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Through
their
veil
Archer
caught
the
glint
of
the
Lime
Rock
,
with
its
white-washed
turret
and
the
tiny
house
in
which
the
heroic
light-house
keeper
,
Ida
Lewis
,
was
living
her
last
venerable
years
.
Beyond
it
lay
the
flat
reaches
and
ugly
government
chimneys
of
Goat
Island
,
the
bay
spreading
northward
in
a
shimmer
of
gold
to
Prudence
Island
with
its
low
growth
of
oaks
,
and
the
shores
of
Conanicut
faint
in
the
sunset
haze.From
the
willow
walk
projected
a
slight
wooden
pier
ending
in
a
sort
of
pagoda-like
summer-house
;
and
in
the
pagoda
a
lady
stood
,
leaning
against
the
rail
,
her
back
to
the
shore
.
Archer
stopped
at
the
sight
as
if
he
had
waked
from
sleep
.
That
vision
of
the
past
was
a
dream
,
and
the
reality
was
what
awaited
him
in
the
house
on
the
bank
overhead
:
was
Mrs.
Welland
's
pony-carriage
circling
around
and
around
the
oval
at
the
door
,
was
May
sitting
under
the
shameless
Olympians
and
glowing
with
secret
hopes
,
was
the
Welland
villa
at
the
far
end
of
Bellevue
Avenue
,
and
Mr.
Welland
,
already
dressed
for
dinner
,
and
pacing
the
drawing-room
floor
,
watch
in
hand
,
with
dyspeptic
impatience
--
for
it
was
one
of
the
houses
in
which
one
always
knew
exactly
what
is
happening
at
a
given
hour
.
"
What
am
I
?
A
son-in-law
--
"
Archer
thought.The
figure
at
the
end
of
the
pier
had
not
moved
.
For
a
long
moment
the
young
man
stood
half
way
down
the
bank
,
gazing
at
the
bay
furrowed
with
the
coming
and
going
of
sailboats
,
yacht-launches
,
fishing-craft
and
the
trailing
black
coal-barges
hauled
by
noisy
tugs
.
The
lady
in
the
summer-house
seemed
to
be
held
by
the
same
sight
.
Beyond
the
grey
bastions
of
Fort
Adams
a
long-drawn
sunset
was
splintering
up
into
a
thousand
fires
,
and
the
radiance
caught
the
sail
of
a
catboat
as
it
beat
out
through
the
channel
between
the
Lime
Rock
and
the
shore
.
Archer
,
as
he
watched
,
remembered
the
scene
in
the
Shaughraun
,
and
Montague
lifting
Ada
Dyas
's
ribbon
to
his
lips
without
her
knowing
that
he
was
in
the
room
.
"
She
does
n't
know
--
she
has
n't
guessed
.
Should
n't
I
know
if
she
came
up
behind
me
,
I
wonder
?
"
he
mused
;
and
suddenly
he
said
to
himself
:
"
If
she
does
n't
turn
before
that
sail
crosses
the
Lime
Rock
light
I
'll
go
back
.
"
The
boat
was
gliding
out
on
the
receding
tide
.
It
slid
before
the
Lime
Rock
,
blotted
out
Ida
Lewis
's
little
house
,
and
passed
across
the
turret
in
which
the
light
was
hung
.
Archer
waited
till
a
wide
space
of
water
sparkled
between
the
last
reef
of
the
island
and
the
stern
of
the
boat
;
but
still
the
figure
in
the
summer-house
did
not
move.He
turned
and
walked
up
the
hill
.
"
I
'm
sorry
you
did
n't
find
Ellen
--
I
should
have
liked
to
see
her
again
,
"
May
said
as
they
drove
home
through
the
dusk
.
"
But
perhaps
she
would
n't
have
cared
--
she
seems
so
changed
.
"
"
Changed
?
"
echoed
her
husband
in
a
colourless
voice
,
his
eyes
fixed
on
the
ponies
'
twitching
ears
.
"
So
indifferent
to
her
friends
,
I
mean
;
giving
up
New
York
and
her
house
,
and
spending
her
time
with
such
queer
people
.
