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diff --git a/1665-h/1665-h.htm b/1665-h/1665-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1fcc86c --- /dev/null +++ b/1665-h/1665-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3958 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Derrick Vaughan--Novelist, by Edna Lyall + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Derrick Vaughan--Novelist, by Edna Lyall + +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.org + + +Title: Derrick Vaughan--Novelist + +Author: Edna Lyall + +Release Date: October 1, 2008 [EBook #1665] +Last Updated: November 11, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DERRICK VAUGHAN--NOVELIST *** + + + + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + DERRICK VAUGHAN—NOVELIST + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edna Lyall + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h4> + ‘It is only through deep sympathy that a man can become a great artist.’—<b>Lewes’s + Life of Goethe</b>. <br /> <br /> ‘Sympathy is feeling related to an object, + whilst sentiment is the same feeling seeking itself alone.’—<b>Arnold + Toynbee</b>. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter I. + </h2> + <p> + ‘Nothing fills a child’s mind like a large old mansion; better if un- or + partially occupied; peopled with the spirits of deceased members of the + county and Justices of the Quorum. Would I were buried in the peopled + solitude of one, with my feelings at seven years old!’—From Letters + of Charles Lamb. + </p> + <p> + To attempt a formal biography of Derrick Vaughan would be out of the + question, even though he and I have been more or less thrown together + since we were both in the nursery. But I have an odd sort of wish to note + down roughly just a few of my recollections of him, and to show how his + fortunes gradually developed, being perhaps stimulated to make the attempt + by certain irritating remarks which one overhears now often enough at + clubs or in drawing-rooms, or indeed wherever one goes. “Derrick Vaughan,” + say these authorities of the world of small-talk, with that delightful air + of omniscience which invariably characterises them, “why, he simply leapt + into fame. He is one of the favourites of fortune. Like Byron, he woke one + morning and found himself famous.” + </p> + <p> + Now this sounds well enough, but it is a long way from the truth, and I—Sydney + Wharncliffe, of the Inner Temple, Barrister-at-law—desire, while the + past few years are fresh in my mind, to write a true version of my + friend’s career. + </p> + <p> + Everyone knows his face. Has it not appeared in ‘Noted Men,’ and—gradually + deteriorating according to the price of the paper and the quality of the + engraving—in many another illustrated journal? Yet somehow these + works of art don’t satisfy me, and, as I write, I see before me something + very different from the latest photograph by Messrs. Paul and Reynard. + </p> + <p> + I see a large-featured, broad-browed English face, a trifle heavy-looking + when in repose, yet a thorough, honest, manly face, with a complexion + neither dark nor fair, with brown hair and moustache, and with light hazel + eyes that look out on the world quietly enough. You might talk to him for + long in an ordinary way and never suspect that he was a genius; but when + you have him to yourself, when some consciousness of sympathy rouses him, + he all at once becomes a different being. His quiet eyes kindle, his face + becomes full of life—you wonder that you ever thought it heavy or + commonplace. Then the world interrupts in some way, and, just as a + hermit-crab draws down its shell with a comically rapid movement, so + Derrick suddenly retires into himself. + </p> + <p> + Thus much for his outer man. + </p> + <p> + For the rest, there are of course the neat little accounts of his + birthplace, his parentage, his education, etc., etc., published with the + list of his works in due order, with the engravings in the illustrated + papers. But these tell us little of the real life of the man. + </p> + <p> + Carlyle, in one of his finest passages, says that ‘A true delineation of + the smallest man and his scene of pilgrimage through life is capable of + interesting the greatest men; that all men are to an unspeakable degree + brothers, each man’s life a strange emblem of every man’s; and that human + portraits faithfully drawn are of all pictures the welcomest on human + walls.’ And though I don’t profess to give a portrait, but merely a + sketch, I will endeavour to sketch faithfully, and possibly in the future + my work may fall into the hands of some of those worthy people who imagine + that my friend leapt into fame at a bound, or of those comfortable mortals + who seem to think that a novel is turned out as easily as water from a + tap. + </p> + <p> + There is, however, one thing I can never do:—I am quite unable to + put into words my friend’s intensely strong feeling with regard to the + sacredness of his profession. It seemed to me not unlike the feeling of + Isaiah when, in the vision, his mouth had been touched with the celestial + fire. And I can only hope that something of this may be read between my + very inadequate lines. + </p> + <p> + Looking back, I fancy Derrick must have been a clever child. But he was + not precocious, and in some respects was even decidedly backward. I can + see him now—it is my first clear recollection of him—leaning + back in the corner of my father’s carriage as we drove from the Newmarket + station to our summer home at Mondisfield. He and I were small boys of + eight, and Derrick had been invited for the holidays, while his twin + brother—if I remember right—indulged in typhoid fever at + Kensington. He was shy and silent, and the ice was not broken until we + passed Silvery Steeple. + </p> + <p> + “That,” said my father, “is a ruined church; it was destroyed by Cromwell + in the Civil Wars.” + </p> + <p> + In an instant the small quiet boy sitting beside me was transformed. His + eyes shone; he sprang forward and thrust his head far out of the window, + gazing at the old ivy-covered tower as long as it remained in sight. + </p> + <p> + “Was Cromwell really once there?” he asked with breathless interest. + </p> + <p> + “So they say,” replied my father, looking with an amused smile at the face + of the questioner, in which eagerness, delight, and reverence were + mingled. “Are you an admirer of the Lord Protector?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my greatest hero of all,” said Derrick fervently. “Do you think—oh, + do you think he possibly can ever have come to Mondisfield?” + </p> + <p> + My father thought not, but said there was an old tradition that the Hall + had been attacked by the Royalists, and the bridge over the moat defended + by the owner of the house; but he had no great belief in the story, for + which, indeed, there seemed no evidence. + </p> + <p> + Derrick’s eyes during this conversation were something wonderful to see, + and long after, when we were not actually playing at anything, I used + often to notice the same expression stealing over him, and would cry out, + “There is the man defending the bridge again; I can see him in your eyes! + Tell me what happened to him next!” + </p> + <p> + Then, generally pacing to and fro in the apple walk, or sitting astride + the bridge itself, Derrick would tell me of the adventures of my ancestor, + Paul Wharncliffe, who performed incredible feats of valour, and who was to + both of us a most real person. On wet days he wrote his story in a + copy-book, and would have worked at it for hours had my mother allowed + him, though of the manual part of the work he had, and has always + retained, the greatest dislike. I remember well the comical ending of this + first story of his. He skipped over an interval of ten years, represented + on the page by ten laboriously made stars, and did for his hero in the + following lines: + </p> + <p> + “And now, reader, let us come into Mondisfield churchyard. There are three + tombstones. On one is written, ‘Mr. Paul Wharncliffe.’” + </p> + <p> + The story was no better than the productions of most eight-year-old + children, the written story at least. But, curiously enough, it proved to + be the germ of the celebrated romance, ‘At Strife,’ which Derrick wrote in + after years; and he himself maintains that his picture of life during the + Civil War would have been much less graphic had he not lived so much in + the past during his various visits to Mondisfield. + </p> + <p> + It was at his second visit, when we were nine, that I remember his + announcing his intention of being an author when he was grown up. My + mother still delights in telling the story. She was sitting at work in the + south parlour one day, when I dashed into the room calling out: + </p> + <p> + “Derrick’s head is stuck between the banisters in the gallery; come quick, + mother, come quick!” + </p> + <p> + She ran up the little winding staircase, and there, sure enough, in the + musician’s gallery, was poor Derrick, his manuscript and pen on the floor + and his head in durance vile. + </p> + <p> + “You silly boy!” said my mother, a little frightened when she found that + to get the head back was no easy matter, “What made you put it through?” + </p> + <p> + “You look like King Charles at Carisbrooke,” I cried, forgetting how much + Derrick would resent the speech. + </p> + <p> + And being released at that moment he took me by the shoulders and gave me + an angry shake or two, as he said vehemently, “I’m not like King Charles! + King Charles was a liar.” + </p> + <p> + I saw my mother smile a little as she separated us. + </p> + <p> + “Come, boys, don’t quarrel,” she said. “And Derrick will tell me the + truth, for indeed I am curious to know why he thrust his head in such a + place.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to make sure,” said Derrick, “whether Paul Wharncliffe could see + Lady Lettice, when she took the falcon on her wrist below in the passage. + I mustn’t say he saw her if it’s impossible, you know. Authors have to be + quite true in little things, and I mean to be an author.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said my mother, laughing at the great earnestness of the hazel + eyes, “could not your hero look over the top of the rail?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” said Derrick. “He would have done that, but you see it’s so + dreadfully high and I couldn’t get up. But I tell you what, Mrs. + Wharncliffe, if it wouldn’t be giving you a great deal of trouble—I’m + sorry you were troubled to get my head back again—but if you would + just look over, since you are so tall, and I’ll run down and act Lady + Lettice.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn’t Paul go downstairs and look at the lady in comfort?” asked + my mother. + </p> + <p> + Derrick mused a little. + </p> + <p> + “He might look at her through a crack in the door at the foot of the + stairs, perhaps, but that would seem mean, somehow. It would be a pity, + too, not to use the gallery; galleries are uncommon, you see, and you can + get cracked doors anywhere. And, you know, he was obliged to look at her + when she couldn’t see him, because their fathers were on different sides + in the war, and dreadful enemies.” + </p> + <p> + When school-days came, matters went on much in the same way; there was + always an abominably scribbled tale stowed away in Derrick’s desk, and he + worked infinitely harder than I did, because there was always before him + this determination to be an author and to prepare himself for the life. + But he wrote merely from love of it, and with no idea of publication until + the beginning of our last year at Oxford, when, having reached the ripe + age of one-and-twenty, he determined to delay no longer, but to plunge + boldly into his first novel. + </p> + <p> + He was seldom able to get more than six or eight hours a week for it, + because he was reading rather hard, so that the novel progressed but + slowly. Finally, to my astonishment, it came to a dead stand-still. + </p> + <p> + I have never made out exactly what was wrong with Derrick then, though I + know that he passed through a terrible time of doubt and despair. I spent + part of the Long with him down at Ventnor, where his mother had been + ordered for her health. She was devoted to Derrick, and as far as I can + understand, he was her chief comfort in life. Major Vaughan, the husband, + had been out in India for years; the only daughter was married to a rich + manufacturer at Birmingham, who had a constitutional dislike to + mothers-in-law, and as far as possible eschewed their company; while + Lawrence, Derrick’s twin brother, was for ever getting into scrapes, and + was into the bargain the most unblushingly selfish fellow I ever had the + pleasure of meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Sydney,” said Mrs. Vaughan to me one afternoon when we were in the + garden, “Derrick seems to me unlike himself, there is a division between + us which I never felt before. Can you tell me what is troubling him?” + </p> + <p> + She was not at all a good-looking woman, but she had a very sweet, wistful + face, and I never looked at her sad eyes without feeling ready to go + through fire and water for her. I tried now to make light of Derrick’s + depression. + </p> + <p> + “He is only going through what we all of us go through,” I said, assuming + a cheerful tone. “He has suddenly discovered that life is a great riddle, + and that the things he has accepted in blind faith are, after all, not so + sure.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Do all go through it?” she said thoughtfully. “And how many, I wonder, + get beyond?” + </p> + <p> + “Few enough,” I replied moodily. Then, remembering my role,—“But + Derrick will get through; he has a thousand things to help him which + others have not,—you, for instance. And then I fancy he has a sort + of insight which most of us are without.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” she said. “As for me, it is little that I can do for him. + Perhaps you are right, and it is true that once in a life at any rate we + all have to go into the wilderness alone.” + </p> + <p> + That was the last summer I ever saw Derrick’s mother; she took a chill the + following Christmas and died after a few days’ illness. But I have always + thought her death helped Derrick in a way that her life might have failed + to do. For although he never, I fancy, quite recovered from the blow, and + to this day cannot speak of her without tears in his eyes, yet when he + came back to Oxford he seemed to have found the answer to the riddle, and + though older, sadder and graver than before, had quite lost the restless + dissatisfaction that for some time had clouded his life. In a few months, + moreover, I noticed a fresh sign that he was out of the wood. Coming into + his rooms one day I found him sitting in the cushioned window-seat, + reading over and correcting some sheets of blue foolscap. + </p> + <p> + “At it again?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I mean to finish the first volume here. For the rest I must be in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked, a little curious as to this unknown art of novel-making. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” he replied, “one must be in the heart of things to understand + how Lynwood was affected by them.” + </p> + <p> + “Lynwood! I believe you are always thinking of him!” (Lynwood was the hero + of his novel.) + </p> + <p> + “Well, so I am nearly—so I must be, if the book is to be any good.” + </p> + <p> + “Read me what you have written,” I said, throwing myself back in a rickety + but tolerably comfortable arm-chair which Derrick had inherited with the + rooms. + </p> + <p> + He hesitated a moment, being always very diffident about his own work; but + presently, having provided me with a cigar and made a good deal of + unnecessary work in arranging the sheets of the manuscript, he began to + read aloud, rather nervously, the opening chapters of the book now so well + known under the title of ‘Lynwood’s Heritage.’ + </p> + <p> + I had heard nothing of his for the last four years, and was amazed at the + gigantic stride he had made in the interval. For, spite of a certain + crudeness, it seemed to me a most powerful story; it rushed straight to + the point with no wavering, no beating about the bush; it flung itself + into the problems of the day with a sort of sublime audacity; it took hold + of one; it whirled one along with its own inherent force, and drew forth + both laughter and tears, for Derrick’s power of pathos had always been his + strongest point. + </p> + <p> + All at once he stopped reading. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” I cried impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “That is all,” he said, gathering the sheets together. + </p> + <p> + “You stopped in the middle of a sentence!” I cried in exasperation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said quietly, “for six months.” + </p> + <p> + “You provoking fellow! why, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn’t know the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! And do you know it now?” + </p> + <p> + He looked me full in the face, and there was an expression in his eyes + which puzzled me. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I do,” he said; and, getting up, he crossed the room, put the + manuscript away in a drawer, and returning, sat down in the window-seat + again, looking out on the narrow, paved street below, and at the grey + buildings opposite. + </p> + <p> + I knew very well that he would never ask me what I thought of the story—that + was not his way. + </p> + <p> + “Derrick!” I exclaimed, watching his impassive face, “I believe after all + you are a genius.” + </p> + <p> + I hardly know why I said “after all,” but till that moment it had never + struck me that Derrick was particularly gifted. He had so far got through + his Oxford career creditably, but then he had worked hard; his talents + were not of a showy order. I had never expected that he would set the + Thames on fire. Even now it seemed to me that he was too dreamy, too + quiet, too devoid of the pushing faculty to succeed in the world. + </p> + <p> + My remark made him laugh incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Define a genius,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For answer I pulled down his beloved Imperial Dictionary and read him the + following quotation from De Quincey: ‘Genius is that mode of intellectual + power which moves in alliance with the genial nature, i.e., with the + capacities of pleasure and pain; whereas talent has no vestige of such an + alliance, and is perfectly independent of all human sensibilities.’ + </p> + <p> + “Let me think! You can certainly enjoy things a hundred times more than I + can—and as for suffering, why you were always a great hand at that. + Now listen to the great Dr. Johnson and see if the cap fits, ‘The true + genius is a mind of large general powers accidentally determined in some + particular direction.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Large general powers’!—yes, I believe after all you have them + with, alas, poor Derrick! one notable exception—the mathematical + faculty. You were always bad at figures. We will stick to De Quincey’s + definition, and for heaven’s sake, my dear fellow, do get Lynwood out of + that awful plight! No wonder you were depressed when you lived all this + age with such a sentence unfinished!” + </p> + <p> + “For the matter of that,” said Derrick, “he can’t get out till the end of + the book; but I can begin to go on with him now.” + </p> + <p> + “And when you leave Oxford?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I mean to settle down in London—to write leisurely—and + possibly to read for the Bar.” + </p> + <p> + “We might be together,” I suggested. And Derrick took to this idea, being + a man who detested solitude and crowds about equally. Since his mother’s + death he had been very much alone in the world. To Lawrence he was always + loyal, but the two had nothing in common, and though fond of his sister he + could not get on at all with the manufacturer, his brother-in-law. But + this prospect of life together in London pleased him amazingly; he began + to recover his spirits to a great extent and to look much more like + himself. + </p> + <p> + It must have been just as he had taken his degree that he received a + telegram to announce that Major Vaughan had been invalided home, and would + arrive at Southampton in three weeks’ time. Derrick knew very little of + his father, but apparently Mrs. Vaughan had done her best to keep up a + sort of memory of his childish days at Aldershot, and in these the part + that his father played was always pleasant. So he looked forward to the + meeting not a little, while I, from the first, had my doubts as to the + felicity it was likely to bring him. + </p> + <p> + However, it was ordained that before the Major’s ship arrived, his son’s + whole life should change. Even Lynwood was thrust into the background. As + for me, I was nowhere. For Derrick, the quiet, the self-contained, had + fallen passionately in love with a certain Freda Merrifield. