Set in Silver Part 34

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Aberystwith_, _August 29th_

Brightest and Best: I have a short reprieve, because d.i.c.k has had to go away again; not to his mother, this time, but to London. A telegram was forwarded to him from Gloucester, where he had left sending-on instructions; and he knocked at my door early yesterday morning (at Tintern) to say he must leave immediately by the first train. He was excited, because the telegram came from the head of a firm of well-known private detectives with whom he had been in correspondence for some time, trying to buy a junior partners.h.i.+p for a few hundreds left him by his grandmother. There's a chance now that he may get the partners.h.i.+p, only he must be on the spot, as another man is making an offer "more advantageous--in some ways." d.i.c.k is wild to get in, and regards this as the opportunity of a lifetime. Doesn't that prove the type of mind he has? Actually yearning to be in business as a detective!

Well, he's had good practice lately, and I must say he has made the most of it.

"This call couldn't have come at a worse time, but I must obey it," he p.r.o.nounced solemnly, while I peeped through my half-open door, in my prettiest Ellaline dressing-gown--far too nice to waste on d.i.c.k.

Disgusted with life, as I was, I nearly laughed in his face, and _at_ his face; but dared not quite, for fear of enraging him again just when he appeared to be in a comparatively lenient mood.

He had come to explain and apologize, and in his perky conceit really seemed to fancy that I might be hurt at his desertion. So when he asked if I would "bid him good-bye pleasantly, and remember to keep my promise," I had a small inspiration. I would bid him good-bye pleasantly, I bargained, provided he let me off keeping the promise until he should come back; because, I said, it would be humiliating to plead with Sir Lionel on the very day my _fiance_ turned his back upon me in order to attend to mere business.

"You call this _mere_ business?" sputtered d.i.c.k; and I soothed him, but persisted firmly, gently, until at last he agreed to grant the reprieve.

I think his own vanity, not my eloquence, obtained the concession, because it pleased him to believe that I leaned upon him in this crisis.

And of course I had to promise over again, more earnestly than ever, "not to back out, but to stick to my word."

I must still stick to it, of course (unless a wire or letter from you meanwhile suggests some miraculous, agreeable, honourable alternative); but sufficient for the day is the evil thereof--and the d.i.c.k thereof.

This day and several days to come are free from both; for my albatross can't arrange the details of its partners.h.i.+p, sell out some investments in order to pay the money down, and join us again before Chester. There I shall certainly hear from you; and I have such infinite faith in your dove-like serpentineness, that I let myself cling to the ragged edge of hope. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy myself as much as I possibly can, so that, at worst, I shall have more good days to remember when bad days come. For the days will be very bad indeed if I have to bear Sir Lionel's silent scorn, and still remain with him, awaiting release from Ellaline.

I felt like a different human being after d.i.c.k had gone, and would have written you at once, but he had delayed me so long that I had to finish dressing at top speed, because we were to make an earlier start than usual. There was Chepstow Castle to see (quite near, and a shame to have missed it), as well as a hundred-and-fifty-mile run to Tenby.

Chepstow was splendidly picturesque and striking; but the country through which we had to pa.s.s on the way to Tenby would not have been particularly interesting if it weren't for the legends and history with which it is as full as it is of ruined castles. It is largely coal country now, and after the lovely, winding Wye, playing hide-and-seek with its guardian hills, we might have found the road unattractive as we ran through Newport, Cardiff, Neath, Swansea, and Carmarthen. But it made all the difference in the world to know that Carmarthen was Merlin's birthplace; that stories of Arthur's exploits and knightly deeds leave golden landmarks everywhere; and that it seems quite an ordinary, reasonable thing to the people to name railway engines after Sir Lancelot. Isn't it charming of them? Yet what would Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, say to such a liberty, I wonder?

We arrived in Tenby too late for anything save an impression, last evening; but it was one of those enchanting, mysterious impressions which one can only have after dusk, when each old ivied wall is purple with romance, and each lamp in a high window is a lovelight.

