The Woman Who Vowed (The Demetrian) Read online

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  _NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS._

  THE BLUE LAGOON. By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE. EVE'S APPLE. By ALPHONSE COURLANDER. PARADISE COURT. By J. S. FLETCHER. THE TRAITOR'S WIFE. By W. H. WILLIAMSON. MAROZIA. By A. G. HALES.

  LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.

  THE WOMAN WHO VOWED (THE DEMETRIAN)

  BY ELLISON HARDING

 

  LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN ADELPHI TERRACE MCMVIII

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. A Goddess and a Comic Song 7 II. Harvesting and Harmony 21 III. The Cult of Demeter 37 IV. Anna of Ann 53 V. Irene 63 VI. Neaera 77 VII. A Tragic Denouement 94 VIII. How the Cult was Founded 101 IX. How It Might be Undermined 119 X. An Unexpected Solution 127 XI. The Plot Thickens 135 XII. Neaera's Idea of Diplomacy 144 XIII. Neaera Makes New Arrangements 150 XIV. "I Consented" 162 XV. The High Priest of Demeter 171 XVI. Anna's Secret 183 XVII. Designs on Anna of Ann 190 XVIII. A Dream 200 XIX. The Legislature Meets 207 XX. On Flavors and Finance 219 XXI. The Investigating Committee 226 XXII. "Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils" 238 XXIII. A Libel 249 XXIV. Neaera Again 259 XXV. The Libel Investigated 266 XXVI. The Election 285 XXVII. The Joint Session 293 XXVIII. Lydia to the Rescue 302 Conclusion 315

  THE DEMETRIAN

  CHAPTER I

  A GODDESS AND A COMIC SONG

  I remember awakening with a start, conscious of a face bending over methat was beautiful and strange.

  I was quite unable to account for myself, and my surprise was heightenedby the singular dress of the woman I saw. It was Greek--not of modernbut of ancient Greece.

  What had happened? Had I been acting in a Greek play and been stunned byan accident to the scenery? No; the grass upon which I was lying wasdamp, and a sharp twinge between the shoulders told me I had been therealready too long. What, then, was the meaning of this classic dress?

  I raised myself on one arm; and the young woman who had been kneelingbeside me arose also. I was dazed, and shaded my eyes from the sun onthe horizon--whether setting or rising I could not tell. I fixed my eyesupon the feet of my companion; they were curiously shod in softleather, for cleanliness rather than for protection; tightly laced fromthe toe to the ankle and half way up the leg--half-moccasin andhalf-cothurnus. I fixed my eyes upon them and slowly became quite surethat I was alive and awake, but seemed still dazed and unwilling to lookup. Presently she spoke.

  "Are you ill?" she asked.

  "I don't think so," answered I, as I lifted my eyes to hers.

  When our eyes met I jumped to my feet with an alertness so fresh andfruitful that I seemed to myself to have risen anew from the Fountain ofYouth. A miracle had happened. I was dead and had come to lifeagain--and apparently this time in the Olympian world.

  "Here!" I exclaimed; "or Athene! Cytherea, or Artemis!"

  Then quickly the look of sympathetic concern that I had just seen in hereyes vanished. A ripple of laughter passed over her face like the firsttouch of a breeze on a becalmed sea; for a moment she seemed to restrainit, but her merriment awakened mine, and on perceiving it she abandonedall restraint and burst into a laugh that was musical, bewitching, andcontagious. We stood there a full minute, both of us laughing, though Idid not understand why. She soon explained.

  "Where on earth do you come from, Xenos, and where--_where_ did you get_those_ things?" She pointed to my pantaloons as she spoke.

  Then I discovered how ridiculous I appeared.

  "And why have they cut all the hair off your face and left that uglylittle stubble?"

  I put my hand to my chin and felt there a beard of several days' growth.

