xt7ksn01074n https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7ksn01074n/data/mets.xml Buck, Charles Neville, b. 1879. 1917  books b92-186-30607514 English W.J. Watt, : New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Tyranny of weakness  / by Charles Neville Buck ... ; frontispiece by Paul Stahr. text Tyranny of weakness  / by Charles Neville Buck ... ; frontispiece by Paul Stahr. 1917 2002 true xt7ksn01074n section xt7ksn01074n 
 















































Stuart was a memory and she was trying very hard to make him
                       even less than that

 


THE TYRANNY

OF WEAKNESS



            BY
 CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
          AUTHOR OF
    "THEn CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS,"
        if DESTINY,` Etc.


        Frontispiece by
        PAUL STAHR















        NEW YORK
   W. J. WATT  COMPANY
        PUBLISHERS

 




   COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
W. J. WATT  COMPANY



  PRESS OF
SRAUNWOflTH  CO.
BOOK MANUFACTUR-RS
URQOKLN, N. V.



I         OTHERI BOOKcS BY

   CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK



   THE KEY TO YESTERDAY
   THE LIGHTED MATCH
   THE PORTAL OF DREAMS
   THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS
   THE BATTLE CRY
   THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS
   DESTINY


 









THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS

                   CHAPTER I

T       WHEY were types in embryo, but of course they
        did not know it. No more would a grain of
        wheat and a poppy seed dropping side-by-side
in a fallow place reflect upon their destinies, though one
might typify a working world's dependence for bread;
the other a dreaming world's reliance for opium.
  They were a boy and a girl stepping artlessly into
the wide chances of a brand-new and vastly interesting
adolescence. Just now her young eyes were provoca-
tive with the starry light of mischief. His were smol-
dering darkly under her badgering because his pride
hald been touched to the quick. His forefathers had
been gentlemen in England before they were gentlemen
in the Valley of Virginia and his heritage of knightly
blood must not be made a subject of levity. But the
girl reflected only that when his dark eyes blazed and
his cheeks colored with that dammed-up fury she found
him a more diverting vassal than in calmer and duller
moods. A zoo is more animated when the beasts are
stirred into action.
  " What was it that General Breckinridge said, Stu-
art " She put the question innocently. " When the
Newmarket cadets made their charge "
  "He said-" Suddenly the boy caught the riffled
mockery of her eyes and abruptly his inspired recital
broke ofF in exasperation. " May I ask just why you
find that such a funny story " he inquired with ironical
dignity. " Most people seem to think it was rather

 


2    THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



pitifu! than comic to send to their slaughter boys al-
most young enough to be in the nursery."
  The - yes of Conscience Williams twinkled. " Maybe
it isn't the story itself that's funny," she deigned to
admit. "When your father told it, I cried-but
when you tell it your face is so furious that -that
you seem about to begin the war between the states all
ove' again."
  " Of ecurse that makes it perfectly clear."  Into the
manner of young Mr. Stuart Farquaharson came now
the hauteur of dignified rebuke. He enveloped himself
in a sudden and sullen silence, brooding as he sat with
his eves fixed on his riding boots.
  WVhat did    General Breckinridge   say "  She
proinpteO persistently. Such sheer perversity mad-
dened hinm. He had been reciting to her a story of
exalted heroism - the narrative of how the boy cadets
had Iourled their young bodies against the Northern
cannon and of how General Breckinridge had prayed
for forgiveness as he gave the command which sent this
flowering youth to its fate. And she found it amusing!
He could not see how genuinely comic was his own un-
reconstructed ardor -how exaggerated was his cock-
sure riarner - how thoroughly he spoke as though he
himself had bled on the field of honor.
  From lhr hammock she watched him with serene and
ins rutable complacency, from under long, half-closed
lashes. In his gaze was inarticulate wrath, but back
of that- idolatry. He had from birth breathed an
atmosphere of traditions in which the word " chivalry "
was defined, not as an obsolete term, but as a thing
still Crept iacredly aflame in the hearts of gentlemen.
To the stilted gallantry of his boyhood, ideals had
meant i-ore than ideas until Conscience Williams had
come from her home on Cape Cod and turned his life
topsy turvy. Since her advent he had dreamed only
of dark eyes and darker hair and crimson lips. He had

