CHAPTER IX
The day was still young in Lathom Woods. A wood-cutter engaged incutting coppice on the wood's eastern skirts, hearing deep muffledsounds from "Tom" clock-tower, borne to him from Oxford on the lighteasterly breeze, stopped to count the strokes.
Ten o'clock.
He straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and wasimmediately aware of certain other sounds approaching from the wooditself. Horses--at a walk. No doubt the same gentleman and lady who hadpassed him an hour earlier, going in a contrary direction.
He watched them as they passed him again, repeating his reflection thatthey were a "fine-lookin' couple"--no doubt sweethearts. What elseshould bring a young man and a young woman riding in Lathom Woods atthat time in the morning? "Never seed 'em doin' it before, anyways."
Connie threw the old man a gracious "Good morning!"--to which heguardedly responded, looking full at her, as he stood leaning onhis axe.
"I wonder what the old fellow is thinking about us!" she said lightly,when they had moved forward. Then she flushed, conscious that the remarkhad been ill-advised.
Falloden, who was sitting erect and rather sombre, his reins lyingloosely on his horse's neck, said slowly--
"He is probably thinking all sorts of foolish things, which aren't true.I wish they were."
Connie's eyes were shining with a suppressed excitement.
"He supposes at any rate we have had a good time, and in fact--wehaven't. Is that what you mean?"
"If you like to put it so."
"And we haven't had a good time, because--unfortunately--we'vequarrelled!"
"I should describe it differently. There are certain proofs and tests offriendship that any friend may ask for. But when they are all refused--"
"Friendship itself is strained!" laughed Constance, looking round at hercompanion. She was breathing quickly. "In other words, we have beenquarrelling--about Radowitz--and there seems no way of making it up."
"You have only to promise me the very little thing I asked," saidFalloden stiffly.
"That I shouldn't dance with him to-night, or again this week? You callthat a little thing?"
"I should have thought it a small thing, compared--"
He turned and faced her. His dark eyes were full of proud agitation--ofthings unspoken. But she met them undaunted.
"Compared to--friendship?"
He was silent, but his eyes held her.
"Well then"--said Constance--"let me repeat that--in my opinion,friendship which asks unreasonable things--is not friendship--buttyranny!"
She drew herself up passionately, and gave a smart touch with her whipto the mare's flank, who bounded forward, and had to be checked byFalloden's hand on her bridle.
"Don't get run away with, while you are denouncing me!" he said,smiling, as they pulled up.
"I really didn't want any help!" said Constance, panting. "I could havestopped her quite easily."
"I doubt it. She is really not the lamb you think her!"
"Nor is her mistress: I return the remark."
"Which has no point. Because only a mad-man--"
"Could have dreamed of comparing me--to anything soft and docile?"laughed Constance.
There was another silence. Before them at the end of a long green vistathe gate opening on the main road could be seen.
Constance broke it. "Wounded pride, and stubborn will were hot withinher.
"Well, it is a great pity we should have been sparring like this. Ican't remember who began it. But now I suppose I may do what I like withthe dances I promised you?"
"I keep no one to their word who means to break it," said Fallodencoldly.
Constance grew suddenly white.
"That"--she said quietly--"was unpardonable!"
"It was. I retract it."
"No. You have said it--which means that you could think it. That decidesit."
They rode on in silence. As they neared the gate, Constance, whose faceshowed agitation and distress, said abruptly--
"Of course I know I must seem very ungrateful--"
A sound, half bitter, half scornful from Falloden stopped her. She threwher head back defiantly.
"All the same I could be grateful enough, in my own way, if you wouldlet me. But what you don't understand is that men can't lord it overwomen now as they used to do. You say--you"--she stammered alittle--"you love me. I don't know yet--what I feel. I feel manydifferent things. But I know this: A man who forbids me to do this andthat--to talk to this person--or dance with some one else--a man whodoes not trust and believe in me--if I were ever so much in love withhim, I would not marry him! I should feel myself a coward and a slave!"
