The Call of the Blood

"But don't let us think of going to-day," she added. "Remember--I have

only just come back."

"And I!" said Artois. "Be merciful to an invalid, Monsieur Delarey!"

He spoke lightly, but he felt fully conscious now that his suspicion was

well founded. Maurice was uneasy, unhappy. He wanted to get away from

this peace that held no peace for him. He wanted to put something behind

him. To a man like Artois, Maurice was a boy. He might try to be subtle,

he might even be subtle--for him. But to this acute and trained observer

of the human comedy he could not for long be deceptive.

During his severe illness the mind of Artois had often been clouded, had

been dispossessed of its throne by the clamor of the body's pain. And

afterwards, when the agony passed and the fever abated, the mind had been

lulled, charmed into a stagnant state that was delicious. But now it

began to go again to its business. It began to work with the old rapidity

that had for a time been lost. And as this power came back and was felt

thoroughly, very consciously by this very conscious man, he took alarm.

What affected or threatened Delarey must affect, threaten Hermione.

Whether he were one with her or not she was one with him. The feeling of

Artois towards the woman who had shown him such noble, such unusual

friendship was exquisitely delicate and intensely strong. Unmingled with

any bodily passion, it was, or so it seemed to him, the more delicate and

strong on that account. He was a man who had an instinctive hatred of

heroics. His taste revolted from them as it revolted from violence in

literature. They seemed to him a coarseness, a crudity of the soul, and

almost inevitably linked with secret falseness. But he was conscious that

to protect from sorrow or shame the woman who had protected him in his

dark hour he would be willing to make any sacrifice. There would be no

limit to what he would be ready to do now, in this moment, for Hermione.

He knew that, and he took the alarm. Till now he had been feeling

curiosity about the change in Delarey. Now he felt the touch of fear.

Something had happened to change Maurice while Hermione had been in

Africa. He had heard, perhaps, the call of the blood. All that he had

said, and all that he had felt, on the night when he had met Maurice for

the first time in London, came back to Artois. He had prophesied, vaguely

perhaps. Had his prophecy already been fulfilled? In this great and

shining peace of nature Maurice was not at peace. And now all sense of

peace deserted Artois. Again, and fiercely now, he felt the danger of the

South, and he added to his light words some words that were not light.