  "It must prick dreadfully," she said; and coming up to me she daintilypassed a soft, rosy finger over my cheek. I caught her hand and kissedit. She jumped away from me like a fawn.

  "Take care, young man," she said, reprovingly but not reproachfully;"though I don't suppose you are very young, for I see some gray in yourhair."

  I don't suppose I liked being reminded of my years, but I was altogethertoo much absorbed in the richness of her beauty and health to beconcerned about myself. And the subtle combination of freedom andreserve in her manner conveyed to me an indescribable charm. At onemoment it tempted me to trespass, but at the next I became aware thatsuch an attempt would meet with humiliating resistance; for she was talland strong. Her one rapid movement away from me proved her agility. Shewas perfectly able to take care of herself. Her consciousness of thishad enabled her to meet my first advance with unruffled good humor, butI felt sure that persistence on my part would elicit repulsion andperhaps scorn.

  We stood a moment smiling at each other; then she said:

  "Come, you must take off those dreadful things; why, you are wetthrough"--and she passed her hand over my back--"and you must tell mewhat you are and where you come from. But you are chilled now and needsomething warm, so come to the Hall and you can tell me as we go."

  As she spoke she swung to her head a basket I had not before observed;it was heavy, for she straightened herself to support it; and theweight, until she balanced it, brought out the muscles of her neck. Sheput her arms akimbo and showed the way.

  "Well," she said, as we walked together side by side, "when are yougoing to begin?"

  "How and where shall I begin?" answered I. "You forget that I too havequestions to ask; I am bewildered. Who and what are you? In what countryam I? Where did you get that beautiful dress?" I stepped a little awayfrom her to observe the beauty of her form.

  "We try to make all our garments beautiful," she answered, simply; "butthis is the common dress of all--or rather the dress commonly worn inthe country. We dress a little differently in town--but what do you findpeculiar in my attire? What else could I wear out in the fields?"

  I looked at the drapery, which did not hang lower than the knee; at thegirdle that barely indicated the waist; at the chiton gathered by abrooch on one shoulder, leaving bare the whole length of her richlymoulded arm.

  "I would not have you wear anything else," said I, restraining myadmiration; "but our women dress differently."

  "Tell me about them," said she.

  "I will," answered I, "but tell _me_ first where I am and where we aregoing?"

  "You are near a place called Tyringham," answered she, "and you aregoing with me to breakfast at the Hall."

  As she spoke we were walking down a grassy slope and came in sight of ameadow on the left, through which meandered a crystal stream; it flowedfrom the right of the hill on which we stood, and just below where itfell in cascades over successive ledges it was straddled by a millsmothered in jasmine and purple clematis. The moment the mill came insight my companion uttered a loud call that came echoing back to us fromthe surrounding hills. Her call was answered by several voices, and soonthere came to meet us a youth as handsome in his way as my owncompanion. He, too, wore the Greek dress; he was about eighteen years ofage and so like the girl that I guessed at once he was her brother. Heput me out of countenance by staring at me with open-mouthed
wonder andthen bursting into an uncontrolled roar of laughter. But his sister tookhim by the arm and shook him.

  "Stop laughing," she said. "Don't you see he doesn't like it?"

  The boy stopped immediately--for I confess his laughter was not asagreeable to me as hers--and there came upon him an expression of thegentlest solicitude.

  "I am sorry," he said, with tears of laughter still in his eyes; "Ithought you were playing a joke on us."

  I tried to look pleasant.

  "I cannot at all account for myself," I said, "or for you; I suppose along time has elapsed since I went to sleep; so long that I hardlyremember where it was, though I think it was in Boston--in my bachelorquarters there."

  They both looked puzzled and concerned.

  "And what is your name?" asked the girl.

  "Henry T. Joyce," answered I.

  I could see that my very name amused them though they tried to concealit.

  "And yours?" asked I of the girl.

  "Lydia--Lydia second, or more correctly, Lydia of Lydia."

