Through stained glass

by George Agnew Chamberlain

  CHAPTER XXX

  Weeks passed. Lewis worked steadily at his figure of Vi. From the timethe wires had been set and the rough clay slapped on them, he had neverallowed her to see the figure.

  "It's no use asking," he said. "You're no master at this art. Theworkman who shows unfinished stuff to anybody but a master is a fool."

  "Well, when, then?" asked Vi, impatiently, after weeks had lengthened tomonths.

  "Almost any day now," said Lewis; but before 'any day' came around,something happened that materially delayed the satisfaction of Vi'scuriosity.

  Lady Derl had frequently drafted Lewis into dinners that she thoughtwould be stupid for her without him. As a result, the inevitable inLondon happened. It became a habit to invite Lewis when Lady Derl wascoming. He never took her in,--her rank and position made thatimpossible,--but he was there, somewhere at the lower end of the table,where she could watch him when she felt bored and occasionally read inthe astonished faces of his neighbors the devastation he had caused bysome remark; for Lewis, like his father, had a way of saying things. Thedifference was that Leighton's _mots_ were natural and malicious, whileLewis's were only natural. On the whole, Lewis created the greatersensation.

  The night after Lewis had said "Almost any day now" to Vi, he foundhimself at a semi-diplomatic dinner next to a young person who, likehimself, seemed to find the affair a bit heavy.

  "What did they invite you for?" asked Lewis.

  "They couldn't help it," replied the young person, stifling a yawn. "I'mthe wife of the charge of the Brazilian legation. And you?"

  "Oh, I'm here just to take Lady Derl home."

  The young person's eyes showed a gleam of interest as they glanced upthe table to where Lady Derl sat and reigned an easy queen in thatassembly.

  "Oh," she said, "are you? Why you?"

  "Well," said Lewis, "I suppose it's because I'm the only man in townthat always remembers Lady Derl's beauty and gray hair at the sametime."

  The young person smiled.

  "I believe I've heard of you. Leighton is your name, isn't it?"

  "It's only five minutes since I was introduced," said Lewis, smiling,"and you made me say it over three times."

  "Ah, yes," said the lady, unperturbed, "but five minutes is a longtime--sometimes. Is Leighton a common name?"

  "Not as common as some," said Lewis. "Why?"

  "Nothing, only I know some Leightons in Brazil."

  Lady Derl saw Lewis start, and quickly lay down his fork. She watched invain through the rest of that dinner for a conversational sensation athis end of the table. When they were in the carriage and on the way homeshe asked:

  "Well, what was it?"

  "What was what?" said Lewis, out of a reverie.

  "What did that Senhora What's-her-name have to tell you that made youforget to eat?"

  "She was telling me about an old pal of mine," said Lewis. "Did dad evertell you where he found me?"

  "Yes," said Lady Derl; "he said he found you in the geometrical centerof nowhere, surrounded by equal parts of wilderness."

  "That's what he thought," said Lewis; "but there was a home tucked intothe wilderness. It had been my home for a great many years. People hadbeen kind to me there--Mrs. Leighton; Natalie, my pal; an old darkynamed just mammy; and, in a way, the Reverend Orme. After I'd been awaya year, I wrote back. They had gone. I've just found out where they are,all but the Reverend Orme. I reckon he must be dead."

  "And you're going to write?"

  "Write?" said Lewis. "No, I'm not going to write. I'm just going." For amoment they were silent, then he said, "There's something about hearingof people what were kind to you that makes you feel awfully lonely."

  Lady Derl reached out and took his hand. Their hands lay together on hisknee. The drive came to an end, and they had said nothing more. As theystood under the light of the outer hall Helene turned to Lewis.

  "When are you going?"

  "To-morrow."

  She held up her lips to him.

  "Kiss me good-by, Boy."

  He kissed her, and for a moment gripped her wrists.

  "Helene," he said, "you've been awfully good to me, too. I--I don'tforget."

  "You don't forget," repeated Lady Derl. "That's why I kissed you. Don'tbe hard on your little pal when you find her. Remember, you've gone along way alone."

