American Agriculturist, April 19, 1924 
.The Broad Highway 
403 
By Jeffery Farnol 
/For synopsis of preceding installments, 
see page 405) 
CHAPTER XXIX 
IX WHICH CHARMIAN ANSWERS MV QUES¬ 
TION 
■DETER!” 
i “Yes?” 
“I wish you wouldn’t.” 
' “Wouldn’t what, Chairman?” 
[ “Stir your tea round and round—it is 
| r eallv most exasperating!” 
“i heg your pardon!” said I, humbly. 
“And you eat nothing; and that is also 
| exasperating!” / 
“I am not hungry.” 
“And I was so careful with the bacon— 
see, it is fried beautifully! Yes, you are 
very exasperating, Peter!” 
Here, finding I was absent-mindedly 
stirring my tea round and round again, I 
gulped it down out of the way, where¬ 
upon Charmian took my cup and refilled 
it; having done wdiich, she set her elbows 
upon the table, and, propping her chin 
in her hands, looked at me. 
“You climbed out through your win¬ 
dow last night, Peter? ” 
“Yes.” 
“And why did you go by the window? ” 
“I did not wish to disturb you.” 
“That was very thoughtful of you— 
only, you see, I was up and dressed; the 
roar of the thunder woke me. It was a 
dreadful storm, Peter!” 
“Yes.” 
“And you were out in it?” 
“Yes.” 
“Oh, you poor, poor Peter! How cold 
you must have been!” 
“On the contrary,” I began, “I—” 
“And wet, Peter—miserably wet and 
clammy!” 
“I did not notice it,” I murmured. 
“Being a philosopher, Peter, and too 
much engrossed in your thoughts?” 
“I was certainly thinking.” 
“Of yourself!” 
“Yes—” 
“You are a great egoist, aren’t you, 
Peter?” 
“I thought of others besides myself.” 
“DPT only in connection with yourself; 
H everything you have ever read or seen 
you apply to yourself. Is this worthy of 
Peter Vibart? Can Peter Vibart do this, 
that, or the other, and still retain the 
respect of Peter Vibart? Then why, being 
mall things so very correct and precise, 
"hv is Peter Vibart given to prowling 
abroad at midnight, quite oblivious to 
I thunder, lightning, wet and clamminess? 
I answer: Because Peter Vibart is too 
much engrossed by—Peter Vibart,” and 
she laughed. 
And what does that mean, Char¬ 
mian?” 
“Good sir, the sibyl hath spoken! Find 
her meaning for yourself.” 
. You have called me on various occa- 
S1 °ns, a ‘creature,’'a ‘pedant’—very fre¬ 
quently a ‘pedant,’ and now, it seems 
lam an ‘egoist,’ and all because—•” 
“Because you think too much, Peter; 
you never open your lips without having 
jmst thought out just what you are going 
to say. Oh! you are always, thinking 
mra thinking—and that is even worse 
than stirring and stirring at your tea, as 
you are doing now.” Here she gently 7 
disengaged the teaspoon from my fingers 
I laid it in her own saucer, having 
one which she sighed, and looked at me 
"I! her head to one side. “Were they 7 
a h like you, Peter, I wonder—those old 
Philosophers, grim and stern, and terribly 
^Pressed, with burning ey 7 es, Peter, and 
R| th very long chins? Epictetus was, of 
course!” 
. Ynd you dislike Epictetus, "Char¬ 
mian?” - .. . _ . 
I detest him! Epictetus, I am quite 
was a—person!” 
He was one of the wisest, gentlest, and 
"‘Oft lovable of all the Stoics!” said I. 
■ , an .a philosopher possibly be lov- 
0 e . Peter? ’ Here I absent-mindedly 
took up a fork, but, finding her eye upon 
me, laid it down again. 
“You are very nervous, Peter, and 
pale and haggard, and all because you 
habitually 7 —overthink yourself; and in¬ 
deed, there is something very far wrong 
with a man who perseveringly stirs an 
empty cup—with a fork!” And, with a 
laugh, she took my cup and, having once 
more refilled it, set it before me. 
