THE
An Uirasoal Love Story
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
1
ALL the world love? a lover, and all the world chortles with de
light when a charming girl fascinates an avowed woman-hater
and trains him to eat quietly out of her hand. In the story which
we offer here, the charming heroine does nothing so common
place as to fascinate one man ; she fascinates dozens. And in the end
she has not one woman-hater eating out of her hand, but three of the
crustiest bachelors you ever saw following her around like faithful
dogs. "The Hillman" is altogether delightful, and we feel sure our
readers will enjoy the serial thoroughly.
THE EDITOR.
CHAPTER I.
Louise was leaning back among the
cushions of the motionless car. The
moon had not yet risen, but a faint and
luminous glow, spreading like a halo
about the topmost peak of the ragged
line of hills, heralded Its approach.
Her eyes swept the hillsides, vainly
yet without curiosity, for any sign of a
human dwelling. Her chauffeur and
her maid stood talking heatedly to
gether near the radiator.
Louise leaned forward and called to
the chauffeur.
"Charles," she asked, "what has hap
pened? Are we really stranded here?"
The man's head emerged from the
bonnet. He came round to the side of
the car.
"I am very sorry, madam," he re
ported, "but something has gone wrong
with the magneto. I shall have to take
It to pieces before I can tell exactly
what Is wrong. It will take several
hours and It ought to be done by day
light. Perhaps I had better go and see
whether there isn't a farm somewhere
near."
"And leave us here alone?" Aline ex
claimed Indignantly.
Her mistress smiled at her reassur
ingly. "What have we to fear, you foolish
girl? For myself, I would like better
than anything to remain here until the
moon comes over the top of that round
hill. But listen! There Is no neces
sity fr Charles to leave us."
They all turned their heads. From
some distance behind there came,
faintly at first, but more distinctly
every moment, the sound of horse's
hoofs. Louder and louder came the
sound. Louise gave a little cry as a
man on horseback Appeared in sight
at the crest of the hill. The narrow
strip of road seemed suddenly dwarfed,
an unreasonable portion of the horizon
blotted out. In the half light there
was something almost awesome in the
unusual size of the horse and of the
man who rode it.
"It is a world of goblins, this, Aline !"
her mistress exclaimed softly. "What
Is It that comes?"
"It is a human being, Dleu mere! J"
the maid replied, with a matter-of-fact
little sigh of content.
A few moments later horse and rider
wer e beside the car.
"Has anything happened?" the new
comer asked, dismounting and raising
his whip to his cap.
"I have broken down," Louise said.
"Please tell us what you would advise
us to do. Is there a village near, or
an inn, or even a barn? Or shall we
have to spend the night In the car?"
"The nearest village," he replied, "is
twelve miles away. Fortunately, my
own home is close by. I shall be very
"You Are Indeed a,
pleased I and my
honor us. I am a
. ., U t 1
ttionf "
She rose briskly to her feet and
beamed upon him.
"You are indeed a good Samaritan I"
ehe exclaimed. "A roof is more than
we had dared to hope for, although
when one looks up at this wonderful
sky and breathes this air, one wonders,
perhaps, whether a roof, after all, is
such a blessing."
"It fets very cold toward morning,"
the yorng man said practically.
"Of course," she assented. "Aline,
you wH bring ray dressing-bag and fol
ic w us This gentleman is kind enough
u ofttv us shelter for the nljht Deer
f in."
C J will
t offer
me, you really are almost as tall as
you appeared !" 6he added, as she stood
by his side. "For the first time In my
life you make me. feel undersized."
He looked down at her, a little more
at his ease now by reason of the friend
liness of her manner, although he had
still the air of one embarked upon an
adventure, the outcome of which was
to be regarded with some qualms. She
was of little more than medium height,
and his first impressions of her were
that she was thin, and too pale to be
good-looking ; that her eyes were large
and soft, with eyebrows more clearly
defined than Is usual among English
women; and that she moved without
seeming to walk.
"I suppose I am tall," he admitted,
as they started off along the road.
"One doesn't notice it around here. My
name Is John Stranrewey. and our
house Is Just behind that clumD of
trees there, on the top of the hill. We
will do our best to make you comfort
able," he added a little doubtfully;
"but there are only my brother and
myself, and we have no women serv
ants in the house."
"A roof of any sort will be a luxury,"
she assured him. "I only hope that we
shall not be a trouble to you in any
way." .
