But he was standing before his wife's dressing-table, and the mirror showed him a squat insignificant burgess in shirtsleeves, with grizzled untidied hair, and mild accommodating pale eyes, and an inadequate nose, with huge nostrils, and a spacious naked-looking upper-lip. That was Felix Kennaston, so far as all other people were concerned save Kathleen. He smiled; and in the act he noted that the visual result was to make Felix Kennaston appear particularly inane and sheepish. But he knew now that did not matter. Nor did it greatly matter – his thoughts ran – that it was never permitted any man, not even in his dreams, ever to touch the hands and lips of Ettarre.
So he left there the two pieces of metal, united at last upon his wife's dressing-table, between the manicure-set and the pincushion, where on her return she might find them, and, finding, understand all that which he lacked words to tell.
II
Considerations Toward Sunset
THEN Kennaston went for a meditative walk in the abating glare of that day's portentous sunset, wherein the tree-trunks westward showed like the black bars of a grate. It was in just such a twilight that Horvendile had left Storisende…
And presently he came to a field which had been mowed that week. The piled hay stood in rounded heaps, suggestive to Kennaston of shaggy giant heads bursting through the soil, as in the old myth of Cadmus and the dragon's teeth; beyond were glittering cornfields, whose tremulous green was shot with brown and sickly yellow now, and which displayed a host of tassels like ruined plumes. Autumn was at hand. And as Kennaston approached, a lark – as though shot vehemently from the ground – rose singing. Straight into the air it rose, and was lost in the sun's abating brilliance; but still you could hear its singing; and then, as suddenly, the bird dropped earthward.
Kennaston snapped his fingers. "Aha, my old acquaintance!" he said, "but now I envy you no longer!" Then he walked onward, thinking…
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"What did I think of?" he said, long afterward -"oh, of nothing with any real clarity. You see – I touched mystery everywhere…
"But I thought of Kathleen's first kiss, and of the first time I came to her alone after we were married, and of our baby that was born dead… I was happier than I had ever been in any dream… I saw that the ties of our ordinary life here in the flesh have their own mystic strength and sanctity. I comprehended why in our highest sacrament we pre-figure with holy awe, not things of the mind and spirit, but flesh and blood… A man and his wife, barring stark severance, grow with time to be one person, you see; and it is not so much the sort of person as the indivisibility that matters with them…
"And I thought of how in evoking that poor shadow of Ettarre which figures in my book, I had consciously written of my dear wife as I remembered her when we were young together. My vocabulary and my ink went to the making of the book's Ettarre: but with them went Kathleen's youth and purity and tenderness and serenity and loving-kindness toward all created things save the women I had flirted with – so that she contributed more than I…
"And I saw that the good-smelling earth about my pudgy pasty body, and my familiar home – as I turned back my pudgy pasty face toward Alcluid, bathed now in the sun's gold – were lovely kindly places. Outside were kings and wars and thunderous zealots, and groaning, rattling thunderous printing-presses, too, that were turning off a book called The Tinctured Veil, whereinto had been distilled and bottled up the very best that was in Felix Kennaston; but here was just 'a citadel of peace in the heart of the trouble.' And – well, I was satisfied. People do not think much when they are satisfied."
But he did not walk long; for it was growing chilly, as steadily dusk deepend, in this twilight so like that in which Horvendile had left Storisende forever.
III
One Way of Elusion
KATHLEEN was seated at the dressing-table, arranging her hair, when Kennaston came again into her rooms. He went forward, and without speaking, laid one hand upon each shoulder.
Now for an instant their eyes met in the mirror; and the woman's face he saw there, or seemed to see there, yearned toward him, and was unutterably loving, and compassionate, and yet was resolute in its denial. For it denied him, no matter with what wistful tenderness, or with what wonder at his folly. Just for a moment he seemed to see that; and then he doubted, for Kathleen's lips lifted complaisantly to his, and Kathleen's matter-of-fact face was just as he was used to seeing it.
And thus, with no word uttered, Felix Kennaston understood that his wife must disclaim any knowledge of the sigil of Scoteia, should he be bold enough to speak of it. He knew he would never dare to speak of it in that constricted hidebound kindly life which he and Kathleen shared in the flesh. To speak of it would mean to become forthwith what people glibly called insane. So Horvendile and Ettarre were parted for all time. And Kathleen willed this, no matter with what wistful tenderness, and because of motives which he would never know – for how could one tell what was going on inside that small round head his hand was caressing? Still, he could guess at her reasons; and he comprehended now that Ettarre had spoken a very terrible truth – "All men I must evade at the last, and innumerable are the ways of my elusion."
"Well, dear," he said aloud; "and was it a pleasant party?"
"Oh, so-so," Kathleen conceded; "but it was rather a mixed crowd. Hadn't you better hurry and change your clothes, Felix? It is almost dinner-time, and, you know, we have seats for the theater to-night."
Quite as if he, too, were thinking of trifles, Felix Kennaston took up the two bits of metal.
"I have often wondered what this design meant," he said, idly – not looking at her, and hopeful that this much allusion at least was permitted to what they dared not speak of openly.
"Perhaps Mr. Harrowby could tell you." Kathleen also spoke as with indifference – not looking at him, but into the mirror, and giving deft final touches to her hair.
"Eh -?" Kennaston smiled. "Oh, yes, Dick Harrowby, I grant you, has dabbled a bit in occult matters, but hardly deep enough, I fancy, to explain – this."
"At all events," Kathleen considered, "it is a quarter to seven already, and we have seats for the theater to-night."
He cleared his throat. "Shall I keep this, or you?"
"Why, for heaven's sake-! The thing is of no value now, Felix. Give it to me." She dropped the two pieces of metal into the waste-basket by the dressing-table, and rose impatiently. "Of course if you don't mean to change for dinner -"
He shrugged and gave it up.
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So they dined alone together, sharing a taciturn meal, and duly witnessed the drolleries of The Gutta-Percha Girl. Kennaston's sleep afterward was sound and dreamless.
IV
Past Storisende Fares the Road of Use
and Wont
HE read The Tinctured Veil in print, with curious wistful wonder. "How did I come to write it?" was his thought.
Thereafter Felix Kennaston, as the world knows, wrote no more books, save to collect his later verses into a volume. "I am afraid to write against the author of The Tinctured Veil," he was wont flippantly to declare. And a few of us suspected even then that he spoke the absolute truth.
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Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Kennaston continued their round of decorous social duties: their dinner-parties were chronicled in the Lichfield Courier-Herald; and Kennaston delivered, by request, two scholarly addresses before the Lichfield Woman's Club, was duly brought forward to shake hands with all celebrities who visited the city, and served acceptably in the vestry of his church.