My first thought as we came in and found Tenby on fire with sunset, was that the place looked like a foreign town set down in England; and so of course it is, for it was founded by a band of Flemish people, who fled from persecution. The huge old city walls and quaint gates put me in mind of a glorified Boulogne, or a bit of old Dinan, under the castle.

And the way the town lies, with its beautiful harbour far below, its gray rocks and broken walls by the sea, in golden sands, is like Turner's ideas of historic French fortresses. The Benedictine monks, too, who come across the gleaming stretch of water from Caldy Island in a green-and-red steam yacht, add one more foreign note. And I'm delighted to tell you that the hotel where we stayed is built upon the city wall of which n.o.body seems to know the date--not even the guide-books. The people we asked rather apologized for having to confess that probably it was no earlier than the twelfth century; for the twelfth century is considered crudely modern for Welsh things.

In front of my bedroom window an old lookout tower, darkly veined with ivy, stood up from the vast foundation of the stone wall; and at night I could gaze down, down, over what seemed in the moon-mist to be a mile of depth, to an almost tropical garden laid out on the wall itself. When the tide comes in and drowns the gold of the sands, the sea breaks against the b.u.t.tress of rock and stone, and the hotel seems all surrounded with the wash and foam of waters, like a fortified castle of long-ago.

We ought to have stopped more than one night and part of a next day, but there is so much, so much to do; and, as I told you, Sir Lionel's thoughts are already marching on toward home. There are all the beauty spots of Wales before us; and the Lake Country, and the North by the Roman Wall, before we turn south again for Graylees. I say "we"--but you know what I mean.

The run we had to-day, coming through Cardigan to Aberystwith, has begun to show me what Wales can do in the way of beauty when she really puts her soul to it; but Sir Lionel says it is nothing to what we shall see to-morrow. What joy that I have still a to-morrow--and a day after to-morrow--empty of d.i.c.k! Do you suppose a condemned person finds his last sip of life the sweetest in the cup? I can imagine it might be so.

You'll be glad to get this, I'm sure, dearest, so I'll send it at once, with loads and loads of love from,

Your Criminal Child.

P. S. I forgot to tell you that Aberystwith isn't nearly as beautiful as Tenby, but it has a castle towering over the sea, built by no one less than Gilbert Strongbow the Cruel, who grabbed all Cardigans.h.i.+re for himself, and dotted castles about everywhere--or else stole other people's, which saved trouble. I know you like to picture me wherever I am, so I must tell you at least that about Aberystwith, though describing places seems irrelevant in my present mood. I am keyed to the "top notch," and don't feel able to do anything leisurely. I do not expect to sleep to-night, and shall get up as soon as it's light, and dart down to the beach to look for amber, or carnelian, or onyx, which they say can be found here. I asked a chambermaid of the hotel, after we arrived this evening, what all the mysterious, stooping people were doing on the sands, and she said searching for amber, to bring them luck. I hope I may come across a bit--even a tiny bit. I am needing a luck-bringer.

There was another mystery which puzzled me here: droves of pretty girls, between twelve and twenty, flitting past the windows, on "the front,"

every few minutes; sometimes two by two, sometimes four or five together. I thought I had never seen so many young girls. There were enough for the girl population of a large city, yet here they were all crowded together in this small watering-place. But the chambermaid has swept away the mystery. It's a college, and the girls "live out" in different houses. At the other end of the town is another college for young men. That sounds entertaining, doesn't it?

x.x.xI

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Pen-y-gwrd-Hotel_, _August 30th_

Dear Rose-Without-a-Thorn: I didn't find the amber, but Sir Lionel found a fat little, round lump, and gave it to me; and that seems almost more lucky than finding it myself; because it may mean that something good is to come to me from him.

He was on the Aberystwith beach when I got there, though it was only half-past six. He hadn't said a word the night before, but he made up his mind then to find some amber--for me. You see, he knew the superst.i.tion about luck, and how everybody goes hunting for it.

I picked up a pretty piece of carnelian, and gave it to him in exchange, asking him "to keep it to remember me by."

