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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17627-8.txt b/17627-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db6a06e --- /dev/null +++ b/17627-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12935 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of None Other Gods, by Robert Hugh Benson + +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: None Other Gods + +Author: Robert Hugh Benson + +Release Date: January 29, 2006 [EBook #17627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + + + + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + +BY + +ROBERT HUGH BENSON + +AUTHOR OF "THE CONVENTIONALISTS," "THE NECROMANCERS," "A WINNOWING," +ETC. + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + + + + +DEDICATORY LETTER + + +MY DEAR JACK KIRKBY, + +To whom can I dedicate this book but to you who were, not only the best +friend of the man I have written about, but one without whom the book +could not have been written? It is to you that I owe practically all the +materials necessary for the work: it was to you that Frank left the +greater part of his diary, such as it was (and I hope I have observed +your instructions properly as regards the use I have made of it); it was +you who took such trouble to identify the places he passed through; and +it was you, above all, who gave me so keen an impression of Frank +himself, that it seems to me I must myself have somehow known him +intimately, in spite of the fact that we never met. + +I think I should say that it is this sense of intimacy, this +extraordinary interior accessibility (so to speak) of Frank, that made +him (as you and I both think) about the most lovable person we have ever +known. They were very extraordinary changes that passed over him, of +course--(and I suppose we cannot improve, even with all our modern +psychology, upon the old mystical names for such changes--Purgation, +Illumination and Union)--but, as theologians themselves tell us, that +mysterious thing which Catholics call the Grace of God does not +obliterate, but rather emphasizes and transfigures the natural +characteristics of every man upon whom it comes with power. It was the +same element in Frank, as it seems to me--the same root-principle, at +least--that made him do those preposterous things connected with bread +and butter and a railway train, that drove him from Cambridge in +defiance of all common-sense and sweet reasonableness; that held him +still to that deplorable and lamentable journey with his two traveling +companions, and that ultimately led him to his death. I mean, it was the +same kind of unreasonable daring and purpose throughout, though it +issued in very different kinds of actions, and was inspired by very +different motives. + +Well, it is not much good discussing Frank in public like this. The +people who are kind enough to read his life--or, rather, the six months +of it with which this book deals--must form their own opinion of him. +Probably a good many will think him a fool. I daresay he was; but I +think I like that kind of folly. Other people may think him simply +obstinate and tiresome. Well, I like obstinacy of that sort, and I do +not find him tiresome. Everyone must form their own views, and I have a +perfect right to form mine, which I am glad to know coincide with your +own. After all, you knew him better than anyone else. + +I went to see Gertie Trustcott, as you suggested, but I didn't get any +help from her. I think she is the most suburban person I have ever met. +She could tell me nothing whatever new about him; she could only +corroborate what you yourself had told me, and what the diaries and +other papers contained. I did not stay long with Miss Trustcott. + +And now, my dear friend, I must ask you to accept this book from me, and +to make the best of it. Of course, I have had to conjecture a great +deal, and to embroider even more; but it is no more than embroidery. I +have not touched the fabric itself which you put into my hands; and +anyone who cares to pull out the threads I have inserted can do so if +they will, without any fear of the thing falling to pieces. + +I have to thank you for many pleasurable and even emotional hours. The +offering which I present to you now is the only return I can make. + + I am, + Ever yours sincerely, + ROBERT HUGH BENSON. + +P.S.--We've paneled a new room since you were last at Hare Street. Come +and see it soon and sleep in it. We want you badly. And I want to talk +a great deal more about Frank. + +P.P.S.--I hear that her ladyship has gone back to live with her father; +she tried the Dower House in Westmoreland, but seems to have found it +lonely. Is that true? It'll be rather difficult for Dick, won't it? + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +(I) + +"I think you're behaving like an absolute idiot," said Jack Kirkby +indignantly. + +Frank grinned pleasantly, and added his left foot to his right one in +the broad window-seat. + +These two young men were sitting in one of the most pleasant places in +all the world in which to sit on a summer evening--in a ground-floor +room looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity College, Cambridge. It +was in that short space of time, between six and seven, during which the +Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and the dawdlers have not +yet returned from field and river; and Fellows and other persons, young +enough to know better, who think that a summer evening was created for +the reading of books, have not yet emerged from their retreats. A +white-aproned cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with trays +upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes out of the corner entrance +from the hostel; a cat or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for +the rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows slope eastwards, +and the fitful splash and trickle of the fountain asserts itself clearly +above the gentle rumble of Trinity Street. + +Within, the room in which these two sat was much like other rooms of the +same standing; only, in this one case the walls were paneled with +white-painted deal. Three doors led out of it--two into a tiny bedroom +and a tinier dining-room respectively; the third on to the passage +leading to the lecture-rooms. Frank found it very convenient, since he +thus was enabled, at every hour of the morning when the lectures broke +up, to have the best possible excuse for conversing with his friends +through the window. + +The room was furnished really well. Above the mantelpiece, where rested +an array of smoking-materials and a large silver cigarette-box, hung an +ancestral-looking portrait, in a dull gilded frame, of an aged man, with +a ruff round his neck, purchased for one guinea; there was a sofa and a +set of chairs upholstered in a good damask: a black piano by Broadwood; +a large oval gate-leg table; a bureau; shelves filled with very +indiscriminate literature--law books, novels, Badminton, magazines and +ancient school editions of the classics; a mahogany glass-fronted +bookcase packed with volumes of esthetic appearance--green-backed poetry +books with white labels; old leather tomes, and all the rest of the +specimens usual