 


THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



rehearsed eloquent and irresistible speeches, only to
have them die on a tongue which swelled painfully and
clove to the roof of his mouth when he essayed their
utterance. Then had come an inspiration. The stir-
ring narration of how the Newmarket cadets had
charged the Northern guns was to have been his cue,
carrying him with the momentum of its intrinsic hero-
ism over the ramparts of tongue-tied shyness. That
was what he had essayed this morning, aided and abet-
ted by the tuneful fragrance of June in Virginia. The
stage had been set-his courage had mounted-and
before he had reached his magnificent peroration, she
had laughed at him. Ye Gods! She had affronted the
erstwhile Confederate States of America and his spirit
was galled.
  Suddenly Conscience looked up and met his gaze peni-
tently. It was a change from mockery so swift and
complete that he should have suspected it, but he saw
only a flash of sun through dark clouds.
  " Do you like poetry " she abruptly demanded.
  " Like poetry! " Again the boy's countenance
needed a twinkle of merriment to redeem it from a too
serious acceptance of self. " Not to like poetry -if
it's real poetry-is simply to be a plain clod."  He
spoke with an oracular and pedantic assurance which
challenged the girl's mischief afresh.
  " Shall I recite you something " was her mild and
seemingly placating suggestion, " just to see if it is
real poetry "
  "Will you I wish you would." He bent forward
in eager anticipation. Verse should pave the way with
music for the avowal which he had so far failed to
force across the barrier between heart and lips.
  She rose from the hammock and stood beside one of
the broad verandah pillars, very straight and slender
and flower-like, with the June sun on her hair. Stu-
art's heart was conscious of a sudden glow. A boy



3

 


4    THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



new7 to love, like a man new to drink, can recognize from
a sip al elation that the jaded taste has forever for-
feited. Then in a rich voice with a slightly exag-
gerihtea elocution, Conscience began:
"Up fromn the meadows, rich with corn, clear in the cool Septem-
     be" morn,
  Tile clustered spires of Frederick stand, green-walled by the hills
     of Maryland."

  Those schools wherein the last of the Farquaharsons
had derived his primary education had not starred or
fea:ured the poems of John Greenleaf Whittier. Stu-
art's eycs dwelt devouringly on the elocutionist -     as
yet unruffled by suspicion. They were doing their best
to say the things at which his lips balked. But as the
recitation proceeded their light died from hope to mis-
ery and from misery to the anger of hurt pride. Hle
stood very rigid and very attentive, making no effort
to interrupt, but holding her gazje defiantly as she went
on:
"Up the street came the Rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding
     ahbad.
  Under lis slouch hat left and right, he glanced and the old flag
     caught his sight."

  At these lines the boy flinched, but still he said
nothing. Like a soldier who stands at attention under
the threat of a firing squad he listened to the end-
or rather to the stanzas which recite:
"'Shcot, it you must at this old gray head, but spare your coun-
     try's flag,' she said.
  A flush of manhood, a look of shame, into the face of their leader
     came...."

  That was too much! The man of whom these irn-
pious words were spoken was that gallant knight, with-
out reproach, whose name is hallowed in every South-
ern heart. Very slowly Stuart Farquaharson raised
his hand.

 


THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



   " I think," he announced with a shake of repressed
fury in his voice, " I'll have to go home now. Good
af ternoon."
   " Then you don't like poetry"
   " I don't consider that poetry," he said with a dig-
nity which an archbishop might have envied. "' I con-
sider it slander of a dead hero."
   " You mean, then," Conscience seemed a little
frightened now and her utterance was hurried and flut-
tering, " that you are mad and are going You never
go until later than this."
  It was difficult to be both courteous and honest, and
Stuart's code demanded both.
  " I expect there wasn't ever the same reason before."
  This time it was the girl's eyes that leaped into flame
and she stamped a small foot.
  "Did you ever have any fun in your life " she de-
manded. " You know perfectly well that I teased you
just because you were such a solemn owl that you're
not far from being a plain, every-day prig. All right;
go if you like and don't come to see me again until you
get over the idea that you're a - a-" she halted for
a word, then added scornfully-" a combination high
priest and Prince of Wales."
  Stuart Farqulaharson bowed stiffly.
    All right," he said. " I won't forget. Good-by."