‘ And vet, Peter—I don’t think—no, 
I don’t think I would have you very 
much changed, after all.” 
“You mean that you would rather 
that I remained the pedantic, egotistical 
creature—” 
I mean, Peter, that being a woman, I 
naturally love novelty, and you are very 
novel—and very interesting.” 
“Thank you!” said I, frowning. 
“And I never knew a man anything 
like you before, Peter!” 
“And you have known many, I under¬ 
stand?” 
“Very many.” 
Yes you told me so once before, I 
believe.” 
“Twice, Peter; and each time y 7 ou be¬ 
came very silent and gloomy! Now you, 
on the other hand,” she continued, “have 
known very few’ women?” 
“And my life has been calm and un¬ 
ruffled in consequence!” 
“Until, one day—a woman—came to 
you.” 
“Until, one day—I met a woman.” 
“And then—?” 
“And then—I asked her to marry me, 
Charmian.” Here there ensued a pause, 
during which Charmian began to pleat a 
fold in the table cloth. 
“That was rather—unwise of you, 
wasn’t it?” said she at last. 
“Do you mean that—that you won’t, 
Charmian?” 
“Ob dear, no! I have arrived at no 
decision yet—how could I? You must 
give me time to consider.” Here she 
paused in her pleating to regard it criti¬ 
cally, with her head on one side. “To be 
sure,” said she, with a little nod, “to be 
sure, you need some one to—to look after 
you.” 
“Yes.” 
“To cook—and wash for you.” 
“Yes.” 
“And you think me—sufficiently com¬ 
petent? ” 
“Oh, Charmian, I—yes.” 
“ Thank you! ” said she, very solemnly, 
and, though her lashes had drooped, I felt 
the mockery of her eyes; wherefore I took 
a sudden great gulp of tea, and came near 
choking. 
“And so Mr. Vibart would stoop to 
wed so humble a person as Charmian 
Browrn? Mr. Peter Vibart would, ac¬ 
tually, marry a woman of w’hose past he 
knows nothing?” 
“Yes,” said I. 
That, again, would be rather—un¬ 
wise, wouldn’t it?” 
“Why?” 
“Considering Mr. Vibart ’s very lofty 
ideals in regard to worn; :i.” 
“What do you mean? ’ 
Didn t you once say that your w'ife’s 
name must be above suspicion?” 
“Did I? — yes—well?” 
“Well, this woman—thisHumble Per¬ 
son has compromised herself beyond all 
redemption in the eyes of the world.” 
But then,” said I, “this world and I 
have always mutually despised each 
other.” 
“She ran away, this woman—eloped 
with the most notorious, the most accom¬ 
plished rake in London.” 
“Well?” 
“Oh!—is not that enough?” 
“Enough for what, Charmian?” I saw 
her busy fingers falter and tremble, but 
her voice was steady when she answered: 
“Enough to make any—wise man think 
twice before asking this Humble Person 
to—to marry him.” 
“I might think twenty times, and it 
would be all one!” 
“You—mean—? ” 
“That if Charmian Brown will stoop to 
marry a village blacksmith, Peter Vibart 
will find happiness again.” Her fingers 
had stopped altogether now, but she 
neither spoke nor raised her head. 
“Charmian,” said I, leaning across the 
table. 
‘Oh, Peter!” said she, with a sudden 
break in her voice, and stooped her head 
lower. Yet in a little she looked up at me 
and her eyes were very sweet and shining. 
"M'OW, as our glances met thus, up from 
’ throat to brow there crept that hot, 
slow wave of color, and in her face and in 
her eyes I seemed to read joy, and fear, 
and shame, and radiant joy again. But now 
she bent her head once more, while I grew 
suddenly afraid of her and of myself, and 
longed to hurl aside the table that divided 
us; and thrust my hands deep into my 
pockets and, finding there my tobacco- 
pipe, brought it out and fell to turning it 
aimlessly over and over. And presently 
came.her voice, cool and sweet and sane: 
“Your tobacco, Peter,” and she held 
the box toward me across the table. 
“Afi, thank you!” said I. 
“Peter!” 
“Yes, Charmian?” 