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Infancy? What if the rose-streak of morning + Pale and depart in a passion of tears? + Once to have hoped is no matter for scorning: + Love once: e’en love’s disappointment endears; + A moment’s success pays the failure of years.’ + R. Browning. +</pre> + <p> + The wonder would have been if he had not fallen in love with her, for a + more fascinating girl I never saw. She had only just returned from school + at Compiegne, and was not yet out; her charming freshness was unsullied; + she had all the simplicity and straightforwardness of unspoilt, + unsophisticated girlhood. I well remember our first sight of her. We had + been invited for a fortnight’s yachting by Calverley of Exeter. His + father, Sir John Calverley, had a sailing yacht, and some guests having + disappointed him at the last minute, he gave his son carte blanche as to + who he should bring to fill the vacant berths. + </p> + <p> + So we three travelled down to Southampton together one hot summer day, and + were rowed out to the Aurora, an uncommonly neat little schooner which lay + in that over-rated and frequently odoriferous roadstead, Southampton + Water. However, I admit that on that evening—the tide being high—the + place looked remarkably pretty; the level rays of the setting sun turned + the water to gold; a soft luminous haze hung over the town and the + shipping, and by a stretch of imagination one might have thought the view + almost Venetian. Derrick’s perfect content was only marred by his shyness. + I knew that he dreaded reaching the Aurora; and sure enough, as we stepped + on to the exquisitely white deck and caught sight of the little group of + guests, I saw him retreat into his crab-shell of silent reserve. Sir John, + who made a very pleasant host, introduced us to the other visitors—Lord + Probyn and his wife and their niece, Miss Freda Merrifield. Lady Probyn + was Sir John’s sister, and also the sister of Miss Merrifield’s mother; so + that it was almost a family party, and by no means a formidable gathering. + Lady Probyn played the part of hostess and chaperoned her pretty niece; + but she was not in the least like the aunt of fiction—on the + contrary, she was comparatively young in years and almost comically young + in mind; her niece was devoted to her, and the moment I saw her I knew + that our cruise could not possibly be dull. + </p> + <p> + As to Miss Freda, when we first caught sight of her she was standing near + the companion, dressed in a daintily made yachting costume of blue serge + and white braid, and round her white sailor hat she wore the name of the + yacht stamped on a white ribbon; in her waist-band she had fastened two + deep crimson roses, and she looked at us with frank, girlish curiosity, no + doubt wondering whether we should add to or detract from the enjoyment of + the expedition. She was rather tall, and there was an air of strength and + energy about her which was most refreshing. Her skin was singularly white, + but there was a healthy glow of colour in her cheeks; while her large, + grey eyes, shaded by long lashes, were full of life and brightness. As to + her features, they were perhaps a trifle irregular, and her elder sisters + were supposed to eclipse her altogether; but to my mind she was far the + most taking of the three. + </p> + <p> + I was not in the least surprised that Derrick should fall head over ears + in love with her; she was exactly the sort of girl that would infallibly + attract him. Her absence of shyness; her straightforward, easy way of + talking; her genuine goodheartedness; her devotion to animals—one of + his own pet hobbies—and finally her exquisite playing, made the + result a foregone conclusion. And then, moreover, they were perpetually + together. He would hang over the piano in the saloon for hours while she + played, the rest of us lazily enjoying the easy chairs and the fresh air + on deck; and whenever we landed, these two were sure in the end to be just + a little apart from the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + It was an eminently successful cruise. We all liked each other; the sea + was calm, the sunshine constant, the wind as a rule favourable, and I + think I never in a single fortnight heard so many good stories, or had + such a good time. We seemed to get right out of the world and its narrow + restrictions, away from all that was hollow and base and depressing, only + landing now and then at quaint little quiet places for some merry + excursion on shore. Freda was in the highest spirits; and as to Derrick, + he was a different creature. She seemed to have the power of drawing him + out in a marvellous degree, and she took the greatest interest in his work—a + sure way to every author’s heart. + </p> + <p> + But it was not till one day, when we landed at Tresco, that I felt certain + she genuinely loved him—there in one glance the truth flashed upon + me. I was walking with one of the gardeners down one of the long shady + paths of that lovely little island, with its curiously foreign look, when + we suddenly came face to face with Derrick and Freda. They were talking + earnestly, and I could see her great grey eyes as they were lifted to his—perhaps + they were more expressive than she knew—I cannot say. They both + started a little as we confronted them, and the colour deepened in Freda’s + face. The gardener, with what photographers usually ask for—‘just + the faint beginning of a smile,’—turned and gathered a bit of white + heather growing near. + </p> + <p> + “They say it brings good luck, miss,” he remarked, handing it to Freda. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, laughing, “I hope it will bring it to me. At any + rate it will remind me of this beautiful island. Isn’t it just like + Paradise, Mr. Wharncliffe?” + </p> + <p> + “For me it is like Paradise before Eve was created,” I replied, rather + wickedly. “By the bye, are you going to keep all the good luck to + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said laughing. “Perhaps I shall; but you have only to + ask the gardener, he will gather you another piece directly.” + </p> + <p> + I took good care to drop behind, having no taste for the third-fiddle + business; but I noticed when we were in the gig once more, rowing back to + the yacht, that the white heather had been equally divided—one half + was in the waist-band of the blue serge dress, the other half in the + button-hole of Derrick’s blazer. + </p> + <p> + So the fortnight slipped by, and at length one afternoon we found + ourselves once more in Southampton Water; then came the bustle of packing + and the hurry of departure, and the merry party dispersed. Derrick and I + saw them all off at the station, for, as his father’s ship did not arrive + till the following day, I made up my mind to stay on with him at + Southampton. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and see us in town,” said Lady Probyn, kindly. And Lord + Probyn invited us both for the shooting at Blachington in September. “We + will have the same party on shore, and see if we can’t enjoy ourselves + almost as well,” he said in his hearty way; “the novel will go all the + better for it, eh, Vaughan?” + </p> + <p> + Derrick brightened visibly at the suggestion. I heard him talking to Freda + all the time that Sir John stood laughing and joking as to the comparative + pleasures of yachting and shooting. + </p> + <p> + “You will be there too?” Derrick asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell,” said Freda, and there was a shade of sadness in her tone. + Her voice was deeper than most women’s voices—a rich contralto with + something striking and individual about it. I could hear her quite + plainly; but Derrick spoke less distinctly—he always had a bad trick + of mumbling. + </p> + <p> + “You see I am the youngest,” she said, “and I am not really ‘out.’ Perhaps + my mother will wish one of the elder ones to go; but I half think they are + already engaged for September, so after all I may have a chance.” + </p> + <p> + Inaudible remark from my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I came here because my sisters did not care to leave London till the + end of the season,” replied the clear contralto. “It has been a perfect + cruise. I shall remember it all my life.” + </p> + <p> + After that, nothing more was audible; but I imagine Derrick must have + hazarded a more personal question, and that Freda had admitted that it was + not only the actual sailing she should remember. At any rate her face when + I caught sight of it again made me think of the girl described in the + ‘Biglow Papers’: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘’Twas kin’ o’ kingdom come to look + On sech a blessed creatur. + A dogrose blushin’ to a brook + Ain’t modester nor sweeter.’” + </pre> + <p> + So the train went off, and Derrick and I were left to idle about + Southampton and kill time as best we might. Derrick seemed to walk the + streets in a sort of dream—he was perfectly well aware that he had + met his fate, and at that time no thought of difficulties in the way had + arisen either in his mind or in my own. We were both of us young and + inexperienced; we were both of us in love, and we had the usual lover’s + notion that everything in heaven and earth is prepared to favour the + course of his particular passion. + </p> + <p> + I remember that we soon found the town intolerable, and, crossing by the + ferry, walked over to Netley Abbey, and lay down idly in the shade of the + old grey walls. Not a breath of wind stirred the great masses of ivy which + were wreathed about the ruined church, and the place looked so lovely in + its decay, that we felt disposed to judge the dissolute monks very + leniently for having behaved so badly that their church and monastery had + to be opened to the four winds of heaven. After all, when is a church so + beautiful as when it has the green grass for its floor and the sky for its + roof? + </p> + <p> + I could show you the very spot near the East window where Derrick told me + the whole truth, and where we talked over Freda’s perfections and the + probability of frequent meetings in London. He had listened so often and + so patiently to my affairs, that it seemed an odd reversal to have to play + the confidant; and if now and then my thoughts wandered off to the coming + month at Mondisfield, and pictured violet eyes while he talked of grey, it + was not from any lack of sympathy with my friend. + </p> + <p> + Derrick was not of a self-tormenting nature, and though I knew he was + amazed at the thought that such a girl as Freda could possibly care for + him, yet he believed most implicitly that this wonderful thing had come to + pass; and, remembering her face as we had last seen it, and the look in + her eyes at Tresco, I, too, had not a shadow of a doubt that she really + loved him. She was not the least bit of a flirt, and society had not had a + chance yet of moulding her into the ordinary girl of the nineteenth + century. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the sudden and unexpected change of the next day that makes + me remember Derrick’s face so distinctly as he lay back on the smooth turf + that afternoon in Netley Abbey. As it looked then, full of youth and hope, + full of that dream of cloudless love, I never saw it again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Religion in him never died, but became a habit—a habit of + enduring hardness, and cleaving to the steadfast performance + of duty in the face of the strongest allurements to the + pleasanter and easier course.” Life of Charles Lamb, by A. + Ainger. +</pre> + <p> + Derrick was in good spirits the next day. He talked much of Major Vaughan, + wondered whether the voyage home had restored his health, discussed the + probable length of his leave, and speculated as to the nature of his + illness; the telegram had of course given no details. + </p> + <p> + “There has not been even a photograph for the last five years,” he + remarked, as we walked down to the quay together. “Yet I think I should + know him anywhere, if it is only by his height. He used to look so well on + horseback. I remember as a child seeing him in a sham fight charging up + Caesar’s Camp.” + </p> + <p> + “How old were you when he went out?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, quite a small boy,” replied Derrick. “It was just before I first + stayed with you. However, he has had a regular succession of photographs + sent out to him, and will know me easily enough.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Derrick! I can’t think of that day even now without a kind of mental + shiver. We watched the great steamer as it glided up to the quay, and + Derrick scanned the crowded deck with eager eyes, but could nowhere see + the tall, soldierly figure that had lingered so long in his memory. He + stood with his hand resting on the rail of the gangway, and when presently + it was raised to the side of the steamer, he still kept his position, so + that he could instantly catch sight of his father as he passed down. I + stood close behind him, and watched the motley procession of passengers; + most of them had the dull colourless skin which bespeaks long residence in + India, and a particularly yellow and peevish-looking old man was grumbling + loudly as he slowly made his way down the gangway. + </p> + <p> + “The most disgraceful scene!” he remarked. “The fellow was as drunk as he + could be.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” asked his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Major Vaughan, to be sure. The only wonder is that he hasn’t drunk + himself to death by this time—been at it years enough!” + </p> + <p> + Derrick turned, as though to shelter himself from the curious eyes of the + travellers; but everywhere the quay was crowded. It seemed to me not + unlike the life that lay before him, with this new shame which could not + be hid, and I shall never forget the look of misery in his face. + </p> + <p> + “Most likely a great exaggeration of that spiteful old fogey’s,” I said. + “Never believe anything that you hear, is a sound axiom. Had you not + better try to get on board?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and for heaven’s sake come with me, Wharncliffe!” he said. “It can’t + be true! It is, as you say, that man’s spite, or else there is someone + else of the name on board. That must be it—someone else of the + name.” + </p> + <p> + I don’t know whether he managed to deceive himself. We made our way on + board, and he spoke to one of the stewards, who conducted us to the + saloon. I knew from the expression of the man’s face that the words we had + overheard were but too true; it was a mere glance that he gave us, yet if + he had said aloud, “They belong to that old drunkard! Thank heaven I’m not + in their shoes!” I could not have better understood what was in his mind. + </p> + <p> + There were three persons only in the great saloon: an officer’s servant, + whose appearance did not please me; a fine looking old man with grey hair + and whiskers, and a rough-hewn honest face, apparently the ship’s doctor; + and a tall grizzled man in whom I at once saw a sort of horrible likeness + to Derrick—horrible because this face was wicked and degraded, and + because its owner was drunk—noisily drunk. Derrick paused for a + minute, looking at his father; then, deadly pale, he turned to the old + doctor. “I am Major Vaughan’s son,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The doctor grasped his hand, and there was something in the old man’s + kindly, chivalrous manner which brought a sort of light into the gloom. + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to see you!” he exclaimed. “Is the Major’s luggage ready?” + he inquired turning to the servant. Then, as the man replied in the + affirmative, “How would it be, Mr. Vaughan, if your father’s man just saw + the things into a cab? and then I’ll come on shore with you and see my + patient safely settled in.” + </p> + <p> + Derrick acquiesced, and the doctor turned to the Major, who was leaning up + against one of the pillars of the saloon and shouting out “‘Twas in + Trafalgar Bay,” in a way which, under other circumstances, would have been + highly comic. The doctor interrupted him, as with much feeling he sang + how: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “England declared that every man + That day had done his duty.” + </pre> + <p> + “Look, Major,” he said; “here is your son come to meet you.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, my boy,” said the Major, reeling forward and running all + his words together. “How’s your mother? Is this Lawrence? Glad to see both + of you! Why, you’r’s like’s two peas! Not Lawrence, do you say? Confound + it, doctor, how the ship rolls to-day!” + </p> + <p> + And the old wretch staggered and would have fallen, had not Derrick + supported him and landed him safely on one of the fixed ottomans. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, you’re the son for me,” he went on, with a bland smile, which + made his face all the more hideous. “You’re not so rough and clumsy as + that confounded John Thomas, whose hands are like brickbats. I’m a mere + wreck, as you see; it’s the accursed climate! But your mother will soon + nurse me into health again; she was always a good nurse, poor soul! it was + her best point. What with you and your mother, I shall soon be myself + again.” + </p> + <p> + Here the doctor interposed, and Derrick made desperately for a porthole + and gulped down mouthfuls of fresh air: but he was not allowed much of a + respite, for the servant returned to say that he had procured a cab, and + the Major called loudly for his son’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not have you,” he said, pushing the servant violently away. “Come, + Derrick, help me! you are worth two of that blockhead.” + </p> + <p> + And Derrick came quickly forward, his face still very pale, but with a + dignity about it which I had never before seen; and, giving his arm to his + drunken father, he piloted him across the saloon, through the staring + ranks of stewards, officials, and tardy passengers outside, down the + gangway, and over the crowded quay to the cab. I knew that each derisive + glance of the spectators was to him like a sword-thrust, and longed to + throttle the Major, who seemed to enjoy himself amazingly on terra firma, + and sang at the top of his voice as we drove through the streets of + Southampton. The old doctor kept up a cheery flow of small-talk with me, + thinking, no doubt, that this would be a kindness to Derrick: and at last + that purgatorial drive ended, and somehow Derrick and the doctor between + them got the Major safely into his room at Radley’s Hotel. + </p> + <p> + We had ordered lunch in a private sitting-room, thinking that the Major + would prefer it to the coffee-room; but, as it turned out, he was in no + state to appear. They left him asleep, and the ship’s doctor sat in the + seat that had been prepared for his patient, and made the meal as + tolerable to us both as it could be. He was an odd, old-fashioned fellow, + but as true a gentleman as ever breathed. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” he said, when lunch was over, “you and I must have a talk together, + Mr. Vaughan, and I will help you to understand your father’s case.” + </p> + <p> + I made a movement to go, but sat down again at Derrick’s request. I think, + poor old fellow, he dreaded being alone, and knowing that I had seen his + father at the worst, thought I might as well hear all particulars. + </p> + <p> + “Major Vaughan,” continued the doctor, “has now been under my care for + some weeks, and I had some communication with the regimental surgeon about + his case before he sailed. He is suffering from an enlarged liver, and the + disease has been brought on by his unfortunate habit of over-indulgence in + stimulants.” I could almost have smiled, so very gently and considerately + did the good old man veil in long words the shameful fact. “It is a habit + sadly prevalent among our fellow-countrymen in India; the climate + aggravates the mischief, and very many lives are in this way ruined. Then + your father was also unfortunate enough to contract rheumatism when he was + camping out in the jungle last year, and this is increasing on him very + much, so that his life is almost intolerable to him, and he naturally + flies for relief to his greatest enemy, drink. At all costs, however, you + must keep him from stimulants; they will only intensify the disease and + the sufferings, in fact they are poison to a man in such a state. Don’t + think I am a bigot in these matters; but I say that for a man in such a + condition as this, there is nothing for it but total abstinence, and at + all costs your father must be guarded from the possibility of procuring + any sort of intoxicating drink. Throughout the voyage I have done my best + to shield him, but it was a difficult matter. His servant, too, is not + trustworthy, and should be dismissed if possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Had he spoken at all of his plans?” asked Derrick, and his voice sounded + strangely unlike itself. + </p> + <p> + “He asked me what place in England he had better settle down in,” said the + doctor, “and I strongly recommended him to try Bath. This seemed to please + him, and if he is well enough he had better go there to-morrow. He + mentioned your mother this morning; no doubt she will know how to manage + him.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother died six months ago,” said Derrick, pushing back his chair and + beginning to pace the room. The doctor made kindly apologies. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have a sister, who could go to him?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Derrick. “My only sister is married, and her husband would + never allow it.” + </p> + <p> + “Or a cousin or an aunt?” suggested the old man, naively unconscious that + the words sounded like a quotation. + </p> + <p> + I saw the ghost of a smile flit over Derrick’s harassed face as he shook + his head. + </p> + <p> + “I suggested that he should go into some Home for—cases of the + kind,” resumed the doctor, “or place himself under the charge of some + medical man; however, he won’t hear of such a thing. But if he is left to + himself—well, it is all up with him. He will drink himself to death + in a few months.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall not be left alone,” said Derrick; “I will live with him. Do you + think I should do? It seems to be Hobson’s choice.” + </p> + <p> + I looked up in amazement—for here was Derrick calmly giving himself + up to a life that must crush every plan for the future he had made. Did + men make such a choice as that while they took two or three turns in a + room? Did they speak so composedly after a struggle that must have been so + bitter? Thinking it over now, I feel sure it was his extraordinary gift of + insight and his clear judgment which made him behave in this way. He + instantly perceived and promptly acted; the worst of the suffering came + long after. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course you are the very best person in the world for him,” said + the doctor. “He has taken a fancy to you, and evidently you have a certain + influence with him. If any one can save him it will be you.” + </p> + <p> + But the thought of allowing Derrick to be sacrificed to that old brute of + a Major was more than I could bear calmly. + </p> + <p> + “A more mad scheme was never proposed,” I cried. “Why, doctor, it will be + utter ruin to my friend’s career; he will lose years that no one can ever + make up. And besides, he is unfit for such a strain, he will never stand + it.” + </p> + <p> + My heart felt hot as I thought of Derrick, with his highly-strung, + sensitive nature, his refinement, his gentleness, in constant + companionship with such a man as Major Vaughan. + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir,” said the old doctor, with a gleam in his eye, “I understand + your feeling well enough. But depend upon it, your friend has made the + right choice, and there is no doubt that he’ll be strong enough to do his + duty.” + </p> + <p> + The word reminded me of the Major’s song, and my voice was abominably + sarcastic in tone as I said to Derrick, “You no longer consider writing + your duty then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “but it must stand second to this. Don’t be vexed, Sydney; + our plans are knocked on the head, but it is not so bad as you make out. I + have at any rate enough to live on, and can afford to wait.” + </p> + <p> + There was no more to be said, and the next day I saw that strange trio set + out on their road to Bath. The Major looking more wicked when sober than + he had done when drunk; the old doctor kindly and considerate as ever; and + Derrick, with an air of resolution about that English face of his and a + dauntless expression in his eyes which impressed me curiously. + </p> + <p> + These quiet, reserved fellows are always giving one odd surprises. He had + astonished me by the vigour and depth of the first volume of ‘Lynwood’s + Heritage.’ He astonished me now by a new phase in his own character. + Apparently he who had always been content to follow where I led, and to + watch life rather than to take an active share in it, now intended to + strike out a very decided line of his own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Both Goethe and Schiller were profoundly convinced that Art + was no luxury of leisure, no mere amusement to charm the + idle, or relax the careworn; but a mighty influence, serious + in its aims although pleasureable in its means; a sister of + Religion, by whose aid the great world-scheme was wrought + into reality.” Lewes’s Life of Goethe. +</pre> + <p> + Man is a selfish being, and I am a particularly fine specimen of the race + as far as that characteristic goes. If I had had a dozen drunken parents I + should never have danced attendance on one of them; yet in my secret soul + I admired Derrick for the line he had taken, for we mostly do admire what + is unlike ourselves and really noble, though it is the fashion to seem + totally indifferent to everything in heaven and earth. But all the same I + felt annoyed about the whole business, and was glad to forget it in my own + affairs at Mondisfield. + </p> + <p> + Weeks passed by. I lived through a midsummer dream of happiness, and a + hard awaking. That, however, has nothing to do with Derrick’s story, and + may be passed over. In October I settled down in Montague Street, + Bloomsbury, and began to read for the Bar, in about as disagreeable a + frame of mind as can be conceived. One morning I found on my breakfast + table a letter in Derrick’s handwriting. Like most men, we hardly ever + corresponded—what women say in the eternal letters they send to each + other I can’t conceive—but it struck me that under the circumstances + I ought to have sent him a line to ask how he was getting on, and my + conscience pricked me as I remembered that I had hardly thought of him + since we parted, being absorbed in my own matters. The letter was not very + long, but when one read between the lines it somehow told a good deal. I + have it lying by me, and this is a copy of it: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sydney,—Do like a good fellow go to North Audley Street for + me, to the house which I described to you as the one where Lynwood lodged, + and tell me what he would see besides the church from his window—if + shops, what kind? Also if any glimpse of Oxford Street would be visible. + Then if you’ll add to your favours by getting me a second-hand copy of + Laveleye’s ‘Socialisme Contemporain,’ I should be for ever grateful. We + are settled in here all right. Bath is empty, but I people it as far as I + can with the folk out of ‘Evelina’ and ‘Persuasion.’ How did you get on at + Blachington? and which of the Misses Merrifield went in the end? Don’t + bother about the commissions. Any time will do. + </p> + <p> + “Ever yours, + </p> + <p> + “Derrick Vaughan.” + </p> + <p> + Poor old fellow! all the spirit seemed knocked out of him. There was not + one word about the Major, and who could say what wretchedness was veiled + in that curt phrase, “we are settled in all right”? All right! it was all + as wrong as it could be! My blood began to boil at the thought of Derrick, + with his great powers—his wonderful gift—cooped up in a place + where the study of life was so limited and so dull. Then there was his + hunger for news of Freda, and his silence as to what had kept him away + from Blachington, and about all a sort of proud humility which prevented + him from saying much that I should have expected him to say under the + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + It was Saturday, and my time was my own. I went out, got his book for him; + interviewed North Audley Street; spent a bad five minutes in company with + that villain ‘Bradshaw,’ who is responsible for so much of the brain and + eye disease of the nineteenth century, and finally left Paddington in the + Flying Dutchman, which landed me at Bath early in the afternoon. I left my + portmanteau at the station, and walked through the city till I reached Gay + Street. Like most of the streets of Bath, it was broad, and had on either + hand dull, well-built, dark grey, eminently respectable, unutterably + dreary-looking houses. I rang, and the door was opened to me by a most + quaint old woman, evidently the landlady. An odour of curry pervaded the + passage, and became more oppressive as the door of the sitting-room was + opened, and I was ushered in upon the Major and his son, who had just + finished lunch. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” cried Derrick, springing up, his face full of delight which + touched me, while at the same time it filled me with envy. + </p> + <p> + Even the Major thought fit to give me a hearty welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you again,” he said pleasantly enough. “It’s a relief to have + a fresh face to look at. We have a room which is quite at your disposal, + and I hope you’ll stay with us. Brought your portmanteau, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It is at the station,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “See that it is sent for,” he said to Derrick; “and show Mr. Wharncliffe + all that is to be seen in this cursed hole of a place.” Then, turning + again to me, “Have you lunched? Very well, then, don’t waste this fine + afternoon in an invalid’s room, but be off and enjoy yourself.” + </p> + <p> + So cordial was the old man, that I should have thought him already a + reformed character, had I not found that he kept the rough side of his + tongue for home use. Derrick placed a novel and a small handbell within + his reach, and we were just going, when we were checked by a volley of + oaths from the Major; then a book came flying across the room, well aimed + at Derrick’s head. He stepped aside, and let it fall with a crash on the + sideboard. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by giving me the second volume when you know I am in the + third?” fumed the invalid. + </p> + <p> + He apologised quietly, fetched the third volume, straightened the + disordered leaves of the discarded second, and with the air of one well + accustomed to such little domestic scenes, took up his hat and came out + with me. + </p> + <p> + “How long do you intend to go on playing David to the Major’s Saul?” I + asked, marvelling at the way in which he endured the humours of his + father. + </p> + <p> + “As long as I have the chance,” he replied. “I say, are you sure you won’t + mind staying with us? It can’t be a very comfortable household for an + outsider.” + </p> + <p> + “Much better than for an insider, to all appearance,” I replied. “I’m only + too delighted to stay. And now, old fellow, tell me the honest truth—you + didn’t, you know, in your letter—how have you been getting on?” + </p> + <p> + Derrick launched into an account of his father’s ailments. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang the Major! I don’t care about him, I want to know about you,” I + cried. + </p> + <p> + “About me?” said Derrick doubtfully. “Oh, I’m right enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do with yourself? How on earth do you kill time?” I asked. + “Come, give me a full, true, and particular account of it all.” + </p> + <p> + “We have tried three other servants,” said Derrick; “but the plan doesn’t + answer. They either won’t stand it, or else they are bribed into smuggling + brandy into the house. I find I can do most things for my father, and in + the morning he has an attendant from the hospital who is trustworthy, and + who does what is necessary for him. At ten we breakfast together, then + there are the morning papers, which he likes to have read to him. After + that I go round to the Pump Room with him—odd contrast now to what + it must have been when Bath was the rage. Then we have lunch. In the + afternoon, if he is well enough, we drive; if not he sleeps, and I get a + walk. Later on an old Indian friend of his will sometimes drop in; if not + he likes to be read to until dinner. After dinner we play chess—he + is a first-rate player. At ten I help him to bed; from eleven to twelve I + smoke and study Socialism and all the rest of it that Lynwood is at + present floundering in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you write, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried it, but it didn’t answer. I couldn’t sleep after it, and was, in + fact, too tired; seems absurd to be tired after such a day as that, but + somehow it takes it out of one more than the hardest reading; I don’t know + why.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” I said angrily, “it’s because it is work to which you are quite + unsuited—work for a thick-skinned, hard-hearted, uncultivated and + well-paid attendant, not for the novelist who is to be the chief light of + our generation.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed at this estimate of his powers. + </p> + <p> + “Novelists, like other cattle, have to obey their owner,” he said lightly. + </p> + <p> + I thought for a moment that he meant the Major, and was breaking into an + angry remonstrance, when I saw that he meant something quite different. It + was always his strongest point, this extraordinary consciousness of right, + this unwavering belief that he had to do and therefore could do certain + things. Without this, I know that he never wrote a line, and in my heart I + believe this was the cause of his success. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are not writing at all?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I write generally for a couple of hours before breakfast,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And that evening we sat by his gas stove and he read me the next four + chapters of ‘Lynwood.’ He had rather a dismal lodging-house bedroom, with + faded wall-paper and a prosaic snuff-coloured carpet. On a rickety table + in the window was his desk, and a portfolio full of blue foolscap, but he + had done what he could to make the place habitable; his Oxford pictures + were on the walls—Hoffman’s ‘Christ speaking to the Woman taken in + Adultery,’ hanging over the mantelpiece—it had always been a + favourite of his. I remember that, as he read the description of Lynwood + and his wife, I kept looking from him to the Christ in the picture till I + could almost have fancied that each face bore the same expression. Had + this strange monotonous life with that old brute of a Major brought him + some new perception of those words, “Neither do I condemn thee”? But when + he stopped reading, I, true to my character, forgot his affairs in my own, + as we sat talking far into the night—talking of that luckless month + at Mondisfield, of all the problems it had opened up, and of my + wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + “You were in town all September?” he asked; “you gave up Blachington?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied. “What did I care for country houses in such a mood as + that.” + </p> + <p> + He acquiesced, and I went on talking of my grievances, and it was not till + I was in the train on my way back to London that I remembered how a look + of disappointment had passed over his face just at the moment. Evidently + he had counted on learning something about Freda from me, and I—well, + I had clean forgotten both her existence and his passionate love. + </p> + <p> + Something, probably self-interest, the desire for my friend’s company, and + so forth, took me down to Bath pretty frequently in those days; luckily + the Major had a sort of liking for me, and was always polite enough; and + dear old Derrick—well, I believe my visits really helped to brighten + him up. At any rate he said he couldn’t have borne his life without them, + and for a sceptical, dismal, cynical fellow like me to hear that was + somehow flattering. The mere force of contrast did me good. I used to come + back on the Monday wondering that Derrick didn’t cut his throat, and + realising that, after all, it was something to be a free agent, and to + have comfortable rooms in Montague Street, with no old bear of a drunkard + to disturb my peace. And then a sort of admiration sprang up in my heart, + and the cynicism bred of melancholy broodings over solitary pipes was less + rampant than usual. + </p> + <p> + It was, I think, early in the new year that I met Lawrence Vaughan in + Bath. He was not staying at Gay Street, so I could still have the vacant + room next to Derrick’s. Lawrence put up at the York House Hotel. + </p> + <p> + “For you know,” he informed me, “I really can’t stand the governor for + more than an hour or two at a time.” + </p> + <p> + “Derrick manages to do it,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Derrick, yes,” he replied, “it’s his metier, and he is well + accustomed to the life. Besides, you know, he is such a dreamy, quiet sort + of fellow; he lives all the time in a world of his own creation, and bears + the discomforts of this world with great philosophy. Actually he has + turned teetotaller! It would kill me in a week.” + </p> + <p> + I make a point of never arguing with a fellow like that, but I think I had + a vindictive longing, as I looked at him, to shut him up with the Major + for a month, and see what would happen. + </p> + <p> + These twin brothers were curiously alike in face and curiously unlike in + nature. So much for the great science of physiognomy! It often seemed to + me that they were the complement of each other. For instance, Derrick in + society was extremely silent, Lawrence was a rattling talker; Derrick, + when alone with you, would now and then reveal unsuspected depths of + thought and expression; Lawrence, when alone with you, very frequently + showed himself to be a cad. The elder twin was modest and diffident, the + younger inclined to brag; the one had a strong tendency to melancholy, the + other was blest or cursed with the sort of temperament which has been said + to accompany “a hard heart and a good digestion.” + </p> + <p> + I was not surprised to find that the son who could not tolerate the + governor’s presence for more than an hour or two, was a prime favourite + with the old man; that was just the way of the world. Of course, the Major + was as polite as possible to him; Derrick got the kicks and Lawrence the + half-pence. + </p> + <p> + In the evenings we played whist, Lawrence coming in after dinner, “For, + you know,” he explained to me, “I really couldn’t get through a meal with + nothing but those infernal mineral waters to wash it down.” + </p> + <p> + And here I must own that at my first visit I had sailed rather close to + the wind; for when the Major, like the Hatter in ‘Alice,’ pressed me to + take wine, I—not seeing any—had answered that I did not take + it; mentally adding the words, “in your house, you brute!” + </p> + <p> + The two brothers were fond of each other after a fashion. But Derrick was + human, and had his faults like the rest of us; and I am pretty sure he did + not much enjoy the sight of his father’s foolish and unreasonable devotion + to Lawrence. If you come to think of it, he would have been a full-fledged + angel if no jealous pang, no reflection that it was rather rough on him, + had crossed his mind, when he saw his younger brother treated with every + mark of respect and liking, and knew that Lawrence would never stir a + finger really to help the poor fractious invalid. Unluckily they happened + one night to get on the subject of professions. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a comfort,” said the Major, in his sarcastic way, “to have a + fellow-soldier to talk to instead of a quill-driver, who as yet is not + even a penny-a-liner. Eh, Derrick? Don’t you feel inclined to regret your + fool’s choice now? You might have been starting off for the war with + Lawrence next week, if you hadn’t chosen what you’re pleased to call a + literary life. Literary life, indeed! I little thought a son of mine would + ever have been so wanting in spirit as to prefer dabbling in ink to a life + of action—to be the scribbler of mere words, rather than an officer + of dragoons.” + </p> + <p> + Then to my astonishment Derrick sprang to his feet in hot indignation. I + never saw him look so handsome, before or since; for his anger was not the + distorting, devilish anger that the Major gave way to, but real downright + wrath. + </p> + <p> + “You speak contemptuously of mere novels,” he said in a low voice, yet + more clearly than usual, and as if the words were wrung out of him. “What + right have you to look down on one of the greatest weapons of the day? and + why is a writer to submit to scoffs and insults and tamely to hear his + profession reviled? I have chosen to write the message that has been given + me, and I don’t regret the choice. Should I have shown greater spirit if I + had sold my freedom and right of judgment to be one of the national + killing machines?” + </p> + <p> + With that he threw down his cards and strode out of the room in a white + heat of anger. It was a pity he made that last remark, for it put him in + the wrong and needlessly annoyed Lawrence and the Major. But an angry man + has no time to weigh his words, and, as I said, poor old Derrick was very + human, and when wounded too intolerably could on occasion retaliate. + </p> + <p> + The Major uttered an oath and looked in astonishment at the retreating + figure. Derrick was such an extraordinarily quiet, respectful, + long-suffering son as a rule, that this outburst was startling in the + extreme. Moreover, it spoilt the game, and the old man, chafed by the + result of his own ill-nature, and helpless to bring back his partner, was + forced to betake himself to chess. I left him grumbling away to Lawrence + about the vanity of authors, and went out in the hope of finding Derrick. + As I left the house I saw someone turn the corner into the Circus, and + starting in pursuit, overtook the tall, dark figure where Bennett Street + opens on to the Lansdowne Hill. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you spoke up, old fellow,” I said, taking his arm. + </p> + <p> + He modified his pace a little. “Why is it,” he exclaimed, “that every + other profession can be taken seriously, but that a novelist’s work is + supposed to be mere play? Good God! don’t we suffer enough? Have we not + hard brain work and drudgery of desk work and tedious gathering of + statistics and troublesome search into details? Have we not an appalling + weight of responsibility on us?—and are we not at the mercy of a + thousand capricious chances?” + </p> + <p> + “Come now,” I exclaimed, “you know that you are never so happy as when you + are writing.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he replied; “but that doesn’t make me resent such an attack + the less. Besides, you don’t know what it is to have to write in such an + atmosphere as ours; it’s like a weight on one’s pen. This life here is not + life at all—it’s a daily death, and it’s killing the book too; the + last chapters are wretched—I’m utterly dissatisfied with them.” + </p> + <p> + “As for that,” I said calmly, “you are no judge at all. You can never tell + the worth of your own work; the last bit is splendid.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have done it better,” he groaned. “But there is always a ghastly + depression dragging one back here—and then the time is so short; + just as one gets into the swing of it the breakfast bell rings, and then + comes—” He broke off. + </p> + <p> + I could well supply the end of the sentence, however, for I knew that then + came the slow torture of a tete-a-tete day with the Major, stinging + sarcasms, humiliating scoldings, vexations and difficulties innumerable. + </p> + <p> + I drew him to the left, having no mind to go to the top of the hill. We + slackened our pace again and walked to and fro along the broad level + pavement of Lansdowne Crescent. We had it entirely to ourselves—not + another creature was in sight. + </p> + <p> + “I could bear it all,” he burst forth, “if only there was a chance of + seeing Freda. Oh, you are better off than I am—at least, you know + the worst. Your hope is killed, but mine lives on a tortured, starved + life! Would to God I had never seen her!” + </p> + <p> + Certainly before that night I had never quite realised the irrevocableness + of poor Derrick’s passion. I had half hoped that time and separation would + gradually efface Freda Merrifield from his memory; and I listened with a + dire foreboding to the flood of wretchedness which he poured forth as we + paced up and down, thinking now and then how little people guessed at the + tremendous powers hidden under his usually quiet exterior. + </p> + <p> + At length he paused, but his last heart-broken words seemed to vibrate in + the air and to force me to speak some kind of comfort. + </p> + <p> + “Derrick,” I said, “come back with me to London—give up this + miserable life.” + </p> + <p> + I felt him start a little; evidently no thought of yielding had come to + him before. We were passing the house that used to belong to that strange + book-lover and recluse, Beckford. I looked up at the blank windows, and + thought of that curious, self-centred life in the past, surrounded by + every luxury, able to indulge every whim; and then I looked at my + companion’s pale, tortured face, and thought of the life he had elected to + lead in the hope of saving one whom duty bound him to honour. After all, + which life was the most worth living—which was the most to be + admired? + </p> + <p> + We walked on; down below us and up on the farther hill we could see the + lights of Bath; the place so beautiful by day looked now like a fairy + city, and the Abbey, looming up against the moon-lit sky, seemed like some + great giant keeping watch over the clustering roofs below. The well-known + chimes rang out into the night and the clock struck ten. + </p> + <p> + “I must go back,” said Derrick, quietly. “My father will want to get to + bed.” + </p> + <p> + I couldn’t say a word; we turned, passed Beckford’s house once more, + walked briskly down the hill, and reached the Gay Street lodging-house. I + remember the stifling heat of the room as we entered it, and its contrast + to the cool, dark, winter’s night outside. I can vividly recall, too, the + old Major’s face as he looked up with a sarcastic remark, but with a shade + of anxiety in his bloodshot eyes. He was leaning back in a green-cushioned + chair, and his ghastly yellow complexion seemed to me more noticeable than + usual—his scanty grey hair and whiskers, the lines of pain so + plainly visible in his face, impressed me curiously. I think I had never + before realised what a wreck of a man he was—how utterly dependent + on others. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence, who, to do him justice, had a good deal of tact, and who, I + believe, cared for his brother as much as he was capable of caring for any + one but himself, repeated a good story with which he had been enlivening + the Major, and I did what I could to keep up the talk. Derrick meanwhile + put away the chessmen, and lighted the Major’s candle. He even managed to + force up a laugh at Lawrence’s story, and, as he helped his father out of + the room, I think I was the only one who noticed the look of tired + endurance in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I know + How far high failure overtops the bounds + Of low successes. Only suffering draws + The inner heart of song, and can elicit + The perfumes of the soul.” + Epic of Hades. +</pre> + <p> + Next week, Lawrence went off like a hero to the war; and my friend—also + I think like a hero—stayed on at Bath, enduring as best he could the + worst form of loneliness; for undoubtedly there is no loneliness so + frightful as constant companionship with an uncongenial person. He had, + however, one consolation: the Major’s health steadily improved, under the + joint influence of total abstinence and Bath water, and, with the + improvement, his temper became a little better. + </p> + <p> + But one Saturday, when I had run down to Bath without writing beforehand, + I suddenly found a different state of things. In Orange Grove I met Dr. + Mackrill, the Major’s medical man; he used now and then to play whist with + us on Saturday nights, and I stopped to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you’ve come down again. That’s all right!” he said. “Your friend + wants someone to cheer him up. He’s got his arm broken.” + </p> + <p> + “How on earth did he manage that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s more than I can tell you,” said the Doctor, with an odd look + in his eyes, as if he guessed more than he would put into words. “All that + I could get out of him was that it was done accidentally. The Major is not + so well—no whist for us to-night, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + He passed on, and I made my way to Gay Street. There was an air of mystery + about the quaint old landlady; she looked brimful of news when she opened + the door to me, but she managed to ‘keep herself to herself,’ and showed + me in upon the Major and Derrick, rather triumphantly I thought. The Major + looked terribly ill—worse than I had ever seen him, and as for + Derrick, he had the strangest look of shrinking and shame-facedness you + ever saw. He said he was glad to see me, but I knew that he lied. He would + have given anything to have kept me away. + </p> + <p> + “Broken your arm?” I exclaimed, feeling bound to take some notice of the + sling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he replied; “met with an accident to it. But luckily it’s only the + left one, so it doesn’t hinder me much! I have finished seven chapters of + the last volume of ‘Lynwood,’ and was just wanting to ask you a legal + question.” + </p> + <p> + All this time his eyes bore my scrutiny defiantly; they seemed to dare me + to say one other word about the broken arm. I didn’t dare—indeed to + this day I have never mentioned the subject to him. + </p> + <p> + But that evening, while he was helping the Major to bed, the old landlady + made some pretext for toiling up to the top of the house, where I sat + smoking in Derrick’s room. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll excuse my making bold to speak to you, sir,” she said. I threw + down my newspaper, and, looking up, saw that she was bubbling over with + some story. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I said, encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about Mr. Vaughan, sir, I wanted to speak to you. I really do think, + sir, it’s not safe he should be left alone with his father, sir, any + longer. Such doings as we had here the other day, sir! Somehow or other—and + none of us can’t think how—the Major had managed to get hold of a + bottle of brandy. How he had it I don’t know; but we none of us suspected + him, and in the afternoon he says he was too poorly to go for a drive or + to go out in his chair, and settles off on the parlour sofa for a nap + while Mr. Vaughan goes out for a walk. Mr. Vaughan was out a couple of + hours. I heard him come in and go into the sitting-room; then there came + sounds of voices, and a scuffling of feet and moving of chairs, and I knew + something was wrong and hurried up to the door—and just then came a + crash like fire-irons, and I could hear the Major a-swearing fearful. Not + hearing a sound from Mr. Vaughan, I got scared, sir, and opened the door, + and there I saw the Major a leaning up against the mantelpiece as drunk as + a lord, and his son seemed to have got the bottle from him; it was half + empty, and when he saw me he just handed it to me and ordered me to take + it away. Then between us we got the Major to lie down on the sofa and left + him there. When we got out into the passage Mr. Vaughan he leant against + the wall for a minute, looking as white as a sheet, and then I noticed for + the first time that his left arm was hanging down at his side. ‘Lord! + sir,’ I cried, ‘your arm’s broken.’ And he went all at once as red as he + had been pale just before, and said he had got it done accidentally, and + bade me say nothing about it, and walked off there and then to the + doctor’s, and had it set. But sir, given a man drunk as the Major was, and + given a scuffle to get away the drink that was poisoning him, and given a + crash such as I heard, and given a poker a-lying in the middle of the room + where it stands to reason no poker could get unless it was thrown—why, + sir, no sensible woman who can put two and two together can doubt that it + was all the Major’s doing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “that is clear enough; but for Mr. Vaughan’s sake we must + hush it up; and, as for safety, why, the Major is hardly strong enough to + do him any worse damage than that.” + </p> + <p> + The good old thing wiped away a tear from her eyes. She was very fond of + Derrick, and it went to her heart that he should lead such a dog’s life. + </p> + <p> + I said what I could to comfort her, and she went down again, fearful lest + he should discover her upstairs and guess that she had opened her heart to + me. + </p> + <p> + Poor Derrick! That he of all people on earth should be mixed up with such + a police court story—with drunkard, and violence, and pokers + figuring in it! I lay back in the camp chair and looked at Hoffman’s + ‘Christ,’ and thought of all the extraordinary problems that one is for + ever coming across in life. And I wondered whether the people of Bath who + saw the tall, impassive-looking, hazel-eyed son and the invalid father in + their daily pilgrimages to the Pump Room, or in church on Sunday, or in + the Park on sunny afternoons had the least notion of the tragedy that was + going on. My reflections were interrupted by his entrance. He had forced + up a cheerfulness that I am sure he didn’t really feel, and seemed afraid + of letting our talk flag for a moment. I remember, too, that for the first + time he offered to read me his novel, instead of as usual waiting for me + to ask to hear it. I can see him now, fetching the untidy portfolio and + turning over the pages, adroitly enough, as though anxious to show how + immaterial was the loss of a left arm. That night I listened to the first + half of the third volume of ‘Lynwood’s Heritage,’ and couldn’t help + reflecting that its author seemed to thrive on misery; and yet how I + grudged him to this deadly-lively place, and this monotonous, cooped-up + life. + </p> + <p> + “How do you manage to write one-handed?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + And he sat down to his desk, put a letter-weight on the left-hand corner + of the sheet of foolscap, and wrote that comical first paragraph of the + eighth chapter over which we have all laughed. I suppose few readers + guessed the author’s state of mind when he wrote it. I looked over his + shoulder to see what he had written, and couldn’t help laughing aloud—I + verily believe that it was his way of turning off attention from his arm, + and leading me safely from the region of awkward questions. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-by,” I exclaimed, “your writing of garden-parties reminds me. I + went to one at Campden Hill the other day, and had the good fortune to + meet Miss Freda Merrifield.” + </p> + <p> + How his face lighted up, poor fellow, and what a flood of questions he + poured out. “She looked very well and very pretty,” I replied. “I played + two sets of tennis with her. She asked after you directly she saw me, + seeming to think that we always hunted in couples. I told her you were + living here, taking care of an invalid father; but just then up came the + others to arrange the game. She and I got the best courts, and as we + crossed over to them she told me she had met your brother several times + last autumn, when she had been staying near Aldershot. Odd that he never + mentioned her here; but I don’t suppose she made much impression on him. + She is not at all his style.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you have much more talk with her?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing to be called talk. She told me they were leaving London next + week, and she was longing to get back to the country to her beloved + animals—rabbits, poultry, an aviary, and all that kind of thing. I + should gather that they had kept her rather in the background this season, + but I understand that the eldest sister is to be married in the winter, + and then no doubt Miss Freda will be brought forward.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed wonderfully cheered by this opportune meeting, and though there + was so little to tell he appeared to be quite content. I left him on + Monday in fairly good spirits, and did not come across him again till + September, when his arm was well, and his novel finished and revised. He + never made two copies of his work, and I fancy this was perhaps because he + spent so short a time each day in actual writing, and lived so continually + in his work; moreover, as I said before, he detested penmanship. + </p> + <p> + The last part of ‘Lynwood’ far exceeded my expectations; perhaps—yet + I don’t really think so—I viewed it too favourably. But I owed the + book a debt of gratitude, since it certainly helped me through the worst + part of my life. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you feel flat now it is finished?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I felt so miserable that I had to plunge into another story three days + after,” he replied; and then and there he gave me the sketch of his second + novel, ‘At Strife,’ and told me how he meant to weave in his childish + fancies about the defence of the bridge in the Civil Wars. + </p> + <p> + “And about ‘Lynwood?’ Are you coming up to town to hawk him round?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t do that,” he said; “you see I am tied here. No, I must send him + off by rail, and let him take his chance.” + </p> + <p> + “No such thing!” I cried. “If you can’t leave Bath I will take him round + for you.” + </p> + <p> + And Derrick, who with the oddest inconsistency would let his MS. lie about + anyhow at home, but hated the thought of sending it out alone on its + travels, gladly accepted my offer. So next week I set off with the huge + brown paper parcel; few, however, will appreciate my good nature, for no + one but an author or a publisher knows the fearful weight of a three + volume novel in MS.! To my intense satisfaction I soon got rid of it, for + the first good firm to which I took it received it with great politeness, + to be handed over to their ‘reader’ for an opinion; and apparently the + ‘reader’s’ opinion coincided with mine, for a month later Derrick received + an offer for it with which he at once closed—not because it was a + good one, but because the firm was well thought of, and because he wished + to lose no time, but to have the book published at once. I happened to be + there when his first ‘proofs’ arrived. The Major had had an attack of + jaundice, and was in a fiendish humour. We had a miserable time of it at + dinner, for he badgered Derrick almost past bearing, and I think the poor + old fellow minded it more when there was a third person present. Somehow + through all he managed to keep his extraordinary capacity for reverencing + mere age—even this degraded and detestable old age of the Major’s. I + often thought that in this he was like my own ancestor, Hugo Wharncliffe, + whose deference and respectfulness and patience had not descended to me, + while unfortunately the effects of his physical infirmities had. I + sometimes used to reflect bitterly enough on the truth of Herbert + Spencer’s teaching as to heredity, so clearly shown in my own case. In the + year 1683, through the abominable cruelty and harshness of his brother + Randolph, this Hugo Wharncliffe, my great-great-great-great-great + grandfather, was immured in Newgate, and his constitution was thereby so + much impaired and enfeebled that, two hundred years after, my constitution + is paying the penalty, and my whole life is thereby changed and thwarted. + Hence this childless Randolph is affecting the course of several lives in + the 19th century to their grievous hurt. + </p> + <p> + But revenons a nos moutons—that is to say, to our lion and lamb—the + old brute of a Major and his long-suffering son. + </p> + <p> + While the table was being cleared, the Major took forty winks on the sofa, + and we two beat a retreat, lit up our pipes in the passage, and were just + turning out when the postman’s double knock came, but no showers of + letters in the box. Derrick threw open the door, and the man handed him a + fat, stumpy-looking roll in a pink wrapper. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he exclaimed, “PROOFS!” + </p> + <p> + And, in hot haste, he began tearing away the pink paper, till out came the + clean, folded bits of printing and the dirty and dishevelled blue + foolscap, the look of which I knew so well. It is an odd feeling, that + first seeing one’s self in print, and I could guess, even then, what a + thrill shot through Derrick as he turned over the pages. But he would not + take them into the sitting-room, no doubt dreading another diatribe + against his profession; and we solemnly played euchre, and patiently + endured the Major’s withering sarcasms till ten o’clock sounded our happy + release. + </p> + <p> + However, to make a long story short, a month later—that is, at the + end of November—‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ was published in three volumes + with maroon cloth and gilt lettering. Derrick had distributed among his + friends the publishers’ announcement of the day of publication; and when + it was out I besieged the libraries for it, always expressing surprise if + I did not find it in their lists. Then began the time of reviews. As I had + expected, they were extremely favourable, with the exception of the + Herald, the Stroller, and the Hour, which made it rather hot for him, the + latter in particular pitching into his views and assuring its readers that + the book was ‘dangerous,’ and its author a believer in—various thing + especially repugnant to Derrick, at it happened. + </p> + <p> + I was with him when he read these reviews. Over the cleverness of the + satirical attack in the Weekly Herald he laughed heartily, though the + laugh was against himself; and as to the critic who wrote in the Stroller + it was apparent to all who knew ‘Lynwood’ that he had not read much of the + book; but over this review in the Hour he was genuinely angry—it + hurt him personally, and, as it afterwards turned out, played no small + part in the story of his life. The good reviews, however, were many, and + their recommendation of the book hearty; they all prophesied that it would + be a great success. Yet, spite of this, ‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ didn’t sell. + Was it, as I had feared, that Derrick was too devoid of the pushing + faculty ever to make a successful writer? Or was it that he was + handicapped by being down in the provinces playing keeper to that + abominable old bear? Anyhow, the book was well received, read with + enthusiasm by an extremely small circle, and then it dropped down to the + bottom among the mass of overlooked literature, and its career seemed to + be over. I can recall the look in Derrick’s face when one day he glanced + through the new Mudie and Smith lists and found ‘Lynwood’s Heritage’ no + longer down. I had been trying to cheer him up about the book and quoting + all the favourable remarks I had heard about it. But unluckily this was + damning evidence against my optimist view. + </p> + <p> + He sighed heavily and put down the lists. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use to deceive one’s self,” he said, drearily, “‘Lynwood’ has + failed.” + </p> + <p> + Something in the deep depression of look and tone gave me a momentary + insight into the author’s heart. He thought, I know, of the agony of mind + this book had cost him; of those long months of waiting and their deadly + struggle, of the hopes which had made all he passed through seem so well + worth while; and the bitterness of the disappointment was no doubt + intensified by the knowledge that the Major would rejoice over it. + </p> + <p> + We walked that afternoon along the Bradford Valley, a road which Derrick + was specially fond of. He loved the thickly-wooded hills, and the glimpses + of the Avon, which, flanked by the canal and the railway, runs parallel + with the high road; he always admired, too, a certain little village with + grey stone cottages which lay in this direction, and liked to look at the + site of the old hall near the road: nothing remained of it but the tall + gate posts and rusty iron gates looking strangely dreary and deserted, and + within one could see, between some dark yew trees, an old terrace walk + with stone steps and balustrades—the most ghostly-looking place you + can conceive. + </p> + <p> + “I know you’ll put this into a book some day,” I said, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it is already beginning to simmer in my brain.” + Apparently his deep disappointment as to his first venture had in no way + affected his perfectly clear consciousness that, come what would, he had + to write. + </p> + <p> + As we walked back to Bath he told me his ‘Ruined Hall’ story as far as it + had yet evolved itself in his brain, and we were still discussing it when + in Milsom Street we met a boy crying evening papers, and details of the + last great battle at Saspataras Hill. + </p> + <p> + Derrick broke off hastily, everything but anxiety for Lawrence driven from + his mind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Say not, O Soul, thou art defeated, + Because thou art distressed; + If thou of better thing art cheated, + Thou canst not be of best.” + T. T. Lynch. +</pre> + <p> + “Good heavens, Sydney!” he exclaimed in great excitement and with his + whole face aglow with pleasure, “look here!” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a few lines in the paper which mentioned the heroic conduct + of Lieutenant L. Vaughan, who at the risk of his life had rescued a + brother officer when surrounded by the enemy and completely disabled. + Lieutenant Vaughan had managed to mount the wounded man on his own horse + and had miraculously escaped himself with nothing worse than a + sword-thrust in the left arm. + </p> + <p> + We went home in triumph to the Major, and Derrick read the whole account + aloud. With all his detestation of war, he was nevertheless greatly + stirred by the description of the gallant defence of the attacked position—and + for a time we were all at one, and could talk of nothing but Lawrence’s + heroism, and Victoria Crosses, and the prospects of peace. However, all + too soon, the Major’s fiendish temper returned, and he began to use the + event of the day as a weapon against Derrick, continually taunting him + with the contrast between his stay-at-home life of scribbling and + Lawrence’s life of heroic adventure. I could never make out whether he + wanted to goad his son into leaving him, in order that he might drink + himself to death in peace, or whether he merely indulged in his natural + love of tormenting, valuing Derrick’s devotion as conducive to his own + comfort, and knowing that hard words would not drive him from what he + deemed to be his duty. I rather incline to the latter view, but the old + Major was always an enigma to me; nor can I to this day make out his + raison-d’etre, except on the theory that the training of a novelist + required a course of slow torture, and that the old man was sent into the + world to be a sort of thorn in the flesh of Derrick. + </p> + <p> + What with the disappointment about his first book, and the difficulty of + writing his second, the fierce craving for Freda’s presence, the struggle + not to allow his admiration for Lawrence’s bravery to become poisoned by + envy under the influence of the Major’s incessant attacks, Derrick had + just then a hard time of it. He never complained, but I noticed a great + change in him; his melancholy increased, his flashes of humour and + merriment became fewer and fewer—I began to be afraid that he would + break down. + </p> + <p> + “For God’s sake!” I exclaimed one evening when left alone with the Doctor + after an evening of whist, “do order the Major to London. Derrick has been + mewed up here with him for nearly two years, and I don’t think he can + stand it much longer.” + </p> + <p> + So the Doctor kindly contrived to advise the Major to consult a well-known + London physician, and to spend a fortnight in town, further suggesting + that a month at Ben Rhydding might be enjoyable before settling down at + Bath again for the winter. Luckily the Major took to the idea, and just as + Lawrence returned from the war Derrick and his father arrived in town. The + change seemed likely to work well, and I was able now and then to release + my friend and play cribbage with the old man for an hour or two while + Derrick tore about London, interviewed his publisher, made researches into + seventeenth century documents at the British Museum, and somehow managed + in his rapid way to acquire those glimpses of life and character which he + afterwards turned to such good account. All was grist that came to his + mill, and at first the mere sight of his old home, London, seemed to + revive him. Of course at the very first opportunity he called at the + Probyns’, and we both of us had an invitation to go there on the following + Wednesday to see the march past of the troops and to lunch. Derrick was + nearly beside himself at the prospect, for he knew that he should + certainly meet Freda at last, and the mingled pain and bliss of being + actually in the same place with her, yet as completely separated as if + seas rolled between them, was beginning to try him terribly. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Lawrence had turned up again, greatly improved in every way by + all that he had lived through, but rather too ready to fall in with his + father’s tone towards Derrick. The relations between the two brothers—always + a little peculiar—became more and more difficult, and the Major + seemed to enjoy pitting them against each other. + </p> + <p> + At length the day of the review arrived. Derrick was not looking well, his + eyes were heavy with sleeplessness, and the Major had been unusually + exasperating at breakfast that morning, so that he started with a jaded, + worn-out feeling that would not wholly yield even to the excitement of + this long-expected meeting with Freda. When he found himself in the great + drawing-room at Lord Probyn’s house, amid a buzz of talk and a crowd of + strange faces, he was seized with one of those sudden attacks of shyness + to which he was always liable. In fact, he had been so long alone with the + old Major that this plunge into society was too great a reaction, and the + very thing he had longed for became a torture to him. + </p> + <p> + Freda was at the other end of the room talking to Keith Collins, the + well-known member for Codrington, whose curious but attractive face was + known to all the world through the caricatures of it in ‘Punch.’ I knew + that she saw Derrick, and that he instantly perceived her, and that a + miserable sense of separation, of distance, of hopelessness overwhelmed + him as he looked. After all, it was natural enough. For two years he had + thought of Freda night and day; in his unutterably dreary life her memory + had been his refreshment, his solace, his companion. Now he was suddenly + brought face to face, not with the Freda of his dreams, but with a + fashionable, beautifully dressed, much-sought girl, and he felt that a + gulf lay between them; it was the gulf of experience. Freda’s life in + society, the whirl of gaiety, the excitement and success which she had + been enjoying throughout the season, and his miserable monotony of + companionship with his invalid father, of hard work and weary + disappointment, had broken down the bond of union that had once existed + between them. From either side they looked at each other—Freda with + a wondering perplexity, Derrick with a dull grinding pain at his heart. + </p> + <p> + Of course they spoke to each other; but I fancy the merest platitudes + passed between them. Somehow they had lost touch, and a crowded London + drawing-room was hardly the place to regain it. + </p> + <p> + “So your novel is really out,” I heard her say to him in that deep, clear + voice of hers. “I like the design on the cover.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you read the book?” said Derrick, colouring. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” she said truthfully. “I wanted to read it, but my father + wouldn’t let me—he is very particular about what we read.” + </p> + <p> + That frank but not very happily worded answer was like a stab to poor + Derrick. He had given to the world then a book that was not fit for her to + read! This ‘Lynwood,’ which had been written with his own heart’s blood, + was counted a dangerous, poisonous thing, from which she must be guarded! + </p> + <p> + Freda must have seen that she had hurt him, for she tried hard to retrieve + her words. + </p> + <p> + “It was tantalising to have it actually in the house, wasn’t it? I have a + grudge against the Hour, for it was the review in that which set my father + against it.” Then rather anxious to leave the difficult subject—“And + has your brother quite recovered from his wound?” + </p> + <p> + I think she was a little vexed that Derrick did not show more animation in + his replies about Lawrence’s adventures during the war; the less he + responded the more enthusiastic she became, and I am perfectly sure that + in her heart she was thinking: + </p> + <p> + “He is jealous of his brother’s fame—I am disappointed in him. He + has grown dull, and absent, and stupid, and he is dreadfully wanting in + small-talk. I fear that his life down in the provinces is turning him into + a bear.” + </p> + <p> + She brought the conversation back to his book; but there was a little + touch of scorn in her voice, as if she thought to herself, “I suppose he + is one of those people who can only talk on one subject—his own + doings.” Her manner was almost brusque. + </p> + <p> + “Your novel has had a great success, has it not?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He instantly perceived her thought, and replied with a touch of dignity + and a proud smile: + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, it has been a great failure; only three hundred and nine + copies have been sold.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder at that,” said Freda, “for one so often heard it talked of.” + </p> + <p> + He promptly changed the topic, and began to speak of the march past. “I + want to see Lord Starcross,” he added. “I have no idea what a hero is + like.” + </p> + <p> + Just then Lady Probyn came up, followed by an elderly harpy in spectacles + and false, much-frizzed fringe. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Carsteen wishes to be introduced to you, Mr. Vaughan; she is a great + admirer of your writings.” + </p> + <p> + And poor Derrick, who was then quite unused to the species, had to stand + and receive a flood of the most fulsome flattery, delivered in a strident + voice, and to bear the critical and prolonged stare of the spectacled + eyes. Nor would the harpy easily release her prey. She kept him much + against his will, and I saw him looking wistfully now and then towards + Freda. + </p> + <p> + “It amuses me,” I said to her, “that Derrick Vaughan should be so anxious + to see Lord Starcross. It reminds me of Charles Lamb’s anxiety to see + Kosciusko, ‘for,’ said he, ‘I have never seen a hero; I wonder how they + look,’ while all the time he himself was living a life of heroic + self-sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vaughan, I should think, need only look at his own brother,” said + Freda, missing the drift of my speech. + </p> + <p> + I longed to tell her what it was possible to tell of Derrick’s life, but + at that moment Sir Richard Merrifield introduced to his daughter a girl in + a huge hat and great flopping sleeves, Miss Isaacson, whose picture at the + Grosvenor had been so much talked of. Now the little artist knew no one in + the room, and Freda saw fit to be extremely friendly to her. She was + introduced to me, and I did my best to talk to her and set Freda at + liberty as soon as the harpy had released Derrick; but my endeavours were + frustrated, for Miss Isaacson, having looked me well over, decided that I + was not at all intense, but a mere commonplace, slightly cynical + worldling, and having exchanged a few lukewarm remarks with me, she + returned to Freda, and stuck to her like a bur for the rest of the time. + </p> + <p> + We stood out on the balcony to see the troops go by. It was a fine sight, + and we all became highly enthusiastic. Freda enjoyed the mere pageant like + a child, and was delighted with the horses. She looked now more like the + Freda of the yacht, and I wished that Derrick could be near her; but, as + ill-luck would have it, he was at some distance, hemmed in by an + impassable barrier of eager spectators. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence Vaughan rode past, looking wonderfully well in his uniform. He + was riding a spirited bay, which took Freda’s fancy amazingly, though she + reserved her chief enthusiasm for Lord Starcross and his steed. It was not + until all was over, and we had returned to the drawing-room, that Derrick + managed to get the talk with Freda for which I knew he was longing, and + then they were fated, apparently, to disagree. I was standing near and + overheard the close of their talk. + </p> + <p> + “I do believe you must be a member of the Peace Society!” said Freda + impatiently. “Or perhaps you have turned Quaker. But I want to introduce + you to my god-father, Mr. Fleming; you know it was his son whom your + brother saved.” + </p> + <p> + And I heard Derrick being introduced as the brother of the hero of + Saspataras Hill; and the next day he received a card for one of Mrs. + Fleming’s receptions, Lawrence having previously been invited to dine + there on the same night. + </p> + <p> + What happened at that party I never exactly understood. All I could gather + was that Lawrence had been tremendously feted, that Freda had been + present, and that poor old Derrick was as miserable as he could be when I + next saw him. Putting two and two together, I guessed that he had been + tantalised by a mere sight of her, possibly tortured by watching more + favoured men enjoying long tete-a-tetes; but he would say little or + nothing about it, and when, soon after, he and the Major left London, I + feared that the fortnight had done my friend harm instead of good. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Then in that hour rejoice, since only thus + Can thy proud heart grow wholly piteous. + Thus only to the world thy speech can flow + Charged with the sad authority of woe. + Since no man nurtured in the shade can sing + To a true note one psalm of conquering; + Warriors must chant it whom our own eyes see + Red from the battle and more bruised than we, + Men who have borne the worst, have known the whole, + Have felt the last abeyance of the soul.” + F. W. H. Myers. +</pre> + <p> + About the beginning of August, I rejoined him at Ben Rhydding. The place + suited the Major admirably, and his various baths took up so great a part + of each day, that Derrick had more time to himself than usual, and ‘At + Strife’ got on rapidly. He much enjoyed, too, the beautiful country round, + while the hotel itself, with its huge gathering of all sorts and + conditions of people, afforded him endless studies of character. The Major + breakfasted in his own room, and, being so much engrossed with his baths, + did not generally appear till twelve. Derrick and I breakfasted in the + great dining-hall; and one morning, when the meal was over, we, as usual, + strolled into the drawing-room to see if there were any letters awaiting + us. + </p> + <p> + “One for you,” I remarked, handing him a thick envelope. + </p> + <p> + “From Lawrence!