American Agriculturist, April 12,1924 
The Broad Highway-sr 
379 
Jeffery Farnol 
(For synopsis see page 380 ) 
CHAPTER XXV 
pf WHICfH THE READER SHALL FIND LITTLE 
TO DO WITH THE STORY, AND MAY, 
THEREFORE, SKIP 
! S , 
„ there anywhere in the world such 
torment as to lie awake through the 
slow, dragging hours, surrounded by a som¬ 
ber quietude from whose stifling blackness 
thoughts, like demons, leap to catch us 
by the throat; or, like waves, come rolling 
in upon us, ceaselessly, remorselessly— 
burying us, catching us up, whirling us diz¬ 
zily aloft, dashing us down into depths 
infinite? 
So I lay, my temples clasped tight be¬ 
tween my burning palms to stay the mad¬ 
dening ring of the hammer in my brain. 
And suspicion grew into certainty, and 
with certainty came madness; imagination 
ran riot: because of her beauty, I cursed 
all beautiful things, and because of her 
womanhood, I cursed all women. And of 
| a sudden, I rose from my bed, groaning, 
I and coming to the casement, leaned out. 
Oh! the cool, sweet purity of the night! 
I heard the soft stir and rustle of leaves all 
about me, and down from heaven came 
a breath of wind, and in the wind a great 
raindrop that touched my burning brow. 
! .hid, leaning there, with parted lips and 
closed eyes, gradually my madness left me, 
and the throbbing in my brain grew less. 
Being now dressed, I stood awhile, de¬ 
liberating how I might escape without dis¬ 
turbing her. So I came to the window, 
and thrusting my head and shoulders side- 
wise through the narrow lattice, slowly 
and with much ado, wriggled myself out. 
Rising from niy hands and knees, I stood 
up and threw wide my arms to the per¬ 
fumed night, inhaling its sweetness in great, 
deep breaths, and so turned my steps to¬ 
ward the brook, for a brook is a compan¬ 
ionable thing and very full of wflse counsel 
and friendly admonitions. 
“Go to!” chuckled the brook. “Oh, 
heavy-footed, heavy-sighing Human—go 
to! 0 Man! lift up thy dull-sighted eyes— 
behold the wonder of the world, and the 
infinite universe about thee; behold thy¬ 
self, and see thy many failings and imper¬ 
fections, and thy stupendous littleness! 
“0 Man!—who hath dominion over all 
things save thine own heart, and who, in 
thy blind egotism, setteth thyself much 
above me, who am but a runlet of water, 
I tell thee, when thou art dusty bones, I 
shall still be here, singing to myself or 
talking to some other poor human fool. 
Go to!” chuckled the brook, “the Wheel 
of Life turneth ever faster and faster; the 
woes of to-day shall be the woes of last 
year, or ever thou canst count them all— 
out upon thee—go to!” 
CHAPTER XXVI 
OF STORM, AND TEMPEST, AND HOW I 
MET THE DAWN 
CAN I went, chin on breast, heedless of 
all direction, on and on, skirting 
hedges, by haycocks looming ghostly in 
the dark, by rustling cornfields, through 
wood and coppice; on I went, lost to all 
things but my own thoughts. And my 
thoughts were not of Life nor Death nor 
the world nor the spaces beyond the world 
—but of my Virgil book with the broken 
cover, and of him who had looked at it— 
over her shoulder. 
, Why should I, Peter Vibart, fall thus 
mto ague-spasms because of a woman—of 
whom I knew nothing, who had come I 
knew not whence, accompanied by one 
whose presence meant infamy to any wo- 
toan; why should I burn thus in a fever if 
die chose to meet another while I was 
a n oad? Was she not free to follow her owm 
devices; had I any claim upon her; by 
.at right did I seek to compass her go- 
l Qgs and comings; or interest myself in her 
domgs? 
As I went, the woods gradually fell 
^ Ty ay, and I came out upon an open place. 
L Gimbed on and up and so, in time, stood 
upon a hill. 
Now, standing upon this elevation, 
with the woods looming dimly below me, 
as if they were a dark tide hemming me in 
on all sides, I became conscious of a sud¬ 
den great quietude in the air—a stillness 
that was like the hush of expectancy. 
But, as I stood there listening, very 
faint and far away, I heard a murmur that 
rose and died and rose again, that swelled 
and swelled into the roll of distant thun¬ 
der. Lightning flickered upon the hori¬ 
zon, the thunder rolled nearer and nearer. 
