Then Carston showed them the Charleston, and tumbled with them up to bed, shaking hands at doors, easy at last, and full of goodwill.
The air that filled his room was moist and strong, preparation for the freshest earth there is. The elation went out of him and left content. The visit had given him wonder. That was good, because one got brittle and lonely travelling round, and quick to mistrust. How simple it had been to win on these lordly young men. Love their women. Their place was his now. And the wood. It stood like something punished under the rain. He blew out his candle, and lay down in bed.
A minute later the tail of the lightning winked. The rain quickened. The door next his opened. The gutter outside began to run fast again. Through the finale of the storm, he heard a gull crying. Then, outside his door he heard a whistle like a glass flute. How loud, how long he could not judge, startled by it, teased by it. It was outside the door where Scylla slept. All he could do was repeat the words of the call, as it poured out, with grace notes and repeats:
Oh, sweet and lovely lady be good,
Oh, lady, be good to me.
I’ve been so awfully misunderstood,
So, lady, be good to me.
Oh, lady, please have pity,
I’m all alone in this great city,
I’m just a lonely babe in the wood,
So, lady, be good to me.
Scylla’s door opened, neither noisily nor stealthily. Carston was out of bed, his ear to a split panel. He heard her laugh, her stage notion of an American accent. “I should worry.” Her door shut. He felt like a weight on his body, the three feet of stone between them. On the other side of that they were lying together, in the quiet of the wood. After a time, he went to the window to listen. But only the casement farthest from him was open, and there was no light. Shocked, almost whimpering, he went back to bed, falling, thanks to the strong air, very quickly asleep. Outside, the night cleared. Over the wood Orion hung up his belt and sword. In the pommel, Aldebaran shook; the star some time before Ross had offered to his attention.
VIII
The morning was a merciful bustle, with Ross’s promise come true of the freshest earth there is. The car arrived, and there seemed to be a controversy where they were to go. To pay a call or see some antiquity. Felix put his foot down on the antiquities.
Carston saw Scylla, preoccupied, perfectly and hideously gay.
They took him to Starn and showed it him: as if it was a live thing; and did not notice that he resented its life, and was making attempts to kill it. Principally he remembered it because it was half full of people from the world outside. Not peasants, people in vulgar clothes, on motorcycles, in Ford cars, come to stare because it was summer, whom his party treated as if they were a disease.
After lunch the object of the expedition leaked out. He was told that there was a farm, some way off, where mead was made and could be bought. The price of whisky and drinkable wine had turned their thoughts to it. There was no road to the farm. About the distance they were delicately indefinite. They spoke about a track across a place they called the Heath.
Carston had seen the Heath, had crawled along it for miles in the train. It had seemed purple and endless, and he suspected full of traps. The other side of these people’s world of hills and the sea. Their idea was that it was time for Carston to visit it, covered with a gauze of every variety of heather, the sweet blood-bright burning crop out of which the honey wine was made.
They rested a little and set out.
Ross caught up Scylla, walking ahead, picking out the track. “A word with you,” he said, “don’t let anyone know.”
“Why not?”
“Because of the American, because of Felix, because of Clarence.”
“Why shouldn’t they know that Picus and I have an amourette and have magic between us?”
“There’s something wrong today with Carston.”
“At worst he’ll leave and blast my reputation for a bit. What of that? And, anyhow, how did you find out, a floor up with Felix and Clarence?”
“Felix and Clarence snoring. Carston quiet, Picus whistling.”
“Ross, why have that tall bird and I become lovers? I want to know that. I think it is the kind of thing we shall find out about when it’s over, and wonder at.” Ross said:
“There is trouble about. The kind that comes with brightness. Can you see that?”
“I can,” she said. “Do you mean that Picus is up to no good? I rather agree.”
“The first rule,” said Ross, “is that Picus is never up to any good.”
“Allow me a little fantasy about him.”
“Remember that I told you.”
“You are being one of the enemies of the rose. Why should you? You always do what you like. Leave that to Clarence.”
“I’m telling you to be careful.”
“Are we never to have any peace, only adventure and pain? And you, Ross, have a sacred peace.”
“So have you. It’s the others. That’s why they had better not know.”
“Perhaps not Felix. Brothers will be brothers.”
“Carston’s bored. Today he’s upset. Satan’s looking for a job for him. I think you were to have been the job.”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
“We didn’t tell him how long he was to stay.”
“You mean that our ‘come down and see us’ is going to add an episode to what Felix calls the family horror?”
“I mean that anything that’s going to happen that shouldn’t will find him useful to happen through. Also, a thing you will be too vain to see. This is a move against Clarence by your fancy-boy.”
She looked across the purple land to where it ended in
