# The Garden at No. 19/Chapter 15
### CHAPTER XV
#### THE PRIESTESS OP ASHTAROTH

FOR a few days Helen Ranger's beautiful face kept rising often in my mind. I think indeed that had not Pamela filled my thoughts, I should not have so easily let the acquaintance drop. But after a few days I thought of her seldom.
The winter wore on; and for Pamela and me it was not tedious. Now that her uncle knew that I wished to marry her, it was far easier for us to meet. I could take her to Town to dine, or to the theater as often as we wished. We did not indeed tell him that she spent so many of her evenings with me in my house. He shared our contempt for the conventionalities, so necessary to dishonorable folk; and he would have seen quickly enough that in our out-of-the-way world those conventionalities did not really exist. But it was a matter on which it was better not to lay stress, since if the practice were formally brought to his knowledge, be might feel bound to protest. But we were no longer at any pains to hide it from him; and we had no doubt that he knew.
Sometimes Pamela and I talked of the rites of the Aybss; Woodfell, as I have said, some times paid me a visit in the evening and some times we talked of the mysteries; four or five times Marks spent an evening with me, or I went to his flat; and we talked of the mysteries. But during the winter there was no further irruption from the Abyss.
Pamela's curiosity to see again the celebration of the rites and learn wonderful things was beginning to burn afresh; and mine was growing keener than ever it had been. The talk of Woodfell and Marks had stimulated keenly my desire to know the heart of the mysteries, to have the ultimate revelation. One night Woodfell said to me that at present, as far as men went, his circle of searchers was complete, but that if one of them fell out of it, I might have his place. I thanked him; and I did not refuse the offer; but I doubted that, if the chance came, I would accept it. If I had been free, with my curiosity at its present height, I should not have shrunk from tampering with the for bidden things; but there was Pamela.
She now and again urged me to let her watch with me the next celebration of the rites. But I was against it; I wanted to watch them alone. It was far safer. At the same time it was growing harder and harder for me to refuse her anything on which her heart was set.
Easter fell early and cold. There was a celebration of some rites at No. 19, for Pamela was sent to bed early and locked in her room. But it took place in Woodfell's study, not in the garden. From the low noise of the chanting which came through the wall I believe that all the seven celebrants were present.
A few evenings later I was indeed surprised. At about nine o'clock I was in my study, working before the window, when the door of No. 19 opened and Woodfell came out; but how changed a Woodfell! He was wearing evening dress; his overcoat was of the latest fashion; his gloves were white kid; his boots were of shining patent leather; he was wearing an opera hat; his hair which had hung over his ears had been cut short; and his unkempt beard had been clipped to a point. I was indeed amazed. What new circle did he propose to adorn?
For the next fortnight he went out in this dress every other night at about the same hour. One night Marks came to see me; and I could not forbear telling him how odd I found it that Woodfell should have returned to the social circles of the guardsmen. He smiled somewhat oddly; but he threw no light on the matter. Two nights later I had taken Pamela to a comedy at one of the theaters in the Charing Cross Eoad; and as we walked along from it to the station of the Piccadilly Tube, we came into the stream of people coming out of the Empire.
"Why, there's my uncle!" cried Pamela.
And sure enough out of the entrance to the Empire stalls came Woodfell.
I was indeed taken aback. Then, on the instant, I guessed: Woodfell, in an opera hat and patent-leather boots was seeking the priestess of Ashtaroth at the Empire.
During the last week of April there came to London from the North an important client, a shipbuilder. It fell to me to entertain him during his stay. It was annoying, for it robbed me of my evenings with Pamela. It was tiresome, for he proved the most tedious person in the world. One night after an excellent dinner—I must admit that the dinners he gave me were excellent—we went to the Empire. For a while he watched the entertainment in a heavy beatitude. Then to my joy during the interval he was recognized by a northern friend; and they forgathered, burring.
I slipped away from them, and leaning over the plush-covered parapet of the promenade, watched the next turn. Then I saw, also leaning over it, twenty feet away, Helen Ranger. It gave me a disagreeable shock to see her there. But I stopped watching the turn and watched her instead; she was better worth watching, by far the most beautiful and interesting creature in the Music-hall. Presently I perceived that she was expecting someone, for she watched the stage but listlessly, and kept turning and looking towards the entrance. Twice men spoke to her; and from her expression of insolent scorn and their mortified faces I gathered that she repelled their advances with some discourtesy.
Then as she looked round, I saw her face brighten; and Woodfell came to her through the crowd. They talked eagerly and with ani mation for some minutes; then they moved away to one of the bars and sat down at a table. I could see them plainly from where I stood; and I watched them. With the same eagerness and animation they talked for nearly an hour. Or rather, Woodfell talked; and she listened, absorbed. Now and again I could see, from her expression, that she asked him a question.
Then they came out of the bar. Woodfell shook hands with her, raised his hat, and left the music-hall. She came straight to me. I had not thought that she had seen me.
"How are you?" she said. "I never expected to see you here."
"Nor I you," I said.
"Oh, that's all right," she said easily. "I only come here because it's nice and bright and amusing. That little beast Dymchurch used to bring me here often; and I've got into the way of it. I'm always sure of finding some one here to talk to. There's no harm in that. Besides, I've made some jolly friends here, though they all bother me to leave off coming."
"I expect they do," I said gravely.
