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〃Thank you； that'll do。〃 Then； waiting till she was gone； he crossed the room； fumbled open the sideboard door； and took out the bottle。 Reaching over the polished oak； he grasped a sherry glass； and holding the bottle with both hands； tipped the liquor into it； put it to his lips and sucked。 Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild； very old； old as himself； coloured like sunlight； fragrant。 To the last drop he drank it； then hugging the bottle to his shirt…front； he moved snail…like to his chair； and fell back into its depths。 For some minutes he remained there motionless； the bottle clasped to his chest； thinking： 'This is not the attitude of a gentleman。 I must put it down on the table…on the table；' but a thick cloud was between him and everything。 It was with his hands he would have to put the bottle on the table！ But he could not find his hands； could not feel them。 His mind see…sawed in strophe and antistrophe： 〃You can't move！〃〃I will move！〃 〃You're beaten〃〃I'm not beat。〃 〃Give up〃 〃I won't。〃 That struggle to find his hands seemed to last for ever he must find them！ After thatgo downall standingafter that！ Everything round him was red。 Then the red cloud cleared just a little； and he could hear the clock〃tick…tick…tick〃； a faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists； down his palms； and yeshe could feel the bottle！ He redoubled his struggle to get forward in his chair； to get forward and put the bottle down。 It was not dignified like this！ One arm he could move now； but he could not grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down。 Working his whole body forward； inch by inch； he shifted himself up in the chair till he could lean sideways； and the bottle； slipping down his chest； dropped slanting to the edge of the low stool…table。 Then with all his might he screwed his trunk and arms an inch further； and the bottle stood。 He had done itdone it！ His lips twitched into a smile； his body sagged back to its old position。 He had done it！ And he closed his eyes 。。。。
At half…past eleven the girl Molly； opening the door； looked at him and said softly： 〃Sirr！ there's some ladies； and a gentleman！〃 But he did not answer。 And； still holding the door； she whispered out into the hall：
〃He's asleep； miss。〃
A voice whispered back：
〃Oh！ Just let me go in； I won't wake him unless he does。 But I do want to show him my dress。〃
The girl moved aside； and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in。 She walked to where； between the lamp…glow and the fire…glow； she was lighted up。 White satinher first low…cut dressthe flush of her first supper partya gardenia at her breast； another in her fingers！ Oh！ what a pity he was asleep！ How red he looked！ How funnily old men breathed！ And mysteriously； as a child might； she whispered：
〃Guardy！〃
No answer！ And pouting； she stood twiddling the gardenia。 Then suddenly she thought： 'I'll put it in his buttonhole！ When he wakes up and sees it； how he'll jump！'
And stealing close； she bent and slipped it in。 Two faces looked at her from round the door； she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle； her mother's rich and feathery laugh。 Oh！ How red his forehead was！ She touched it with her lips； skipped back； twirled round； danced silently a second； blew a kiss； and like quicksilver was gone。
And the whispering； the chuckling； and one little out…pealing laugh rose in the hall。
But the old man slept。 Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of half…past twelve； was it known that he would never wake。
THE APPLE TREE
〃The Apple…tree； the singing and the gold。〃 MURRAY'S 〃HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES。〃
In their silver…wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the outskirts of the moor； intending to crown the festival by stopping the night at Torquay； where they had first met。 This was the idea of Stella Ashurst； whose character contained a streak of sentiment。 If she had long lost the blue…eyed； flower…like charm； the cool slim purity of face and form； the apple…blossom colouring； which had so swiftly and so oddly affected Ashurst twenty…six years ago； she was still at forty…three a comely and faithful companion； whose cheeks were faintly mottled； and whose grey…blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness。
It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the left； and a narrow strip of larch and beech； with here and there a pine； stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long high hill of the full moor。 She was looking for a place where they might lunch； for Ashurst never looked for anything； and this； between the golden furze and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the last sun of Aprilthis； with a view into the deep valley and up to the long moor heights； seemed fitting to the decisive nature of one who sketched in water…colours； and loved romantic spots。 Grasping her paint box； she got out。
〃Won't this do； Frank？〃
Ashurst； rather like a bearded Schiller； grey in the wings； tall； long…legged； with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with meaning and became almost beautiful； with nose a little to one side； and bearded lips just openAshurst； forty…eight； and silent； grasped the luncheon basket； and got out too。
〃Oh！ Look； Frank！ A grave！〃
By the side of the road； where the track from the top of the common crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood； was a thin mound of turf； six feet by one； with a moorstone to the west； and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of bluebells。 Ashurst looked； and the poet in him moved。 At cross…roadsa suicide's grave！ Poor mortals with their superstitions！ Whoever lay there； though； had the best of it； no clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves carved with futilities just a rough stone； the wide sky； and wayside blessings！ And； without comment； for he had learned not to be a philosopher in the bosom of his family； he strode away up on to the common； dropped the luncheon basket under a wall； spread a rug for his wife to sit on she would turn up from her sketching when she was hungryand took from his pocket Murray's translation of the 〃Hippolytus。〃 He had soon finished reading of 〃The Cyprian〃 and her revenge； and looked at the sky instead。 And watching the white clouds so bright against the intense blue； Ashurst； on his silver…wedding day； longed forhe knew not what。 Maladjusted to lifeman's organism！ One's mode of life might be high and scrupulous； but there was always an； undercurrent of greediness； a hankering； and sense of waste。 Did women have it too？ Who could tell？ And yet； men who gave vent to their appetites for novelty； their riotous longings for new adventures； new risks； new pleasures； these suffered； no doubt； from the reverse side of starvation； from surfeit。 No getting out of ita maladjusted animal； civilised man！ There could be no garden of his choosing； of 〃the Apple…tree； the singing； and the gold；〃 in the words of that lovely Greek chorus； no achievable elysium in life； or lasting haven of happiness for any man with a sense of beautynothing which could compare with the captured loveliness in a work of art； set down for ever； so that to look on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation and restful inebriety。 Life no doubt had moments with that quality of beauty； of unbidden flying rapture； but the trouble was； they lasted no longer than the span of a cloud's flight over the sun； impossible to keep them with you； as Art caught beauty and held it fast。 They were fleeting as one of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature； glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit。 Here； with the sun hot on his face； a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree； and in the air the honey savour of gorsehere among the little fronds of the young fern； the starry blackthorn； while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills and dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse。 But in a moment it would passas the face of Pan； which looks round the corner of a rock； vanishes at your stare。 And suddenly he sat up。 Surely there was something familiar about this view； this bit of common； that ribbon of road； the old wall behind him。 While they were driving he had not been taking noticenever did； thinking of far things or of nothingbut now he saw！ Twenty…six years ago； just at this time of year； from the farmhouse within half a mile of this very spot he had started for that day in Torquay whence it might be said he had never returned。 And a sudden ache beset his heart； he had stumbled on just one of those past moments in his life； whose beauty and rapture he had failed to arrest； whose wings had fluttered away into the unknown； he had stumbled on a buried memory； a wild sweet time； swiftly choked and ended。 And； turning on his face； he rested his chin on his hands； and stared at the short grass where the little blue milkwort was growing。。。。
I
And this is what he remembered。
On the first of May； after their last year together at college； Frank Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp。 They had walked that day from Brent； intending to make Chagford； but Ashu