Fancy
how
hideously
uncomfortable
she
must
be
at
the
Blenkers
'
!
She
says
she
does
it
to
keep
cousin
Medora
out
of
mischief
:
to
prevent
her
marrying
dreadful
people
.
But
I
sometimes
think
we
've
always
bored
her
.
"
Archer
made
no
answer
,
and
she
continued
,
with
a
tinge
of
hardness
that
he
had
never
before
noticed
in
her
frank
fresh
voice
:
"
After
all
,
I
wonder
if
she
would
n't
be
happier
with
her
husband
.
"
He
burst
into
a
laugh
.
"
Sancta
simplicitas
!
"
he
exclaimed
;
and
as
she
turned
a
puzzled
frown
on
him
he
added
:
"
I
do
n't
think
I
ever
heard
you
say
a
cruel
thing
before
.
"
"
Cruel
?
"
"
Well
--
watching
the
contortions
of
the
damned
is
supposed
to
be
a
favourite
sport
of
the
angels
;
but
I
believe
even
they
do
n't
think
people
happier
in
hell
.
"
"
It
's
a
pity
she
ever
married
abroad
then
,
"
said
May
,
in
the
placid
tone
with
which
her
mother
met
Mr.
Welland
's
vagaries
;
and
Archer
felt
himself
gently
relegated
to
the
category
of
unreasonable
husbands.They
drove
down
Bellevue
Avenue
and
turned
in
between
the
chamfered
wooden
gate-posts
surmounted
by
cast-iron
lamps
which
marked
the
approach
to
the
Welland
villa
.
Lights
were
already
shining
through
its
windows
,
and
Archer
,
as
the
carriage
stopped
,
caught
a
glimpse
of
his
father-in-law
,
exactly
as
he
had
pictured
him
,
pacing
the
drawing-room
,
watch
in
hand
and
wearing
the
pained
expression
that
he
had
long
since
found
to
be
much
more
efficacious
than
anger.The
young
man
,
as
he
followed
his
wife
into
the
hall
,
was
conscious
of
a
curious
reversal
of
mood
.
There
was
something
about
the
luxury
of
the
Welland
house
and
the
density
of
the
Welland
atmosphere
,
so
charged
with
minute
observances
and
exactions
,
that
always
stole
into
his
system
like
a
narcotic
The
heavy
carpets
,
the
watchful
servants
,
the
perpetually
reminding
tick
of
disciplined
clocks
,
the
perpetually
renewed
stack
of
cards
and
invitations
on
the
hall
table
,
the
whole
chain
of
tyrannical
trifles
binding
one
hour
to
the
next
,
and
each
member
of
the
household
to
all
the
others
,
made
any
less
systematised
and
affluent
existence
seem
unreal
and
precarious
.
But
now
it
was
the
Welland
house
,
and
the
life
he
was
expected
to
lead
in
it
,
that
had
become
unreal
and
irrelevant
,
and
the
brief
scene
on
the
shore
,
when
he
had
stood
irresolute
,
halfway
down
the
bank
,
was
as
close
to
him
as
the
blood
in
his
veins.All
night
he
lay
awake
in
the
big
chintz
bedroom
at
May
's
side
,
watching
the
moonlight
slant
along
the
carpet
,
and
thinking
of
Ellen
Olenska
driving
home
across
the
gleaming
beaches
behind
Beaufort
's
trotters
.
"
A
party
for
the
Blenkers
--
the
Blenkers
?
"
Mr.
Welland
laid
down
his
knife
and
fork
and
looked
anxiously
and
incredulously
across
the
luncheon-table
at
his
wife
,
who
,
adjusting
her
gold
eye-glasses
,
read
aloud
,
in
the
tone
of
high
comedy
:
"
Professor
and
Mrs.
Emerson
Sillerton
request
the
pleasure
of
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Welland
's
company
at
the
meeting
of
the
Wednesday
Afternoon
Club
on
August
25th
at
3
o'clock
punctually
.
To
meet
Mrs.
and
the
Misses
Blenker
.
"
Red
Gables
,
Catherine
Street
.