T T PON the stillness came a rustling, loud 
and ever louder, drowning all else, and 
now, up the storm sprang with a sudden 
bellow, swept up towards fne through the 
swaying treetops, pelting me with broken 
twigs and flying leaves and filling the air 
with the tumult of its coming. 
Oh, the wind!—the bellowing, giant 
wind! On he came, exulting, whistling 
through my hair, stopping my breath, roar¬ 
ing in my ears his savage, wild halloo! 
And forth from the inky heaven burst a 
jagged, blinding flame, that zigzagged 
down among the tossing trees, and vanished 
with a roaring thunder-clap. - And now 
came rain—a sudden, hissing downpour, 
long threads of scintillating fire where the 
lightning caught it — rain that wetted me 
through and through. 
The storm was at its height, and, as I 
listened, rain and wind and thunder be¬ 
came merged and blended into awful mu¬ 
sic—a symphony of Life and Death played 
by the hands of God; and I was an atom— 
a grain of dust—an insect, to be crushed 
by God’s little finger. And yet needs 
must this insect still think upon its little 
self—for half drowned, deafened, blind, and 
half stunned though I was, still the voice 
within me cried: “Why? Why? Why?” 
The whole breadth of heaven seemed 
torn asunder—blue flame crackled in the 
air; it ran hissing along the ground; then— 
blackness, and a thunder-clap that shook 
the very hill beneath me, and I was down 
upon my knees, w r ith the swish of the rain 
about me. 
Little by little upon the silence stole the 
rustle of leaves, and in the leaves were the 
imps who mocked me: 
“Who is he that doth love—in despite 
of himself, and shall do, all his days—be 
she good or evil, whatever she was, what¬ 
ever she is? Who is the very Fool of Love? 
Peter Vibart! Peter Vibart!” 
And so I bowed my face upon my hands 
and remained thus a great while, heeding 
no more the tempest about me. For now 
indeed was my question answered, and my 
fear realized. 
“I love her!—whatever she was—what¬ 
ever she is—good or evil—I love her.” 
And presently I rose, and went on down 
the hill. Fast I strode, stumbling and 
slipping, plunging on heedlessly until at 
last, looking about me, I found myself on 
the outskirts of a little spinney or copse; 
and then I became conscious that the 
storm had passed, and the rain had ceased; 
only all about me were little soft sounds, 
as if the trees were weeping silently 
together. 
Pushing on, I came into a sort of nar¬ 
row lane, grassy underfoot and shut in on 
either hand by very tall hedges; and, being 
spent and weary, I sat down beneath one 
of these and propped my chin in my 
hands. Silence and a profound stillness 
were upon all things; wherefore, lifting my 
eyes unto the east, I saw that it was dawn. 
CHAPTER XXVII 
THE EPILEPTIC 
T TURNED my back upon the lighten¬ 
ing east and set off along the lane. 
But, as I went, I heard one hailing me, 
and glancing round, saw that in the 
hedge was a wicket-gate, and over this 
gate a man was leaning. A little, thin 
man with a face of a high and noble beauty, 
yet the full, bright eye of the man of 
action. 
“Good morning, friend!” said he; “I 
wish you joy of this new day of ours; it is 
cloudy yet, but will be a fair day, I think.” 
“On the contrary, sir,” said I, “to me 
there are all the evidences of the bad wea¬ 
ther continuing. I think it will be a bad 
day, with rain and probably thunder and 
lightning! Good morning, sir!” 
“Stay!” cried he as I turned away, and 
set his hand upon the gate, and, vaulting 
nimbly over, came towards me, with a 
broad-brimmed straw hat in one hand and 
a long-stemmed wooden pipe in the other. 
“Sir,” said he, “my cottage is close by; 
you look worn and jaded. Will you not 
step in and rest awhile?” 
“Thank you, sir; but I must be upon 
my way.” 
“And whither lies your way?” 
“To Sissinghurst, sir.” 
“You have a long walk before you, and, 
with your permission, I will accompany 
you a little way.” 
“With pleasure, sir!” I answered, 
“ though I fear you will find me somewhat 
silent; but then, I shall be the better lis¬ 
tener, so light your pipe, sir, and, while 
you smoke, talk.” 
