CHAPTER EIGHT

The rattling of chains awoke Diana. She sprang out of bed, and as she opened the port-hole she saw land, flat stones lapped by gentle waves, a few bushes, the whole lit up with the first shafts of the rising sun. On deck she found there was little more to see, save a hillock, a sun-kissed beach, a few cottages, and a couple of dozen fisherfolk who had never seen any other vessel than their own cobles putting into the bay.

It was the island of Leucas that lay before them. Scherer had hunted out this little place, for his friends and he himself wished to avoid Corfu and considered Cephalonia too big. On this particular voyage they none of them wished to run up against acquaintances or strangers whom they might, as in a dream, talk with for one forenoon. Ithaca, which had been Scherer's first choice, had been turned down by the rest of the company. Even more than Syracuse did the place smack of archæological research.

"Good morning! Is this wild enough for you?" called Scherer from the other end of the deck, as Diana appeared up the companion. "The natives here don't even ask for harbour dues!"

"And they catch fish, and milk goats, and our Father who is in heaven provides for their needs," she called back.

"You've got out of bed in biblical vein," said Scherer as he shook hands.

"Say rather in a pagan mood. For this place is rich and lonesome, and within an hour the sun will be burning hot and we shall be walking upon Greek ivy."

"It was here that Dorpfeld sought Ithaca."

"I don't want to hear about that. Ithaca is where I choose it shall be!"

"You are talking like Franklin."

"For today, his way of speaking is the right one! Are we going ashore?"

Diana pointed to a boat that was drawn up alongside.

"Yes. And, I say, what about going really ashore?" retorted Scherer meaningly.

"What's your idea?" she asked.

"Well, since I've caught you alone thus early, why not go to Patras?"

They were standing near the gangway which was still shaking from the heavy tread of the captain who had just left the yacht to go ashore. Such a question, the proposal that they two should do something apart from the others, had never been mooted before. Both rather dreaded the possibility. Patras spelled Athens. Athens was full of certain joint memories that needed careful handling.

Diana said:

"Patras is hardly worth a visit, and it's too late in the year for Athens. Agreed? Besides one might get involved in the Balkan imbroglio and the yacht captured as a prize! Wouldn't you prefer sailing northward?"

"Really northward?" he asked with a smile, for he knew her weakness for Venice.

She laughed. Then tossing her head defiantly, she said:

"One should always avoid the scenes of former happenings, you know--especially if one holds the past in contempt."

Her words were only meant to express her vivid joy of the moment--like a bugle summoning up the morning. But for Scherer they seemed a disavowal of the past, knowing as he did her faith in the mutations of the moment. He looked at her steadily, as if to fix her words upon his retina. She returned his gaze unflinchingly, combative and audacious, until he lowered his eyes and continued unruffled:

"It's to be Venice, then; and after that we'll skirt the coast. Is that your idea? The plan suits me very well, for I should dearly like a chat with Ricci, who is doing propaganda in Italy on behalf of our views. I may learn something useful. If only our captain doesn't fall in love!"

"I'd willingly put temptation in his way for the sake of Venice," she laughed. "But I'm not his type."

"Highly improbable! What you really mean is that he is not a type that appeals to you."

"That's neither here nor there, if one has an end in view."

She spoke with the deliberate coldness she occasionally affected when she wished to mislead even those whom she most trusted.

Scherer did not answer. He was pondering her words. "An end in view? What would be the upshot?"

An hour later they were all being pulled ashore. The silence that brooded over the island, the absence of any sights, the speedy growth of the sun's power, and above all the estrangement which had arisen between Eduard and Kyril since the events of the previous evening, made the little company unusually taciturn. Scherer contemplated Diana from a new angle, and was absorbed in his own thoughts; Eduard did not wish to be with Diana while Kyril was about; Diana had no desire to speak to any one; even Franklin seemed strangely glum since last night.

Wilhelm, alone, was cheerful. He felt more at home on land than at sea, especially when the country was wild and the weather hot. He had been walking for some time at Diana's side, admiring the flowers, the hills, and the tide. Gradually he felt that he had experienced all this before; the landscape and, indeed, the whole excursion was familiar. Such a feeling of reliving past events was one this dreamy poet's nature was accustomed to, and he was never taken aback when things or persons unexpectedly appeared as old friends or as the realization of a dream. The party broke up into groups, rambling whithersoever fancy led: Wilhelm's mood became more and more joyous. He walked along at Diana's side, absorbed in his dreams, the incarnation of youth.