"And your name, please?" he asked.
She was a little amazed at his direct
ness, but she answered him without
hesitation.
"My name," she told him, "is Lou
ise." He leaned down toward her, a little
puzzled.
"Louise. But your surname?"
She laughed softly. . It occurred to
him that nothing like her laugh had
ever been heard on that gray-walled
stretch of mountain road.
"Never mind ! I am traveling incog
nito. Who I am, or where I am going
"well, what does that matter, to any
body? Perhaps I do not know myself.
You can imagine, if you like, that we
came from the heart of your hills, and
that tomorrow they will open again and
welcome us back."
"I don't think there are any motor
cars in fairyland," he objected.
"We represent a new edition of fairy
lor e," she told him. "Modern romance,
you know, includes motor-cars and
even French maids."
"All the same," he protested, with
masculine bluntness, "I really don't
see how I can introduce you to my
brother as 'Louise from fairyland.' "
She evaded the point.
"Tell me about your brother. Is he
as tall as you, and is he younger or
older?"
"He is nearly twenty years older,"
her companion replied. "He Is about
my height, but he stoops more than I
do, and nis hair Is gray. I am afraid
that you may find him a little pecu
liar." Her escort paused and swung open a
white gate on their left-hand side.. Be
fore them was an ascent which seemed
to her, in the dim light, to be abso
lutely precipitous.
"It isn't so bad as it looks," he as
sured her, "and I am afraid it's the
only way up. The house is at the bend
there, barely fifty yards away. Xpu
can see a light through the trees."
"You must help me, then, please,"
she begged.
He stooped down toward her. She
linked her fingers together through his
left arm and, leaning a little heavily
upon him, began the ascent. He was
conscious of some subtle fragrance
from her clothes, a perfume strangely
different from the odor of the -ghostlike
flowers that bordered the' steep
path up which they were climbing. Her
arms, slight, warm things though they
were, and great though his own
strength, felt suddenly like a yoke. At
every step he seemed to feel their
weight more insistent a weight not
physical, solely due to this rush of un
expected emotions.
She looked around her almost In
wonder as her companion paused with
his hand upon a little iron gate. From
behind that Jagged stretch of hills in
the distance the moon had now ap
peared. Before her was a garden,
austere-looking with its prim flower
beds, the trees all bent in the same
direction, fashioned after one pattern
by the winds. Beyond was the house
a long, low building, part of It cov
ered with some kind of creeper.
As? they stepped across the last few
yards of lawn, the black, oak door
which they were approaching suddenly
opened. A tall, elderly man stood look
ing inquiringly out. He shaded his
eyes with his hands.
"Is that you, brother?" he asked
doubtfully
John Strangewey ushered his com
panion into the square, oak-paneled
hall, hung with many trophies of the
chase, a few oil-paintings, here and
there some sporting prints. It was
lighted only with a single lamp which
stood upon a round, polished table in
the center of the white-flagged floor.
"This lady's motor-car has broken
down, Stephen," John explained, turn
ing a little nervously toward his broth-
er. "I found them in the road, just
at the bottom of the hill. She and her
servants will spend the night here. I
have explained that there is no village
or inn for a good many miles."
Louise turned graciously toward the
elder man, who was standing grimly
apart. Even in those few seconds, her
quick sensibilities warned her of the
His Bow Was Stiff and Uncordial.
hostility which lurked behind the tight
ly closed lips and steel-gray eyes. His
bow was stiff and uncordial, and he
made no movement to offer his hand.
"We are not used to welcoming la
dies at Peak Hall, madam," he said.
"I am afraid that you will find us
somewhat unprepared for guests."
"I ask for nothing more than a roof,"
Louise assured him.
John threw his hat and whip upon
the round table and stood in the center
of the stone floor. She caught a
glance which flashed between the two
men of appeal from the one, of icy
resentment from the other.
"We can at least a(M to the roof a
bed and some supper1 and a welcome,"
John declared. "Is that not so, Ste
phen?" The older man turned deliberately
away. It was as if he had not heard
his brother's words.
"I will go and find Jennings," he
said. "He must be told about the serv
ants." Louise watched the disappearing fig
ure until It was out of sight. Then she
looked p into the face of the younger
man, who was standing by her side.
"I am sorry," she murmured apolo
getically. "I am afraid that your
brother is .not pleased at this sudden
intrusion. Really, we shall give you
very little trouble."
