The Mayor of Warwick | Page 3

which has been
trailing across the horizon turns, shrinks, and comes bow on. In some
such proportion to its length was the width of the Hall; but the tower,
viewed from any angle, was still magnificent. With its four supporting
turrets it appeared rather a group of towers than a single structure.
His immediate curiosity satisfied, the young man now exchanged the
bright sunlight of the open for the comparative gloom of two long lines
of maples, which flanked a narrow board walk from the street to the
college. There was a prophecy of winter in the red and yellow leaves
that dropped slowly downward one by one, or descended in rustling
showers as a sudden gust of wind seized the thin branches and shook
them against the sky.
And now, as if to personify the spirit of the place, he saw the figure of a
young woman enter the walk from the other end, apparently from the
college building. As they approached each other, he noted the fact that
she was without hat or gloves, like a lady walking at ease through her
own estate, and he guessed that she had some peculiar proprietary right
in the premises. For one moment, in passing, he was startled to
encounter a cool and observant gaze; then her eyes dropped to the
collection of leaves which she held in her hands, as if she resumed an

interrupted study of their harmonious shades.
He divined, after he had passed her by, that she had seen him from the
moment they entered the opposite ends of the walk; and though he
could not recall distinctly a feature of her face, he carried with him an
impression of charm and colour singularly in unison with the season of
the year. Moreover, her gaze, though momentary, was cumulative in its
remembered effect, so that he presently turned and looked curiously
after her retreating figure.
She had now emerged from the shadow of the trees into the sunlight of
the open street beyond, where she stood looking westward, as if
minded to continue her walk into the country. Even from that distance
he could see how the unobstructed wind struggled with her slender
figure, so that she leaned against it in resistance. As if persuaded by its
force to change her plan, she turned slowly, released the leaves with a
gesture of surrender, gathered her skirts in one hand, and with the other
raised to her loosened hair she began to descend the hill.
The young man stood still until she had disappeared, smitten by an
inexplicable sense of the fatality of that meeting. Verging upon the
sixth lustrum of his age, he had passed through that vernal period when
the face of every woman of more than ordinary charm suggested
possibilities of the heart's adventure. With him the main business of life
was no longer the seeking of a mate. All books, all arts, all
accomplishments, had ceased to seem merely the accessories and the
handmaidens of love. Yet never in those days of searching and romance
had he been so attracted by a passing face. Beauty alone would have
left him cold. The impression he received was far more rich, an
impression to which the circumstances of the encounter gave a peculiar
emphasis. The adventure seemed a possible keynote of the future, and
there was an element of vague disquiet in his hope that he might meet
her again, an element akin to fear.
CHAPTER II
THE TOWER

Llewellyn Leigh found himself upon the wide stone flagging in front of
the Hall before he awoke to a realisation of another meeting, now
imminent, whose importance was far less conjectural than that upon
which his fancy would fain have lingered.
The personality of the president of a large university might be a matter
of indifference to a young instructor, inconspicuous among his many
colleagues; but to be transferred to a full professorship in a small
college was to come into close, daily contact with the ruling power, a
contact from which there was no escape, in which instinctive likes and
antipathies might make or mar a career. At this thought the young man
began to speculate with some intensity upon the personality indicated
thus far to his mind only by the name of Doctor Renshaw.
The very silence of the Hall, which impressed him now not so much by
its beauty as by its solidity and height, invested the presiding genius of
the place with something of sphinxlike mystery. The very faces of the
gargoyles, impenetrable and calm, or grinningly grotesque, gave the
fancy visible outward expression. One monster in particular, with
twisted horns and impish tongue lolling forth between wide, inhuman
teeth, seemed to look upon him with peculiar and malicious amusement.
He experienced the spiritual depression