  At the dinner table that evening Mrs. Farquaharson
noted with concern the trance-like abstraction in which
her son sat, as one apart. Later as she mixed for the
General the night-cap toddy, which was an institution
hallowed by long usage, she commented on it.
  " I'm  afraid Stuart isn't well," she volunteered.
"le's not a moody boy by nature, and he doesn't
seem himself to-day. Perhaps we had better send him
to Doctor Heathergill. It wouldn't do for him to fall
ill just when he's starting to college."



5

 

6    THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



  the General studied the toddy as though it held the
secrets of a seer's crystal. " Your very good health,
my dear." He raised the glass and about his gray eyes
came tLe star-point wrinkles of an amused smile. " I
noticed that Stuart didn't ride over to see the little
Williams girl to-night. Wasn't that unusual "
  M-Irs. Farquaharson nodded her head. " He must
have beei feeling positively ill," she declared. " Noth-
ing le2ss could have kept him away."
  But the father, who had never before shown evidence
of a hard heart, permitted his quizzical twinkle to
broaden into a frank grin. " With every confidence in
Dr. IHeal-hergill, I doubt his ability to aid our declining
son."
  " Then you think -"
  "Prccisely so. The little girl from the North has
undertaken a portion of the boy's education which is as
painful to himn as it is essential."
  "He's been perfectly lovely to her," defended the
mother inlignantly. " It's a shame if she's hurt him."
  The Gereral's face grew grave.
  " It's a God's blessing, I think."  He spoke thought-
fully iio.v. " Stuart is a sentimentalist. I-le lives
largely on dreams and poetry and ideals."
    Surelv, General -" Sometimes in the moment of
serious connubial debate Mrs. Farquaharson gave her
husband irs title. " Surely you wouldn't have him
otlierwise.  The traditions of his father and grand-
fathers were the milk on which he fed at my breast."
  " By lwich I set great store, but a child must be
weaned. Stuart is living in an age of shifting bounda-
ries in idcas and life.
  " I sho'uld hate to see him lower his youthful stand-
ards, but 1 should like to see hin less in the clouds. I
should like to see him leaven the lump with a sense of
humor. To be self-consciously dedicated to noble

 


        THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS                     7

things and yet unable to smile at one's ego is to be
censorious, and to be censorious is to be offensive."
  " But he's just a child yet," argued Stuart's mother.
  For all his height and strength he's hardly more than
a bov after all."
  " Quite true, yet to-night he's tossing in his bed and
breathiing like a furnace because his heart is broken for
all time. It's all very well to swear:
             " To love one maiden only, cleave to her
        And worship her by years of noble deeds,
but for him that day is still far off. Meanwhile he's
got to have his baptism of fire. It's a mighty good
thing for a boy like Stuart to begin taking a little pun-
ishment while he's young. Young hearts, not less than
young bones, mend quicker and better. He's over in-
tense and if he got the real before he's had his puppy
loves it would go hard with him."


 









CH1APTER It



x  Y 7 HEN    Stuart presented himself at breakfast
  j/\/     the next morning his eyes were black-ringed
           with sleeplessness, but his riding boots were
freshly polished and his scarf tied with extra precision.
It was in the mind of the youngest Farquaharson to at-
tain so personable an appearance that the lady who
had cast aside his love should be made to realize what
she had lost as they passed on the highway.
  Then he went to the stables to have Johnny Reb
saddled and started away, riding slowly. When he
came in view of the house which she sanctified with her
preserce, a gray saddle mare stood fighting flies and
stamping by the stone hitching post in front of the
verandah, and each swish of the beast's tail was a
flagellation to the boy's soul. The mare belonged to
Jimmy Hancock and logically proclaimed Jimmy's pres-
ence within. Heretofore between Stuart and Jinmy
had e.isted a cordial amity, but now the aggrieved one
remembered many things which tainted Jimmy with
villain- anid crassness. Stuart turned away, his hand
heavy on the bit, so that Johnny Reb, unaccustomed to
this style cf taking pleasure sadly, tossed his head fret-
fully end i'idened his scarlet nostrils in disgust.
  Ten minutes later the single and grim-visaged horse-
man riding north came upon a pair riding south.
Johnny Reh's silk coat shone now with sweat, but his
pace was se-date. The love-sick Stuart had no w ish to
travel so fast as would deny the lady opportunity to
halt hire for conversation. Conscience and Jimmy were
also riding slowly and Stuart schooled his features into
the grave dignity of nobly sustained suffering. No
                         8