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t read it in here; the Doctor will be coming to read prayers. + Come out in the garden,” I said. + </p> + <p> + We went out into the beautiful grounds, and he tore open the envelope and + began to read his letter as we walked. All at once I felt the arm which + was linked in mine give a quick, involuntary movement, and, looking up, + saw that Derrick had turned deadly pale. + </p> + <p> + “What’s up?” I said. But he read on without replying; and, when I paused + and sat down on a sheltered rustic seat, he unconsciously followed my + example, looking more like a sleep-walker than a man in the possession of + all his faculties. At last he finished the letter, and looked up in a + dazed, miserable way, letting his eyes wander over the fir-trees and the + fragrant shrubs and the flowers by the path. + </p> + <p> + “Dear old fellow, what is the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The words seemed to rouse him. + </p> + <p> + A dreadful look passed over his face—the look of one stricken to the + heart. But his voice was perfectly calm, and full of a ghastly + self-control. + </p> + <p> + “Freda will be my sister-in-law,” he said, rather as if stating the fact + to himself than answering my question. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” I said. “What do you mean? How could—” + </p> + <p> + As if to silence me he thrust the letter into my hand. It ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Derrick,—For the last few days I have been down in the + Flemings’ place in Derbyshire, and fortune has favoured me, for the + Merrifields are here too. Now prepare yourself for a surprise. Break the + news to the governor, and send me your heartiest congratulations by return + of post. I am engaged to Freda Merrifield, and am the happiest fellow in + the world. They are awfully fastidious sort of people, and I do not + believe Sir Richard would have consented to such a match had it not been + for that lucky impulse which made me rescue Dick Fleming. It has all been + arranged very quickly, as these things should be, but we have seen a good + deal of each other—first at Aldershot the year before last, and just + lately in town, and now these four days down here—and days in a + country house are equal to weeks elsewhere. I enclose a letter to my + father—give it to him at a suitable moment—but, after all, + he’s sure to approve of a daughter-in-law with such a dowry as Miss + Merrifield is likely to have. + </p> + <p> + “Yours affly., + </p> + <p> + “Lawrence Vaughan.” + </p> + <p> + I gave him back the letter without a word. In dead silence we moved on, + took a turning which led to a little narrow gate, and passed out of the + grounds to the wild moorland country beyond. + </p> + <p> + After all, Freda was in no way to blame. As a mere girl she had allowed + Derrick to see that she cared for him; then circumstances had entirely + separated them; she saw more of the world, met Lawrence, was perhaps first + attracted to him by his very likeness to Derrick, and finally fell in love + with the hero of the season, whom every one delighted to honour. Nor could + one blame Lawrence, who had no notion that he had supplanted his brother. + All the blame lay with the Major’s slavery to drink, for if only he had + remained out in India I feel sure that matters would have gone quite + differently. + </p> + <p> + We tramped on over heather and ling and springy turf till we reached the + old ruin known as the Hunting Tower; then Derrick seemed to awake to the + recollection of present things. He looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “I must go back to my father,” he said, for the first time breaking the + silence. + </p> + <p> + “You shall do no such thing!” I cried. “Stay out here and I will see to + the Major, and give him the letter too if you like.” + </p> + <p> + He caught at the suggestion, and as he thanked me I think there were tears + in his eyes. So I took the letter and set off for Ben Rhydding, leaving + him to get what relief he could from solitude, space, and absolute quiet. + Once I just glanced back, and somehow the scene has always lingered in my + memory—the great stretch of desolate moor, the dull crimson of the + heather, the lowering grey clouds, the Hunting Tower a patch of deeper + gloom against the gloomy sky, and Derrick’s figure prostrate, on the turf, + the face hidden, the hands grasping at the sprigs of heather growing near. + </p> + <p> + The Major was just ready to be helped into the garden when I reached the + hotel. We sat down in the very same place where Derrick had read the news, + and, when I judged it politic, I suddenly remembered with apologies the + letter that had been entrusted to me. The old man received it with + satisfaction, for he was fond of Lawrence and proud of him, and the news + of the engagement pleased him greatly. He was still discussing it when, + two hours later, Derrick returned. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s good news!” said the Major, glancing up as his son approached. + “Trust Lawrence to fall on his feet! He tells me the girl will have a + thousand a year. You know her, don’t you? What’s she like?” + </p> + <p> + “I have met her,” replied Derrick, with forced composure. “She is very + charming.” + </p> + <p> + “Lawrence has all his wits about him,” growled the Major. “Whereas you—” + (several oaths interjected). “It will be a long while before any girl with + a dowry will look at you! What women like is a bold man of action; what + they despise, mere dabblers in pen and ink, writers of poisonous + sensational tales such as yours! I’m quoting your own reviewers, so you + needn’t contradict me!” + </p> + <p> + Of course no one had dreamt of contradicting; it would have been the worst + possible policy. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I help you in?” said Derrick. “It is just dinner time.” + </p> + <p> + And as I walked beside them to the hotel, listening to the Major’s flood + of irritating words, and glancing now and then at Derrick’s grave, + resolute face, which successfully masked such bitter suffering, I couldn’t + help reflecting that here was courage infinitely more deserving of the + Victoria Cross than Lawrence’s impulsive rescue. Very patiently he sat + through the long dinner. I doubt if any but an acute observer could have + told that he was in trouble; and, luckily, the world in general observes + hardly at all. He endured the Major till it was time for him to take a + Turkish bath, and then having two hours’ freedom, climbed with me up the + rock-covered hill at the back of the hotel. He was very silent. But I + remember that, as we watched the sun go down—a glowing crimson ball, + half veiled in grey mist—he said abruptly, “If Lawrence makes her + happy I can bear it. And of course I always knew that I was not worthy of + her.” + </p> + <p> + Derrick’s room was a large, gaunt, ghostly place in one of the towers of + the hotel, and in one corner of it was a winding stair leading to the + roof. When I went in next morning I found him writing away at his novel + just as usual, but when I looked at him it seemed to me that the night had + aged him fearfully. As a rule, he took interruptions as a matter of + course, and with perfect sweetness of temper; but to-day he seemed unable + to drag himself back to the outer world. He was writing at a desperate + pace too, and frowned when I spoke to him. I took up the sheet of foolscap + which he had just finished and glanced at the number of the page—evidently + he had written an immense quantity since the previous day. + </p> + <p> + “You will knock yourself up if you go on at this rate!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he said sharply. “You know it never tires me.” + </p> + <p> + Yet, all the same, he passed his hand very wearily over his forehead, and + stretched himself with the air of one who had been in a cramping position + for many hours. + </p> + <p> + “You have broken your vow!” I cried. “You have been writing at night.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said; “it was morning when I began—three o’clock. And it + pays better to get up and write than to lie awake thinking.” + </p> + <p> + Judging by the speed with which the novel grew in the next few weeks, I + could tell that Derrick’s nights were of the worst. + </p> + <p> + He began, too, to look very thin and haggard, and I more than once noticed + that curious ‘sleep-walking’ expression in his eyes; he seemed to me just + like a man who has received his death-blow, yet still lingers—half + alive, half dead. I had an odd feeling that it was his novel which kept + him going, and I began to wonder what would happen when it was finished. + </p> + <p> + A month later, when I met him again at Bath, he had written the last + chapter of ‘At Strife,’ and we read it over the sitting-room fire on + Saturday evening. I was very much struck with the book; it seemed to me a + great advance on ‘Lynwood’s Heritage,’ and the part which he had written + since that day at Ben Rhydding was full of an indescribable power, as if + the life of which he had been robbed had flowed into his work. When he had + done, he tied up the MS. in his usual prosaic fashion, just as if it had + been a bundle of clothes, and put it on a side table. + </p> + <p> + It was arranged that I should take it to Davison—the publisher of + ‘Lynwood’s Heritage’—on Monday, and see what offer he would make for + it. Just at that time I felt so sorry for Derrick that if he had asked me + to hawk round fifty novels I would have done it. + </p> + <p> + Sunday morning proved wet and dismal; as a rule the Major, who was fond of + music, attended service at the Abbey, but the weather forced him now to + stay at home. I myself was at that time no church-goer, but Derrick would, + I verily believe, as soon have fasted a week as have given up a Sunday + morning service; and having no mind to be left to the Major’s company, and + a sort of wish to be near my friend, I went with him. I believe it is not + correct to admire Bath Abbey, but for all that ‘the lantern of the west’ + has always seemed to me a grand place; as for Derrick, he had a horror of + a ‘dim religious light,’ and always stuck up for his huge windows, and I + believe he loved the Abbey with all his heart. Indeed, taking it only from + a sensuous point of view, I could quite imagine what a relief he found his + weekly attendance here; by contrast with his home the place was Heaven + itself. + </p> + <p> + As we walked back, I asked a question that had long been in my mind: “Have + you seen anything of Lawrence?” + </p> + <p> + “He saw us across London on our way from Ben Rhydding,” said Derrick, + steadily. “Freda came with him, and my father was delighted with her.” + </p> + <p> + I wondered how they had got through the meeting, but of course my + curiosity had to go unsatisfied. Of one thing I might be certain, namely, + that Derrick had gone through with it like a Trojan, that he had smiled + and congratulated in his quiet way, and had done the best to efface + himself and think only of Freda. But as everyone knows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Face joy’s a costly mask to wear, + ‘Tis bought with pangs long nourished + And rounded to despair;” + </pre> + <p> + and he looked now even more worn and old than he had done at Ben Rhydding + in the first days of his trouble. + </p> + <p> + However, he turned resolutely away from the subject I had introduced and + began to discuss titles for his novel. + </p> + <p> + “It’s impossible to find anything new,” he said, “absolutely impossible. I + declare I shall take to numbers.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed at this prosaic notion, and we were still discussing the title + when we reached home. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say anything about it at lunch,” he said as we entered. “My father + detests my writing.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded assent and opened the sitting-room door—a strong smell of + brandy instantly became apparent; the Major sat in the green velvet chair, + which had been wheeled close to the hearth. He was drunk. + </p> + <p> + Derrick gave an ejaculation of utter hopelessness. + </p> + <p> + “This will undo all the good of Ben Rhydding!” he said. “How on earth has + he managed to get it?” + </p> + <p> + The Major, however, was not so far gone as he looked; he caught up the + remark and turned towards us with a hideous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” he said, “that’s the question. But the old man has still some + brains, you see. I’ll be even with you yet, Derrick. You needn’t think + you’re to have it all your own way. It’s my turn now. You’ve deprived me + all this time of the only thing I care for in life, and now I turn the + tables on you. Tit for tat. Oh! yes, I’ve turned your d——d + scribblings to a useful purpose, so you needn’t complain!” + </p> + <p> + All this had been shouted out at the top of his voice and freely + interlarded with expressions which I will not repeat; at the end he broke + again into a laugh, and with a look, half idiotic, half devilish, pointed + towards the grate. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” I said, “what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + By the side of the chair I saw a piece of brown paper, and, catching it + up, read the address—“Messrs. Davison, Paternoster Row”; in the + fireplace was a huge charred mass. Derrick caught his breath; he stooped + down and snatched from the fender a fragment of paper slightly burned, but + still not charred beyond recognition like the rest. The writing was quite + legible—it was his own writing—the description of the + Royalists’ attack and Paul Wharncliffe’s defence of the bridge. I looked + from the half-burnt scrap of paper to the side table where, only the + previous night, we had placed the novel, and then, realising as far as any + but an author could realise the frightful thing that had happened, I + looked in Derrick’s face. Its white fury appalled me. What he had borne + hitherto from the Major, God only knows, but this was the last drop in the + cup. Daily insults, ceaseless provocation, even the humiliations of + personal violence he had borne with superhuman patience; but this last + injury, this wantonly cruel outrage, this deliberate destruction of an + amount of thought, and labour, and suffering which only the writer himself + could fully estimate—this was intolerable. + </p> + <p> + What might have happened had the Major been sober and in the possession of + ordinary physical strength I hardly care to think. As it was, his weakness + protected him. Derrick’s wrath was speechless; with one look of loathing + and contempt at the drunken man, he strode out of the room, caught up his + hat, and hurried from the house. + </p> + <p> + The Major sat chuckling to himself for a minute or two, but soon he grew + drowsy, and before long was snoring like a grampus. The old landlady + brought in lunch, saw the state of things pretty quickly, shook her head + and commiserated Derrick. Then, when she had left the room, seeing no + prospect that either of my companions would be in a fit state for lunch, I + made a solitary meal, and had just finished when a cab stopped at the door + and out sprang Derrick. I went into the passage to meet him. + </p> + <p> + “The Major is asleep,” I remarked. + </p> + <p> + He took no more notice than if I had spoken of the cat. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to London,” he said, making for the stairs. “Can you get your + bag ready? There’s a train at 2.5.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow the suddenness and the self-control with which he made this + announcement carried me back to the hotel at Southampton, where, after + listening to the account of the ship’s doctor, he had announced his + intention of living with his father. For more than two years he had borne + this awful life; he had lost pretty nearly all that there was to be lost + and he had gained the Major’s vindictive hatred. Now, half maddened by + pain, and having, as he thought, so hopelessly failed, he saw nothing for + it but to go—and that at once. + </p> + <p> + I packed my bag, and then went to help him. He was cramming all his + possessions into portmanteaux and boxes; the Hoffman was already packed, + and the wall looked curiously bare without it. Clearly this was no visit + to London—he was leaving Bath for good, and who could wonder at it? + </p> + <p> + “I have arranged for the attendant from the hospital to come in at night + as well as in the morning,” he said, as he locked a portmanteau that was + stuffed almost to bursting. “What’s the time? We must make haste or we + shall lose the train. Do, like a good fellow, cram that heap of things + into the carpet-bag while I speak to the landlady.” + </p> + <p> + At last we were off, rattling through the quiet streets of Bath, and + reaching the station barely in time to rush up the long flight of stairs + and spring into an empty carriage. Never shall I forget that journey. The + train stopped at every single station, and sometimes in between; we were + five mortal hours on the road, and more than once I thought Derrick would + have fainted. However, he was not of the fainting order, he only grew more + and more ghastly in colour and rigid in expression. + </p> + <p> + I felt very anxious about him, for the shock and the sudden anger + following on the trouble about Freda seemed to me enough to unhinge even a + less sensitive nature. ‘At Strife’ was the novel which had, I firmly + believe, kept him alive through that awful time at Ben Rhydding, and I + began to fear that the Major’s fit of drunken malice might prove the + destruction of the author as well as of the book. Everything had, as it + were, come at once on poor Derrick; yet I don’t know that he fared worse + than other people in this respect. + </p> + <p> + Life, unfortunately, is for most of us no well-arranged story with a happy + termination; it is a chequered affair of shade and sun, and for one beam + of light there come very often wide patches of shadow. Men seem to have + known this so far back as Shakespeare’s time, and to have observed that + one woe trod on another’s heels, to have battled not with a single wave, + but with a ‘sea of troubles,’ and to have remarked that ‘sorrows come not + singly, but in battalions.’ + </p> + <p> + However, owing I believe chiefly to his own self-command, and to his + untiring faculty for taking infinite pains over his work, Derrick did not + break down, but pleasantly cheated my expectations. I was not called on to + nurse him through a fever, and consumption did not mark him for her own. + In fact, in the matter of illness, he was always a most prosaic, + unromantic fellow, and never indulged in any of the euphonious and + interesting ailments. In all his life, I believe, he never went in for + anything but the mumps—of all complaints the least interesting—and, + may be, an occasional headache. + </p> + <p> + However, all this is a digression. We at length reached London, and + Derrick took a room above mine, now and then disturbing me with nocturnal + pacings over the creaking boards, but, on the whole, proving himself the + best of companions. + </p> + <p> + If I wrote till Doomsday, I could never make you understand how the + burning of his novel affected him—to this day it is a subject I + instinctively avoid with him—though the re-written ‘At Strife’ has + been such a grand success. For he did re-write the story, and that at + once. He said little; but the very next morning, in one of the windows of + our quiet sitting-room, often enough looking despairingly at the grey + monotony of Montague Street, he began at ‘Page I, Chapter I,’ and so + worked patiently on for many months to re-make as far as he could what his + drunken father had maliciously destroyed. Beyond the unburnt paragraph + about the attack on Mondisfield, he had nothing except a few hastily + scribbled ideas in his note-book, and of course the very elaborate and + careful historical notes which he had made on the Civil War during many + years of reading and research—for this period had always been a + favourite study with him. + </p> + <p> + But, as any author will understand, the effort of re-writing was immense, + and this, combined with all the other troubles, tried Derrick to the + utmost. However, he toiled on, and I have always thought that his + resolute, unyielding conduct with regard to that book proved what a man he + was. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “How oft Fate’s sharpest blow shall leave thee strong, + With some re-risen ecstacy of song.” + F. W. H. Myers. +</pre> + <p> + As the autumn wore on, we heard now and then from old Mackrill the doctor. + His reports of the Major were pretty uniform. Derrick used to hand them + over to me when he had read them; but, by tacit consent, the Major’s name + was never mentioned. + </p> + <p> + Meantime, besides re-writing ‘At Strife,’ he was accumulating material for + his next book and working to very good purpose. Not a minute of his day + was idle; he read much, saw various phases of life hitherto unknown to + him, studied, observed, gained experience, and contrived, I believe, to + think very little and very guardedly of Freda. + </p> + <p> + But, on Christmas Eve, I noticed a change in him—and that very night + he spoke to me. For such an impressionable fellow, he had really + extraordinary tenacity, and, spite of the course of Herbert Spencer that I + had put him through, he retained his unshaken faith in many things which + to me were at that time the merest legends. I remember very well the + arguments we used to have on the vexed question of ‘Free-will,’ and being + myself more or less of a fatalist, it annoyed me that I never could in the + very slightest degree shake his convictions on that point. Moreover, when + I plagued him too much with Herbert Spencer, he had a way of retaliating, + and would foist upon me his favourite authors. He was never a worshipper + of any one writer, but always had at least a dozen prophets in whose + praise he was enthusiastic. + </p> + <p> + Well, on this Christmas Eve, we had been to see dear old Ravenscroft and + his grand-daughter, and we were walking back through the quiet precincts + of the Temple, when he said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “I have decided to go back to Bath to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you had a worse account?” I asked, much startled at this sudden + announcement. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied, “but the one I had a week ago was far from good if you + remember, and I have a feeling that I ought to be there.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment we emerged into the confusion of Fleet Street; but when we + had crossed the road I began to remonstrate with him, and argued the folly + of the idea all the way down Chancery Lane. + </p> + <p> + However, there was no shaking his purpose; Christmas and its associations + had made his life in town no longer possible for him. + </p> + <p> + “I must at any rate try it again and see how it works,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And all I could do was to persuade him to leave the bulk of his + possessions in London, “in case,” as he remarked, “the Major would not + have him.” + </p> + <p> + So the next day I was left to myself again with nothing to remind me of + Derrick’s stay but his pictures which still hung on the wall of our + sitting-room. I made him promise to write a full, true, and particular + account of his return, a bona-fide old-fashioned letter, not the + half-dozen lines of these degenerate days; and about a week later I + received the following budget: + </p> + <p> + “Dear Sydney,—I got down to Bath all right, and, thanks to your + ‘Study of Sociology,’ endured a slow, and cold, and dull, and depressing + journey with the thermometer down to zero, and spirits to correspond, with + the country a monotonous white, and the sky a monotonous grey, and a + companion who smoked the vilest tobacco you can conceive. The old place + looks as beautiful as ever, and to my great satisfaction the hills round + about are green. Snow, save in pictures, is an abomination. Milsom Street + looked asleep, and Gay Street decidedly dreary, but the inhabitants were + roused by my knock, and the old landlady nearly shook my hand off. My + father has an attack of jaundice and is in a miserable state. He was + asleep when I got here, and the good old landlady, thinking the front + sitting-room would be free, had invited ‘company,’ i.e., two or three + married daughters and their belongings; one of the children beats Magnay’s + ‘Carina’ as to beauty—he ought to paint her. Happy thought, send him + and pretty Mrs. Esperance down here on spec. He can paint the child for + the next Academy, and meantime I could enjoy his company. Well, all these + good folks being just set-to at roast beef, I naturally wouldn’t hear of + disturbing them, and in the end was obliged to sit down too and eat at + that hour of the day the hugest dinner you ever saw—anything but + voracious appetites offended the hostess. Magnay’s future model, for all + its angelic face, ‘ate to repletion,’ like the fair American in the story. + Then I went into my father’s room, and shortly after he woke up and asked + me to give him some Friedrichshall water, making no comment at all on my + return, but just behaving as though I had been here all the autumn, so + that I felt as if the whole affair were a dream. Except for this attack of + jaundice, he has been much as usual, and when you next come down you will + find us settled into our old groove. The quiet of it after London is + extraordinary. But I believe it suits the book, which gets on pretty fast. + This afternoon I went up Lansdowne and right on past the Grand Stand to + Prospect Stile, which is at the edge of a high bit of tableland, and looks + over a splendid stretch of country, with the Bristol Channel and the Welsh + hills in the distance. While I was there the sun most considerately set in + gorgeous array. You never saw anything like it. It was worth the journey + from London to Bath, I can assure you. Tell Magnay, and may it lure him + down; also name the model aforementioned. + </p> + <p> + “How is the old Q.C. and his pretty grandchild? That quaint old room of + theirs in the Temple somehow took my fancy, and the child was divine. Do + you remember my showing you, in a gloomy narrow street here, a jolly old + watchmaker who sits in his shop-window and is for ever bending over sick + clocks and watches? Well, he’s still sitting there, as if he had never + moved since we saw him that Saturday months ago. I mean to study him for a + portrait; his sallow, clean-shaved, wrinkled face has a whole story in it. + I believe he is married to a Xantippe who throws cold water over him, both + literally and metaphorically; but he is a philosopher—I’ll stake my + reputation as an observer on that—he just shrugs his sturdy old + shoulders, and goes on mending clocks and watches. On dark days he works + by a gas jet—and then Rembrandt would enjoy painting him. I look at + him whenever my world is particularly awry, and find him highly + beneficial. Davison has forwarded me to-day two letters from readers of + ‘Lynwood.’ The first is from an irate female who takes me to task for the + dangerous tendency of the story, and insists that I have drawn impossible + circumstances and impossible characters. The second is from an old + clergyman, who writes a pathetic letter of thanks, and tells me that it is + almost word for word the story of a son of his who died five years ago. + Query: shall I send the irate female the old man’s letter, and save myself + the trouble of writing? But on the whole I think not; it would be pearls + before swine. I will write to her myself. Glad to see you whenever you can + run down. + </p> + <p> + “Yours ever, + </p> + <p> + “D. V.” + </p> + <p> + (“Never struck me before what pious initials mine are.”) + </p> + <p> + The very evening I received this letter I happened to be dining at the + Probyn’s. As luck would have it, pretty Miss Freda was staying in the + house, and she fell to my share. I always liked her, though of late I had + felt rather angry with her for being carried away by the general storm of + admiration and swept by it into an engagement with Lawrence Vaughan. She + was a very pleasant, natural sort of talker, and she always treated me as + an old friend. But she seemed to me, that night, a little less satisfied + than usual with life. Perhaps it was merely the effect of the black lace + dress which she wore, but I fancied her paler and thinner, and somehow she + seemed all eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Lawrence now?” I asked, as we went down to the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “He is stationed at Dover,” she replied. “He was up here for a few hours + yesterday; he came to say good-bye to me, for I am going to Bath next + Monday with my father, who has been very rheumatic lately—and you + know Bath is coming into fashion again, all the doctors recommend it.” + </p> + <p> + “Major Vaughan is there,” I said, “and has found the waters very good, I + believe; any day, at twelve o’clock, you may see him getting out of his + chair and going into the Pump Room on Derrick’s arm. I often wonder what + outsiders think of them. It isn’t often, is it, that one sees a son + absolutely giving up his life to his invalid father?” + </p> + <p> + She looked a little startled. + </p> + <p> + “I wish Lawrence could be more with Major Vaughan,” she said; “for he is + his father’s favourite. You see he is such a good talker, and Derrick—well, + he is absorbed in his books; and then he has such extravagant notions + about war, he must be a very uncongenial companion to the poor Major.” + </p> + <p> + I devoured turbot in wrathful silence. Freda glanced at me. + </p> + <p> + “It is true, isn’t it, that he has quite given up his life to writing, and + cares for nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he has deliberately sacrificed his best chance of success by + leaving London and burying himself in the provinces,” I replied drily; + “and as to caring for nothing but writing, why he never gets more than two + or three hours a day for it.” And then I gave her a minute account of his + daily routine. + </p> + <p> + She began to look troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I have been misled,” she said; “I had gained quite a wrong impression of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Very few people know anything at all about him,” I said warmly; “you are + not alone in that.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose his next novel is finished now?” said Freda; “he told me he had + only one or two more chapters to write when I saw him a few months ago on + his way from Ben Rhydding. What is he writing now?” + </p> + <p> + “He is writing that novel over again,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Over again? What fearful waste of time!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has cost him hundreds of hours’ work; it just shows what a man he + is, that he has gone through with it so bravely.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you mean? Didn’t it do?” + </p> + <p> + Rashly, perhaps, yet I think unavoidably, I told her the truth. + </p> + <p> + “It was the best thing he had ever written, but unfortunately it was + destroyed, burnt to a cinder. That was not very pleasant, was it, for a + man who never makes two copies of his work?” + </p> + <p> + “It was frightful!” said Freda, her eyes dilating. “I never heard a word + about it. Does Lawrence know?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he does not; and perhaps I ought not to have told you, but I was + annoyed at your so misunderstanding Derrick. Pray never mention the + affair; he would wish it kept perfectly quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked Freda, turning her clear eyes full upon mine. + </p> + <p> + “Because,” I said, lowering my voice, “because his father burnt it.” + </p> + <p> + She almost gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Deliberately?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, deliberately,” I replied. “His illness has affected his temper, and + he is sometimes hardly responsible for his actions.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I knew that he was irritable and hasty, and that Derrick annoyed him. + Lawrence told me that, long ago,” said Freda. “But that he should have + done such a thing as that! It is horrible! Poor Derrick, how sorry I am + for him. I hope we shall see something of them at Bath. Do you know how + the Major is?” + </p> + <p> + “I had a letter about him from Derrick only this evening,” I replied; “if + you care to see it, I will show it you later on.” + </p> + <p> + And by-and-by, in the drawing-room, I put Derrick’s letter into her hands, + and explained to her how for a few months he had given up his life at + Bath, in despair, but now had returned. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think Lawrence can understand the state of things,” she said + wistfully. “And yet he has been down there.” + </p> + <p> + I made no reply, and Freda, with a sigh, turned away. + </p> + <p> + A month later I went down to Bath and found, as my friend foretold, + everything going on in the old groove, except that Derrick himself had an + odd, strained look about him, as if he were fighting a foe beyond his + strength. Freda’s arrival at Bath had been very hard on him, it was almost + more than he could endure. Sir Richard, blind as a bat, of course, to + anything below the surface, made a point of seeing something of Lawrence’s + brother. And on the day of my arrival Derrick and I had hardly set out for + a walk, when we ran across the old man. + </p> + <p> + Sir Richard, though rheumatic in the wrists, was nimble of foot and an + inveterate walker. He was going with his daughter to see over Beckford’s + Tower, and invited us to accompany him. Derrick, much against the grain, I + fancy, had to talk to Freda, who, in her winter furs and close-fitting + velvet hat, looked more fascinating than ever, while the old man descanted + to me on Bath waters, antiquities, etc., in a long-winded way that lasted + all up the hill. We made our way into the cemetery and mounted the tower + stairs, thinking of the past when this dreary place had been so gorgeously + furnished. Here Derrick contrived to get ahead with Sir Richard, and Freda + lingered in a sort of alcove with me. + </p> + <p> + “I have been so wanting to see you,” she said, in an agitated voice. “Oh, + Mr. Wharncliffe, is it true what I have heard about the Major? Does he + drink?” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” I said, a little embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “It was our landlady,” said Freda; “she is the daughter of the Major’s + landlady. And you should hear what she says of Derrick! Why, he must be a + downright hero! All the time I have been half despising him”—she + choked back a sob—“he has been trying to save his father from what + was certain death to him—so they told me. Do you think it is true?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it is,” I replied gravely. + </p> + <p> + “And about his arm—was that true?” + </p> + <p> + I signed an assent. + </p> + <p> + Her grey eyes grew moist. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, “how I have been deceived and how little Lawrence + appreciates him! I think he must know that I’ve misjudged him, for he + seems so odd and shy, and I don’t think he likes to talk to me.” + </p> + <p> + I looked searchingly into her truthful grey eyes, thinking of poor + Derrick’s unlucky love-story. + </p> + <p> + “You do not understand him,” I said; “and perhaps it is best so.” + </p> + <p> + But the words and the look were rash, for all at once the colour flooded + her face. She turned quickly away, conscious at last that the midsummer + dream of those yachting days had to Derrick been no dream at all, but a + life-long reality. + </p> + <p> + I felt very sorry for Freda, for she was not at all the sort of girl who + would glory in having a fellow hopelessly in love with her. I knew that + the discovery she had made would be nothing but a sorrow to her, and could + guess how she would reproach herself for that innocent past fancy, which, + till now, had seemed to her so faint and far-away—almost as + something belonging to another life. All at once we heard the others + descending, and she turned to me with such a frightened, appealing look, + that I could not possibly have helped going to the rescue. I plunged + abruptly into a discourse on Beckford, and told her how he used to keep + diamonds in a tea-cup, and amused himself by arranging them on a piece of + velvet. Sir Richard fled from the sound of my prosy voice, and, needless + to say, Derrick followed him. We let them get well in advance and then + followed, Freda silent and distraite, but every now and then asking a + question about the Major. + </p> + <p> + As for Derrick, evidently he was on guard. He saw a good deal of the + Merrifields and was sedulously attentive to them in many small ways; but + with Freda he was curiously reserved, and if by chance they did talk + together, he took good care to bring Lawrence’s name into the + conversation. On the whole, I believe loyalty was his strongest + characteristic, and want of loyalty in others tried him more severely than + anything in the world. + </p> + <p> + As the spring wore on, it became evident to everyone that the Major could + not last long. His son’s watchfulness and the enforced temperance which + the doctors insisted on had prolonged his life to a certain extent, but + gradually his sufferings increased and his strength diminished. At last he + kept his bed altogether. + </p> + <p> + What Derrick bore at this time no one can ever know. When, one bright + sunshiny Saturday, I went down to see how he was getting on, I found him + worn and haggard, too evidently paying the penalty of sleepless nights and + thankless care. I was a little shocked to hear that Lawrence had been + summoned, but when I was taken into the sick room I realised that they had + done wisely to send for the favourite son. + </p> + <p> + The Major was evidently dying. + </p> + <p> + Never can I forget the cruelty and malevolence with which his bloodshot + eyes rested on Derrick, or the patience with which the dear old fellow + bore his father’s scathing sarcasms. It was while I was sitting by the bed + that the landlady entered with a telegram, which she put into Derrick’s + hand. + </p> + <p> + “From Lawrence!” said the dying man triumphantly, “to say by what train we + may expect him. Well?” as Derrick still read the message to himself, + “can’t you speak, you d—d idiot? Have you lost your d—d + tongue? What does he say?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid he cannot be here just yet,” said Derrick, trying to tone + down the curt message; “it seems he cannot get leave.” + </p> + <p> + “Not get leave to see his dying father? What confounded nonsense. Give me + the thing here;” and he snatched the telegram from Derrick and read it in + a quavering, hoarse voice: + </p> + <p> + “Impossible to get away. Am hopelessly tied here. Love to my father. + Greatly regret to hear such bad news of him.” + </p> + <p> + I think that message made the old man realise the worth of Lawrence’s + often expressed affection for him. Clearly it was a great blow to him. He + threw down the paper without a word and closed his eyes. For half an hour + he lay like that, and we did not disturb him. At last he looked up; his + voice was fainter and his manner more gentle. + </p> + <p> + “Derrick,” he said, “I believe I’ve done you an injustice; it is you who + cared for me, not Lawrence, and I’ve struck your name out of my will—have + left all to him. After all, though you are one of those confounded + novelists, you’ve done what you could for me. Let some one fetch a + solicitor—I’ll alter it—I’ll alter it!” + </p> + <p> + I instantly hurried out to fetch a lawyer, but it was Saturday afternoon, + the offices were closed, and some time passed before I had caught my man. + I told him as we hastened back some of the facts of the case, and he + brought his writing materials into the sick room and took down from the + Major’s own lips the words which would have the effect of dividing the old + man’s possessions between his two sons. Dr. Mackrill was now present; he + stood on one side of the bed, his fingers on the dying man’s pulse. On the + other side stood Derrick, a degree paler and graver than usual, but + revealing little of his real feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Word it as briefly as you can,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + And the lawyer scribbled away as though for his life, while the rest of us + waited in a wretched hushed state of tension. In the room itself there was + no sound save the scratching of the pen and the laboured breathing of the + old man; but in the next house we could hear someone playing a waltz. + Somehow it did not seem to me incongruous, for it was ‘Sweethearts,’ and + that had been the favourite waltz of Ben Rhydding, so that I always + connected it with Derrick and his trouble, and now the words rang in my + ears: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Oh, love for a year, a week, a day, + But alas! for the love that loves alway.” + </pre> + <p> + If it had not been for the Major’s return from India, I firmly believed + that Derrick and Freda would by this time have been betrothed. Derrick had + taken a line which necessarily divided them, had done what he saw to be + his duty; yet what were the results? He had lost Freda, he had lost his + book, he had damaged his chance of success as a writer, he had been struck + out of his father’s will, and he had suffered unspeakably. Had anything + whatever been gained? The Major was dying unrepentant to all appearance, + as hard and cynical an old worldling as I ever saw. The only spark of + grace he showed was that tardy endeavour to make a fresh will. What good + had it all been? What good? + </p> + <p> + I could not answer the question then, could only cry out in a sort of + indignation, “What profit is there in his blood?” But looking at it now, I + have a sort of perception that the very lack of apparent profitableness + was part of Derrick’s training, while if, as I now incline to think, there + is a hereafter where the training begun here is continued, the old Major + in the hell he most richly deserved would have the remembrance of his + son’s patience and constancy and devotion to serve as a guiding light in + the outer darkness. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer no longer wrote at railroad speed; he pushed back his chair, + brought the will to the bed, and placed the pen in the trembling yellow + hand of the invalid. + </p> + <p> + “You must sign your name here,” he said, pointing with his finger; and the + Major raised himself a little, and brought the pen quaveringly down + towards the paper. With a sort of fascination I watched the finely-pointed + steel nib; it trembled for an instant or two, then the pen dropped from + the convulsed fingers, and with a cry of intolerable anguish the Major + fell back. + </p> + <p> + For some minutes there was a painful struggle; presently we caught a word + or two between the groans of the dying man. + </p> + <p> + “Too late!” he gasped, “too late!” And then a dreadful vision of horrors + seemed to rise before him, and with a terror that I can never forget he + turned to his son and clutched fast hold of his hands: “Derrick!” he + shrieked. + </p> + <p> + Derrick could not speak, but he bent low over the bed as though to screen + the dying eyes from those horrible visions, and with an odd sort of thrill + I saw him embrace his father. + </p> + <p> + When he raised his head the terror had died out of the Major’s face; all + was over. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To duty firm, to conscience true, + However tried and pressed, + In God’s clear sight high work we do, + If we but do out best.” + </pre> + <p> + Lawrence came down to the funeral, and I took good care that he should + hear all about his father’s last hours, and I made the solicitor show him + the unsigned will. He made hardly any comment on it till we three were + alone together. Then with a sort of kindly patronage he turned to his + brother—Derrick, it must be remembered, was the elder twin—and + said pityingly, “Poor old fellow! it was rather rough on you that the + governor couldn’t sign this; but never mind, you’ll soon, no doubt, be + earning a fortune by your books; and besides, what does a bachelor want + with more than you’ve already inherited from our mother? Whereas, an + officer just going to be married, and with this confounded reputation of + hero to keep up, why, I can tell you it needs every penny of it!” + </p> + <p> + Derrick looked at his brother searchingly. I honestly believe that he + didn’t very much care about the money, but it cut him to the heart that + Lawrence should treat him so shabbily. The soul of generosity himself, he + could not understand how anyone could frame a speech so infernally mean. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” I broke in, “if Derrick liked to go to law he could no doubt + get his rights, there are three witnesses who can prove what was the + Major’s real wish.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go to law,” said Derrick, with a dignity of which I had + hardly imagined him capable. “You spoke of your marriage, Lawrence; is it + to be soon?” + </p> + <p> + “This autumn, I hope,” said Lawrence; “at least, if I can overcome Sir + Richard’s ridiculous notion that a girl ought not to marry till she’s + twenty-one. He’s a most crotchety old fellow, that future father-in-law of + mine.” + </p> + <p> + When Lawrence had first come back from the war I had thought him + wonderfully improved, but a long course of spoiling and flattery had done + him a world of harm. He liked very much to be lionised, and to see him now + posing in drawing-rooms, surrounded by a worshipping throng of women, was + enough to sicken any sensible being. + </p> + <p> + As for Derrick, though he could not be expected to feel his bereavement in + the ordinary way, yet his father’s death had been a great shock to him. It + was arranged that after settling various matters in Bath he should go down + to stay with his sister for a time, joining me in Montague Street later + on. While he was away in Birmingham, however, an extraordinary change came + into my humdrum life, and when he rejoined me a few weeks later, I—selfish + brute—was so overwhelmed with the trouble that had befallen me that + I thought very little indeed of his affairs. He took this quite as a + matter of course, and what I should have done without him I can’t + conceive. However, this story concerns him and has nothing to do with my + extraordinary dilemma; I merely mention it as a fact which brought + additional cares into his life. All the time he was doing what could be + done to help me he was also going through a most baffling and miserable + time among the publishers; for ‘At Strife,’ unlike its predecessor, was + rejected by Davison and by five other houses. Think of this, you + comfortable readers, as you lie back in your easy chairs and leisurely + turn the pages of that popular story. The book which represented years of + study and long hours of hard work was first burnt to a cinder. It was + re-written with what infinite pains and toil few can understand. It was + then six times tied up and carried with anxiety and hope to a publisher’s + office, only to re-appear six times in Montague Street, an unwelcome + visitor, bringing with it depression and disappointment. + </p> + <p> + Derrick said little, but suffered much. However, nothing daunted him. When + it came back from the sixth publisher he took it to a seventh, then + returned and wrote away like a Trojan at his third book. The one thing + that never failed him was that curious consciousness that he HAD to write; + like the prophets of old, the ‘burden’ came to him, and speak it he must. + </p> + <p> + The seventh publisher wrote a somewhat dubious letter: the book, he + thought, had great merit, but unluckily people were prejudiced, and + historical novels rarely met with success. However, he was willing to take + the story, and offered half profits, candidly admitting that he had no + great hopes of a large sale. Derrick instantly closed with this offer, + proofs came in, the book appeared, was well received like its predecessor, + fell into the hands of one of the leaders of Society, and, to the intense + surprise of the publisher, proved to be the novel of the year. Speedily a + second edition was called for; then, after a brief interval, a third + edition—this time a rational one-volume affair; and the whole lot—6,000 + I believe—went off on the day of publication. Derrick was amazed; + but he enjoyed his success very heartily, and I think no one could say + that he had leapt into fame at a bound. + </p> + <p> + Having devoured ‘At Strife,’ people began to discover the merits of + ‘Lynwood’s Heritage;’ the libraries were besieged for it, and a cheap + edition was hastily published, and another and another, till the book, + which at first had been such a dead failure, rivalled ‘At Strife.’ Truly + an author’s career is a curious thing; and precisely why the first book + failed, and the second succeeded, no one could explain. + </p> + <p> + It amused me very much to see Derrick turned into a lion—he was so + essentially un-lion-like. People were for ever asking him how he worked, + and I remember a very pretty girl setting upon him once at a dinner-party + with the embarrassing request: + </p> + <p> + “Now, do tell me, Mr. Vaughan, how do you write stories? I wish you would + give me a good receipt for a novel.” + </p> + <p> + Derrick hesitated uneasily for a minute; finally, with a humorous smile, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t exactly tell you, because, more or less, novels grow; but + if you want a receipt, you might perhaps try after this fashion:—Conceive + your hero, add a sprinkling of friends and relatives, flavour with + whatever scenery or local colour you please, carefully consider what + circumstances are most likely to develop your man into the best he is + capable of, allow the whole to simmer in your brain as long as you can, + and then serve, while hot, with ink upon white or blue foolscap, according + to taste.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady applauded the receipt, but she sighed a little, and + probably relinquished all hope of concocting a novel herself; on the + whole, it seemed to involve incessant taking of trouble. + </p> + <p> + About this time I remember, too, another little scene, which I enjoyed + amazingly. I laugh now when I think of it. I happened to be at a huge + evening crush, and rather to my surprise, came across Lawrence Vaughan. We + were talking together, when up came Connington of the Foreign Office. “I + say, Vaughan,” he said, “Lord Remington wishes to be introduced to you.” I + watched the old statesman a little curiously as he greeted Lawrence, and + listened to his first words: “Very glad to make your acquaintance, Captain + Vaughan; I understand that the author of that grand novel, ‘At Strife,’ is + a brother of yours.” And poor Lawrence spent a mauvais quart d’heure, + inwardly fuming, I know, at the idea that he, the hero of Saspataras Hill, + should be considered merely as ‘the brother of Vaughan, the novelist.’ + </p> + <p> + Fate, or perhaps I should say the effect of his own pernicious actions, + did not deal kindly just now with Lawrence. Somehow Freda learnt about + that will, and, being no bread-and-butter miss, content meekly to adore + her fiance and deem him faultless, she ‘up and spake’ on the subject, and + I fancy poor Lawrence must have had another mauvais quart d’heure. It was + not this, however, which led to a final breach between them; it was + something which Sir Richard discovered with regard to Lawrence’s life at + Dover. The engagement was instantly broken off, and Freda, I am sure, felt + nothing but relief. She went abroad for some time, however, and we did not + see her till long after Lawrence had been comfortably married to 1,500 + pounds a year and a middle-aged widow, who had long been a + hero-worshipper, and who, I am told, never allowed any visitor to leave + the house without making some allusion to the memorable battle of + Saspataras Hill and her Lawrence’s gallant action. + </p> + <p> + For the two years following after the Major’s death, Derrick and I, as I + mentioned before, shared the rooms in Montague Street. For me, owing to + the trouble I spoke of, they were years of maddening suspense and pain; + but what pleasure I did manage to enjoy came entirely through the success + of my friend’s books and from his companionship. It was odd that from the + care of his father he should immediately pass on to the care of one who + had made such a disastrous mistake as I had made. But I feel the less + compunction at the thought of the amount of sympathy I called for at that + time, because I notice that the giving of sympathy is a necessity for + Derrick, and that when the troubles of other folk do not immediately + thrust themselves into his life he carefully hunts them up. During these + two years he was reading for the Bar—not that he ever expected to do + very much as a barrister, but he thought it well to have something to fall + back on, and declared that the drudgery of the reading would do him good. + He was also writing as usual, and he used to spend two evenings a week at + Whitechapel, where he taught one of the classes in connection with Toynbee + Hall, and where he gained that knowledge of East-end life which is + conspicuous in his third book—‘Dick Carew.’ This, with an ever + increasing and often very burdensome correspondence, brought to him by his + books, and with a fair share of dinners, ‘At Homes,’ and so forth, made + his life a full one. In a quiet sort of way I believe he was happy during + this time. But later on, when, my trouble at an end, I had migrated to a + house of my own, and he was left alone in the Montague Street rooms, his + spirits somehow flagged. + </p> + <p> + Fame is, after all, a hollow, unsatisfying thing to a man of his nature. + He heartily enjoyed his success, he delighted in hearing that his books + had given pleasure or had been of use to anyone, but no public victory + could in the least make up to him for the loss he had suffered in his + private life; indeed, I almost think there were times when his triumphs as + an author seemed to him utterly worthless—days of depression when + the congratulations of his friends were nothing but a mockery. He had + gained a striking success, it is true, but he had lost Freda; he was in + the position of the starving man who has received a gift of bon-bons, but + so craves for bread that they half sicken him. I used now and then to + watch his face when, as often happened, someone said: “What an enviable + fellow you are, Vaughan, to get on like this!” or, “What wouldn’t I give + to change places with you!” He would invariably smile and turn the + conversation; but there was a look in his eyes at such times that I hated + to see—it always made me think of Mrs. Browning’s poem, ‘The Mask’: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Behind no prison-grate, she said, + Which slurs the sunshine half a mile, + Live captives so uncomforted + As souls behind a smile.” + </pre> + <p> + As to the Merrifields, there was no chance of seeing them, for Sir Richard + had gone to India in some official capacity, and no doubt, as everyone + said, they would take good care to marry Freda out there. Derrick had not + seen her since that trying February at Bath, long ago. Yet I fancy she was + never out of his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + And so the years rolled on, and Derrick worked away steadily, giving his + books to the world, accepting the comforts and discomforts of an author’s + life, laughing at the outrageous reports that were in circulation about + him, yet occasionally, I think, inwardly wincing at them, and learning + from the number of begging letters which he received, and into which he + usually caused searching inquiry to be made, that there are in the world a + vast number of undeserving poor. + </p> + <p> + One day I happened to meet Lady Probyn at a garden-party; it was at the + same house on Campden Hill where I had once met Freda, and perhaps it was + the recollection of this which prompted me to enquire after her. + </p> + <p> + “She has not been well,” said Lady Probyn, “and they are sending her back + to England; the climate doesn’t suit her. She is to make her home with us + for the present, so I am the gainer. Freda has always been my favourite + niece. I don’t know what it is about her that is so taking; she is not + half so pretty as the others.” + </p> + <p> + “But so much more charming,” I said. “I wonder she has not married out in + India, as everyone prophesied.” + </p> + <p> + “And so do I,” said her aunt. “However, poor child, no doubt, after having + been two years engaged to that very disappointing hero of Saspataras Hill, + she will be shy of venturing to trust anyone again.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that affair ever went very deep?” I ventured to ask. “It + seemed to me that she looked miserable during her engagement, and happy + when it was broken off.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said Lady Probyn; “I noticed the same thing. It was nothing + but a mistake. They were not in the least suited to each other. By-the-by, + I hear that Derrick Vaughan is married.” + </p> + <p> + “Derrick?” I exclaimed; “oh, no, that is a mistake. It is merely one of + the hundred and one reports that are for ever being set afloat about him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I saw it in a paper, I assure you,” said Lady Probyn, by no means + convinced. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that may very well be; they were hard up for a paragraph, no doubt, + and inserted it. But, as for Derrick, why, how should he marry? He has + been madly in love with Miss Merrifield ever since our cruise in the + Aurora.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Probyn made an inarticulate exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow!” she said, after a minute’s thought; “that explains much to + me.” + </p> + <p> + She did not explain her rather ambiguous remark, and before long our + tete-a-tete was interrupted. + </p> + <p> + Now that my friend was a full-fledged barrister, he and I shared chambers, + and one morning about a month after this garden party, Derrick came in + with a face of such radiant happiness that I couldn’t imagine what good + luck had befallen him. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” he exclaimed; “here’s an invitation for a cruise in + the Aurora at the end of August—to be nearly the same party that we + had years ago,” and he threw down the letter for me to read. + </p> + <p> + Of course there was special mention of “my niece, Miss Merrifield, who has + just returned from India, and is ordered plenty of sea-air.” I could have + told that without reading the letter, for it was written quite clearly in + Derrick’s face. He looked ten years younger, and if any of his adoring + readers could have seen the pranks he was up to that morning in our staid + and respectable chambers, I am afraid they would no longer have spoken of + him “with ‘bated breath and whispering humbleness.” + </p> + <p> + As it happened, I, too, was able to leave home for a fortnight at the end + of August; and so our party in the Aurora really was the same, except that + we were all several years older, and let us hope wiser, than on the + previous occasion. Considering all that had intervened, I was surprised + that Derrick was not more altered; as for Freda, she was decidedly paler + than when we first met her, but before long sea-air and happiness wrought + a wonderful transformation in her. + </p> + <p> + In spite of the pessimists who are for ever writing books, even writing + novels (more shame to them), to prove that there is no such thing as + happiness in the world, we managed every one of us heartily to enjoy our + cruise. It seemed indeed true that: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, + And singing and loving all come back together.” + </pre> + <p> + Something, at any rate, of the glamour of those past days came back to us + all, I fancy, as we laughed and dozed and idled and talked beneath the + snowy wings of the Aurora, and I cannot say I was in the least surprised + when, on roaming through the pleasant garden walks in that unique little + island of Tresco, I came once more upon Derrick and Freda, with, if you + will believe it, another handful of white heather given to them by that + discerning gardener! Freda once more reminded me of the girl in the + ‘Biglow Papers,’ and Derrick’s face was full of such bliss as one seldom + sees. + </p> + <p> + He had always had to wait for his good things, but in the end they came to + him. However, you may depend upon it, he didn’t say much. That was never + his way. He only gripped my hand, and, with his eyes all aglow with + happiness, exclaimed “Congratulate me, old fellow!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Derrick Vaughan--Novelist, by Edna Lyall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DERRICK VAUGHAN--NOVELIST *** + +***** This file should be named 1665-h.htm or 1665-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/6/1665/ + +Produced by Les Bowler, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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