444 
The Broad Highway 
American Agriculturist, May 3 , 1924 
—By Jeffery Farnol 
(For synopsis of preceding installment*, 
see page 445) 
round—the grass swayed beneath my ^remember? \ou told me, no, and. 
“\/0U have both seen Black George 
\I fight, then?” I inquired. 
“Many’s the time, Peter.” 
/ “And have you ever—seen him knocked 
down?” . 
“No, Peter!” added Simon, “I don t 
think as there be a man in all England 
as could knock Black George off ’is pins in 
a fair, stand-up fight.” 
“Hum!” said I. 
“Ye see—’e be that ’ard, Peter!” 
nodded the Ancient. “Why, look!” he 
cried— ‘ look theer! ” 
I saw a man dart across the road some 
distance away; he was hidden almost im¬ 
mediately, but there was no mistaking that 
length of limb and breadth of shoulder. 
“’Twere Black Jarge ’isself!” ex¬ 
claimed Simon, whipping up his horses; 
but when we reached the place George 
was gone, and though we called and 
sought for some time, we saw him no 
feet—and Charmian was beside me with 
her arm about my shoulders; but I pushed 
her from me, and leaned against a tree 
near by. / 
“Why—Peter!” said she. 
“Please, Charmian,” said I, speaking 
between the hammer-strokes, “do not— 
touch me again—it is—too soon after—” 
“What do you mean—Peter? What 
do you mean?” 
“I know of—his visits—if he was—the 
same as—last time—in a—blue coat—no, 
don’t, don’t touch me.” 
But she had sprung upon me, and 
caught me by the arms. And her voice 
hissed: “What do you mean?” And her 
voice and hands and eyes w’ere strangely 
compelling. 
“I mean,” I answered, in a low, even 
voice, like one in a trance, “that you are a 
Messalina, beautiful—and wanton. ’ 
while you spoke, I knew you lied, for I had 
seen him standing among the leaves, 
waiting and watching for you. You 
brought him here—here, into the cottage 
—he looked at my Virgil—over your 
shoulder—do you remember?” 
“You played the spy!” she whispered 
with trembling lips, yet with eyes still 
fierce and scornful. 
“You know I did not; had I seen him 
I should have killed him, because—I 
loved you. I had set up an altar to you 
where my soul might worship—poor fool 
that I was! And lately I have seen my 
turned, and strode swiftly out and away 
from the cottage. 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
IN WHICH I FIND PEACE AND JOY AND AN 
ABIDING SORROW 
I 
HURRIED on, looking neither to 
right nor left, seeing only the face of 
Charmian, now fearful and appealing, 
now blazing with scorn. I plunged, knee- 
deep, through the brook, and strode on 
and on, through bramble and briar, heed¬ 
less of their petty stings, till at last I 
was among trees. And here, where the 
_* was! _ v . - 
altar desecrated and destroyed, and, with -- 0 —- --> -- 
it, your sweet womanhood dragged in the shadow was deepest, I came upon a lurk- 
mire, and yet—I loved you still. Can ing figure, a figure there was no mistaking, 
more. 
N OW at the w r ord she cried out, and 
struck me twice across the face, 
So, in a while, we turned and jogged 
back towards Sissinghurst. 
“What be you a-shakin’ your ’ead 
over, Old Un?” inquired Simon, after we 
had ridden some distance. 
“I w’ere wonderin’ what that old fule 
Amos’ll say when we drive back wd out 
Jarge.” 
Being come to the parting of the w 7 ays, 
I descended from the cart, for my head 
struck me twdee across 
blow’s that burnt and stung. 
“Beast!” she cried. “Liar! Oh, that 
I had the strength to grind you into the 
earth beneath my foot. Oh! you blind, 
self-deluding fool!” and her laughter 
stung me most of all. “As I look at you, 
she w r ent on, “you stand there—a beaten 
hound. This is my last look, and I shall 
always remember you as I see you now 7 
shamefaced—a beaten hound! And, 
1 aescenaeu ncmi me mi i, , j i -i i. 1,4 
was strangely heavy, and I felt much out <23^*1!™$*^ K 1 
of sorts, and, though the day was still 
young I had no mind for work. Therefore 
I bade adieu to Simon and the Ancient, 
and turned aside towards the Hollow, 
leaving them staring after me in wonder¬ 
ment. 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
IN WHICH I FALL FROM FOLLY INTO MAD 
NESS 
with that word, the demon leapt up 
within me, and I clasped my arms about 
her, and crushed her against my breast. 
