Septimus

Septimus

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Septimus, by William J. Locke This
eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Septimus
Author: William J. Locke
Release Date: December 20, 2004 [EBook #14395]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEPTIMUS
***

Produced by Rick Niles, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.

SEPTIMUS
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
IDOLS JAFFERY VIVIETTE SEPTIMUS DERELICTS THE
USURPER STELLA MARIS WHERE LOVE IS THE ROUGH

ROAD THE MOUNTEBANK THE RED PLANET THE WHITE
DOVE FAR-AWAY STORIES THE GREAT PANDOLFO SIMON
THE JESTER THE COMING OF AMOS THE TALE OF TRIONA A
STUDY IN SHADOWS A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY THE
WONDERFUL YEAR THE HOUSE OF BALTAZAR THE
FORTUNATE YOUTH THE BELOVED VAGABOND AT THE
GATE OF SAMARIA THE GLORY OF CLEMENTINA THE
MORALS OF MARCUS ORDEYNE THE DEMAGOGUE AND
LADY PHAYRE THE JOYOUS ADVENTURES OF ARISTIDE
PUJOL

SEPTIMUS
BY WILLIAM J. LOCKE

NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1931

Copyright, 1908 By The Phillips Publishing Company
Copyright, 1909 By Dodd, Mead & Company

Printed in U.S.A.
The Vail-Ballou Press Binghamton and New York

RUTGER BLEECKER JEWETT
CARO SEPTIMI AUCTORISQUE AMICO HIC LIBER SEPTIMI
INSCRIBITUR

SEPTIMUS
CHAPTER I
"I love Nunsmere," said the Literary Man from London. "It is a spot
where faded lives are laid away in lavender."
"I'm not a faded life, and I'm not going to be laid away in lavender,"
retorted Zora Middlemist.
She turned from him and handed cakes to the Vicar. She had no desire
to pet the Vicar, but he was less unbearable than the Literary Man from
London whom he had brought to call on his parishioners. Zora disliked
to be called a parishioner. She disliked many things in Nunsmere. Her
mother, Mrs. Oldrieve, however, loved Nunsmere, adored the Vicar,
and found awe-inspiring in his cleverness the Literary Man from
London.
Nunsmere lies hidden among the oaks of Surrey, far from the busy
ways of men. It is heaven knows how many miles from a highroad.
You have to drive through lanes and climb right over a hill to get to it.
Two old Georgian houses covered with creepers, a modern Gothic
church, two much more venerable and pious-looking inns, and a few
cottages settling peacefully around a common form the village. Here
and there a cottage lurks up a lane. These cottages are mostly inhabited
by the gentle classes. Some are really old, with great oak beams across
the low ceilings, and stone-flagged kitchens furnished with great open
fireplaces where you can sit and get scorched and covered with smoke.
Some are new, built in imitation of the old, by a mute, inglorious Adam,
the village carpenter. All have long casement windows, front gardens in
which grow stocks and phlox and sunflowers and hollyhocks and roses;
and a red-tiled path leads from the front gate to the entrance porch.
Nunsmere is very quiet and restful. Should a roisterer cross the
common singing a song at half-past nine at night, all Nunsmere hears it
and is shocked--if not frightened to the extent of bolting doors and
windows, lest the dreadful drunken man should come in.
In a cottage on the common, an old one added to by the local architect,

with a front garden and a red-tiled path, dwelt Mrs. Oldrieve in entire
happiness, and her daughter in discontent. And this was through no
peevish or disagreeable traits in Zora's nature. If we hear Guy Fawkes
was fretful in the Little-Ease, we are not pained by Guy Fawkes's lack
of Christian resignation.
When the Vicar and the Literary Man from London had gone, Zora
threw open the window and let the soft autumn air flood the room. Mrs.
Oldrieve drew her woolen shawl around her lean shoulders.
"I'm afraid you quite snubbed Mr. Rattenden, just when he was saying
one of his cleverest things."
"He said it to the wrong person, mother. I'm neither a faded life nor am
I going to be laid away in lavender. Do I look like it?"
She moved across the room, swiftly, and stood in the slanting light
from the window, offering herself for inspection. Nothing could be less
like a faded life than the magnificent, broad-hipped, full-bosomed
woman that met her mother's gaze. Her hair was auburn, her eyes
brown with gold flecks, her lips red, her cheeks clear and young. She
was cast, physically, in heroic mold, a creature of dancing blood and
color and warmth. Disparaging tea-parties called her an Amazon. The
Vicar's wife regarded her as too large and flaring