"There does not seem to be any way through up there," Scherer called after the pair.

"All the better," cried Diana, waving her hand. "We'll probably discover a temple!"

"As you will," shouted Scherer from below. "Only I beg you to be aboard again at one."

He invited the remainder of the little band to follow him along a more beaten path which wound away to the right, mounting the cliff, and overlooking the bay. Absentmindedly, the three men followed where Scherer led, not one of them much caring whither they went. Scherer proved right and Diana came to what she had hoped. The track vanished amid a tangle of broom, and she felt thoroughly in her element as she beat a passage for herself through the thicket, Wilhelm following in her wake. Now, at last, she could throw off the burden of thought with which she had been oppressed since her talk with Scherer early that morning.

The broom grew to a man's height in this spot, and its yellow plumes waved aloft in the golden light of the early day. At times the shrub attained the proportions of a tree, and scattered blossoms with profusion as if they were a tropical rain. It was difficult to find a foothold among the thick growth of ivy which covered the ground, a carpet of damp green flecked with the gold of fallen petals. Gnarled fig trees spread their heavy leafage abroad, while myrtles in full blossom formed cascades among the ivy-mantled crags. The prickly fronds of the cactus stuck their grey-green fingers in the air, and here and there one of the plants flaunted the beauty of red buds; violet agave flowers, like thorny fountains, inhaled the light and the warm sunshine with avidity, profiting by every instant of their short-lived glory to nourish the fruit of their blossoming time; and mother earth in her green gown, lying amid a welter of sword-shaped leaves, was already parched from the boiling noonday suns. From a medley of mosses and weeds the delicate stems of olive trees had sprung up, but, affrighted by the rough caresses of the sea winds, they had bowed their heads to earth again. In the general hum of insect and animal life, sounds differentiated themselves so that one could distinguish the rustle of lizards amid leaves, the slithery movement of unseen snakes avoiding the tread of a human foot and yet seemingly on the alert to follow the wayfarer; while, dominating all, came the deep bourdon of the humble bees, and the shrill chirp of the crickets. The hot air was heavy with the scent of honey and parched blossoms, and it was a labour to lift the foot to a higher level on the sweltering hill-side, where the tall, beaker-shaped ferns grew luxuriantly and the stiff stems of the orchis thrust their purple buds amid the green, where the cherry-laurel attained undreamed of heights, displaying its cool leaves to the ardent sun and reflecting the light in the thousand facets of its sombre depths.

Now the sea was again visible, spreading its calm and polished surface beneath the radiant sky, and Diana, catching sight of it, let herself slide to the ground amid the tangle of golden broom, and gazed her fill, breast high among the blossoms. She leaned upon her elbows, her chin cupped in her hands, her eyes fixed upon the distant blue, looking for all the world like a sentry awaiting the arrival of a ship. Thus she lay amid the yellow wilderness, a slender figure in her simple white frock, her wide-brimmed hat flung negligently at her side, absorbed in contemplation of the dazzling waters. Wilhelm, who had discarded his coat and his cap, sat at a little distance from her. He had followed her silently, using his stick and his hands to clear a path for himself. Occasionally he had sprung forward in advance of her, holding branches aside for her passage; then again he would fall to the rear, seeking an easier way.

"You are a shepherdess," said he, his head cocked to one side. "When you talk, I can hardly ever understand, since you are too clever for me. But as you are now, I can understand you very well, just as I used to understand my collie, who was stolen from me last autumn." He spoke very softly, a note of supplication in his voice.

"How gentle a tone, how mute and humble his affection," thought Diana, a smile hovering about her lips. "He hums like one of those great hairy bees, and he, too, is wishing to find honey."

"None of the other men are near," continued Wilhelm, cuddling down beside her, "and I feel sure you will allow me to kiss your hand--but I want to kiss it here, quite high up."

Diana laughed.

"You are but a shepherd lad," she said, "and I'll let you kiss me wherever you please."

Wilhelm bent forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Ah, Diana, you are a goddess taking your ease among the broom, and you think the shepherd does not recognize you for what you are. But he knows, he recognizes you," and he leaned over her as she lay.

"By what sign do you recognize me, Wilhelm?"