"One is always told"--said Falloden hoarsely--"that love makes it easyto grant even the most difficult things. And I have begged themerest trifle."
"'Begged'?" said Constance, raising her eyebrows. "You issued a decree.I am not to dance with Radowitz--and I am not to see so much of Mr.Sorell--if I am to keep your--friendship. I demurred. You repeatedit--as though you were responsible for what I do, and had a right tocommand me. Well, that does not suit me. I am perfectly free, and I havegiven you no right to arrange my life for me. So now let us understandeach other."
Falloden shrugged his shoulders.
"You have indeed made it perfectly plain!"
"I meant to," said Constance vehemently.
But they could not keep their eyes from each other. Both were pale. Inboth the impulse to throw away pride and hold out a hand of yielding wasall but strong enough to end their quarrel. Both suffered, and if thetruth were told, both were standing much deeper than before in themidstream of passion.
But neither spoke another word--till the gate was reached.
Falloden opened it, and backed his horse out of Connie's way. In theroad outside, at a little distance, the groom was waiting.
"Good-bye," said Falloden, with ceremonious politeness. "I wish I hadnot spoilt your ride. Please do not give up riding in the woods, becauseyou might be burdened with my company. I shall never intrude upon you.All the woodmen and keepers have been informed that you have fullpermission. The family will be all away till the autumn. But the woodmenwill look after you, and give you no trouble."
"Thank you!" said Constance, lightly, staying the mare for a moment."But surely some of the rides will be wanted directly for the pheasants?Anyway I think I shall try the other side of Oxford. They say Bagley isdelightful. Good-bye!"
She passed through, made a signal to Joseph, and was soon trotting fasttowards Oxford.
* * * * *
On that return ride, Constance could not conceal from herself that shewas unhappy. Her lips quivered, her eyes had much ado to keep back theonset of tears--now that there was no Falloden to see her, or provokeher. How brightly their ride had begun!--how miserably it had ended! Shethought of that first exhilaration; the early sun upon the wood; thedewy scents of moss and tree; Falloden's face of greeting--"How can youlook so fresh! You can't have slept more than four hours--and here youare! Wonderful! 'Did ever Dian so become a grove'--"
An ominous quotation, if she had only remembered at the time where itcame from! For really his ways were those of a modern Petruchio--waysthat no girl of any decent spirit could endure.
Yet how frank and charming had been his talk as they rode into thewood!--talk of his immediate plans, which he seemed to lay at her feet,asking for her sympathy and counsel; of his father and his two sisters;of the Hoopers even. About them, his new tone was no doubt a triflepatronising, but still, quite tolerable. Ewen Hooper, he vowed, was "amagnificent scholar," and it was too bad that Oxford had found nothingbetter for him than "a scrubby readership." But "some day, of course,he'll have the regius professorship." Nora was "a plucky littlething--though she hates me!" And he, Falloden, was not so sure after allthat Miss Alice would not land her Pryce. "Can't we bring it about?"
And Falloden ran, laughing, through a catalogue of his own smart orpowerful relations, specul
ating what could be done. It was true, wasn'tit, that Pryce was anxious to turn his back on Oxford and the highermathematics, and to try his luck in journalism, or politics? Well,Falloden happened to know that an attractive post in the ConservativeCentral Office would soon be vacant; an uncle of his was a veryimportant person on the Council; that and other wires might be pulled.Constance, eagerly, began to count up her own opportunities of the samekind; and between them, they had soon--in imagination--captured thepost. Then, said Falloden, it would be for Constance to clinch thematter. No man could do such a thing decently. Pryce would have to betold--"'The world's your oyster--but before you open it, you will kindlygo and propose to my cousin!--which of course you ought to have donemonths ago!'"
And so laughing and plotting like a couple of children they had gonerambling through the green rides and glades of the wood, occasionallyputting their horses to the gallop, that the pulse of life might runstill faster.
But a later topic of conversation had brought them into even closercontact. Connie spoke of her proposed visit to her aunts. Falloden,radiant, could not conceal his delight.