 


THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



Marshal of France passing the Emperor's reviewing
stand ever rode with a deeper sense of the portentous
moment. With his chin high and his face calm in its
stricken dignity he felt that no lady with a heart in
her soft bosom could fail to extend proffers of concili-
ation. In a moment more they would meet in the
narrow road. His face paled a shade or two under
the tension-then they were abreast and his heart
broke and the apple of life was dead sea fruit to his
palate. She had spoken. She had even smiled and
waved her riding crop, but she had done both with so
superlative an indifference that it seemed she had not
really seen him at all. She was chatting vivaciously
with Jimmy and Jimmy had been laughing as raucously
as a jackal - and so they had passed him by. The
event which had spelled tragedy for him; robbed him of
sleep and withered his robust appetite had not even
lingered overnight in her memory. The dirk was in
Stuart Farquaharson's breast, but it was yet to be
twisted. Pride forbade his shaking Johnny Reb into a
wild pace until he was out of sight. The funereal
grandeur of his measured tread must not be broken,
and so he heard with painful distinctness the next re-
mark of Jimmy Hancock.
  " What in thunder's eatin' on Stuty -" (sometimes,
though not encouraged to do so, young Mr. Farquahar-
son's intimates called him by that shameful diminutive.)
" He looks like a kid that's just been taken back to the
barn and spanked."
  " Did he " asked the young lady casually, " I really
didn't notice."
  Ye Gods! He, wearing his misery like a Caesar's
toga, compared by this young buffoon to a kid who
had been spanked! She had not noticed it. Ye Gods!
Ye Gods!



Ten days passed and the visit of Conscience Williams



9

 


10   THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



was drawing to an end. Soon she would go back to
those r )ck-bound shores of New England where in earlier
days her ancestors had edified themselves with burning
witch.-s. She would pass out of his life but never out
of his memory. His heart would go with her, but
thougb it killed him he would never modify the rigors of
his sclf-appointed exile from her presence until an ad-
van Me came from her.
  Each night he secretly stole over to a point of am-
buscade from which he could see the shimmery flash of
her dr(ss as she moved about the porch, cavaliered by
the odious Jimmy and his fellows. On these nocturnal
vigils he heard the note of her heedless laughter while
he' crouched embittered and hidden at a distance.
There seas in those merry peals no more symptom of
a canaker at her heart than in the carol of a bird greet-
ing a bright day. She did not care and when the one
maiden whom he wished to worship by years of noble
deeds did not care -again the only answer was "Ye
God.s ! "
  These were not matters to be alleviated by the com-
forting support of a confidant and he had no confidant
except Cardinal Richelieu. The cardinal was more fre-
quentlv addressed as Ritchy and his nature was as in-
dependen. of hampering standards as his origin war-
ran-ed. The Cardinal's face -a composite portrait
of various types of middle-class dog-life-made pre-
tense useless and early in his puppy career he seemed to
real-ze it and to abandon himself to a philosophy of
irresponsAble pleasure. But Ritchy's eye had taken on
a saddened cast since the blight had fallen on his
master. He no longer frisked and devised, out of his
comedian's soul, mirth-provoking antics. It was as
though be understood and his spirit walked in sorrow.
  A rilTht of full-mooned radiance came steeping the
souls of the yotung Kniglit and the young Cardinal in
bitter yet sweet melancholy. Two days more and Con-

 


THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



science would be gone from the Valley of Virginia -
returning to Cape Cod. Then Stuart would write over
the door of his life " Ichabod, the glory is departed."
To-night he would stalk again to his lonely tryst be-
neath the mock-orange hedge, which gave command of
the yard and porch, and when she had gone to her room.
he could still gaze upon the lighted window which
marked a sacred spot. At a sedate distance in the
rear proceeded the Cardinal, who had judiciously made
no announcement of his coming. He knew that there
was an edict against his participation in these vigils,
based on a theory that he might give voice and adver-
tise his master's presence, but it was a theory for which
he had contempt and which he resented as a slur upon
his discretion.
  When Stuart Farquaharson crouched in the lee of
heavily shadowed shrubbery the Cardinal sat on his
haunches and wrinkled his unlovely brow in contem-
plative thought. Not far away masses of honeysuckle
climbed over a rail fence festooned with blossom. Into
the night stole its pervasive sweetness and the old house
was like a temple built of blue gray shadows with col-
umns touched into ivory whiteness by the lights of door
and window. A low line of hills loomed beyond, painted
of silver gray against the backdrop of starry sky and
the pallor of moon mists. From the porch came the
desultory tinkle of a banjo and the voices of young
people singing and in a pause between songs more than
once the boy heard a laugh - a laugh which he recog-
nized. He could even make out a scrap of light color
which must be her dress. Such were the rewards of
his night watch, a melancholy and external gaze upon
a Paradise barred to him by a stubbornness which his
youth mistook for honorable pride.
  At last two buggies rattled down the drive with much
shouting of farewells and ten minutes later Jimmy's
saddle horse clattered off at a gallop. The visitors



11

 


12   THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



were gone and silence was left behind them. But Con-
science did not at once turn into the house and close the
door behind her. She stood by one of the tall pillars
and the boy strained his gaze to make out more than
the vague outline of a shadow-shape. Then slowly she
came down the stairs and out onto the moonlit lawn,
walking meditatively in the direction of Stuart Farqua-
harson's hiding place. The boy's heart leaped into
a heightened tattoo and he bent eagerly forward with
his lips parted. She moved lightly through the lumi-
nance of a world which the moon had burnished into
tints of platinum and silver, and she was very lovely,
he thought, in her child-beauty and slenderness, the
tudding and virginal freshness that was only beginning
to stir into a realization of something meant by woman-
hood, Ile bent, half kneeling, in his ambuscade with
that dream of love which was all new and wonderful;
a thing of such untarnished romance as only life's morn-
;ng can give to the young.
  Then into the dream welled a futile wave of resent-
ment and poisoned it with bitterness. She had played
with him and mocked him and cast him aside and to
fer lie was less than nothing. A few moments ago her
voice had drifted to him in an abandonment of merri-
i.ient though she was going away without seeing him.
N, ight after night he had come here, merely for the
sad pleasure of watching her move through the shad-
ows and the distance.
  Now, unconscious of his nearness, the girl came on
until she halted beyond the fence, not niore than ten
yards away. Cardinal Richelieu fidgeted on his
haunches and silenced, with a difficult self-repression,
the puzzled whine which came into his throat. The
tempered spot-light of the moon was on Conscience's
lashes and lips, and the boy stiffened into a petrified
astonishment, for quite abruptly and without warning

 



THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



she carried both slim hands to her face and her body
shook with something like a paroxysm of sobs.
   In a moment she took her hands away and her eves
were shining with a tearful moisture. A lock of hair
fell over her face. She tossed it back, then she moved
a few steps nearer and rested both arms on the top
rail of the fence. In them she buried her cheeks and
began to cry softly. Stuart Farquaharson could al-
most have touched her but he was quite invisible. He
felt himself an eavesdropper, but he could not escape
without being seen.
  The case was different with Cardinal Richelieu. Re-
pressed emotions have been said to kill strong men.
They did not kill the Cardinal, but they conquered him.
From his raggedly whiskered lips burst a growl and
a yawp which, too late, he regretted.
  The girl gave a little scream and started back and
Stuart realized it was time to reassure her. He rose
up, materializing into a tall shape in the shadows like
a jinn conjured from empty blackness.
  "It's only me - Stuart Farquaharson," he said, and
Conscience gave a little outcry of delight in the first
moment of surprise. But that she swiftly stifled into
a less self-revealing demeanor as she demanded with re-
covered dignity, " What are you doing here "
  The boy vaulted the fence and stood at her side while
the mollified Cardinal waved a stubby tail, as one who
would say-" Now you see it took my dog sense to
bring you two together. Without me you were quite
helpless."
  " Why were you crying, Conscience " Stuart asked,
ignoring alike her question and the rebuke in her voice,
but she reiterated, " What are you doing here "
  The moon showed a face set with the stamp of
tragedy which he imagined to have settled on his life,
but his eyes held hers gravely and he was no longer ham-