"I don't want to remember you," he answered. And when, perhaps, I looked hurt, he went on: "Because I want to keep you in my life. I want you very much, if----"

But just then Mrs. Senter came behind us, and left that "if" like a key sticking in a door which couldn't be opened without one more turn. I should have liked to know what was behind the door; but I daresay there was nothing much, really.

She, too, had come to look for amber and other things. I don't know about the other things, but she didn't find the amber.

At eleven o'clock, after seeing something of the place, we slipped away toward Machynlleth, along a hilly road, which grew lovelier with each of its many twists among low mountains. Now, said Sir Lionel, we were about to see the heart of Wales; and I should soon have realized that without his telling, for as we slowed down to pa.s.s through little villages we heard the children talking Welsh--a soft, pleasant language, which I can only try to describe by saying that it sounded like whispering out loud.

But that is a very Irish description!

The scenery was so gentle in its beauty that my wild, excited mood was lulled by its soft influence. The colour of landscape and sky kept the delicate tints of spring, though we are in full, rich summer; and there was none of the tropical verdure we saw near Tenby; no crimson fountains of fuchsias, no billows of blood-red roses, and fierce southern flowers.

Pale honey-suckle draped the gray or whitewashed stone cottages. Rocks and crannies of walls were daintily fringed with ferns, or cus.h.i.+oned with the velvet of moss, and crusted with tarnished golden lichen. A modern-timbered house, rising pertly here and there, looked out of place among dwellings whose early owners quarried each stone from among their own mountains.

As we left the fairy glades of those wooded hills for rugged mountains scantily clad with ragged gra.s.s, slate-quarries tried their ugly best to blotch and spoil the scene, but owing to some strange charm of atmosphere, like a gauze veil on the stage, they could not quite succeed. By and by the gauze veil turned to rain, but rain suited the wild landscape--far better, by the way, than it suited Mrs. Senter, whose nightly hair-wavers are but a reed to lean upon in wet weather.

She made some excuse to come behind with Emily and me, and before the car started again I summoned courage to ask if I might take her place, saying I loved to feel the rain.

So there I was with Sir Lionel once more; and I wondered if he thought of that night when we rushed through the storm from Tintagel to Clovelly? Soon this also bade fair to be a storm, for the rain began to tumble out of the sky, rather than fall, as if an army of people stood throwing down water by the bucketful. I revelled in it, and in the sombre scenery, where sharp rocks stood out like bones through the tattered green coats of soldier-mountains. All the world was gray or gray-green, save for a patch of purple heather here and there, like the stain of a new wound.

We were under Cadir Idris, mounting the pa.s.s high above a deep ravine; yet the blowing rain hid the mountain from our eyes as if he were the veiled prophet. The sound of the wind, which seemed to come from all quarters at once, was like the mysterious music of a great aeolian harp, as it mingled with the song of ghostly cascades that veined the dark rocks with marble. Mountain sheep sprang from crag to crag as Apollo rounded a corner and broke into their tranquil lives, now and then loosening a stone as they jumped. One good-sized rock would have bounced down on the roof of our car if Sir Lionel hadn't seen it coming, and put on such a spurt of speed that Apollo leaped ahead of the danger. But he always does see things in time. You wouldn't think sheep could have as much expression as those sheep had, when they saw us and weren't sure which way to run. Of course they needn't have run at all; but whichever way they decided, it was certain to be wrong!

I was sorry to leave that pa.s.s behind, and have its door shut after us, for we came out into a pastoral landscape, where the only wild things were the grazing black cattle. It was charming country, though; and in less than a mile we had reached a famous spot known as the Tourist Walk.