to a man who has once thought himself literary. Then +there were engravings, well framed, round the walls; a black iron-work +lamp, fitted for electric light, hung from the ceiling; there were a +couple of oak chests, curiously carved. On the stained floor lay three +or four mellow rugs, and the window-boxes outside blazed with geraniums. +The débris of tea rested on the window-seat nearest the outer door. + +Frank Guiseley, too, lolling in the window-seat in a white silk shirt, +unbuttoned at the throat, and gray flannel trousers, and one white shoe, +was very pleasant to look upon. His hair was as black and curly as a +Neapolitan's; he had a smiling, humorous mouth, and black eyes--of an +extraordinary twinkling alertness. His clean-shaven face, brown in its +proper complexion as well as with healthy sunburning (he had played very +vigorous lawn-tennis for the last two months), looked like a boy's, +except for the very determined mouth and the short, straight nose. He +was a little below middle height--well-knit and active; and though, +properly speaking, he was not exactly handsome, he was quite +exceptionally delightful to look at. + +Jack Kirkby, sitting in an arm-chair a yard away, and in the same sort +of costume--except that he wore both his shoes and a Third Trinity +blazer--was a complete contrast in appearance. The other had something +of a Southern Europe look; Jack was obviously English--wholesome red +cheeks, fair hair and a small mustache resembling spun silk. He was, +also, closely on six feet in height. + +He was anxious just now, and, therefore, looked rather cross, fingering +the very minute hairs of his mustache whenever he could spare the time +from smoking, and looking determinedly away from Frank upon the floor. +For the last week he had talked over this affair, ever since the amazing +announcement; and had come to the conclusion that once more, in this +preposterous scheme, Frank really meant what he said. + +Frank had a terrible way of meaning what he said--he reflected with +dismay. There was the affair of the bread and butter three years ago, +before either of them had learned manners. This had consisted in the +fastening up in separate brown-paper parcels innumerable pieces of bread +and butter, addressing each with the name of the Reverend Junior Dean +(who had annoyed Frank in some way), and the leaving of the parcels +about in every corner of Cambridge, in hansom cabs, on seats, on +shop-counters and on the pavements--with the result that for the next +two or three days the dean's staircase was crowded with messenger boys +and unemployables, anxious to return apparently lost property. + +Then there had been the matter of the flagging of a fast Northern train +in the middle of the fens with a red pocket-handkerchief, to find out if +it were really true that the train would stop, followed by a rapid +retreat on bicycles so soon as it had been ascertained that it was true; +the Affair of the German Prince traveling incognito, into which the +Mayor himself had been drawn; and the Affair of the Nun who smoked a +short black pipe in the Great Court shortly before midnight, before +gathering up her skirts and vanishing on noiseless india-rubber-shod +feet round the kitchen quarters into the gloom of Neville's Court, as +the horrified porter descended from his signal-box. + +Now many minds could have conceived these things; a smaller number of +people would have announced their intention of doing them: but there +were very few persons who would actually carry them all out to the very +end: in fact, Jack reflected, Frank Guiseley was about the only man of +his acquaintance who could possibly have done them. And he had done +them all on his own sole responsibility. + +He had remembered, too, during the past week, certain incidents of the +same nature at Eton. There was the master who had rashly inquired, with +deep sarcasm, on the fourth or fifth occasion in one week when Frank had +come in a little late for five-o'clock school, whether "Guiseley would +not like to have tea before pursuing his studies." Frank, with a radiant +smile of gratitude, and extraordinary rapidity, had answered that he +would like it very much indeed, and had vanished through the still +half-open door before another word could be uttered, returning with a +look of childlike innocence at about five-and-twenty minutes to six. + +"Please, sir," he had said, "I thought you said I might go?" + +"And have you had tea?" + +"Why, certainly, sir; at Webber's." + +Now all this kind of thing was a little disconcerting to remember now. +Truly, the things in themselves had been admirably conceived and +faithfully executed, but they seemed to show that Frank was the kind of +person who really carried through what other people only talked +about--and especially if he announced beforehand that he intended to do +it. + +It was a little dismaying, therefore, for his friend to reflect that +upon the arrival of the famous letter from Lord Talgarth--Frank's +father--six days previously, in which all the well-worn phrases occurred +as to "darkening doors" and "roof" and "disgrace to the family," Frank +had announced that he proposed to take his father at his word, sell up +his property and set out like a prince in a fairy-tale to make his +fortune. + + * * * * * + +Jack had argued till he was sick of it, and to no avail. Frank had a +parry for every thrust. Why wouldn't he wait a bit until the governor +had had time to cool down? Because the governor must learn, sooner or +later, that words really meant something, and that he--Frank--was not +going to stand it for one instant. + +Why wouldn't he come and stay at Barham till further notice? They'd all +be delighted to have him: It was only ten miles off Merefield, and +perhaps--Because Frank was not going to sponge upon his friends. Neither +was he going to skulk about near home. Well, if he was so damned +obstinate, why didn't he go into the City--or even to the Bar? Because +(1) he hadn't any money; and (2) he would infinitely sooner go on the +tramp than sit on a stool. Well, why didn't he enlist, like a +gentleman? Frank dared say he would some time, but he wanted to stand by +himself a bit first and see the world. + +"Let's see the letter again," said Jack at last. "Where is it?" + +Frank reflected. + +"I think it's in that tobacco-jar just behind your head," he said. "No, +it isn't; it's in the pouch on the floor. I know I associated it somehow +with smoking. And, by the way, give me a cigarette." + +Jack tossed him his case, opened the pouch, took out the letter, and +read it slowly through again. + + "Merefield Court, + "near Harrogate. + "May 28th, _Thursday_. + + "I am ashamed of you, sir. When you first told me of your + intention, I warned you what would happen if you persisted, and + I repeat it now. Since you have deliberately chosen, in spite + of all that I have said, to go your own way, and to become a + Papist, I will have no more to do with you. From this moment + you cease to be my son. You shall not, while I live, darken my + doors again, or sleep under my roof. I say nothing of what you + have had from me in the past--your education and all the rest. + And, since I do not wish to be unduly hard upon you, you can + keep the remainder of your