He answered her with a sudden
eager enthusiasm. He seemed far more
natural then than at any time since he
had ridden up from out of the shad
ows to take his place in her life.
, "I won't apologize for Stephen," he
said. "He is a little crotchety. You
must please be kind and not notice.
You must let me, If I can, offer you.
welcome enough for us both."
CHAPTER II.
Louise, with a heavy, silver-plated
candlestick in her hand, stood upon the
uneven floor of the bedroom to which
she had been conducted, looking up at
the oak-framed family tree which hung
above the broad chimney-piece. She
examined the coatf arms emblazoned
in the corner, and peered curiously at
the last neatly printed addition, which
indicated Stephen and John Strange
wey as the sole survivors of a dimin
ishing line. When at last she turned
away, she found the name upon her
lips. t .
"Strangewey !" she murmured. "John
Strangewey! It is really curious how
that name brings with it a sense of
familiarity. It is so unusualtoo. And
what an unusual-looking person! Do
you think, Aline, that you ever saw
anyone so superbly handsome?"
The maid's little grimace was ex
pressive. "Never, madam," she replied. "And
yet to think of ft a gentleman, a per
son of intelligence, who lives here al
ways, outside the world, with just a
terrible old man servant, the only do
mestic In the house! Nearly all the
cooking Is done at the bailiff's, a quar
ter of a mile away."
Louise nodded thoughtfully.
"It is very strange," she admitted.
"I should like to understand it. Per
haps," she added, half to herself, "some
day I shall."
She passed across the room, and on
her way paused before an old cheval-
glass, before which were suspended
two silver candlesticks containing
lighted wax candles. She looked stead
fastly at her own reflection. A little
smile parted her Hps. In the bedroom
of this quaint farmhouse she was look
ing upon a face and a figure which the
illustrated papers and the enterprise
of the modern photographer had com
bined to make familiar to the world
the figure of a girl, it seemed, notwith
standing her twenty-seven years. Her
soft, white blouse was open at the
neck, displaying a beautifully rounded
throat. Her eyes dwelt upon the oval
face, with Its strong, yet mobile fea
tures ; its lips a little full, perhaps, but
soft and sensitive; at the masses of
brown hair drawn low over her ears.
This was herself, then. How would
she seem to these two men downstairs,
she asked herself the dour, grim mas
ter of the house, and her more youthful
rescuer, whose coming had somehow
touched her fancy? They saw so little
J of her sex. They seemed, in a sense, to
jbe in league against it. Would they
nna out mat tney were entertaining
an angel unawares?
She thought with a gratified smile
of her incognito. It was a real trial
of her strength, this ! When she turned
away from the mirror the smile still-
lingered upon her Hps, a soft light of
anticipation was shining in her eyes.
John met her at the foot of the
stairs. She noticed with some sur
prise that he was wearing the dinner
jacket and black tie of civilization.
"Will you come this way, please?"
he begged. "Supper Is quite ready."
He held open the door of one of the
rooms on the other side of the hall, and
she passed into a low dining room, dim
ly lit with shaded lamps. The elder
brother rose from his chair as they en
tered, although his salutation was
even grimmer than his first welcome.
He was wearing a dress-coat of old
fashioned cut, and a black stock, and
he remained . standing, without any
smile or word of greeting, until she
had taken her seat. Behind his chair
stood a very ancient manservant in a
gray pepper-and-salt suit, with a white
tie, whose expression, at the entrance
of this unexpected guest, seemed cu
riously to reflect the Inhospitable In
stincts of his master. . .
The table was laid with all manner
of cold dishes, supplemented by others
upon the sideboard. There were pots
of jam and honey, a silver teapot and
silver spoons and forks of quaint de
sign, strangely cut glass, and a great
Dresden bowl filled with flowers.
"I am afraid," John remarked, "that
you are not used to dining at this hour.
My brother and I are old-fashioned in
our customs. If we had had a little
lqjiger notice "
"I never In my life saw anything
that looked so delicious as your cold
chicken," Louise declared. "May I
have some and some ham? I believe
that you must farm some land your
selves. .Everything" looks as if It were
homemade or homegrown."
"We are certainly farmers," John ad
mitted, with a smile, "and I don't think
there is much here that isn't of our
own production. The farm buildings
are at some distance away from the
house. - There is quite a little colony
at the back, and the woman who super
intends the dairy lives there. In the
house we are entirely Independent of
your. sex. We manage, somehow or
other, with Jennings here and two
boys."