R.
S.
V.
P.
"
"
Good
gracious
--
"
Mr.
Welland
gasped
,
as
if
a
second
reading
had
been
necessary
to
bring
the
monstrous
absurdity
of
the
thing
home
to
him
.
"
Poor
Amy
Sillerton
--
you
never
can
tell
what
her
husband
will
do
next
,
"
Mrs.
Welland
sighed
.
"
I
suppose
he
's
just
discovered
the
Blenkers
.
"
Professor
Emerson
Sillerton
was
a
thorn
in
the
side
of
Newport
society
;
and
a
thorn
that
could
not
be
plucked
out
,
for
it
grew
on
a
venerable
and
venerated
family
tree
.
He
was
,
as
people
said
,
a
man
who
had
had
"
every
advantage
.
"
His
father
was
Sillerton
Jackson
's
uncle
,
his
mother
a
Pennilow
of
Boston
;
on
each
side
there
was
wealth
and
position
,
and
mutual
suitability
.
Nothing
--
as
Mrs.
Welland
had
often
remarked
--
nothing
on
earth
obliged
Emerson
Sillerton
to
be
an
archaeologist
,
or
indeed
a
Professor
of
any
sort
,
or
to
live
in
Newport
in
winter
,
or
do
any
of
the
other
revolutionary
things
that
he
did
.
But
at
least
,
if
he
was
going
to
break
with
tradition
and
flout
society
in
the
face
,
he
need
not
have
married
poor
Amy
Dagonet
,
who
had
a
right
to
expect
"
something
different
,
"
and
money
enough
to
keep
her
own
carriage
.
No
one
in
the
Mingott
set
could
understand
why
Amy
Sillerton
had
submitted
so
tamely
to
the
eccentricities
of
a
husband
who
filled
the
house
with
long-haired
men
and
short-haired
women
,
and
,
when
he
travelled
,
took
her
to
explore
tombs
in
Yucatan
instead
of
going
to
Paris
or
Italy
.
But
there
they
were
,
set
in
their
ways
,
and
apparently
unaware
that
they
were
different
from
other
people
;
and
when
they
gave
one
of
their
dreary
annual
garden-parties
every
family
on
the
Cliffs
,
because
of
the
Sillerton-Pennilow-Dagonet
connection
,
had
to
draw
lots
and
send
an
unwilling
representative
.
"
It
's
a
wonder
,
"
Mrs.
Welland
remarked
,
"
that
they
did
n't
choose
the
Cup
Race
day
!
Do
you
remember
,
two
years
ago
,
their
giving
a
party
for
a
black
man
on
the
day
of
Julia
Mingott
's
the
dansant
?
Luckily
this
time
there
's
nothing
else
going
on
that
I
know
of
--
for
of
course
some
of
us
will
have
to
go
.
"
Mr.
Welland
sighed
nervously
.
"
'S
ome
of
us
,
'
my
dear
--
more
than
one
?
Three
o'clock
is
such
a
very
awkward
hour
.
I
have
to
be
here
at
half-past
three
to
take
my
drops
:
it
's
really
no
use
trying
to
follow
Bencomb
's
new
treatment
if
I
do
n't
do
it
systematically
;
and
if
I
join
you
later
,
of
course
I
shall
miss
my
drive
.
"
At
the
thought
he
laid
down
his
knife
and
fork
again
,
and
a
flush
of
anxiety
rose
to
his
finely-wrinkled
cheek
.
"
There
's
no
reason
why
you
should
go
at
all
,
my
dear
,
"
his
wife
answered
with
a
cheerfulness
that
had
become
automatic
.
"
I
have
some
cards
to
leave
at
the
other
end
of
Bellevue
Avenue
,
and
I
'll
drop
in
at
about
half-past
three
and
stay
long
enough
to
make
poor
Amy
feel
that
she
has
n't
been
slighted
.
"
She
glanced
hesitatingly
at
her
daughter
.
"
And
if
Newland
's
afternoon
is
provided
for
perhaps
May
can
drive
you
out
with
the
ponies
,
and
try
their
new
russet
harness
.