allowance up to July and the + furniture of your rooms. But, after that, not one penny shall + you have from me. You can go to your priests and get them to + support you. + + "I am only thankful that your poor mother has been spared this + blow. + + "T." + +Jack made a small murmurous sound as he finished. Frank chuckled aloud. + +"Pitches it in all right, doesn't he?" he observed dispassionately. + +"If it had been my governor--" began Jack slowly. + +"My dear man, it isn't your governor; it's mine. And I'm dashed if +there's another man in the world who'd write such a letter as that +nowadays. It's--it's too early-Victorian. They'd hardly stand it at the +Adelphi! I could have put it so much better myself.... Poor old +governor!" + +"Have you answered it?" + +"I ... I forget. I know I meant to.... No, I haven't. I remember now. +And I shan't till I'm just off." + +"Well, I shall," remarked Jack. + +Frank turned a swift face upon him. + +"If you do," he said, with sudden fierce gravity, "I'll never speak to +you again. I mean it. It's my affair, and I shall run it my own way." + +"But--" + +"I mean it. Now! give me your word of honor--" + +"I--" + +"Your word of honor, this instant, or get out of my room!" + +There was a pause. Then: + +"All right," said Jack. + +Then there fell a silence once more. + + +(II) + +The news began to be rumored about, soon after the auction that Frank +held of his effects a couple of days later. He carried out the scene +admirably, entirely unassisted, even by Jack. + +First, there appeared suddenly all over Cambridge, the evening before +the sale, just as the crowds of undergraduates and female relations +began to circulate about after tea and iced strawberries, a quantity of +sandwich-men, bearing the following announcement, back and front: + + TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. + + THE HON. FRANK GUISELEY + has pleasure in announcing that on + JUNE 7TH (Saturday) + at half-past ten a.m. precisely + in Rooms 1, Letter J, Great Court, Trinity College, + he will positively offer for + + SALE BY AUCTION + + _The household effects, furniture, books, etc., of + the Hon. Frank Guiseley, including_-- + +A piano by Broadwood (slightly out of tune); a magnificent suite of +drawing-room furniture, upholstered in damask, the sofa only slightly +stained with tea; one oak table and another; a bed; a chest of drawers +(imitation walnut, and not a very good imitation); a mahogany +glass-fronted bookcase, containing a set of suggestive-looking volumes +bound in faint colors, with white labels; four oriental mats; a portrait +of a gentleman (warranted a perfectly respectable ancestor); dining-room +suite (odd chairs); numerous engravings of places of interest and +noblemen's seats; a + +_Silver Cigarette-box and fifteen Cigarettes in it (Melachrino and Mixed +American_); a cuckoo-clock (without cuckoo); five walking-sticks; +numerous suits of clothes (one lot suitable for Charitable Purposes); +some books--all VERY CURIOUS indeed--comprising the works of an +Eminent Cambridge Professor, and other scholastic luminaries, as well as +many other articles. + + AT HALF-PAST TEN A.M. PRECISELY + All friends, and strangers, cordially invited. + NO RESERVE PRICE. + +It served its purpose admirably, for by soon after ten o'clock quite a +considerable crowd had begun to assemble; and it was only after a very +serious conversation with the Dean that the sale was allowed to proceed. +But it proceeded, with the distinct understanding that a college porter +be present; that no riotous behavior should be allowed; that the sale +was a genuine one, and that Mr. Guiseley would call upon the Dean with +further explanations before leaving Cambridge. + +The scene itself was most impressive. + +Frank, in a structure resembling an auctioneer's box, erected on the +hearth-rug, presided, with extraordinary gravity, hammer in hand, robed +in a bachelor's gown and hood. Beneath him the room seethed with the +company, male and female, all in an excellent humor, and quite tolerable +prices were obtained. No public explanations were given of the need for +the sale, and Jack, in the deepest dismay, looked in again that +afternoon, about lunch-time, to find the room completely stripped, and +Frank, very cheerful, still in his hood and gown, smoking a cigarette in +the window-seat. + +"Come in," he said. "And kindly ask me to lunch. The last porter's just +gone." + +Jack looked at him. + +He seemed amazingly genial and natural, though just a little flushed, +and such an air of drama as there was about him was obviously +deliberate. + +"Very well; come to lunch," said Jack. "Where are you going to dine and +sleep?" + +"I'm dining in hall, and I'm sleeping in a hammock. Go and look at my +bedroom." + +Jack went across the bare floor and looked in. A hammock was slung +across from a couple of pegs, and there lay a small carpet-bag beneath +it. A basin on an upturned box and a bath completed the furniture. + +"You mad ass!" said Jack. "And is that all you have left?" + +"Certainly. I'm going to leave the clothes I've got on to you, and you +can fetch the hammock when I've gone." + +"When do you start?" + +"Mr. Guiseley will have his last interview and obtain his _exeat_ from +the Dean at half-past six this evening. He proposes to leave Cambridge +in the early hours of to-morrow morning." + +"You don't mean that!" + +"Certainly I do." + +"What are you going to wear?" + +Frank extended two flanneled legs, ending in solid boots. + +"These--a flannel shirt, no tie, a cap, a gray jacket." + +Jack stood again in silence, looking at him. + +"How much money did your sale make?" + +"That's immaterial. Besides, I forget. The important fact is that when +I've paid all my bills I shall have thirteen pounds eleven shillings and +eightpence." + +"What?" + +"Thirteen pounds eleven shillings and eightpence." + +Jack burst into a mirthless laugh. + +"Well, come along to lunch," he said. + + * * * * * + +It seemed to Jack that he moved in a dreary kind of dream that afternoon +as he went about with Frank from shop to shop, paying bills. Frank's +trouser-pockets bulged and jingled a good deal as they started--he had +drawn all his remaining money in gold from the bank--and they bulged +and jingled considerably less as the two returned to tea in Jesus Lane. +There, on the table, he spread out the coins. He had bought some +tobacco, and two or three other things that afternoon, and the total +amounted now but to twelve pounds nineteen shillings and fourpence. + +"Call it thirteen pounds," said Frank. "There's many a poor man--" + +"Don't be a damned fool!" said Jack. + +"I'm being simply prudent," said Frank. "A contented heart--" + +Jack thrust a cup of tea and the buttered buns before him. + + * * * * * + +These two were as nearly brothers as possible, in everything but blood. +Their homes lay within ten miles of one another. They had gone to a +private school together, to Eton, and to Trinity. They had ridden +together in the holidays, shot, dawdled, bathed, skated, and all the +rest. They were considerably more brothers to one another than were +Frank and Archie, his actual elder brother, known to the world as +Viscount Merefield. Jack did not particularly approve of Archie; he +thought him a pompous ass, and