount.

_Mrs. C._ But mere menial service cannot discharge the least portion of your obligations. As his father alone can you really serve him.

_Col. G._ You persist in misunderstanding me. This is not the service I mean. I scorn the fancy. This is only the means, as I told you plainly before, of finding out _how_ I may serve him--of learning what he really needs--or most desires. If I fail in discovering how to recommend myself to him, I shall go back to India, and content myself with leaving him a tolerable fortune.

_Mrs. C._ How ever a hair-brained fellow like you, Walter, could have made such a soldier!--Why don't you tell your boy you love him, and have done with it?

_Col. G._ I will, as soon as I have proof to back the a.s.sertion.

_Mrs. C._ I tell you it is rank pride.

_Col. G._ It may be pride, sister; but it is the pride of a repentant thief who puts off his confession until he has the money in his hand to prove the genuineness of his sorrow.

_Mrs. C._ It never _was_ of any use to argue with _you_, Walter; you know that, or at least I know it. So I give up.--I trust you have got over your prejudice against his profession. It is not my fault.

_Col. G._ In truth, I had forgotten the profession--as you call it--in watching the professor.

_Mrs. C._ And has it not once occurred to you to ask how he may take such watching?

_Col. G._ By the time he is aware of it, he will be ready to understand it.

_Mrs. C._ But suppose he should discover you before you have thus established your position?

_Col. G._ I must run the risk.

_Mrs. C._ Suppose then you should thus find out something he would not have you know?

_Col. G._ (_hurriedly_). Do you imagine his servant might know a thing he would hide from his father?

_Mrs. C._ I do not, Walter. I can trust him. But he might well resent the espionage of even his father. You cannot get rid of the vile look of the thing.

_Col. G._ Again I say, my boy shall be my judge, and my love shall be my plea. In any case I shall have to ask his forgiveness. But there is his key in the lock! Run into the house.

_Exit_ MRS. C. _Enter_ GER., _and goes straight to the Psyche_.

_Col. G._ Breakfast is waiting, sir.

_Ger._ By and by, William.

_Col. G._ You haven't been in bed, sir!

_Ger._ Well? What of that?

_Col. G._ I hope you're not ill, sir.

_Ger._ Not in the least: I work all night sometimes.--You can go.

(COL. G. _lingers, with a searching gaze at the Psyche_.)--I don't want anything.

_Col. G._ Pardon me, sir, but I am sure you are ill. You've done no work since last night.

_Ger._ (_with displeasure_). I am quite well, and wish to be alone.

_Col. G._ Mayn't I go and fetch a doctor, sir? It is better to take things in time.

_Ger._ You are troublesome. (_Exit_ COL. G.)--What can the fellow mean? He looked at me so strangely too! He's officious--that's all, I dare say. A good sort of man, I do think! William!--What is it in the man's face?--(_Enter_ Col G.) Is the breakfast ready?

_Col. G._ Quite ready, sir.

_Ger._ I'm sorry I spoke to you so hastily. The fact is--

_Col. G._ Don't mention it, sir. Speak as you will to me; I shan't mind it. When there's anything on a man's conscience--I--I--I mean on a man's mind--