  "That means," said the boy, "that her mother's name was Lydia; and so Icall myself Cleon of Lydia, because, my mother's name was Lydia. She,"he added, pointing to the girl, "is my sister."

  He was dressed, like her, in a simple tunic coming to the knees, and wasshod like her also; but the tunic was not pinned up on one shoulder: ithad sleeves like our jacket.

  We were walking down the hill and came now in sight of a group ofbuildings entirely of wood, of a beauty that made them a delight tobehold. One much larger than the others reminded me of what WestminsterHall would be if separated from the more recent Houses of Parliament. Itwas lighted by large Gothic windows that started from above a coveredveranda; the veranda offered countless opportunities for surprises inthe way of carved pillars, twisting staircases, and subsidiarybalconies, every corner being smothered in vines and bursting intoblossoms of varied hue. Clearly the upper part of the building was alarge hall, and the lower part split up into smaller rooms. Near thisHall and connected with it by covered ways were numerous otherbuildings, all different, but conforming to the lay of the land oneither side of a torrent, upon one level reach of which stood the millin the same quaint style.

  "Our power house," said Cleon, pointing to it.

  I thought of the hideous masonry that ruined the valley of the Innbetween San Moritz and Celerina in the old days, and I wondered. But myeyes were too much bent on the beautiful lines of Lydia's form to lingerlong on the mill or its adjacent buildings. I had fallen behind her inorder to be able to take better account of her. The weight of the basketon her head brought out the strength of her shoulders and the rhythmicmovement of her body. Every time she turned to speak to us her handsleft the waist in an unconscious effort to maintain her balance, thusthrowing into relief the rounded outline of her arm and the delicacy ofher wrist. "Alma venus genitrix," thought I, "hominum divumquevoluptas."

  Cleon kept talking all the way, interrupted occasionally by Lydia. Heexplained all the buildings to me and their respective uses. As weapproached the Hall we met several other young men and women who joinedus, for all were going in the same direction. Each expressed the samesurprise and amusement on beholding me; they joined Lydia, who with anair of importance repeated her story to every one. I felt morecomfortable between Lydia and Cleon and had therefore joined the brotherand sister, so as to have the protection of one of them on either side.

  When we reached the Hall, Cleon suggested that I must feel uncomfortablein my damp clothes and took me to the men's quarters. He provided mewith all that was necessary for a complete toilet. A large swimming tankoccupied the basement of the building, and into it I was glad to plunge.After I had shaved--for a razor was provided--I assumed the simplegarment of my neighbors and for the first time felt ashamed of thewhiteness of my skin. By the side of the swarthy limbs about me my armsand legs looked naked and pitiful. I was extremely hungry, however, andmy appetite overcame my reluctance at facing the crowd that I felt wasawaiting me at the Hall. As we approached it we heard echoes of songand laughter.

  "They have finished breakfast," said Cleon, pushing me through the opendoorway.

  Our entrance was unobserved, for they were all engaged in singing; thewords I heard in chorus were "The Lightning Calculator!" They allstamped at each alternate syllable and I noticed that Lydia was thecentre of observation. She was flushed, half with vexation and half withmerriment, and was being held by a crowd of girls who prevented her frominterfering with the soloist, who, standing on a chair with a guitar,was improvising.

  I could not hear the words distinctly from where I stood but caughtsomething about a certain Chairo, at the mention of whose name there wasa laugh, and the stanza closed, as had the last, with "The LightningCalculator," whereupon all laughed again and stamped as they repeated inchorus "The Light-ning Cal-cu-la-tor."

  "That's my sister," said Cleon to me in a whisper. "She's the LightningCalculator."

  In the next stanza, which was quite unintelligible to me, I noticed anallusion to Demeter, at which the women looked shocked and the mendelighted. I was wondering at the significance of this when Lydiadiscovered me, and, delighted to divert attention from herself bydirecting it toward me, she said to the tormentors who were holding her:"There he is!"--and she nodded in my direction.