occasionally said so. + +For Frank he had quite an extraordinary affection, though he would not +have expressed it so, to himself, for all the world, and a very real +admiration of a quite indefinable kind. It was impossible to say why he +admired him. Frank did nothing very well, but everything rather well; he +played Rugby football just not well enough to represent his college; he +had been in the Lower Boats at Eton, and the Lent Boat of his first year +at Cambridge; then he had given up rowing and played lawn-tennis in the +summer and fives in the Lent Term just well enough to make a brisk and +interesting game. He was not at all learned; he had reached the First +Hundred at Eton, and had read Law at Cambridge--that convenient branch +of study which for the most part fills the vacuum for intelligent +persons who have no particular bent and are heartily sick of classics; +and he had taken a Third Class and his degree a day or two before. He +was remarkably averaged, therefore; and yet, somehow or another, there +was that in him which compelled Jack's admiration. I suppose it was that +which is conveniently labeled "character." Certainly, nearly everybody +who came into contact with him felt the same in some degree. + +His becoming a Catholic had been an amazing shock to Jack, who had +always supposed that Frank, like himself, took the ordinary sensible +English view of religion. To be a professed unbeliever was bad form--it +was like being a Little Englander or a Radical; to be pious was equally +bad form--it resembled a violent devotion to the Union Jack. No; +religion to Jack (and he had always hitherto supposed, to Frank) was a +department of life in which one did not express any particular views: +one did not say one's prayers; one attended chapel at the proper times; +if one was musical, one occasionally went to King's on Sunday afternoon; +in the country one went to church on Sunday morning as one went to the +stables in the afternoon, and that was about all. + +Frank had been, too, so extremely secretive about the whole thing. He +had marched into Jack's rooms in Jesus Lane one morning nearly a +fortnight ago. + +"Come to mass at the Catholic Church," he said. + +"Why, the--" began Jack. + +"I've got to go. I'm a Catholic." + +"_What!_" + +"I became one last week." + +Jack had stared at him, suddenly convinced that someone was mad. When he +had verified that it was really a fact; that Frank had placed himself +under instruction three months before, and had made his confession--(his +confession!)--on Friday, and had been conditionally baptized; when he +had certified himself of all these things, and had begun to find +coherent language once more, he had demanded why Frank had done this. + +"Because it's the true religion," said Frank. "Are you coming to mass or +are you not?" + +Jack had gone then, and had come away more bewildered than ever as to +what it was all about. He had attempted to make a few inquiries, but +Frank had waved his hands at him, and repeated that obviously the +Catholic religion was the true one, and that he couldn't be bothered. +And now here they were at tea in Jesus Lane for the last time. + + * * * * * + +Of course, there was a little suppressed excitement about Frank. He +drank three cups of tea and took the last (and the under) piece of +buttered bun without apologies, and he talked a good deal, rather fast. +It seemed that he had really no particular plans as to what he was going +to do after he had walked out of Cambridge with his carpet-bag early +next morning. He just meant, he said, to go along and see what happened. +He had had a belt made, which pleased him exceedingly, into which his +money could be put (it lay on the table between them during tea), and he +proposed, naturally, to spend as little of that money as possible.... +No; he would not take one penny piece from Jack; it would be simply +scandalous if he--a public-school boy and an University man--couldn't +keep body and soul together by his own labor. There would be hay-making +presently, he supposed, and fruit-picking, and small jobs on farms. He +would just go along and see what happened. Besides there were always +casual wards, weren't there? if the worst came to the worst; and he'd +meet other men, he supposed, who'd put him in the way of things. Oh! +he'd get on all right. + +Would he ever come to Barham? Well, if it came in the day's work he +would. Yes: certainly he'd be most obliged if his letters might be sent +there, and he could write for them when he wanted, or even call for +them, if, as he said, it came in the day's work. + +What was he going to do in the winter? He hadn't the slightest idea. He +supposed, what other people did in the winter. Perhaps he'd have got a +place by then--gamekeeper, perhaps--he'd like to be a gamekeeper. + +At this Jack, mentally, threw up the sponge. + +"You really mean to go on at this rotten idea of yours?" + +Frank opened his eyes wide. + +"Why, of course. Good Lord! did you think I was bluffing?" + +"But ... but it's perfectly mad. Why on earth don't you get a proper +situation somewhere--land-agent or something?" + +"My dear man," said Frank, "if you will have it, it's because I want to +do exactly what I'm going to do. No--I'm being perfectly serious. I've +thought for ages that we're all wrong somehow. We're all so beastly +artificial. I don't want to preach, but I want to test things for +myself. My religion tells me--" He broke off. "No; this is fooling. I'm +going to do it because I'm going to do it. And I'm really going to do +it. I'm not going to be an amateur--like slumming. I'm going to find out +things for myself." + +"But on the roads--" expostulated Jack. + +"Exactly. That's the very point. Back to the land." + +Jack sat up. + +"Good Lord!" he said. "Why, I never thought of it." + +"What?" + +"It's your old grandmother coming out." + +Frank stared. + +"Grandmother?" + +"Yes--old Mrs. Kelly." + +Frank laughed suddenly and loudly. + +"By George!" he said, "I daresay it is. Old Grandmamma Kelly! She was a +gipsy--so she was. I believe you've hit it, Jack. Let's see: she was my +grandfather's second wife, wasn't she?" + +Jack nodded. + +"And he picked her up off the roads on his own estate. Wasn't she +trespassing, or something?" + +Jack nodded again. + +"Yes," he said, "and he was a magistrate and ought to have committed +her: And he married her instead. She was a girl, traveling with her +parents." + +Frank sat smiling genially. + +"That's it," he said. "Then I'm bound to make a success of it." + +And he took another cigarette. + +Then one more thought came to Jack: he had determined already to make +use of it if necessary, and somehow this seemed to be the moment. + +"And Jenny Launton," he said "I suppose you've thought of her?" + +A curious look came into Frank's eyes--a look of great gravity and +tenderness--and the humor died out. He said nothing for an instant. Then +he drew out of his breast-pocket a letter in an envelope, and tossed it +gently over to Jack. + +"I'm telling her in that," he said. "I'm going to post it to-night, +after I've seen the Dean." + +Jack glanced down at it. + + "MISS LAUNTON, + "The Rectory, + "Merefield, Yorks." + +ran the inscription. He turned it over; it was fastened and sealed. + +"I've told