“My pipe!” said he, glancing down at 
it; “ah! yes—I was about to compose my 
Sunday evening’s sermon.” 
“You are a clergyman, sir?” 
“No, no—a preacher—or say rather—a 
teacher, and a very humble one, who, 
striving himself after Truth, seeks to lend 
such aid to others as he may.” 
“Truth!” said I; “what is Truth?” 
“Truth, sir, is that which can never 
pass away; the Truth of Life is Good 
Works, which abide everlastingly.” 
“Sir,” said I, “you smoke a pipe, I per- 
|£|w 
Can Pmd ii^^^^and^] <zc^Lin<zs? 
This is the hardest Blot-out yet! Don’t be deceived by the extra lines, but 
find all the rhyming objects. (Mary had twelve lambs.) 
ceive, and should, therefore, be a good 
preacher; for smoking begets thought—” 
“But,” sighed the Preacher, “while we 
think, our fellows perish in ignorance and 
want!” 
“Hum!” said I. 
“Thought,” pursued the Preacher, 
may become a vice, as it did with the old- 
time monks and hermits, who wasted their 
lives upon their knees, thinking noble 
thoughts and dreaming of holy things, but 
—leaving the world very carefully to the 
devil. And, as to smoking, I am seriously 
considering giving it up.” 
“Why?” 
“It has become, unfortunately, too hu¬ 
man! It is a strange thing, sir,” he went 
on, smiling and shaking his head, “that 
this, my one indulgence, should become a 
stumbling-block to others. Only last 
Sunday I happened to overhear two white- 
headed old fellows talking. ‘Afine sermon, 
Giles?’ said the one. ‘Ah! good enough,’ 
replied the other, ‘but it might ha’ been 
better—ye see—’e smokes!’ So I am 
seriously thinking of giving it up, for it 
would appear that if a preacher prove 
himself as human as his flock, they im¬ 
mediately lose faith in him.” 
“Very true, sir!” I nodded. “It has 
always been human to admire and respect 
that only which is in any way different to 
ourselves. Pythagoras recognized this 
truth when he shrouded himself in mys¬ 
tery and delivered his lectures from be¬ 
hind a curtain, though, to be sure, he has 
come to be regarded as something of a 
charlatan in consequence.” 
“Pray, sir,” said the Preacher, absent- 
mindedly puffing at his pipe again, “may 
I ask what you are?” 
“A blacksmith, sir.” 
“And where did you read of Pythagoras 
and the like?” 
T)UT, instead of answering, I pointed to 
AA a twisted figure that lay beneath the 
opposite hedge. 
“A man!” exclaimed the Preacher, “and 
asleep, I think.” 
“No,” said I, “not in that contorted at¬ 
titude.” 
“Indeed, you are right,” said the 
Preacher; “the man is ill—poor fellow!” 
And, hurrying forward, he fell on his 
knees beside the prostrate figure. 
He was a tall man, roughly clad, and 
he lay upon his back, rigid and motionless, 
while upon his blue lips were flecks and 
bubbles of foam. 
Epilepsy!” said I. The Preacher bus¬ 
ied himself with loosening the sodden 
neckcloth, the while* I unclasped the icy 
fingers to relieve thejtensionof the muscles. 
The man’s hair was long and matted, 
and his face all drawn and pale, and very 
deeply lined. Now, as I looked at him, 
I had an idea that I had seen him before. 
“Sir,” said the Preacher, looking up, 
“will you help me to carry him to my cot¬ 
tage? It is not very far.” 
So we presently took the man’s wasted 
form between us and bore it to where 
stood a small cottage bowered in roses and 
honeysuckle. And, having deposited our 
unconscious burden upon the Preacher’s 
humble bed, I turned to depart. 
“Sir,” said the Preacher, holding out 
his hand, “it is seldom one meets with a 
blacksmith who has read the Pythagorean 
Philosophy and I should like to see you 
again. I am a lonely man; come and sup 
with me some evening, and let us talk—” 
“And smoke?” said I. The little 
Preacher sighed. “I will come,” said I; 
“thank you! good-by!” Now, even as I 
spoke, chancing to cast my eyes upon the 
pale, still face on the bed, I felt more cer¬ 
tain than ever that I had seen it before. 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
IN WHICH I COME TO A DETERMINATION 
AS I walked through the fresh, green 
^ A world there ensued within me the 
following dispute, as it were, between my- 
(Continued on page 380) 