  As Lewis strode away rapidly toward the flat, the fragrance of Heleneclung to him. It clung to him so long that he forgot Vi--forgot even toleave a note for her explaining his sudden departure. When he reachedSantos, three weeks later, it didn't seem worth while to cable.

  As Lewis stepped out of the station at San Paulo, he felt himself in adream. He crossed the street into the public gardens and looked back. Hehad never seen a station like that. It was beautiful. It had the spiritof a cathedral raised by some pagan as a shrine to the commercial age.Had the railroad bred a dreamer?

  Several motor-cars for hire lined the curb. Lewis stepped up to one ofthe drivers.

  "How did they come to build that?" he asked in Portuguese, with a nodtoward the station.

  The driver shrugged his shoulders.

  "Too much money," he said. "The charter limits them to twenty-five percent, profits. They had such a surplus, they told the architect he couldgo as high as he liked. He went pretty high." The driver winked at hisown joke, but did not smile.

  "I want you by the hour," said Lewis. "Do you know Mrs. Leighton'shouse--Street of the Consolation?"

  The driver shook his head.

  "There's no such house," he said.

  "Well, you know the Street of the Consolation? Drive there. Driveslowly."

  On the way Lewis stared, unbelieving, at the things he saw. Gone werethe low, thick-walled buildings that memory had prepared him for; gonethe funny little street-cars drawn by galloping, jack-rabbit mules. Intheir stead were high, imposing fronts, with shallow doorways and heavyAmerican electric trams.

  The car shot out upon a mighty viaduct. Lewis leaned out and lookeddown. Here was something that he could remember--the valley that splitthe city in two, and up and down the sides of which he had often toiledas a boy. Suddenly they were across, and a monster building blotted allelse from his sight. He looked up at the massive pile. "What is it?" heasked.

  "Theater built by the state," answered the driver, without lookingaround. "Cost millions."

  "Reis?" asked Lewis, smiling.

  "Reis? Bah!" grunted the driver. "Pounds."

  The street left the level and started to climb. Lewis looked anxiouslyto right and left. He saw a placard that read, "Street of theConsolation."

  "Stop!" he cried.

  The driver drew up at the curb.

  "What's the matter?" he asked.

  "This isn't the Street of the Consolation," said Lewis, dismayed."Where's the big cotton-tree and the priest's house, and--and thebamboos? Where are the bamboos?"

  The driver looked around curiously.

  "I remember them, the bamboos," he said, nodding. "They're gone."

  "Wait here," said Lewis.

  He stepped out of the car and started to walk slowly up the hill. Hefelt a strange sinking of the heart. In his day there had been nosidewalk, only a clay path, beaten hard by the feet of three children ontheir way to school. In his day the blank row of houses had been a mud_taipa_ wall, broken just here by the little gate of the priest's house.In his day there had been that long, high-plumed bank of bamboos,forever swaying and creaking, behind the screen of which had lain thewonder realm of childhood.

  He came to the spot where the gate to Consolation Cottage had been. Theold wooden gate and the two friendly, square brick pillars on which ithad swung were gone; but in their stead rose a wondrous structure ofscrolled wrought iron between two splendid granite shafts.

  Lewis stood on tiptoe and gazed through the gate, up the driveway, towhere Consolation Cottage had once stood. Through the tepid haze of abeautiful tropical garden he saw a high villa. It did not look back athim. It seemed to be
watching steadily from its hilltop the spread ofthe mighty city in the valley below.

  Lewis was brought to himself with a start. Somebody behind him criedout, "O-la!" He turned to find two impatient horses almost on top ofhim. A footman was springing from his place beside the coachman to openthe gate.

  Lewis stepped aside. In the smart victoria sat a lady alone. She wasdressed in white, and wore a great, black picture-hat. Lewis glanced ather face. He recognized the Anglo-Saxon pallor. Out of the dead-whiteshone two dark eyes, unnaturally bright. He raised his hat.

  "I beg your pardon," he began in English.

  The gate had swung open. The horses were plunging on the taut reins. Thelady drew her skirts in at her side and nodded. Lewis stepped into thecarriage. The horses shot forward and up the drive.