"You will be only five miles from us. Of course you must come and stayat Flood! My mother writes they have collected a jolly party for the12th. I will tell her to write to you at once. You must come! You must!Will you promise?"
And Constance, wondering at her own docility, had practically promised."I want you to know my people--I want you to know my father!" And as heplunged again into talk about his father, the egotistical man of fashiondisappeared; she seemed at last to have reached something sincere andsoft, and true.
And then--what had begun the jarring? Was it--first--her account of herGreek lessons with Sorell? Before she knew what had happened, the browbeside her had clouded, the voice had changed. Why did she see so muchof Sorell? He, like Radowitz, was a _poseur_--a wind-bag. That was whatmade the attraction between them. If she wished to learn Greek--
"Let me teach you!" And he had bent forward, with his most brilliant andimperious look, his hand upon her reins.
But Constance, surprised and ruffled, had protested that Sorell had beenher mother's dear friend, and was now her own. She could not and wouldnot give up her lessons. Why indeed should she?
"Because friends"--Falloden had laid a passionate emphasis on theword--"must have some regard--surely--to each other's likes anddislikes. If you have an enemy, tell me--he or she shall bemine--instantly! Sorell dislikes me. You will never hear any good of mefrom him. And, of course, Radowitz hates me. I have given him goodcause. Promise--at least--that you will not dance with Radowitz again.You don't know what I suffered last night. He has the antics ofa monkey!"
Whereupon the quarrel between them had broken like thunder, Constancedenouncing the arrogance and unkindness that could ask such promises ofher; Falloden steadily, and with increasing bitterness, pressinghis demand.
And so to the last scene between them, at the gate.
Was it a breach?--or would it all be made up that very night at theMagdalen ball?
No!--it was and should be a breach! Constance fought back her tears, androde proudly home.
* * * * *
"What are you going to wear to-night?" said Nora, putting her head in atConstance's door. Constance was lying down by Annette's strict command,in preparation for her second ball, which was being given by Magdalen,where the college was reported to have surpassed itself in thelavishness of all the preparations made for lighting up its beautifulwalks and quadrangles.
Constance pointed languidly to the sofa, where a creation in white silkand tulle, just arrived from London, had been laid out by thereverential hands of Annette.
"Why on earth does one go to balls?" said Constance, gloomily pressingboth hands upon a pair of aching temples.
Nora shut the door behind her, and came to the side of the bed.
"It's time to dress," she said firmly. "Alice says you had a _succesfou_ last night."
"Go away, and don't talk nonsense!" Constance turned on her side, andshut her eyes.
"Oh, Alice hadn't a bad time either!" said Nora, complacently, sittingon the bed. "Herbert Pryce seems to have behaved quite decently. Shall Itell you something?" The laughing girl stooped over Connie, and said inher ear--"Now that Herbert knows it would be no good proposing to you,he thinks it might be a useful thing to have you for a relation."
"Don't be horrid!" said Constance. "If I were Alice--"
"You'd punch my head?" Nora laughed. "All very well. But Alice doesn'tmuch care why Herbert Pryce marries her, so long as he does marry her."
Constance did not reply. She continued to feign a headache. But all thetime she was thinking of the scene in the wood that morning, when sheand Falloden had--to amuse themselves--plotted the rise in life, and thematrimonial happiness, of Herbert and Alice. How little they had caredfor what they talked about! They talked only that they might laughtogether--hear each other's voices, look into each other's eyes--
"Where did you ride this morning?" said Nora suddenly.
"Somewhere out towards Godstowe," said Constance vaguely.
"I saw Mr. Falloden riding down the High this morning, when I was onthe way to the Bodleian. He just looks splendid on horseback--I mustgive him that. Why doesn't he ride with you sometimes, as he choseyour horse?"
"I understand the whole of Oxford would have a fit if a girl went outriding with an undergraduate," said Constance, her voice muffled in thepillow. Then, after a moment she sprang up, and began to brush her hair.
"Mr. Falloden's not an undergraduate now. He can do what he likes," saidNora.
