Out of these dim and shattered memories came a comfort to
his heart, though his brain could not as yet grasp the reason of it. He
knew that Stephen had held an unconventional idea as to the equality of
the sexes. Was it possible that she was indeed testing one of her
theories? The idea stirred him so that he could not remain quiet. He stood up, and
walked the room. Somehow he felt light beginning to dawn, though he
could not tell its source, or guess at the final measure of its fulness. The fact of Stephen having done such a thing was hard to bear; but it was
harder to think that she should have done such a thing without a motive;
or worse: with love of Leonard as a motive! He shuddered as he paused. She could not love such a man. It was monstrous! And yet she had done
this thing . . . 'Oh, if she had had any one to advise her, to restrain
her! But she had no mother! No mother! Poor Stephen!' The pity of it, not for himself but for the woman he loved, overcame him. Sitting down heavily before his desk, he put his face on his hands, and
his great shoulders shook. Long, long after the violence of his emotion had passed, he sat there
motionless, thinking with all the power and sincerity he knew; thinking
for Stephen's good. When a strong man thinks unselfishly some good may come out of it. He
may blunder; but the conclusion of his reasoning must be in the main
right. So it was with Harold. He knew that he was ignorant of women,
and of woman's nature, as distinguished from man's. The only woman he
had ever known well was Stephen; and she in her youth and in her
ignorance of the world and herself was hardly sufficient to supply to him
data for his present needs. To a clean-minded man of his age a woman is
something divine. It is only when in later life disappointment and
experience have hammered bitter truth into his brain, that he begins to
realise that woman is not angelic but human. When he knows more, and
finds that she is like himself, human and limited but with qualities of
purity and sincerity and endurance which put his own to shame, he
realises how much better a helpmate she is for man than could be the
vague, unreal creations of his dreams. And then he can thank God for His
goodness that when He might have given us Angels He did give us women! Of one thing, despite the seeming of facts, he was sure: Stephen did not
love Leonard. Every fibre of his being revolted at the thought. She of
so high a nature; he of so low. She so noble; he so mean. Bah! the
belief was impossible. Impossible! Herein was the manifestation of his ignorance; anything is
possible where love is concerned! It was characteristic of the man that
in his mind he had abandoned, for the present at all events, his own
pain. He still loved Stephen with all the strength of his nature, but
for him the selfish side ceased to exist. He was trying to serve
Stephen; and every other thought had to give way. He had been satisfied
that in a manner she loved him in some way and in some degree; and he had
hoped that in the fulness of time the childish love would ripen, so that
in the end would come a mutual affection which was of the very essence of
Heaven. He believed still that she loved him in some way; but the future
that was based on hope had now been wiped out with a sudden and unsparing
hand. She had actually proposed marriage to another man. If the idea of
a marriage with him had ever crossed her mind she could have had no doubt
of her feeling toward another. . . . And yet? And yet he could not
believe that she loved Leonard; not even if all trains of reasoning
should end by leading to that point. One thing he had at present to
accept, that whatever might be the measure of affection Stephen might
have for him, it was not love as he understood it. He resolutely turned
his back on the thought of his own side of the matter, and tried to find
some justification of Stephen's act. 'Seek and ye shall find; knock and it shall be opened to ye' has perhaps
a general as well as a special significance. It is by patient tireless
seeking that many a precious thing has been found. It was after many a
long cycle of thought that the seeking and the knocking had effectual
result. Harold came to believe, vaguely at first but more definitely as
the evidence nucleated, that Stephen's act was due to some mad girlish
wish to test her own theory; to prove to herself the correctness of her
own reasoning, the fixity of her own purpose. He did not go on analysing
further; for as he walked the room with a portion of the weight taken
from his heart he noticed that the sky was beginning to quicken. The day
would soon be upon him, and there was work to be done. Instinctively he
knew that there was trouble in store for Stephen, and he felt that in
such an hour he should be near her. All her life she had been accustomed
to him. In her sorrows to confide in him, to tell him her troubles so
that they might dwindle and pass away; to enhance her pleasures by making
him a sharer in them. Harold was inspirited by the coming of the new day. There was work to be
done, and the work must be based on thought. His thoughts must take a
practical turn; what was he to do that would help Stephen? Here there
dawned on him for the first time the understanding of a certain
humiliation which she had suffered; she had been refused! She who had
stepped so far out of the path of maidenly reserve in which she had
always walked as to propose marriage to a man, had been refused! He did
not, could not, know to the full the measure of such humiliation to a
woman; but he could guess at any rate a part. And that guessing made him
grind his teeth in impotent rage. But out of that rage came an inspiration. If Stephen had been humiliated
by the refusal of one man, might not this be minimised if she in turn
might refuse another? Harold knew so well the sincerity of his own love
and the depth of his own devotion that he was satisfied that he could not
err in giving the girl the opportunity of refusing him. It would be some
sort of balm to her wounded spirit to know that Leonard's views were not
shared by all men. That there were others who would deem it a joy to
serve as her slaves. When she had refused him she would perhaps feel
easier in her mind. Of course if she did not refuse him . . . Ah! well,
then would the gates of Heaven open . . . But that would never be. The
past could not be blotted out! All he could do would be to serve her. He
would go early. Such a man as Leonard Everard might make some new
complication, and the present was quite bad enough. It was a poor enough thing for him, he thought at length. She might
trample on him; but it was for her sake. And to him what did it matter? The worst had come. All was over now! CHAPTER XIV--THE BEECH GROVE


On the morning following the proposal Stephen strolled out into a beech
grove, some little distance from the house, which from childhood had been
a favourite haunt of hers.