"By your knees," he said roguishly. "Atalanta did not wear stockings, you know!"

She pulled her skirt down.

"Did you like Atalanta?"

"So greatly that I could only gaze and gaze at her, and forget to fall in love with you."

"But I'm in love with you, Wilhelm!"

"Yes, I know; but I make very cautious advances as you see..."

He slipped his head on to her breast and caressed her knees.

"You are so gentle and so kindly, Wilhelm, and you taste like strawberries."

"You are the most beautiful of women, Diana, and Wilhelm is the happiest of mortals," and he quietly began to unfasten her dress....

They were startled from an infinitude of slumbrous joy by a sound of crackling nearby, and sprang apart with the frightened shock of lovers surprised by an alien third. But their alarm soon changed to laughter, for the intruder was only a he-goat who was no less startled at finding human stragglers in his haunts than they had been by his intrusion.

"The very creature himself," cried Diana, trying to seize the beast by the horns, "the Dionysian animal arousing us from a Pan-like lethargy. It is just as well that he invaded our sanctum, for otherwise we'd have overslept ourselves, been late for lunch, might even have been left behind and condemned for ever to live on Leucas isle!"

"Would that not have been paradise, indeed? What might I not achieve on Leucas, and you?"

She laughed, glancing up at him shyly from under her lids, as she said:

"I'd make myself a rough canoe..."

"To live in?"

She flung her arms about him and kissed him precipitately, laughing, and looking straight into his eyes.

"No, no! To sail in, to make for Corfu, under cover of night, while you were fast asleep in the cave of Telemachus. Once arrived at Corfu, I'd board a Lloyd steamer and voyage to Rio or to the moon."

Lighter of step than during the upward climb, fleeing from the heights, with the springy gait of a young shepherdess, Diana sped down the hillside, along the path they had beaten, humming softly to herself, until she reached the road and the shore.

The thoughts of the four men who had taken the easier way were concentrated on the person of Diana, during the time that she herself was living a genuine pastoral with the fifth.

As chance would have it, Eduard and Kyril walked side by side along the narrow path. They were silent. Their discovery had aroused in them a sense of hostility: the chance circumstances which had brought them together, seemed to them now, since the previous evening, to have imposed indissoluble and fateful ties; at the same time they both felt that henceforward Diana's relationship towards them would be a more intimate one. This conviction, for the first time, awakened a sense of unwarranted jealousy between the two men, a feeling which served in the case of each to accentuate their inclination towards the lady.

Kyril, however, with his instinctive and deliberately fostered animus against persons of high station, was inclined to rationalize his dislike for the man as contempt for the prince; whereas the latter, being set upon freeing himself from prejudice, did his utmost to draw a clear distinction between Kyril the rival and Kyril the man of ideas. It was Eduard, therefore, who broke the long silence.

"Rather an ominous field of research, astrology, don't you think, Doctor? If one believes in it, one has misgivings, and if one does not believe in it, one has nevertheless a feeling of resentment."

"Just as one has with human beings," responded Kyril gloomily, and with so audible a hint that he wished for the silence to continue, that the prince had plenty of time wherein to ruminate as to whether his neighbour believed in Diana or mistrusted her.

Scherer and Franklin, following the two younger men, had lapsed from the cheerful mood they had begun the day with. Now they were in a critical vein, from which neither the sunshine nor the sea could release them. They had lost their equanimity. Franklin, who had neither in earlier days nor now looked upon Diana with the eyes of a lover, had felt all along a little out of the picture as he watched her relations with the little circle of friends; since the events of last night, however, this vague feeling had become more tangible and he actually fancied she regarded him with contumely. It seemed to him that as poet and as one who prided himself on his knowledge of women, Diana might treat him in less daughterly a fashion, though it was, he had to admit, he himself who had encouraged this attitude in her. Now, quite suddenly, although in his quiet way he had enjoyed the voyage, learning and observing a new kind of life, he felt that what remained to him of youth had forcibly been wrenched away from him. Above all, his suspicions were aroused in regard to Scherer, whose relationship to Diana he had never wholly understood, and whose unwonted buoyancy this morning, in spite of the veneer of worldliness with which the financier masked his feelings, made Franklin more alert than usual.

For since Diana had spoken to him that morning Scherer had been the prey of an inner turmoil; possibilities of all kinds rose in his mind and were rejected, and it seemed to him that of all men Franklin was the one who could inform him as to certain happenings of her youth. Both men had feelers out; both were silent. Scherer waited till Franklin spoke.