Constance made no reply. Nora observed her with a pair of shrewd browneyes.
"There are two bouquets for you downstairs," she said abruptly.
Constance turned round startled, almost hidden by the thick veil of herbrown hair.
"Who's sent them?"
"One comes from Mr. Radowitz--a beauty. The other's from Lord Meyrick.Isn't he a jolly boy?"
Constance turned back to the dressing-table, disappointed. She had halfexpected another name. And yet she would have felt insulted if Fallodenhad dared to send her flowers that evening, without a word ofapology--of regret for their happy hour, spoilt by his absurd demands.
"Well, I can't carry them both; and one will be offended."
"Oh, you must take Radowitz's!" cried Nora. "Just to show that you standby him. Mr. Sorell says everybody likes him in college--except Mr.Falloden's horrid set, who think themselves the lords of creation. Theysay that Otto Radowitz made such an amusing speech last week in thecollege debating society attacking 'the bloods.' Of course they didn'thear it, because they have their own club, and turn up their nose at thecollege society. But it's going to be printed somewhere, and then it'llmake them still more furious with him. They'll certainly pay him outsome time."
"All right," said Constance, who had suddenly recovered colour andvivacity. "I'll take Mr. Radowitz's bouquet."
"Then, of course, Lord Meyrick will feel snubbed. Serve him right! Heshouldn't be so absurdly fond of Mr. Falloden!"
Nora was quite aware that she might be provoking Constance. She did itwith her eyes open. Her curiosity and concern after what Alice had toldher of the preceding night's ball were becoming hard to conceal. WouldConnie really engage herself to that horrid man?
But no rise could be got out of Constance. She said nothing. Annetteappeared, and the important business of hair-dressing went forward.Nora, however, had yet another fly to throw.
"Alice passed Mr. Falloden on the river this afternoon--he was with theMansons, and another lady, an awfully pretty person. Mr. Falloden wasteaching her to row. Nobody knew who she was. But she and he seemedgreat friends. Alice saw them also walking about together at Iffley,while the others were having tea."
"Indeed?" said Constance. "Annette, I think I'll wear my black afterall--the black tulle, and my pearls."
Annette unwillingly hung up the "creation."
"You'd have look
ed a dream in it, my lady. Why ever won't you wear it?"
But Constance was obstinate. And very soon she stood robed in clouds ofblack tulle and jet, from which her delicate neck and arms, and hergolden-brown head stood out with brilliant effect. Nora, still sittingon the bed, admired her hugely. "She'll look like that when she'smarried," she thought, by which she meant that the black had added acertain proud--even a sombre--stateliness to Connie's good looks.
"Now my pearls, Annette."
"Won't you have some flowers, my lady?"
"No. Not one. Only my pearls."
Annette brought them, from the locked dressing-case under her own bedwhere she jealously kept them. They were famous pearls and many of them.One string was presently wound in and out through the coils of hair thatcrowned the girl's delicate head; the other string coiled twice roundher neck and hung loose over the black dress. They were her onlyornament of any kind, but they were superb.
Connie looked at herself uneasily in the glass.
"I suppose I oughtn't to wear them," she said doubtfully.
"Why?" said Nora, staring with all her eyes. "They're lovely!"
"I suppose girls oughtn't to wear such things. I--I never have wornthem, since--mamma's death."
"They belonged to her?"
"Of course. And to papa's mother. She bought them in Rome. It was saidthey belonged to Marie Antoinette. Papa always believed they were lootedat the sack of the Tuileries in the Revolution."
Nora sat stupefied. How strange that a girl like Connie should possesssuch things!--and others, nothing!
"Are they worth a great deal of money?"
"Oh, yes, thousands," said Connie, still looking at herself, in mingledvanity and discomfort. "That's why I oughtn't to wear them. But I shallwear them!" She straightened her tall figure imperiously. "After allthey were mamma's. I didn't give them myself."