“I wonder why Mr. Peter Vibart 
should seek to marry—the Humble Per- 
son? 
“I think,” I answered, “if there is any 
special reason, it is because of—your 
mouth.” 
“My mouth?” 
“Or your eyes— or the way you have 
with your lashes.” 
Charmian laughed, and forthwith 
drooped them at me, and laughed again, 
and shook her head. 
“But surely, Peter, surely there are 
thousands, millions of women with 
mouths and eyes like—the Humble Per¬ 
son’s?” 
It is possible, said I, “but none who 
have the same way with their lashes.” 
“And so it is that you want to marry 
this very Humble Person?” 
“I think I have wanted to from the 
very first, but did not know it—being a 
blind fool!” 
“And—did it need a night walk in a 
thunder-storm to teach you?” 
“No—that is, yes—perhaps it did.” 
‘‘And—are you quite, quite sure?” 
“Quite—quite sure!” said I, and, as I 
spoke, I laid my pipe upon the table and 
rose; and, because my hands were trem¬ 
bling, I clenched my fists. But, as I ap¬ 
proached her, she started up and put out 
a hand to hold me off, and then I saw that 
her hands were trembling also. And 
standing thus, she spoke, very softly: 
“Peter, do you remember describing to 
me the—the perfect woman who should be 
your—wife?” 
‘‘Yes.” 
“How that you must be able to respect 
her for her intellect?” 
“Yes.” 
“Honor her for her virtue?” 
“Yes, Charmian.” 
“And worship her for her spotless pu¬ 
rity?” 
“I dreamed a paragon—perfect and im¬ 
possible; I was a fool!” said I. 
“Impossible! Oh, Peter! what do you 
“She was quite impossible of realization. 
I was a fool!” 
“And you are—too wise now, to expect 
—such virtues—in any woman?” 
“Yes,” said I; “I only know that you 
have taken this phantom’s place—that 
you fill all my thoughts—sleeping and 
waking—” 
“No! No!” she cried, and struggled in 
my arms, so that I caught her hands, and 
held them close, and kissed them many 
times. 
“Oh, Charmian! Charmian!—don’t you 
know—it is you I want—you, and only 
you forever; whatever you were, I love 
you—Marry me, Charmian!” But, as 
I spoke, her hands were snatched away, 
her eyes blazed into mine, and her lips 
were all bitter scorn, and at the sight, fear 
came upon me. 
“Marry you!” she panted; “marry 
you?—no and no and no!” And so she 
stamped her foot, and sobbed, and turn¬ 
ing, fled from me, out of the cottage. 
And now to fear came wonder, and with 
wonder was despair. 
Truly, was ever man so great a fool! 
low M 
DiffejSnfJ 
A PENCIL AND BLOTOUT ALbTHE UNNECES5ARV LINES 
— -— _ y j ) 
f AST week the picture contained the following rhyming objects- Pill, Hill, 
Bill, Grill, Mill, Will and Gill. This week ten animals are concealed. 
What are they? The answer to this Blot-Out will appear next week. 
CHAPTER XXX 
CONCERNING THE FATE OF BLACK GEORGE 
A BROAD, white road; on either hand 
some half-dozen cottages with roofs 
of thatch or red tile, backed by trees 
gnarled and ancient, among which rises 
the red conical roof of some oast-house. 
Such, in a word, is Sissinghurst. 
Now, upon the left-hand side of the 
way, there stands a square, comfortable, 
whitewashed building, peaked of roof, 
bright as to windows, and with a mighty 
sign before the door, whereon you shall 
behold the picture of a bull: a bull rolling 
of eye, astonishingly curly of horn and 
stiff as to tail, and with a prodigious girth 
of neck and shoulder; such a snorting, 
fiery-eyed, curly-horned bull as was never 
seen off an inn-sign.. 
It was at this bull that I was staring 
with much apparent interest, though in¬ 
deed, had that same curly-horned mon¬ 
strosity been a green dragon or griffin, or 
swan with two necks,, the chances, are 
that I should have continued sublimely 
unconscious. »•% -• - • 
Y T et how should honest Silas Hoskins, 
(Continued on,page J f 05) ■ 