"You are not both woman-haters, I
hope?" .
Her younger host flashed a warning
glanceat Louise, but it was too late.
Stephen had laid down his knife and
fork and was leaning in her direction.
"Madam," he intervened, "since you
have asked the question, I will confess
that I have never known any good
come to a man of our family from the
friendship or service of women. Our
family history, if ever you should come
to know it, would amply justify my
brother and myself for our attitude to
ward your sex."
"Stephen!" John remonstrated, a
slight frown upon his face. "Need you
weary our guest with your peculiar
views? It Is scarcely polite, to say the
least of it."
The older man sat, for a moment,
grim and silent.
'"Perhaps you are right, brother," he
admitted. "This lady did not seek our
company, but it may interest her to
know that she is the firSt woman who
has crossed the threshold of Peak Hall .
for a matter of six years."
Louise looked from one to the other
half Incredulously.
"Do you really mean it? Is that lit
erally true?" she asked John.
'Absolutely," the young man as
sured her; "but please remember that
you are none the less heartily welcome
here. We have few women neighbors,
and Intercourse with them seems to
have slipped out of our lives. Tell me,
how far have you come today, and
where did you hope to sleep tonight?"
Louise hesitated for a moment. For
some reason or other, the question
seemed to bring with It some disturb
ing thought.
"I was motoring from Edinburgh.
As regards tonight, I had not made up
my mind. I rather hoped to reach
Kendal. My journey Is not at all an in
teresting matter to talk about," she
went on. "Tell me about your life
here. It sounds most delightfully pas
toral. Do you live here all the year
round?"
"My brother," John told her, "has
not been farther away than the near
est market town for nearly twenty
years."
Her eyes grew round with astonish
ment.
"But you go to London sometimes?"
"I was there eight years ago. Since
then I have not been further away than
Carlisle or Kendal. I, go into camp
near Kendal for three weeks every
year territorial training, you know.'
"But how do you pass your time?
What do you do with yourself?" she
asked. ,
"Farm," he answered. "Farming Is
our dally occupation. Then for amuse
ment we hunt, shoot and fish. The sea
sons pass before we know it."
She looked appralsingly at John
Strangewey. Notwithstanding his sun
tanned cheeks and the splendid vigor
of his form, there was nothing in the
least agricultural about his manner or
his appearance. There was humor as
well as intelligence in his clear, gray
eyes. She opined that the books which
lined one side of the room were at
once his property and his hobby.
"It is a very healthy life," no 'doubt,"
she said; "but somehow it seems In
comprehensible to think of a man like
yourself living always in uch an out
of-the-way corner."
John's Hps were open to reply, but
Stephen once more Intervened.
"Life means a different thlng'to each
of us, madam," he said sternly. "There
are many born with the lust for cities
and the crowded places in their hearts,
born with the desire to mingle with
their fellows, to absorb the convention
al vices and virtues, to become one of
the multitude. It has been different
with us Strangeweys."
Jennings, at a sign from his master,
removed the tea equipage, evidently
produced in honor of their visitor.
Three tall-stemmed glasses were
placed upon the table, and a decanter
of port reverently produced.
Louise had fallen for a moment or
two into a fit of abstraction. Her eyes
were fixed upon the opposite wall,
from which, out of their faded frames,
a rot? of grim-looking men and women,
startlingly like her two hosts, seemed
to frown down upon her..
"Is that your father?" she asked,
moving her head toward one of the
portraits.
"My grandfather, John Strangewey,"
Stephen told her.
"Was he one of the wanderers?"
"He left Cumberland only twice
during his life. He was master of
hounds, magistrate, colonel in the yeo
manry of that period, and three times
refused to stand for parliament."
"John Strangewey 1" Louise repeat
ed softly to herself. "I was looking at
your family tree upstairs," she went
on. "It is curious how both my maid
and myself were struck with a sense
of familiarity about the name, as if
we had heard or read something about
it quite lately."
Her words were almost carelessly
spoken, but she was conscious of the
somewhat ominous silence which en
sued. She glanced up wonderlngly
and intercepted a rapid look passing
between the two men. More puzzled
than ever, she turned toward John as
If for an explanation. He had risen
somewhat abruptly to his feet, and his
hand was upon the back of her chair.
"Will it be disagreeable to you if my
brothersmokes a pip?" he asked. "I
tried to have our little drawing room
prepared for you, but the fire has not
been lit for so long that the room, I am
afraid; is quite impossible."