"
It
was
a
principle
in
the
Welland
family
that
people
's
days
and
hours
should
be
what
Mrs.
Welland
called
"
provided
for
.
"
The
melancholy
possibility
of
having
to
"
kill
time
"
(
especially
for
those
who
did
not
care
for
whist
or
solitaire
)
was
a
vision
that
haunted
her
as
the
spectre
of
the
unemployed
haunts
the
philanthropist
.
Another
of
her
principles
was
that
parents
should
never
(
at
least
visibly
)
interfere
with
the
plans
of
their
married
children
;
and
the
difficulty
of
adjusting
this
respect
for
May
's
independence
with
the
exigency
of
Mr.
Welland
's
claims
could
be
overcome
only
by
the
exercise
of
an
ingenuity
which
left
not
a
second
of
Mrs.
Welland
's
own
time
unprovided
for
.
"
Of
course
I
'll
drive
with
Papa
--
I
'm
sure
Newland
will
find
something
to
do
,
"
May
said
,
in
a
tone
that
gently
reminded
her
husband
of
his
lack
of
response
.
It
was
a
cause
of
constant
distress
to
Mrs.
Welland
that
her
son-in-law
showed
so
little
foresight
in
planning
his
days
.
Often
already
,
during
the
fortnight
that
he
had
passed
under
her
roof
,
when
she
enquired
how
he
meant
to
spend
his
afternoon
,
he
had
answered
paradoxically
:
"
Oh
,
I
think
for
a
change
I
'll
just
save
it
instead
of
spending
it
--
"
and
once
,
when
she
and
May
had
had
to
go
on
a
long-postponed
round
of
afternoon
calls
,
he
had
confessed
to
having
lain
all
the
afternoon
under
a
rock
on
the
beach
below
the
house
.
"
Newland
never
seems
to
look
ahead
,
"
Mrs.
Welland
once
ventured
to
complain
to
her
daughter
;
and
May
answered
serenely
:
"
No
;
but
you
see
it
does
n't
matter
,
because
when
there
's
nothing
particular
to
do
he
reads
a
book
.
"
"
Ah
,
yes
--
like
his
father
!
"
Mrs.
Welland
agreed
,
as
if
allowing
for
an
inherited
oddity
;
and
after
that
the
question
of
Newland
's
unemployment
was
tacitly
dropped.Nevertheless
,
as
the
day
for
the
Sillerton
reception
approached
,
May
began
to
show
a
natural
solicitude
for
his
welfare
,
and
to
suggest
a
tennis
match
at
the
Chiverses
'
,
or
a
sail
on
Julius
Beaufort
's
cutter
,
as
a
means
of
atoning
for
her
temporary
desertion
.
"
I
shall
be
back
by
six
,
you
know
,
dear
:
Papa
never
drives
later
than
that
--
"
and
she
was
not
reassured
till
Archer
said
that
he
thought
of
hiring
a
run-about
and
driving
up
the
island
to
a
stud-farm
to
look
at
a
second
horse
for
her
brougham
.
They
had
been
looking
for
this
horse
for
some
time
,
and
the
suggestion
was
so
acceptable
that
May
glanced
at
her
mother
as
if
to
say
:
"
You
see
he
knows
how
to
plan
out
his
time
as
well
as
any
of
us
.
"
The
idea
of
the
stud-farm
and
the
brougham
horse
had
germinated
in
Archer
's
mind
on
the
very
day
when
the
Emerson
Sillerton
invitation
had
first
been
mentioned
;
but
he
had
kept
it
to
himself
as
if
there
were
something
clandestine
in
the
plan
,
and
discovery
might
prevent
its
execution
.
He
had
,
however
,
taken
the
precaution
to
engage
in
advance
a
runabout
with
a
pair
of
old
livery-stable
trotters
that
could
still
do
their
eighteen
miles
on
level
roads
;
and
at
two
o'clock
,
hastily
deserting
the
luncheon-table
,
he
sprang
into
the
light
carriage
and
drove
off.The
day
was
perfect
.