her we must wait a bit," said Frank, "and that I'll write +again in a few weeks." + +Jack was silent. + +"And you think it's fair on her?" he asked deliberately. + +Frank's face broke up into humor. + +"That's for her to say," he observed. "And, to tell the truth, I'm not +at all afraid." + +"But a gamekeeper's wife! And you a Catholic!" + +"Ah! you don't know Jenny," smiled Frank. "Jenny and I quite understand +one another, thank you very much." + +"But is it quite fair?" + +"Good Lord!" shouted Frank, suddenly roused. "Fair! What the devil does +it matter? Don't you know that all's fair--under certain circumstances? +I do bar that rotten conventionalism. We're all rotten--rotten, I tell +you; and I'm going to start fresh. So's Jenny. Kindly don't talk of what +you don't understand." + +He stood up, stretching. Then he threw the end of his cigarette away. + +"I must go to the Dean," he said. "It's close on the half-hour." + + +(III) + +The Reverend James Mackintosh was an excellent official of his college, +and performed his duties with care and punctilium. He rose about +half-past seven o'clock every morning, drank a cup of tea and went to +chapel. After chapel he breakfasted, on Tuesdays and Thursdays with two +undergraduates in their first year, selected in alphabetical order, +seated at his table; on the other days of the week in solitude. At ten +o'clock he lectured, usually on one of St. Paul's Epistles, on which +subjects he possessed note-books filled with every conceivable piece of +information that could be gathered together--grammatical, philological, +topographical, industrial, social, biographical--with a few remarks on +the fauna, flora, imports, characteristics and geological features of +those countries to which those epistles were written, and in which they +were composed. These notes, guaranteed to guide any student who really +mastered them to success, and even distinction, in his examinations, +were the result of a lifetime of loving labor, and some day, no doubt, +will be issued in the neat blue covers of the "Cambridge Bible for +Schools." From eleven to twelve he lectured on Church history of the +first five centuries--after which period, it will be remembered by all +historical students, Church history practically ceased. At one he +lunched; from two to four he walked rapidly (sometimes again in company +with a serious theological student), along the course known as the +Grantchester Grind, or to Coton and back. At four he had tea; at five he +settled down to administer discipline to the college, by summoning and +remonstrating with such undergraduates as had failed to comply with the +various regulations; at half-past seven he dined in hall--a meek figure, +clean shaven and spectacled, seated between an infidel philosopher and a +socialist: he drank a single glass of wine afterwards in the Combination +Room, smoked one cigarette, and retired again to his rooms to write +letters to parents (if necessary), and to run over his notes for next +day. + +And he did this, with the usual mild variations of a University life, +every weekday, for two-thirds of the year. Of the other third, he spent +part in Switzerland, dressed in a neat gray Norfolk suit with +knickerbockers, and the rest with clerical friends of the scholastic +type. It was a very solemn thought to him how great were his +responsibilities, and what a privilege it was to live in the whirl and +stir of one of the intellectual centers of England! + + * * * * * + +Frank Guiseley was to Mr. Mackintosh a very great puzzle. He had +certainly been insubordinate in his first year (Mr. Mackintosh gravely +suspected him of the Bread-and-Butter affair, which had so annoyed his +colleague), but he certainly had been very steady and even deferential +ever since. (He always took off his hat, for example, to Mr. Mackintosh, +with great politeness.) Certainly he was not very regular at chapel, and +he did not dine in hall nearly so often as Mr. Mackintosh would have +wished (for was it not part of the University idea that men of all +grades of society should meet as equals under the college roof?). But, +then, he had never been summoned for any very grave or disgraceful +breach of the rules, and was never insolent or offensive to any of the +Fellows. Finally, he came of a very distinguished family; and Mr. +Mackintosh had the keenest remembrance still of his own single +interview, three years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth. + +Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what he would have to say to Mr. +Guiseley, and what Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him. He thought, +if the young man were really going down for good, as he had understood +this morning, it was only his plain duty to say a few tactful words +about responsibility and steadiness. That ridiculous auction would serve +as his text. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always did, before saying "Come +in!" to the knock on the door (I think he thought it helped to create a +little impression of importance). Then he said it; and Frank walked in. + +"Good evening, Mr. Guiseley.... Yes; please sit down. I understood from +you this morning that you wished for your _exeat_." + +"Please," said Frank. + +"Just so," said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the _exeat_ book--resembling the +butt of a check-book--towards him. "And you are going down to-morrow?" + +"Yes," said Frank. + +"Going home?" murmured the Dean, inscribing Frank's name in his neat +little handwriting. + +"No," said Frank. + +"Not?... To London, perhaps?" + +"Well, not exactly," said Frank; "at least, not just yet." + +Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and extracted the _exeat_. +He pushed it gently towards Frank. + +"About that auction!" he said, smiling indulgently; "I did want to have +a word with you about that. It was very unusual; and I wondered.... But +I am happy to think that there was no disturbance.... But can you tell +me exactly why you chose that form of ... of ..." + +"I wanted to make as much money as ever I could," said Frank. + +"Indeed!... Yes.... And ... and you were successful?" + +"I cleared all my debts, anyhow," said Frank serenely. "I thought that +very important." + +Mr. Mackintosh smiled again. Certainly this young man was very well +behaved and deferential. + +"Well, that's satisfactory. And you are going to read at the Bar now? If +you will let me say so, Mr. Guiseley, even at this late hour, I must say +that I think that a Third Class might have been bettered. But no doubt +your tutor has said all that?