"Do let me stay here with you," she
begged, "and I hope that both of you
will smoke. I am quite used to It."
John wheeled up an easy chair for
her.' Stephen, stiff and upright, sat on
the other side of the hearth. He took
the tobacco jar and pipe that his broth
er had brought him, and slowly filled
the bowl.
"With your permission, then, ma
dam," he said, as he struck a match.
Louise smiled graciously. Some in
stinct prompted her to stifle her own
craving for a cigarette and keep her
little gold case hidden in her pocket.
All the time her eyes were wandering
round the room. Suddenly she rose
and, moving round the table, stood
once more facing the row of gloomy
looking portraits.
"So that is your grandfather?" she
remarked to John, wuo had followed
her. "Is your father not here?"
He shook his head.
"My father's portrait was never
painted."
"Tell the truth, John," Stephen en
Joined, rising in his place and setting
down his pipe. "We Strangeweys
were hillfolk and farmers, by descent
and destiny, for more than four hun
dred years. Our place is here upon
the land, almost among the clouds, and
those of us who have realized it have
led the lives God meant us to lead.
There have been some of our race who :
have been tempted Into the lowland 1 1
and the cities. Not one of theT
brought honor upon our name. Tbf.J
pictures are not here. They are nor' " j
worthy to be here." I
Stephen set down the candlesticks,
and returned to his place. Louise, witl
her hands clasped behind her back
glanced toward John, who still stood
by her side.
"Tell me," she asked him, "have
none of your people who went out into
the world done well for themselves?"
"Scarcely one," he admitted.
"Not one," ' Stephen interrupted.
"Madam," he went on, turning toward
Louise, "lest my welcome to you this
evening should have seemed Inhospita
ble, let me tell you this: Every
Strangewey who has left our county,
and trodden the downward path of
failure, has done so at the instance of
one of your sex. That is why those of
us who inherit the family spirit look
askance upon all strange women. That
is why no woman is ever welcome with
in this house."
Louise resumed her seat in the easy
chair. "I am so sorry," she murmured,
looking down at her slipper. "I could"
not help breaking down here, could I?"
"Nor could my brother fall to offer
you the hospitality of this roof," Ste
phen admitted. "The Incident was un
fortunate but inevitable. It is a mat
ter for -regret that we have so little to
offer you in the way of entertainment."
He rose to his feet. The door had
opened. Jennings was standing there
with a candlestick upon a massive sil
ver salver. Behind him was Aline.
"You are doubtless fatigued by yourv
journey, madam," Stephen concluded.
Louise made a little grimace, but she
rose at once to her feet. She under
stood quite well that she was being
sent to bed, and she shivered a little
when she looked at the hour barely
ten o'clock. Yet it was all in keeping.
From the doorway she looked back In
to the room, in which nothing seemed
to have been touched for centuries.'
She stood upon the threshold to bid her
final good-night, fully conscious of the
complete anachronism of her presence
there.
Her smile for Stephen was respectful
and full of dignity. As she glanced to
ward John, however, something
flashed in her eyes and quivered at the
corners of her Hps, something which
escaped her control, something which
made him grip for a moment the back
of the chair against which he stood.
"Those of Us Who Inherit the Fami
Spirit Look Askance Upon All
Lit
Strange Women."
Then, between the old manservant.
who insisted upon carrying her candle
to her room, and her maid.'who walked
behind, she crossed the white stone
hail and stepped slosvly up the broad
flight of stairs.
Louise has quite an Interesting
little chat with John before she
resumes her journey, and in his
mind is awakened some'.hin
that hasn't been stirred for
very long time.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Her Memory Faulty.
She was middle-aged, stylishly
gowned and apparently sdhe. And she
was looking at the paintings in the
Corcoran Gallery of Art through a
gold-framed lorgnette, that dangled
from a jeweled gold chain.
Another woman wa s standing before
a canvas, and, in a drslre for informa
tion, or, perhaps, for the sake of social
interchange, the lady of the lorgnette
inquired, affably:
"Is that a picture of the death of
the Lord?" J
"No, madam; it represents the mar
tvrdnm rf Rf. RphnsN'nn "
.
"Ah, I see. I have the poorest mem-v
ory. I knew that they killed the
Lord, of course, but I disrememberefl
just how." Washington Star.
1 I ' T,
r