“Go?” said I. “Go—no, not yet!” 
And now, as her eyes met mine, I felt 
her tremble, yet she heaped me with bitter 
scorn; but I only shook my head and 
smiled. And now she struggled to break 
my clasp; her long hair burst its fasten¬ 
ings, and enveloped us both in its rippling 
splendor; she beat my face, she wound her 
fingers in my hair, but my lips smiled on. 
you imagine, I w r onder, the agony of it, 
the bitter days, the sleepless nights? To 
see you so beautiful, so glorious, and 
know you so base! Indeed, I think it 
came near driving me mad. If Black 
George had but struck a little harder— 
would to God I were dead! But now 7 , 
having killed my heart, broken my life, 
driven aw r ay all peace of mind—you w 7 ould 
leave me! No, Charmian, you shall not 
go—yet. I have bought you very dear— 
bought you with my bitter agony, and 
by all "the blasting torments I have 
suffered!” 
“Peter—be sane. Oh, Peter! be merci¬ 
ful and let me go—give me time—let me 
explain.” 
“My books,” said I, “have taught me 
that the more beautiful a woman’s face 
the more guileful is her heart.” 
“I—oh, Peter!—I am not the poor 
creature you think me.” 
“Were you the proudest lady in the 
land—you have deceived me and mocked 
me and lied to me! ” So saying, I reached 
out, and seized her by each rounded arm, 
and slowly drew 7 her closer. And now 7 she 
strove no more, only in her face w 7 as bitter 
scorn, and an anger that cast out fear. 
“I hate you—despise vou!” she w 7 his- 
I 
Hagers iu mv nan, A * Al 
T was with some little trepidation that for the hammer in my brain had deadened pered. I hate you more than any man 
_ . .1 tt ii —i ~ii W£is ever n&teu. 
I descended into the Hollow, and 
walked along beside the brook, for soon 
[ should meet Charmian, and the memory 
of our parting, and the thought of this 
meeting, had been in my mind all day 
l° n g- . t „ 
She would not be expecting me yet, tor 
I was much before my usual time, where¬ 
fore I walked on slowly beside the brook, 
until I came .to that large stone where I 
all else. 
And presently I felt her body relax and 
grow suddenly pliable and soft, her head 
fell back across my arm, and, as she lay, 
I saw tears of helplessness ooze out be¬ 
neath her drooping lashes; but still I 
smiled. y 
So, w T ith her long hair trailing over me, 
I bore her to the cottage. Closing the 
door behind me w 7 ith my foot, I crossed 
I 
jniu i came „ to lllul ™ uuv- -*• — - -— , v , T u i 
iad sat dreaming the night when she had the room, and set her down upon t le e 
stood in the moonlight, and first bidden 
me in to supper. And now 7 , sinking upon 
this stone, and fixing my eyes upon the 
ever-moving w 7 aters of the brook, I fell into 
a profound meditation. 
From this I was suddenly aroused by 
the clink of iron and the snort of a horse. 
And in a little came the sound of a 
voice, low and soft and very sweet 
whose rich tones there was no mistaking • 
followed, almost immediately, by another 
—the voice of a man. 
With a bound, I w 7 as upon my feet, and 
had crossed the brook, but, even so, I w T as 
too late; the muffled thud of a horse’s 
hoofs died quickly away, and was lost in 
the stir of leaves. . . 
I stood where I was, dumb and rigid, 
staring straight before me, and once again 
a tremor passed over me, and, once again, 
in my head w 7 as the thud, thud, thud of 
the hammer. 
She lay very still, but the tears still 
crept from beneath hex lashes; in a while 
she opened her eyes and looked at me, and 
shivered, and crouched farther from me. 
“Why did you lie to me, Charmian; 
w 7 hy did you lie to me?” She did not 
answ r er, only she watched me as one might 
watch some relentless, oncoming peril. 
“I asked you once if you ever saw men 
NCH by inch I drew her to me, until 
she stood close, within the circle of my 
arms. 