  Immediately all eyes were turned toward me and I became painfullyconscious of my bare white legs. The young man with the guitar steppeddown from his chair and came to me.

  "Welcome to Tyringham," said he. "We don't know how you got here orwhere you come from, but we are ready to answer questions and willing toask none."

  I stammered something in answer and was led to a table where two placeshad been left for us. Cleon and I sat down and food was brought. Lydiaasked me a few conventional questions to put me at my ease; but hardlysucceeded, for seemingly some hundreds were engaged in staring at me. Atlast some one pushed the soloist by the arm. "One more verse, Ariston,"said he, and Ariston jumped on the chair again, and, twanging hisguitar, resumed:

  "Of swarthy skins she tires soon To her new things must cater, So now she's found a pantaloon-- The Lightning Calculator."

  My legs were well under the table so I could join in the laugh, secretlysatisfied to be associated with her even in the jingling nonsense of acomic song.

  "Boobies!" exclaimed Lydia, "and Babies!" she added. "Boobies andBabies!" She ran to the door and they all followed her, boisterouslylaughing, and leaving me alone with Cleon.

  "I didn't understand much of it," said I. "Who is Chairo?"

  "Chairo is a great man; one of our great men; the youngest of them; hemay become anything; but he is not popular because he is sodictatorial."

  "And he is in love with Lydia?"

  "Frightfully in love."

  "And Lydia?"

  "Ah! no one knows; she's very sly, Lydia"; and Cleon chuckled tohimself.

  "And why did everybody look at one another when Ariston sang aboutDemeter?"

  "Well, the women don't like to have it talked about."

  I was puzzled.

  "Do tell me about it," I said, "for I know nothing about Demeter exceptwhat I have read in my classics."

  "Well, Demeter, you see"--but he blushed and stammered--"I really neverhad it altogether explained to me; the women never talk of it, and yetthe Cult, as they call it, 'the Cult of Demeter,' is the most importantthing to them in the world."

  I went on eating my breakfast and trying to guess what Cleon was drivingat, but altogether failed.

  "What does this Cult of Demeter have to do with your sister?" I asked atlast.

  "Why," answered Cleon, looking round cautiously and lowering his voice,"Lydia is a Demetrian."

  "What does that mean--'Demetrian'?"

  "It means that she has been selected by Demeter."

  "Do try to remember," I said a little impatiently, "that I know nothingabout your Demeter and can make neither head nor tail of what you aresaying."

  The
irritation I felt made me aware that I was jealous of Chairo,jealous of Demeter, and infatuated with Lydia. Cleon's half explanationsseemed to be putting Lydia out of my reach, and I was exasperated at notbeing able to understand just how far.

  "Well," answered Cleon, "I don't know whether I ought to tell you, butit's this way: Lydia is awfully clever at figures. She can square anyten of them; add any number of columns; multiply any number by anynumber all in a flash. And so she's been selected by Demeter; that is tosay, I suppose, they are going to marry her to some greatmathematician."

  "What!" exclaimed I, indignantly. "They are going to sacrifice her to amathematician?"

  "Sacrifice!" retorted Cleon with open eyes. "Why, it isn't a sacrifice!It is the greatest honor a woman can have!"

  "And what does Lydia say to it?"

  "She hasn't made up her mind."

  "Oh, then, she has to be consulted," said I, relieved. "She cannot becompelled."

  "Oh, no," answered Cleon, "she is selected--that is to say, the honor isoffered to her; she may not accept it if she does not like; but a girlseldom refuses. She is no more likely to refuse the mission of Demeterthan Chairo would be to refuse the Presidency. It is very hard workbeing President--very wearing; in fact, I should think it would be anawful bore; but nobody ever refuses it, because of the honor. I supposeit is the same thing with the mission of Demeter."

  I was more and more puzzled, but despaired of getting satisfaction fromCleon.