13

 


14   THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



pered with bashfulness. The sight of her tear-stained
faced had freed him of that.
  " I come here every night," he acknowledged simply,
"to watch you over there on the porch - because -"
He balked a moment there, but only a moment, before
declaring baldly what he had so often failed to an-
nounce gallantly - " Because I'm crazy about you-
because I love you."
  For a moment she gazed up at him and her breath
came fast, then she suggested, a little shaken, " It isn't
much farther on to the house. You used to come the
whole way."
  " You told me not to."
  " If you had - had cared very much you would have
come any way."
  " I've cared enough," lie reminded her, " to sit out
here every night until you put out your light and went
to sleep. If you had wanted me you'd have said so."
  Impulsively she laid a trembling hand on his arm and
spoke in rushing syllables. " I thought you'd come
without being sent for - then when I knew you
wouldn't, I couldn't bear it. I wrote you a note to-
iiight . . . I was going to send it to-morrow . . I'm
going home the next day."
  A whippoorwill called plaintively from the hillside.
lIe had spoken and in effect she had answered. All the
night's fragrance and cadence merged into a single
witchery which was a part of themselves. For the first
aid most miraculous time, the flood tide of love had
lifted them and their feet were no longer on the earth.
  "But -but-" stammered the boy, moistening his
lips, " you were singing and laughing with Jimmy Han-
cock and the rest ten minutes ago, and now-"
  The girl's delicately rounded chin came up in the
tilt of pride.
  " Do you think I'd show them how I felt " she de-

 



THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNrESS



manded. "Do you think I'd tell anybody -except
you:,'
   Stuart Farquaharson had a sensation of hills and
woodls whirling in glorified riot through an infinity of
imoon mnists and star dust. He felt suddenly mature
and strong and catching her in his arms he pressed her
ales,. kissing her hair and temples until she, fluttering
with the wildness of her first embrace of love, turned
her lips up to his kisses.
   But soon Conscience drew away and at once her
chueek.s grew hot with blushes and maidenly remorse.
She had been reared in an uncompromising school of
puritanism. Her father would have regarded her be-
lu vior as profoundly shocking. She herself, now that
it was over, regarded it so, though she wildly and re-
belliously told herself that she would not undo it, if she
could.
  "Oh," she exclaimed in a low voice, "oh, Stuart,
what were we thinking about! "
  " We were thinking that we belong to each other,"
he fervently assured her. "As long as I live I belong
to you -and to no one else, and you-
  " But we're only children," she demurred, with a
sudden outcropping of the practical in the midst of
romanticism. " How do we know we won't change
our minds "
  " I won't change mine," he said staunchly. " And I
won't let you change yours. You will write to me,
won't you " he eagerly demanded, but she shook her
head.
  "Father doesn't let me write to boys," she told him.
  "At least you'll be back - next summer"
  "I'm afraid not. I don't know."
  Stuart Farquaharson drew a long breath. His face
set itself in rigid resolve.
  " If they send you to the North Pole and stop all



15

 


16     THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS

my letters and put a regiment of soldiers around you,
and keep them there, it won't alter matters in the long
run," he asseverated, with boyhood assurance, "You
1,elong to me and you are going to marry me."
  A voice from the house began calling and the girl
.answered quickly, " I'm just in the garden. I'll be
7ight in." But before she went she turned to the boy
again and her eyes were dancing incorrigibly.
  "You won't go out and join any Newmarket cadets
or anything and get killed meanwhile, will you "
  "I will not," he promptly replied, "And when we
have a house of our own we'll have framed copies of
B'3arbara Freitchie banging all over the place if you
wvant them."
  To Stuart Farquaharson just then the future seemed
very sure. He had no way of knowing that after to-
morrow years lay between the present and their next
meeting - and that after that - but of course he could
not read the stars.