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Well, then, a little more application and energy now may perhaps make +up for lost time. I suppose you will go to the Temple in October?" + +Frank looked at him pensively a moment. + +"No, Mr. Mackintosh," he said suddenly; "I'm going on the roads. I mean +it, quite seriously. My father's disowned me. I'm starting out to-morrow +to make my own living." + +There was dead silence for an instant. The Dean's face was stricken, as +though by horror. Yet Frank saw he had not in the least taken it in. + +"Yes; that's really so," he said. "Please don't argue with me about it. +I'm perfectly determined." + +"Your father ... Lord Talgarth ... the roads ... your own living ... the +college authorities ... responsibility!" + +Words of this sort burst from Mr. Mackintosh's mouth. + +"Yes ... it's because I've become a Catholic! I expect you've heard +that, sir." + +Mr. Mackintosh threw himself back (if so fierce a word may be used of so +mild a manner)--threw himself back in his chair. + +"Mr. Guiseley, kindly tell me all about it. I had not heard one +word--not one word." + + * * * * * + +Frank made a great effort, and told the story, quite fairly and quite +politely. He described his convictions as well as he could, the various +steps he had taken, and the climax of the letter from his father. Then +he braced himself, to hear what would be said; or, rather, he retired +within himself, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled down the +blinds. + +It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. Mr. Mackintosh touched +upon a loving father's impatience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the +shock to an ancient family, the responsibilities of membership in that +family, the dangers of rash decisions, and, finally, the obvious errors +of the Church of Rome. He began several sentences with the phrase: "No +thinking man at the present day ..." + +In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had recovered from the first +shock, extraordinarily sensible and reasonable. He said all the proper +things, all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense things, and he +said them, not offensively or contemptuously, but tactfully and +persuasively. And he put into it the whole of his personality, such as +it was. He even quoted St. Paul. + +He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: so he took off his +glasses and wiped them, looking, still with a smile, through kind, +short-sighted eyes, at this young man who sat so still. For Frank was so +quiet that the Dean thought him already half persuaded. Then once more +he summed up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran through his +arguments lightly and efficiently, and ended by a quiet little +assumption that Frank was going to be reasonable, to write to his father +once more, and to wait at least a week. He even called him "my dear +boy!" + +"Thanks very much," said Frank. + +"Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. Come and talk to me +again. I've given you your _exeat_, but you needn't use it. Come in +to-morrow evening after hall." + +Frank stood up. + +"Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll ... I'll certainly remember +what you've said." He took up his _exeat_ as if mechanically. + +"Then you can leave that for the present," smiled the Dean, pointing at +it. "I can write you another, you know." + +Frank put it down quickly. + +"Oh, certainly!" he said. + +"Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley.... I ... I can't tell you how glad I am +that you confided in me. Young men are a little unwise and impetuous +sometimes, you know. Good-night ... good-night. I shall expect you +to-morrow." + +When Frank reached the court below he stood waiting a moment. Then a +large smile broke out on his face, and he hurried across to a passage +opposite, found a friend's door open, and rushed in. The room was empty. +He flew across to the window and crouched down, peeping over the sill at +the opening on the other side of the court leading to Mr. Mackintosh's +staircase. + +He was rewarded almost instantly. Even as he settled himself on the +window seat a black figure, with gown ballooning behind, hurried out and +whisked through the archway leading towards the street. He gave him +twenty seconds, and then ran out himself, and went in pursuit. Half-way +up the lane he sighted him once more, and, following cautiously on +tiptoe, with a handkerchief up to his face, was in time to behold Mr. +Mackintosh disappear into the little telegraph office on the left of +Trinity Street. + +"That settles it, then," observed Frank, almost aloud. "Poor Jack--I'm +afraid I shan't be able to breakfast with him after all!" + + +(IV) + +It was a little after four o'clock on the following morning that a +policeman, pacing with slow, flat feet along the little lane that leads +from Trinity Hall to Trinity College, yawning as he went, and entirely +unconscious of the divine morning air, bright as wine and clear as +water, beheld a remarkable spectacle. + +There first appeared, suddenly tossed on to the spikes that top the gate +that guards the hostel, a species of pad that hung over on both sides of +the formidable array of points. Upon this, more cautiously, was placed +by invisible hands a very old saddle without any stirrups. + +The policeman stepped back a little, and flattened +himself--comparatively speaking--against the outer wall of the hostel +itself. There followed a silence. + +Suddenly, without any warning, a heavy body, discernible a moment later +as a small carpet-bag, filled to bursting, fell abruptly on to the +pavement; and, again, a moment later, two capable-looking hands made +their appearance, grasping with extreme care the central rod on which +the spikes were supposed to revolve, on either side of the saddle. + +Still the policeman did not make any sign; he only sidled a step or two +nearer and stood waiting. + +When he looked up again, a young gentleman, in flannel trousers, gray +jacket, boots, and an old deerstalker, was seated astride of the saddle, +with his back to the observer. There was a pause while the rider looked +to this side and that; and then, with a sudden movement, he had dropped +clear of the wall, and come down on feet and hands to the pavement. + +"Good morning, officer!" said the young gentleman, rising and dusting +his hands, "it's all right. Like to see my _exeat_? Or perhaps half a +crown--" + + +(V) + +About six o'clock in the morning, Jack Kirkby awoke suddenly in his +bedroom in Jesus Lane. + +This was very unusual, and he wondered what it was all about. He thought +of Frank almost instantly, with a jerk, and after looking at his watch, +very properly turned over and tried to go to sleep again. But the +attempt was useless; there were far too many things to think about; and +he framed so many speeches to be delivered with convincing force at +breakfast to his misguided friend, that by seven o'clock he made up his +mind that he would get up, go and take Frank to bathe, and have +breakfast with him at half-past eight instead of nine. He would have +longer time, too, for his speeches. He got out of bed and pulled up his +blind, and the sight of the towers of Sidney Sussex College, gilded with +sunshine, determined him finally. + +When you go to bathe before breakfast at Cambridge you naturally put on +as few clothes as possible and do not--even if you do so at other +times--say your prayers. So Jack put on a sweater, trousers, socks, +canvas shoes, and a blazer, and went immediately down the +oilcloth-covered stairs. As he undid the door he noticed a white thing +lying beneath it, and took it up. It was a note addressed to himself in +Frank's handwriting; and there, standing on the steps, he read it +through; and his heart turned suddenly sick. + + * * * * * + +There is all the difference in the world between knowing that a +catastrophe