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Updated: May 31, 2025
This was Bedient's third trip to New York in the half-year preceding. He had not seen Beth, but there had been letters between them of late, important letters, big with reality and understanding. She had been in Europe since July, but had promised to be home for the holidays. Vina's last letter told him that Beth would be at their affair of greeting to-night.
Just now, Bedient caught the waving hand of David Cairns in the small crowd below. Fifteen minutes later they were in a cab together.... Beth had returned to New York. This was the answer to Bedient's first question. "Are you going to stay with us this time, Andrew?" Cairns asked, raptly studying his friend. "Yes. Several weeks at least." "At the Club?" "No.
All was forgotten save that moment of parting; all the old intimacies had dropped from mind, banished by the sunlit god she had met this day.... Bedient's defect would be quite as intrinsic as the Other's if he went to Wordling now.
Moreover, Bedient's arm had been pressed for an instant by the softest, plumpest hand seaman ever carried. Coughing alarmingly in the first fragrant cloud from his Latakia and Virginia leaf, the Captain beat forth to recover himself on deck. The Truxton was now six days out of Manila.
"You made it rather hard for me to have a talk with you, my friend," he said. The place was terrible with strain.... There had been a moment, as the Spaniard's hand crept to his pocket, in which Miss Mallory was powerless with fear, but she could not scream. It was as if Bedient's eyes had held her, too. She watched the pistol now.
She craned her head forward from the wheel to peer into the cabin. Bedient's face was like death. He did not even have a pistol in his hand, but there was a look in his eyes she had never seen in any eyes before, and he was smiling. The disturbance on deck, Bedient's face and command, had held Rey and Framtree, but the former's hand now reached toward his hip.
Bedient's sense of loneliness became pervasive. Apparently he was outside the range of consciousness for better or worse with the country to which he had always hoped to give his best years. His ideals of the literary art were founded upon large flexible lines of beauty into which every dimension of life fell according to the reader's vision.
"You know what I think of your work, but I believe the Sailor-man could give you that inspiration " "Perhaps I can get it through you and David Cairns," remarked Beth, who was beginning to see, and with no little amazement, that to Vina the inspiration was spiritual, impersonal. This made Bedient's influence all the more exciting. "Oh, he'll come to you, right enough.
This was the only verb that conveyed Bedient's feelings for them; and he found that they literally swarmed through Hindu simile in its expressions of song and story and faith. Northward, he made his leisure way almost to the borders of Kashmir, before he found his place of abode Preshbend, a little town of many Sikhs, which clung like a babe to the sloping hip of a mountain.
Bedient's eager friendliness for this woman was one of the most interesting things he had encountered in New York, a sort of fellowship which no one else had evoked. The Grey One had felt something of this, but had learned to expect so little, that she had not allowed herself to think about it. Only she had felt suddenly easier, perceiving the comprehension in his glance.
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