* * * * *
Popular as the Marmion ball had been, the Magdalen ball on the followingnight was really the event of the week. The beauty of its cloisteredquadrangle, its river walks, its President's garden, could not berivalled elsewhere; and Magdalen men were both rich and lavish, so thatthe illuminations easily surpassed the more frugal efforts of othercolleges. The midsummer weather still held out, and for all the youngcreatures, plain and pretty, in their best dancing frocks, whom theirbrothers and cousins and friends were entertaining, this particular ballstruck the top note of the week's romance.
"Who is that girl in black!" said his partner to Douglas Falloden, asthey paused to take breath after the first round of waltzing. "And--goodheavens, what pearls! Oh, they must be sham. Who is she?"
Falloden looked round, while fanning his partner. But there was no needto look. From the moment she entered the room, he had been aware ofevery movement of the girl in black.
"I suppose you mean Lady Constance Bledlow."
The lady beside him raised her eyebrows in excited surprise.
"Then they're not sham! But how ridiculous that an unmarried girl shouldwear them! Yes they are--the Risborough pearls! I saw them once, beforeI married, on Lady Risborough, at a gorgeous party at the PalazzoFarnese. Well, I hope that girl's got a trustworthy maid!"
"I dare say Lady Constance values them most because they belonged to hermother!" said Falloden drily.
The lady sitting beside him laughed, and tapped him on the arm.
"Sentimentalist! Don't you know that girls nowadays--babes in theschoolroom--know the value of everything? Who is she staying with?"
Falloden briefly explained and tried to change the subject. But Mrs.Glendower could not be persuaded to leave it. She was one of thereigning beauties of the moment, well acquainted with the Fallodenfamily, and accustomed since his Eton days to lay violent hands onDouglas whenever they met. She and her husband had lately agreed to liveapart, and she was now pursuing amusement wherever it was to be had. Acertain Magdalen athlete was at the moment her particular friend, andshe had brought down a sister to keep her in countenance. She had nointention, indeed, of making scandal, and Douglas Falloden was aconvenient string to her bow.
Falloden was quite aware of the situation. But it suited him to dancewith Mrs. Glendower, and to dance with her a great deal. He andConstance exchanged greetings; he went through the form of asking her todance, knowing very well that she would refuse him; and then, for therest of the evening, when he was not dancing with Mrs. Glendower, he wasstanding about, "giving himself airs," as Alice repeated to her mother,and keeping a sombre watch on Constance.
"My dear--what has happened to Connie!" said Mrs. Hooper to Alice inbewilderment. Lord Meyrick had just good-naturedly taken Aunt Ellen intosupper, brought her back to the ballroom, and bowed himself off,bursting with conscious virtue, and saying to himself that ConstanceBledlow must now give him at least two more dances.
Mrs. Hooper had found Alice sitting solitary, and rather drooping.Nobody had offered her supper; Herbert Pryce was not at the ball; herother friends had not showed her any particular attention, and herprettiness had dribbled away, like a bright colour washed out by rain.Her mother could not bear to see her--and then to look at Connie acrossthe room, surrounded by all those silly young men, and wearing theastonishing jewels that were the talk of the ball, and had only beenrevealed to Mrs. Hooper's bewildered gaze, when the girl threw off herwraps in the cloak-room.
Alice answered her mother's question with an irritable shake of thehead, meant to indicate that Connie was nothing to her.
Whereupon Mrs. Hooper settled herself carefully in the chair which shemeant to keep for the rest of the evening, smoothing the bright folds ofthe new dress over her knee. She was much pleased with the new dress;and, of course, it would be paid for some time. But she was almostforgetting it in the excitement of Connie's behaviour.
"She has never danced once with Mr. Falloden!" she whispered in Alice'sear. "It has been all Mr. Radowitz. And the talk!" She threw up herhands maliciously.
"It's the way they dance--that makes people talk!" said Alice. "As forMr. Falloden--perhaps she's found out what a horrid creature he is."
The band struck up. It was a mazurka with a swinging tune. Radowitzopposite sprang to his feet, with a boyish gesture of delight.