A
breeze
from
the
north
drove
little
puffs
of
white
cloud
across
an
ultramarine
sky
,
with
a
bright
sea
running
under
it
.
Bellevue
Avenue
was
empty
at
that
hour
,
and
after
dropping
the
stable-lad
at
the
corner
of
Mill
Street
Archer
turned
down
the
Old
Beach
Road
and
drove
across
Eastman
's
Beach.He
had
the
feeling
of
unexplained
excitement
with
which
,
on
half-holidays
at
school
,
he
used
to
start
off
into
the
unknown
.
Taking
his
pair
at
an
easy
gait
,
he
counted
on
reaching
the
stud-farm
,
which
was
not
far
beyond
Paradise
Rocks
,
before
three
o'clock
;
so
that
,
after
looking
over
the
horse
(
and
trying
him
if
he
seemed
promising
)
he
would
still
have
four
golden
hours
to
dispose
of.As
soon
as
he
heard
of
the
Sillerton
's
party
he
had
said
to
himself
that
the
Marchioness
Manson
would
certainly
come
to
Newport
with
the
Blenkers
,
and
that
Madame
Olenska
might
again
take
the
opportunity
of
spending
the
day
with
her
grandmother
.
At
any
rate
,
the
Blenker
habitation
would
probably
be
deserted
,
and
he
would
be
able
,
without
indiscretion
,
to
satisfy
a
vague
curiosity
concerning
it
.
He
was
not
sure
that
he
wanted
to
see
the
Countess
Olenska
again
;
but
ever
since
he
had
looked
at
her
from
the
path
above
the
bay
he
had
wanted
,
irrationally
and
indescribably
,
to
see
the
place
she
was
living
in
,
and
to
follow
the
movements
of
her
imagined
figure
as
he
had
watched
the
real
one
in
the
summer-house
.
The
longing
was
with
him
day
and
night
,
an
incessant
undefinable
craving
,
like
the
sudden
whim
of
a
sick
man
for
food
or
drink
once
tasted
and
long
since
forgotten
.
He
could
not
see
beyond
the
craving
,
or
picture
what
it
might
lead
to
,
for
he
was
not
conscious
of
any
wish
to
speak
to
Madame
Olenska
or
to
hear
her
voice
.
He
simply
felt
that
if
he
could
carry
away
the
vision
of
the
spot
of
earth
she
walked
on
,
and
the
way
the
sky
and
sea
enclosed
it
,
the
rest
of
the
world
might
seem
less
empty.When
he
reached
the
stud-farm
a
glance
showed
him
that
the
horse
was
not
what
he
wanted
;
nevertheless
he
took
a
turn
behind
it
in
order
to
prove
to
himself
that
he
was
not
in
a
hurry
.
But
at
three
o'clock
he
shook
out
the
reins
over
the
trotters
and
turned
into
the
by-roads
leading
to
Portsmouth
.
The
wind
had
dropped
and
a
faint
haze
on
the
horizon
showed
that
a
fog
was
waiting
to
steal
up
the
Saconnet
on
the
turn
of
the
tide
;
but
all
about
him
fields
and
woods
were
steeped
in
golden
light.He
drove
past
grey-shingled
farm-houses
in
orchards
,
past
hay-fields
and
groves
of
oak
,
past
villages
with
white
steeples
rising
sharply
into
the
fading
sky
;
and
at
last
,
after
stopping
to
ask
the
way
of
some
men
at
work
in
a
field
,
he
turned
down
a
lane
between
high
banks
of
goldenrod
and
brambles
.
At
the
end
of
the
lane
was
the
blue
glimmer
of
the
river
;
to
the
left
,
standing
in
front
of
a
clump
of
oaks
and
maples
,
he
saw
a
long
tumble-down
house
with
white
paint
peeling
from
its
clapboards.On
the
road-side
facing
the
gateway
stood
one
of
the
open
sheds
in
which
the
New
Englander
shelters
his
farming
implements
and
visitors
"
hitch
"
their
"
teams
.
"
Archer
,
jumping
down
,
led
his
pair
into
the
shed
,
and
after
tying
them
to
a
post
turned
toward
the
house
.