“And I think I love you more than any 
woman w r as ever loved!” said I; “for the 
glorious beauty of your strong, sweet 
body, for the temptation of your eyes, for 
the "red lure of your lips!” And so I 
stooped and kissed her full upon the 
mouth. She lay soft and w 7 arm in my 
embrace, all unresisting, only she shiv¬ 
ered beneath my kiss, and a great sob 
rent her. 
“And I also think,” said I, “that, be¬ 
cause of the perfidy of your heart, I hate 
you as much as you do me—as much as thither, but, finding it dark and desoiaie, 
ever woman, dead or living, was hated I gave way to my despair. 
I n 
b 
a 
and w 7 hich I should have known in 
thousand. 
A shortish, broad-shouldered man, clad 
in a blue coat, who stood with his back 
towards me, looking down into the Hol¬ 
low, in the attitude of one who waits—for 
what? for whom? 
“Curse you!—show your face!” I 
cried, and swung him round so fiercely 
that he staggered, and his hat fell off. 
Then, as I saw, I fell back—staring. 
A grizzled man with an honest, open 
face, a middle-aged man whose homely 
features were lighted by a pair of kindly 
blue eyes, just now round with astonish¬ 
ment. 
“Lord!—Mr. Peter!” he exclaimed. 
“Adam!” I groaned. “Oh, God for¬ 
give me, it’s Adam!” 
“Lord! Mr. Peter,” said he again, 
“you sure give me a turn, sir! But what’s 
the matter, sir? Come, Air. Peter, never 
stare so wild like—come, sir, what is it?” 
“Tell me—quick!” said I, catching his 
hand in mine, “you have been here many 
times before of late?” 
“Why—yes. Air. Peter, but—” 
“Quick!” said I; “on one occasion she 
took you into the cottage yonder and 
showed you a book—you looked at it over 
her shoulder?” 
“Yes, sir—but—” 
“What sort of book was it?” 
“A old book, sir, wi’ the cover broke, 
and wi’ your name writ down inside of it; 
’twas that way as she found out who you 
was—” 
“Oh, Adam!” I cried. “Now may 
God help me!” And I turned and ran 
until I reached the cottage; but it was 
empty, Charmian was gone. 
In a fever of haste I sought her along 
the brook, among the bushes and trees, 
even along the road. And, as I sought, 
night fell, and in the shadows was black 
despair. 
With some faint hope that she might 
have returned to the cottage, I hastened 
hereabouts—when I was away, do you 
bv man—and shall—forever! 
And, while I spoke, I loosed her and 
‘“In Scarlet town, where I was born. 
There was a fair maid dwellin’, 
Made every youth cry Well-a-way! 
Her name was Barbara Allen.’ ” 
She was approaching by that leafy path 
that wound beside the brook, and there 
came upon me a physical nausea, and 
ever the thud of the hammer grew more 
maddening. 
‘“AH in the merry month of May, 
When green buds they were swellin’, 
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay. 
For love of Barbara Allen.’ ” 
Now, as she ended the verse, she came 
out into the open, and saw me. And sud¬ 
denly the trees and bushes swung giddily 
O blind, self-deceiving fool! She had 
called me an egoist—I was an egoist, a 
pedant, a fool who had wilfully destroyed 
all hopes of a happiness the very thought 
of which had so often set me trembling-- 
and now—she had left me! How should 1 
live without Charmian, the woman whose 
image was ever before my eyes, whose 
soft, low 7 voice was ever in my ears:'' 
>yQUR V/ PENCIL ano Blqt-out all the. unnecessary LINES 1 
Last week’s picture contained: boat, horn, shoe, lantern, tulip, book, hammer, 
hat, top, glove, bell and apple. 
AT last, because it was very dark, I found 
and lighted a candle, and came and 
stood beside her bed. Very white ant- 
trim it looked, yet I w 7 as glad to see its 
smoothness rumpled w’here I had laid her 
dow n, and to see the depression in the pil¬ 
low that her head had made.. And up to 
me stole a perfume very faint, like tie 
breath of violets in a wood at . evening 
time, wherefore I sank down upon ni} 
knees. 
And now the full knowledge of ”0 
madness rushed upon me in an ewer 
w’helming flood; but with misery 
great and might joy, for now I knew i 
worthy of all respect and honoi aI 
worship, for her intellect, for her P r ° , 
virtue, and for her spotless puritw - ■ 
thus, with joy came remorse, ana ^ 
remorse—an abiding sorrow 7 . 
(Continued on page 