"Come!" he said to Constance; and they took the floor. Supper hadthinned the hall, and the dancers who stood in the doorways and alongthe walls involuntarily paused to watch the pair. Falloden and Mrs.Glendower had just returned from supper. They too stood among thespectators.
The dance they watched was the very embodiment of youth, and youth'sdelight in itself. Constance knew, besides, that Falloden was lookingon, and the knowledge gave a deeper colour to her cheek, a touch ofwildness to her perfect grace of limb and movement. Radowitz danced thePolish dance with a number of steps and gestures unknown to an Englishballroom, as he had learnt them in his childhood from a Polishdancing-mistress; Constance, with the instinct of her foreign training,adapted herself to him, and the result was enchanting. The slim girl inblack, and the handsome youth, his golden hair standing up straight, _enbrosse_, round his open brow and laughing eyes, seemed, as dancers, madefor each other. They were absorbed in the poetry of concerted movement,the rhythm of lilting sound.
"Mountebank!" said Falloden to Meyrick, contemptuously, as the couplepassed.
Radowitz saw his enemy, and though he could not hear what was said, wassure that it was something insulting. He drew himself up, and as hepassed on with Constance he flung a look of mingled triumph and defianceat the group of "bloods" standing together, at Falloden in particular.Falloden had not danced once with her, had not been allowed once totouch her white hand. It was he, Radowitz, who had carried her off--whomshe had chosen--whom she had honoured. The boy's heart swelled with joyand pride; the artist in him, of another race than ours, realising andsharpening the situation, beyond the English measure.
And, afterwards, he danced with her again--many times. Moreover with himand an escort of his friends--for in general the young Pole
with hismusical gift and his romantic temperament was popular inOxford--Constance made the round of the illuminated river-walks and thegleaming cloisters, moving like a goddess among the bevy of youths whohung upon her smiles. The intoxication of it banished thought andsilenced regret.
But it was plain to all the world, no less than to Mrs. Hooper, thatFalloden of Marmion, who had seemed to be in possession of her the nightbefore, had been brusquely banished from her side; that Oxford'scharming newcomer had put her supposed suitor to open contumely; andthat young Radowitz reigned in his stead.
* * * * *
Radowitz walked home in a whirl of sensations and recollections thatmade of the Oxford streets an "insubstantial fairy place," where onlyConstance lived.
He entered Marmion about four o'clock in a pearly light of dawn.Impossible to go to bed or to sleep!
He would change his clothes, go out for a bathe, and walk up into theCumnor hills.
In the quadrangle he passed a group of men in evening dress returnedlike himself from the ball. They were talking loudly, and readingsomething which was being passed from hand to hand. As he approached,there was a sudden dead silence. But in his abstraction and excitementhe noticed nothing.
When he had vanished within the doorway of his staircase, Meyrick, whohad had a great deal too much champagne, said fiercely--
"I vote we give that young beggar a lesson! I still owe him one for thatbusiness of a month ago."
"When he very nearly settled you, Jim," laughed a Wykehamist, apowerfully built fellow, who had just got his Blue for the Eleven, hadbeen supping freely and was in a mood for any riotous deed.
"That was nothing," said Meyrick--"but this can't be stood!"
And he pointed to the sheet that Falloden, who was standing in thecentre of the group, was at the moment reading. It was the latest numberof an Oxford magazine, one of those _ephemerides_ which are born, andflutter, and vanish with each Oxford generation. It contained a verbatimreport of the attack on the Marmion "bloods" made by Radowitz at thedinner of the college debating society about a fortnight earlier. It waswitty and damaging in the highest degree, and each man as he read it hadvowed vengeance. Falloden had been especially mocked in it. Some pompoustricks of manner peculiar to Falloden in his insolent moods, had beenworked into a pseudo-scientific examination of the qualities proper toa "blood," with the happiest effect. Falloden grew white as he read it.Perhaps on the morrow it would be in Constance Bledlow's hands. Thegalling memories of the evening just over were burning too in his veins.That open humiliation in the sight of Oxford had been her answer to hisprayer--his appeal. Had she not given him a right to make the appeal?What girl could give two such rendezvous to a man, and not admit someright on his part to advise, to influence her? It was monstrous sheshould have turned upon him so!