"There's no need. I can take care of myself. I've had my lesson. And if it amuses me—" she threw Out her hands.
There was a pause; then I said, "That was an interesting old man I saw you talking to."
"Oh, he is interesting! The things he tells me!" she cried. "But you'd never believe them if I told you."
"Try me," I said.
"No, no. I mustn't talk about them," she said gravely.
"It's an odd place to talk about interesting things in," I said.
"That's what I like about it. You never know what is going to happen to you here, or what you may hear, or who you will meet."
"You have the romantic spirit," I said.
"Oh, romance! I've had enough of romance, thank you," she said scornfully.
"Only of the Family Herald kind," I said. "You've just assured me that you are a seeker after real romance, the unexpected, wonderful adventure."
"Oh, that—if that's the real romance," she said thoughtfully.
"It is," I said. "And how has the world been treating you since our last meeting?"
She plunged into the relation of her doings, with a cheerful gusto; and I was pleased to learn that the lesson she had had was bearing useful fruits. She was forearmed. She was leading a joyous, unconventional, but quite reputable life.
"You'll be surprised to hear that I could marry two men, quite nice men, if I wanted to," she said.
"Nothing could be less surprising. You'd better do it—marry one of them, that is."
"No; I don't care enough about either of them," she said.
"That's a pity. But I dare say that you will presently," I said.
"It's quite likely; but there's no hurry. I have enough to live on. I'm a very good house-keeper," she said.
I looked at her a while; then I said, "I fancy that you were born lucky—one of those whom the gods love."
"Don't say that, or I shall die young," she said laughing.
"All the same, I think that the country, not London is your proper place."
"You're quite right," she said. "I was thinking of spending all the summer in the country. I love it. But it seems now that I may have to be in London."
I wondered if Woodfell had anything to do with her change of plan.
"You could always have a cottage near London, and come up when you wanted to," I said.
"So I could. I never thought of that. That is a good idea," she cried.
We talked for a while about the country round London; and I suggested to her that she should try to get a cottage at Chipperfield. She said that she would. Then she said that she must be going, that she had been invited to a supper-party. My shipbuilder had disappeared with his Northern friend; and I came out with her and put her into a cab.
Before it started she leaned forward and said, "If I do go into the country, you will come down and spend the day with me sometimes?"
"I shall be charmed," I said, raising my hat.
I came home in no little content to find that she was so well on her way to repair the injury Lord Dymchurch had done her. I wondered too if I should, one full moon, see her in the garden of No. 19, priestess of Ashtaroth.
I was destined to see her again before any celebration of the rites of the Abyss. At the end of the first meeting in May of the New Bohemians I walked with Marks up to the top of Regent Street and came home along the Central Tube. When I reached Shepherd's Bush, the warm moonlit air tempted me to walk home, and I had gone halfway down the Goldhawk Road, when I saw a woman in front of me walking with a somewhat swaying, uncertain gait. I caught her up, and as I passed I glanced at her face. To my surprise it was Helen Ranger.
I stopped short and said, "How do you do, Miss Ranger?"
She stared at me for a moment, not recognizing me; and I saw that her face was flushed and her eyes were shining very bright.
"Oh, it's you, Mr. Plowden," she said, holding out her hand. "I've lost my way, at least I haven't lost it. I've forgotten where I'm going to. I want No. 19; but I can't remember the name of the street."
She spoke quickly and rather huskily, slurring her words. Plainly she had looked on the wine when it was red. It is not an infrequent occurrence in the joyous, unconventional life; and I was rather vexed than shocked.
"It's very silly not to remember," she went on, speaking quickly. "But it's all the fault of that stupid champagne. And I did not drink much either—only three glasses. I ought to stop at two. I know I ought. But I like it so."
Three glasses of champagne are not a heinous crime; and I said cheerfully, "Hadn't you better let me put you in a cab and send you home? You'll remember the name of the street to morrow; and that will be soon enough."
"No, no! To-night! I will go to-night," she cried. "I will find it. I shall find it. I feel that I am going right. Something seems—seems to be drawing me. I've felt it drawing me—for two days. And now I must go—I must."
It was an odd feeling. It seemed as if Woodfell had acquired an influence on her.
"Come along then, I'll help you find it," I said. "Take my arm it will counteract the champagne. But it's late to make a call —it's past twelve."
"Any time up till one in the morning, the old gentleman said."
She took my arm; and we walked on. She talked quickly about the impulse on her to go to No. 19.
Presently I said, "You're sure that No. 19 is in a street, not in a road?"
"Of course, it's in a road! It's in the Walden Road," she cried.
"Then I can take you straight to it. I live in the Walden Road," I said.
"You live in it?" she cried. "Then you were sent—certainly you were sent—to show me the way."
It looked like it.
The walk seemed to clear her head of the fumes of the champagne, for when we reached Hertford Park, she was talking quite clearly, no longer slurring her words.
Just before we came to the Walden Road I said, "And what are you going to No. 19 for?"
She shook her head, saying, "I'm not to talk about it."
We turned into the Walden Road and walked down it to No. 19. At the garden gate she thanked me and bade me good-night.
I went into my own garden; and the knocked at the door of No. 19. As I fitted my latch key into the lock, I heard the door open to her.
"So you have come," said Woodfell.
"Yes; I have come. I want to know," she said; and she went in.
I was assured that Woodfell had found the priestess of Ashtaroth.