It was not left to Cecilia alone to remark how very white Mr. Stone looked in these days.
The wild force which every year visits the world, driving with its soft violence snowy clouds and their dark shadows, breaking through all crusts and sheaths, covering the earth in a fierce embrace; the wild force which turns form to form, and with its million leapings, swift as the flight of swallows and the arrow-darts of the rain, hurries everything on to sweet mingling--this great, wild force of universal life, so-called the Spring, had come to Mr. Stone, like new wine to some old bottle. And Hilary, to whom it had come, too, watching him every morning setting forth with a rough towel across his arm, wondered whether the old man would not this time leave his spirit swimming in the chill waters of the Serpentine--so near that spirit seemed to breaking through its fragile shell.
Four days had gone by since the interview at which he had sent away the little model, and life in his household--that quiet backwater choked with lilies--seemed to have resumed the tranquillity enjoyed before this intrusion of rude life. The paper whiteness of Mr. Stone was the only patent evidence that anything disturbing had occurred--that and certain feelings about which the strictest silence was preserved.
On the morning of the fifth day, seeing the old man stumble on the level flagstones of the garden, Hilary finished dressing hastily, and followed. He overtook him walking forward feebly beneath the candelabra of flowering chestnut-trees, with a hail-shower striking white on his high shoulders; and, placing himself alongside, without greeting--for forms were all one to Mr. Stone--he said:
"Surely you don't mean to bathe during a hail storm, sir! Make an exception this once. You're not looking quite yourself."Mr. Stone shook his head; then, evidently following out a thought which Hilary had interrupted, he remarked:
"The sentiment that men call honour is of doubtful value. I have not as yet succeeded in relating it to universal brotherhood.""How is that, sir?"
"In so far," said Mr. Stone, "as it consists in fidelity to principle, one might assume it worthy of conjunction. The difficulty arises when we consider the nature of the principle .... There is a family of young thrushes in the garden. If one of them finds a worm, I notice that his devotion to that principle of self-preservation which prevails in all low forms of life forbids his sharing it with any of the other little thrushes."Mr. Stone had fixed his eyes on distance.
"So it is, I fear," he said, "with 'honour.' In those days men looked on women as thrushes look on worms."He paused, evidently searching for a word; and Hilary, with a faint smile, said:
"And how did women look on men, sir?"
Mr. Stone observed him with surprise. "I did not perceive that it was you," he said. "I have to avoid brain action before bathing."They had crossed the road dividing the Gardens from the Park, and, seeing that Mr. Stone had already seen the water where he was about to bathe, and would now see nothing else, Hilary stopped beside a little lonely birch-tree. This wild, small, graceful visitor, who had long bathed in winter, was already draping her bare limbs in a scarf of green. Hilary leaned against her cool, pearly body. Below were the chilly waters, now grey, now starch-blue, and the pale forms of fifteen or twenty bathers. While he stood shivering in the frozen wind, the sun, bursting through the hail-cloud, burned his cheeks and hands. And suddenly he heard, clear, but far off, the sound which, of all others, stirs the hearts of men: "Cuckoo, cuckoo!"Four times over came the unexpected call. Whence had that ill-advised, indelicate grey bird flown into this great haunt of men and shadows? Why had it come with its arrowy flight and mocking cry to pierce the heart and set it aching? There were trees enough outside the town, cloud-swept hollows, tangled brakes of furze just coming into bloom, where it could preside over the process of Spring. What solemn freak was this which made it come and sing to one who had no longer any business with the Spring?
With a real spasm in his heart Hilary turned away from that distant bird, and went down to the water's edge. Mr. Stone was swimming, slower than man had ever swum before. His silver head and lean arms alone were visible, parting the water feebly; suddenly he disappeared. He was but a dozen yards from the shore; and Hilary, alarmed at not seeing him reappear, ran in. The water was not deep.
Mr. Stone, seated at the bottom, was doing all he could to rise.
Hilary took him by his bathing-dress, raised him to the surface, and supported him towards the land. By the time they reached the shore he could just stand on his legs. With the assistance of a policeman, Hilary enveloped him in garments and got him to a cab. He had regained some of his vitality, but did not seem aware of what had happened.
"I was not in as long as usual," he mused, as they passed out into the high road.
"Oh, I think so, sir."
Mr. Stone looked troubled.
"It is odd," he said. "I do not recollect leaving the water."He did not speak again till he was being assisted from the cab.
"I wish to recompense the man. I have half a crown indoors.""I will get it, sir," said Hilary.
Mr. Stone, who shivered violently now that he was on his feet, turned his face up to the cabman.
"Nothing is nobler than the horse," he said; "take care of him."The cabman removed his hat. "I will, sir," he answered.
Walking by himself, but closely watched by Hilary, Mr. Stone reached his room. He groped about him as though not distinguishing objects too well through the crystal clearness of the fundamental flux.
"If I might advise you," said Hilary, "I would get back into bed for a few minutes. You seem a little chilly."Mr. Stone, who was indeed shaking so that he could hardly stand, allowed Hilary to assist him into bed and tuck the blankets round him.
"I must be at work by ten o'clock," he said.