And as for this puppy!--
A sudden gust of passion, of hot and murderous wrath, different fromanything he had ever felt before, blew fiercely through the man's soul.He wanted to crush--to punish--to humiliate. For a moment he saw red.Then he heard Meyrick say excitedly: "This is our last chance! Let'scool his head for him--in Neptune."
Neptune was the Graeco-Roman fountain in the inner quad, which a formerwarden had presented to the college. The sea god with his trident,surrounded by a group of rather dilapidated nymphs, presided over abroad basin, filled with running water and a multitude of goldfish.
There was a shout of laughing assent, and a rush across the grass toRadowitz's staircase. College was nearly empty; the Senior Tutor hadgone to Switzerland that morning; and those few inmates who stillremained, tired out with the ball of the night before, were fast asleep.The night porter, having let everybody in and closed the gate, wasdozing in his lodge.
There was a short silence in the quadrangle. Then the rioters who hadbeen for a few minutes swallowed up in a distant staircase on thewestern side of the quadrangle reemerged, with muffled shouts andlaughter, bringing their prey with them--a pale, excited figure.
"Let me alone, you cowardly bullies!--ten of you against one!"
But they hurried him along, Radowitz fighting all the way, and too proudto call for help. The intention of his captors--of all save one--wasmere rowdy mischief. To duck the offender and his immaculate whiteflannels in Neptune, and then scatter to their beds before any one couldrecognise or report them, was all they meant to do.
But when they reached the fountain, Radowitz, whose passion gave himconsiderable physical strength, disengaged himself, by a sudden effort,from his two keepers, and leaping into the basin of the fountain, hewrenched a rickety leaden shell from the hand of one of Neptune'sattendant nymphs and began to fling the water in the faces of histormentors. Falloden was quickly drenched, and Meyrick and othersmomentarily blinded by the sudden deluge in their eyes. Robertson, theWinchester Blue, was heavily struck. In a wild rage he jumped into thefountain and closed with Radowitz. The Pole had no chance against him,and after a short struggle, Radowitz fell heavily, catching in his fallat a piece of rusty piping, part of some disused machinery ofthe fountain.
There was a cry. In a moment it sobered the excited group of men.Falloden, who had acted as leader throughout, called peremptorily toRobertson. "Is he hurt? Let him up at once."
Robertson in dismay stooped over the prostrate form of Radowitz, andcarried him to the edge of the fountain. There it was seen that the ladhad fainted, and that blood was streaming from his right hand.
"He's cut it on that beastly piping--it's all jagged," gasped Robertson."I say, can anybody stop the bleeding?"
One Desmond, an Etonian who had seen one or two football accidents,knelt down, deadly pale, by Radowitz and rendered a rough first-aid. Bya tourniquet of handkerchiefs he succeeded in checking the bleeding. Butit was evident that an artery was injured.
"Go for a doctor," said Falloden to Meyrick, pointing to the lodge."Tell the porter that somebody's been hurt in a lark. You'll probablyfind a cab outside. We'll carry him up."
In a few minutes they had laid the blood-stained and unconsciousRadowitz on his bed, and were trying in hideous anxiety to bring himround. The moment when he first opened his eyes was one of unspeakablerelief to the men who in every phase of terror and remorse were gatheredround him. But the eyelids soon fell again.
"You'd better go, you fellows," said Falloden, looking round him."Robertson and I and Desmond will see the doctor."
The others stole away. And the three men kept their vigil. Thebroad-shouldered Wykehamist, utterly unnerved, sat by the bed tremblingfrom head to foot. Desmond kept watch over the tourniquet.
Falloden stood a little apart, in a dead silence, his eyes wanderingoccasionally from the figure on the bed to the open window, throughwhich could be seen the summer sky, and a mounting sun, just touchingthe college roofs. The college clock struck half past four. Not twohours since Radowitz and Constance Bledlow had held the eyes of Oxfordin the Magdalen ballroom.