"Have you known the young people long?"

"Those two young men ahead of us?" returned Scherer, deliberately misunderstanding Franklin's inquiry.

"Prince Eduard and the girl."

Franklin invariably referred to Diana thus.

"Oh," answered Scherer, "I met the prince in Turkey some time ago, but I did not make Fräulein de Wassilko's acquaintance till considerably later."

"Well, what about the prince? And suppose she takes up with the other...?"

Scherer assumed an air of absolute innocence.

"She must have had nothing but a platonic friendship with him in those days..."

"Platonic? Can she keep that up indefinitely?" exclaimed Franklin.

Scherer smiled.

"You've known her much longer than I have."

"Yes, long ago," rejoined Franklin in a tone of voice as if he were referring to a lost paradise. "The girl was observant and wise in those days. Now--she seems to me to be rather more a woman made for love."

"Since she has been living and working so closely in touch with me, I have found her far more maidenly than most people deem she could possibly be after such an adventure."

"Outwardly, perhaps, Herr Scherer. But inwardly? The cup is filled with blissful delight."

Franklin spoke the last words so loud, tossing them as it were into the air in his rhapsodic way, that they floated as far as Eduard's and Kyril's ears, whereupon the two young men simultaneously turned right about. Scherer, secretly amused, and emboldened by the turn the conversation had taken, wished to give the subject a more conventional twist, so he called to the two who had taken the lead on the path:

"You are missing the best sonnet Herr Franklin has ever composed. He wrote it years ago, taking our huntress as subject, when she was still a priestess."

"May one ask for it to be repeated?" asked Eduard, shaking off the spell that had held him, and falling into line with the elder couple.

"Herr Scherer is the poet this time," protested Franklin, "not I."

"Wares acquire value through rarity," said Eduard mockingly.

"Let's reckon up which of us has burned the greater number of poems, Prince," answered Scherer.

"I never burned any. The few I composed I made into paper boats and set them adrift on the pond in our park at home."

They were by now in merrier mood, and gave themselves up to good-humoured banter.

All, save the Russian, who continued on his way ahead of them, alone and sullen, in the scorching noontide glare.

An hour later the whole party met at lunch on the yacht. The Russian was very uneasy, and, since the prince felt himself to be in rather less serious plight, he assumed the task of finding out how Diana had spent the morning, a matter about which both men were extremely inquisitive.

"I expect you have added to your academic laurels this morning by increasing our knowledge of Homeric times--excavations I mean."

She was determined not to give herself away, so she took refuge in a lie.

"We really did discover something, Wilhelm and I. Higher up, soon after we had left you, a little farther inland, we came upon an olive tree under which, covered with ivy, we saw two stones. On closer inspection they proved to be pieces of a truncated column, late epoch, might even be Roman. But, Wilhelm, you know about these things better than I for you have studied the history of art."

Wilhelm was nonplussed, not so much by her powers of invention in order to shield their secret, as by the calm way in which she appealed to him.

"I think they are called Roman drums," he said diffidently, "but for the moment I want to give my attention to this excellent fish."

The Russian looked inquiringly at the speaker and then turned his eyes upon Diana, while the prince cast a meaning glance at Kyril and Scherer. Immediately Wilhelm, who had so recently deemed himself the favoured one in relation to this much-courted woman, assured that he alone of all on board had enjoyed the favour of her kisses, felt confused, and poverty stricken, and banished from her sight.

As the day was fading, Diana stood alone on the deck. The island was left far behind, its hills rising faint and dreamlike out of the sea. Diana gazed over the waters, absorbed in reverie. "The hand of the past has lain heavy upon me today," she mused. "Scherer, always on the lookout for a wife ... he's missed his chances ... Wilhelm finds a shepherdess ... as that handsome Scottish lad did so many years ago... And what of this taciturn, amiable prince? Is it not dangerous for us to let the favourable moment slip through our fingers? Why does he hesitate?"

A shadow climbed up the companion ladder. Wilhelm stood beside her.

"Diana," he whispered, a caressing note in his voice.

"Good evening," she answered in a louder key.

"Are you happy?"

"Is it not lovely?"

"What?" asked Wilhelm, at a loss to know what she was referring to.

"The sea! And that we are making for Venice!"