 








CHAPTER III



T      HE sand bar rose like a white island beyond
         "he mild surf of the shore, distant enough to
         make it a reservation for those hardier swim-
mers ivho failed to find contentment between beach and
float. Outside the bar the surf boiled in spumne-
crowned, and went out again sullenly howling an in-
sucking of sands and an insidious tug of undertow.
  One head only bobbed far out as a single swimmer
shaped his course in unhurried strokes toward the bar.
This swimmer had come alone from the hotel bath-
houses and had strolled down into the streaming bubbles
of an outgoing wave without halting to inspect the
other bathers. There was a businesslike directness in
the way he kept onward and outward until a comber
lifted him and his swimming had begun.
  The young man might have been between twenty
andl twenty-five and a Greek feeling for line and form
and rhythmic strength would have called his body
beautiful. Its flesh was smooth and brown, flowing
in frictionless ease over muscles that escaped bulkiness;
its shoulders swung with a sort of gladiatorial free-
dom. But the Hellenic sculptor would have found the
head suited to his use as well as the torso and limbs,
for it was a head well shaped and well carried, domi-
nated by eyes alert with intelligence, and enlivened with
humor.
  As he rocked between crest and trough, the swim-
mer's glance caught the shattered form of a breaker
at the end of the bar. He liked things to be the biggest
of their sort. If there was to be surf, he wanted it to
be like that beyond, with a fierce song in its breaking
and the foam of the sea's endless sweat in its lashings.
                         17

 


1-8 THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



  When at last he let himself down and his feet touched
bottom, he wiped the brine out of his eves and hurried
up the shallow rise - then halted suddenly. The bar
h.Ld appeared empty of human life, but nowl he caught
a glimpse of a head and a pair of shoulders and they
w-re feminine. A normal curiosity as to further par-
ticulars asserted itseif. He had a distinct fueline of
apprehension lest the face, when seen, should prove
v disappointment, because unless it was singularly at-
tractive - more attractive than was warranted by any
law of probability -it would be distressingly out of
keeping with the charm and grace of the figure which
came into full view as lhe waded ashore in spite of the
masses of dark and lustrous hair which fell free. The
unknown lady was sitting on the sand with her back
half turned and, in the soaked and clinging silk of her
bathing dress, she had an alluring lissomnness of line
a-d curve. If her face did match her beauty of body
she would have rather more than one woman's share of
Life's gifts, he philosophized, and by Nature's law of
compensation she would probably be vapid and insipid
of mind.
  But while he was engaging himself in these personal
speculations the lady herself was obviously quite serene
in her ignorance of his presence or existence. She con-
ceived herself to be in sole possession of her island king-
dom of an hour and was complacently using it as an
exclusive terrain.
  She had removed her blue bathing cap and tossed
ik near by on the sand. She had let her hair out free
to the sun, in whose light it glowed between the rich
darkness of polished mahogany and the luster of jet.
  After all perhaps he had better announce himself in
some audible fashion since, secure in her suppose(l iso-
lation, the other occupant of the bar proceeded to re-
rmove a silk stocking, which matched the cap in color,

 


THE TYRANNY OF WEAKNESS



and to examine with absorbed interest what he supposed
to be a stone-bruise on an absurdly small and pink heel.
Discreetly he coughed.
  The young woman looked quickly over her shoulder
and their eyes met. A perfunctory apology for in-
vasion shaped itself in his mind, but remained unuttered.
lie stood instead, his lips parted and his eyes brim-
uiinug with astonishment. The face not only met the
high requirements set for it by his idea of appropriate-
iw'ss, but abundantly surpassed the standard. More-
over, it was a face he recognized. He was not at first
quite certain that her recognition of him had been as
sw ift. A half dozen years, involving the transition
from boyhood to manhood might have dimmed his image
in her memory, so he hastened to introduce himself,
striding across as she came a little confusedly to her
feet - one silk shod and one bare.
  "Heaven be praised, Conscience," he shouted with
an access of boyish elation in his voice. " This is too
lucky to believe. Don't say you've absolutely for-
gol ten me - Stuart Farquaharson."
  Sihe stood there before him, dangling a