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Updated: June 25, 2025
It was the first time that he had ever referred, in Hadria's presence, to the tragedy of the Priory. "I have often wished to speak to you about my wife," he said slowly, as they sat down on the old seat, on the terrace. "I have felt that you would understand the whole sad story, and I hoped that some day you would know it."
Hadria's rebellious memory recalled the fact of human cruelty and wickedness to set against the goodness, but she was silent. "What earthly business has such a thing as goodness or pity to appear in a fortuitous, mindless, soulless universe? Where does it come from? What is its origin? Whence sprang the laws that gave it birth?"
Temperley, who was by this time surrounded by a group of acquaintances, among them Madame Bertaux, who had just come from Paris, and had news of all Hadria's friends there. "Mrs. Temperley, may I also ask for one passing glance of recognition?" Hadria turned round with a little start, and a sudden unaccountable sense of disaster. "Professor Theobald!"
The soul of the light, with its vital vibrating quality, seemed to die, and then slowly the glow faded, till every sparkle was gone, and the amphitheatre of the sky lay cold, and dusk, and empty. It was not till the last gleam had melted away that a word was spoken. "It is like a prophecy," said Hadria. "To-morrow the dawn, remember." Hadria's thoughts ran on in the silence. The dawn?
At Craddock Dene, ladies usually listened with a more or less breathless deference when Temperley spoke. This new-comer seemed recklessly independent. Mrs. Temperley endeavoured to lead the conversation in ways of peace, but Valeria was evidently on the war-path. Temperley was polite and ironical, with under-meanings for Hadria's benefit.
Here he stood, bending over the seat, and though he was usually prudent, he did not even assure himself that no one was in sight, before drawing Hadria's head gently back, and stooping to kiss her on the cheek, while he imprisoned a hand in each of his. She flushed, and looked hastily down the avenue. "I wonder what our fate would be, if anyone had been there?" she said, with a little shudder.
Fenwick, won't you give us a song!" cried Madame Bertaux. "I see you have been kind enough to bring your guitar." Marion was enthroned upon the picnic-basket, with much pomp, and her guitar placed in her hand by Claude Moreton. Her figure, in her white gown and large straw hat, had for background the shadows of thick woods. Professor Theobald sank down on the grass at Hadria's side.
Hadria's music was the only sound that had disturbed its silence, since the day when the dead body of its mistress was found in the drawing-room, which she was supposed to have entered unknown to anyone, by the window that gave on to the terrace. Valeria Du Prel was able to throw more light on the strange story.
Hannah, evidently nourishing a sense of injury against the natives for their eccentric jargon, and against the universe for the rush and discomfort of the last quarter of an hour, was disposed to express her feelings by a marked lack of relish for her food. She regarded Hadria's hearty appetite with a disdainful expression. Martha ate bread and butter and fruit.
The visitor was charmed with the quiet old rooms, especially with Hadria's bedroom in the tower, whose windows were so deep-set that they had to be approached through a little tunnel cut out of the thickness of the wall. The windows looked on to the orchard at the back, and in front over the hills.
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