The rain was pelting down harder than ever, so we could not get out and take the walk; but soon after we had abandoned it the deluge suddenly turned from lead to a thick spray of diamonds, mixed with sparkling gold-dust. Our road glittered ahead of us like a wide silver ribbon unrolled, as we sailed into the little gray town of Dolgelly on its torrent river; and beyond, in a fresh-washed radiance of sunlight, the way was one long enchantment, the sweet world of green hills and musical waters looking as young as if G.o.d had made it that day. The graceful mountains which pressed round the valley had the air of waiting each her turn to stoop and drink a life-giving draught from the river, which, as we neared Barmouth, opened to the sea, gleaming like a vast sheet of quicksilver. Further on, travelling through woods where young green trees shot up from gilded rocks, glimpses of the estuary came to us like a vision of some Italian lake.

Just before Harlech, the wild yet nymph-like beauty of the world changed to an almost startling grandeur, for the coast moved back from the sea with a n.o.ble sweep, magnificent mountains towered along the sh.o.r.e, and line after line of beryl waves shattered into pearl upon a beach of darkened gold.

Harlech Castle was an event in my life. I thought I had begun to take ruined castles for granted in Wales, as you do sea-sh.e.l.ls on the sh.o.r.e; but Harlech is a castle that you couldn't take for granted. It was a shock at first to find that a hotel had been built in the very face of it, as if bearding it in its den; yet it is a nice hotel; and when we had lunched there agreeably, I not only forgave it for existing, but began to like and thank it for having thoughtfully placed itself on that admirable height.

From here our eyes ought to have been smitten with the sight of Snowdon; but the Grand Old Mountain was asleep, his head buried in white cloud-pillows which alone betrayed his whereabouts; so we had to be content with the castle. And I was content. To see the splendid ruin reared on its great rock, dark against sea and sky, was thrilling as a vision of an old wounded knight girding his strength for a last stand.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_The splendid ruin, reared on its great rock_"]

History says that Harlech Castle is no older than Edward I.; but story says (which is more important, because more romantic) that in the dim dawn while History still dozed, here rose the Tower of Twr Brauwen, white-bosomed sister of Bran the Blessed. Also, it came into the possession of Hawis Gadern, a great beauty and heiress, whose uncles tried to wrest it from her, but were defeated and imprisoned in the castle. Anyway, however that may be, Owen Glendower came and conquered, in the beginning of the fifteenth century, when he was forging a chain of wonderful deeds which made him the hero of Wales. Never mind if he was driven away a few years after by Prince Henry. That's another story.

The way from Harlech by Portmadoc to exquisite Pont Aberglaslyn and Beddgelert is very Arthurian; that is, it suggests pre-mediaeval backgrounds, and at every turn I caught myself expecting to come upon Camelot, unspoiled, unchanged. The high mountains still wore their invisibility masks, but the lower mountains, not too proud to show themselves to motoring mortals, grouped as graciously together as if they were lovely ladies and gay knights, turned to stone just when they had a.s.sembled to tread a minuet. And the fair Glaslyn flowed past their feet with a swing and sweep, as though the crystal flood kept time to dance music which our ears were not attuned to catch.

Quickly we flashed by more than one beautiful lake, too; a jewel hidden among mountains, found by our eyes unexpectedly, only to be lost again.

And all the while Cader Idris and Snowdon drew hoods of mist over their heads, pulling them down tightly and firmly. Not once had we caught a glimpse of either mountain, though we were almost near enough to knock our noses or Apollo's bonnet against their sharp elbows; but we were too happy to care much--at least, one of us was!--and we cared even less when rain came on again. I still kept my place beside Sir Lionel, who was repentant for having made me cry over the dreadful, agonizing, too-tragic story of Gelert. I won't repeat it to you, because it's wickedly sad, and grayhound Gelert was so much n.o.bler than most people.

Sheets of spun gla.s.s s.h.i.+mmered and waved before us, as we rushed on through the mountains, past the beautiful place of Gelert's grave, up toward Pen-y-gwrd. And the tinkling swish of the rain on the gla.s.s sounded to me as the Welsh names had begun to sound. I wish you could hear them spoken, for the spelling gives no idea of their p.r.o.nunciation, or the pleasant, m.u.f.fled music of them. But all I can tell you is, that when you come into Wales you will feel they are characteristic of the country; mysterious, sympathetic, rather secretive.