is going to happen, and knowing that it has happened. Jack +knew--at least, with all his reasonable part--that Frank was going to +leave Cambridge in the preposterous manner described, after breakfast +with himself; and it was partly because of this very knowledge that he +had got up earlier in order to have an extra hour with Frank before the +final severance came. Yet there was something in him--the same thing +that had urged him to rehearse little speeches in bed just now--that +told him that until it had actually happened, it had not happened, and, +just conceivably, might not happen after all. And he had had no idea how +strong this hopeful strain had been in him--nor, for that matter, how +very deeply and almost romantically he was attached to Frank--until he +felt his throat hammering and his head becoming stupid, as he read the +terse little note in the fresh morning air of Jesus Lane. + +It ran as follows: + + "DEAR JACK, + + "It's no good, and I'm off early! That ass Mackintosh went and + wired to my people directly I left him. I tracked him down. And + there'll be the devil to pay unless I clear out. So I can't + come to breakfast. Sorry. + + "Yours, + "F.G. + + "P.S.--By the way, you might as well go round to the little man + and try to keep him quiet. Tell him it'll make a scandal for + Trinity College, Cambridge, if he makes a fuss. That'll stop + him, perhaps. And you might try to rescue my saddle from the + porter. He's probably got it by now." + +Three minutes later a figure in a sweater, gray trousers, canvas shoes, +Third Trinity blazer and no cap, stood, very inarticulate with +breathlessness, at the door of the Senior Dean's rooms, demanding of a +scandalized bed-maker to see the official in question. + +"'E's in his barth, sir!" expostulated the old woman. + +"Then he must come out of it!" panted Jack. + +"--That is, if 'e's out o' bed." + +"Then he can stop in it, if he isn't.... I tell you--" + +Jack gave up arguing. He took the old lady firmly by the shoulders, and +placed her in the doorway of the audience-room; then he was up the inner +stairs in three strides, through the sitting-room, and was tapping at +the door of the bedroom. A faint sound of splashing ceased. + +"Who's there? Don't--" + +"It's me, sir--Kirkby! I'm sorry to disturb you, but--" + +"Don't come in!" cried an agitated voice, with a renewed sound of water, +as if someone had hastily scrambled out of the bath. + +Jack cautiously turned the handle and opened the door a crack. A cry of +dismay answered his move, followed by a tremendous commotion and +swishing of linen. + +"I'm coming in, sir," said Jack, struggling between agitation and +laughter. It was obvious from the sounds that the clergyman had got into +bed again, wet, and as God made him. There was no answer, and Jack +pushed the door wider and went in. + +It was as he had thought. His unwilling host had climbed back into bed +as hastily as possible, and the bed-clothes, wildly disordered, were +gathered round his person. A face, with wet hair, looking very odd and +childlike without his glasses, regarded him with the look of one who +sees sacrilege done. A long flannel nightgown lay on the ground between +the steaming bath and the bed, and a quantity of water lay about on the +floor, in footprints and otherwise. + +"May I ask what is the meaning of this disgraceful--" + +"I'm sorry, sir," said Jack briefly, "but Frank Guiseley's bolted. I've +just found this note." It did not occur to him, as he handed the note to +a bare arm, coyly protruded from the tangled bed-clothes, that this very +officer of the college was referred to in it as "that ass" and "the +little man." ... All his attention, not occupied with Frank, was fixed +on the surprising new discovery that deans had bodies and used real +baths like other people. Somehow that had never occurred to him he had +never imagined them except in smooth, black clothes and white linen. His +discovery seemed to make Mr. Mackintosh more human, somehow. + +The Dean read the note through as modestly as possible, holding it very +close to his nose, as his glasses were unattainable, with an arm of +which not more than the wrist appeared. He swallowed in his throat once +or twice, and seemed to taste something with his lips, as his manner +was. + +"This is terrible!" said the Dean. "Had you any idea--" + +"I knew he was going some time to-day," said Jack, "and understood that +you knew too." + +"But I had no idea--" + +"You did telegraph, didn't you, sir?" + +"I certainly telegraphed. Yes; to Lord Talgarth. It was my duty. But--" + +"Well; he spotted it. That's all. And now he's gone. What's to be done?" + +Mr. Mackintosh considered a moment or two. Jack made an impatient +movement. + +"I must telegraph again," said the Dean, with the air of one who has +exhausted the resources of civilization. + +"But, good Lord! sir--" + +"Yes. I must telegraph again. As soon as I'm dressed. Or perhaps you +would--" + +"Office doesn't open till eight. That's no good. He'll be miles away by +then." + +"It's the only thing to be done," said the Dean with sudden energy. "I +forbid you to take any other steps, Mr. Kirkby. I am responsible--" + +"But--" + +"We must not make a scandal.... What else did you propose?" + +"Why--fifty things. Motor-cars; police--" + +"Certainly not. We must make no scandal as he ... as he very properly +says." (The Dean swallowed in his throat again. Jack thought afterwards +that it must have been the memory of certain other phrases in the +letter.) "So if you will be good enough to leave me instantly, Mr. +Kirkby, I will finish my dressing and deal with the matter." + + * * * * * + +Jack wheeled and went out of the room. + + * * * * * + +It was a miserable breakfast to which he sat down half an hour +later--still in flannels, and without his bath. Frank's place was laid, +in accordance with the instructions he had given his landlady last +night, and he had not the heart to push the things aside. There were +soles for two, and four boiled eggs; there was coffee and marmalade and +toast and rolls and fruit; and the comfortable appearance of the table +simply mocked him. + +He had had very confused ideas just now as to what was possible with +regard to the pursuit of Frank; a general vision of twenty motor-cars, +each with a keen-eyed chauffeur and an observant policeman, was all +that had presented itself to his imagination; but he had begun to +realize by now that you cannot, after all, abduct a young man who has +committed no crime, and carry him back unwillingly, even to Cambridge! +Neither the Dean of Trinity nor a father possesses quite unlimited power +over the freedom of a pupil and a son. And, after all, Frank had only +taken his father at his word! + +These reflections, however, did not improve the situation. He felt quite +certain, in theory, that something more could be done than feebly to +send another telegram or two; the only difficulty was to identify that +something. He had vague ideas, himself, of hiring a motor-car by the +day, and proceeding to scour the country round Cambridge. But even this +did not stand scrutiny. If he had failed to persuade Frank to remain in +Cambridge, it was improbable that he could succeed in persuading him to +return--even if he found him. About eight important roads run out of +Cambridge, and he had not a glimmer of an idea as to which of these he +had taken. It was possible, even, that he had not taken any of them, and +was walking across country. That would be quite characteristic of Frank. + + * * * * * + +He finished breakfast dismally, and blew through an empty pipe, staring +lackadaisically out of the window at the wall of Sidney Sussex for two +or three minutes before lighting up. Cambridge seemed an extraordinary +flat and stupid place now that Frank was no longer within it. Really +there was nothing particular to do. It had become almost a regular +engagement for him to step round to the Great Court about eleven, and +see what was to be done. Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis--sometimes a +canoe on the Backs--at any rate, they would either lunch or dine +together. And if they didn't--well, at any rate, Frank was there! + +He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a +sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a +little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade. But it seemed +an amazing waste of company that the figure should always be alone. Why +hadn't he proposed to go with him himself? He didn't know; except, that +it certainly would not have been accepted. And yet they could have had +quite a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after a couple of +months, surely Frank would have had enough of it! + +But, again--would he?... Frank seemed really in earnest about making his +living permanently; and when Frank said that he was going do a thing, he +usually did it! And Jack Kirkby did not see himself leaving his own +mother and sisters indefinitely until Frank had learned not to be a +fool. + +He lit his pipe at last; and then remembered the commission with regard +to the saddle--whatever that might mean. He would stroll round presently +and talk to the porter about it ... Yes, he would go at once; and he +would just look in at Frank's rooms again. There was the hammock to +fetch, too. + +But it was a dreary little visit. He went round as he was, his hands +deep in his pockets, trying to whistle between his teeth and smoke +simultaneously; and he had to hold his pipe in his hand out of respect +for rules, as he conversed with the stately Mr. Hoppett in Trinity +gateway. Mr. Hoppett knew nothing about any saddle--at least, not for +public communication--but his air of deep and diplomatic suspiciousness +belied his words. + +"It's all right," said Jack pleasantly, "I had nothing to do with the +elopement. The Dean knows all about it." + +"I know nothing about that, sir," said Mr. Hoppett judicially. + +"Then you've not got the saddle?" + +"I have not, sir." + +Frank's outer door was open as Jack came to the familiar staircase, and +his heart leaped in spite of himself, as he peered in and heard +footsteps in the bedroom beyond. But it was the bed-maker with a mop, +and a disapproving countenance, who looked out presently. + +"He's gone, Mrs. Jillings," said Jack. + +Mrs. Jillings sniffed. She had heard tales of the auction and thought it +a very improper thing for so pleasant a young gentleman to do. + +"Yes, sir." + +"There isn't a saddle here, is there?" + +"Saddle, sir? No, sir. What should there be a saddle here for?" + +"Oh, well," said Jack vaguely. "I've come to fetch away the hammock, +anyhow." + +Certainly the rooms looked desolate. Even the carpets were gone, and the +unstained boards in the middle seemed suggestive of peculiar dreariness. +It was really very difficult to believe that these were the rooms where +he and Frank had had such pleasant times--little friendly +bridge-parties, and dinners, and absurd theatricals, in which Frank had +sustained, with extreme rapidity, with the aid of hardly any properties +except a rouge-pot, a burnt cork and three or four wisps of hair of +various shades, the part of almost any eminent authority in the +University of Cambridge that you cared to name. There were long +histories, invented by Frank himself, of the darker sides of the lives +of the more respectable members of the Senate--histories that grew, like +legends, term by term--in which the most desperate deeds were done. The +Master of Trinity, for example, in these Sagas, would pass through +extraordinary love adventures, or discover the North Pole, or give a +lecture, with practical examples, of the art of flying; the Provost of +King's would conspire with the President of Queen's College, to murder +the Vice-Chancellor and usurp his dignities. And these histories would +be enacted with astonishing realism, chiefly by Frank himself, with the +help of a zealous friend or two who were content to obey. + +And these were all over now; and that was the very door through which +the Vice-Chancellor was accustomed to escape from his assassins! + + * * * * * + +Jack sighed again; passed through, picked up the parcel of clothes that +lay in the window-seat, unhitched the hammock in which Frank had slept +last night (he noticed the ends of three cigarettes placed on the cover +of a convenient biscuit-tin), and went off resembling a _retiarius_. +Mrs. Jillings sniffed again as she looked after him up the court. She +didn't understand those young gentlemen at all; and frequently said so. + + +(VI) + +At half-past six o'clock that morning--about the time that Jack awoke in +Cambridge--John Harris, laborer, emerged, very sleepy and frowsy--for he +had sat up late last night at the "Spotted Dog"--from the door of a +small cottage on the Ely road, in the middle of Grunty Fen. He looked +this way and that, wondering whether it were as late as his +kitchen-clock informed him, and observing the sun, that hung now +lamentably high up in that enormous dome of summer sky that sat on the +fenland like a dish-cover on a dish. And as he turned southwards he +became aware of a young gentleman carrying a carpet-bag in one hand, and +a gray jacket over his other arm, coming up to him, not twenty yards +away. As he came nearer, Mr. Harris noticed that his face was badly +bruised as by a blow. + +"Good morning," said the young gentleman. "Hot work." + +John Harris made some observation. + +"I want some work to do," said the young gentleman, disregarding the +observation. "I'm willing and capable. Do you know of any? I mean, work +that I shall be paid for. Or perhaps some breakfast would do as a +beginning." + +John Harris regarded the young gentleman in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +Merefield Court, as every tourist knows may be viewed from ten to five +on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when the family are not in residence, and on +Tuesdays only, from two to four, when they are. It is unnecessary, +therefore, to describe it very closely. + +It stands very nearly on the top of a hill, protected by woods from the +north winds of Yorkshire; and its towers and pinnacles can be seen from +ten miles away down the valley. It is built, architecturally considered, +in the form of an irregular triangular court--quite unique--with the old +barbican at the lower end; the chapel wing directly opposite; the ruins +of the old castle on the left, keep and all, and the new house that is +actually lived in on the right. It is of every conceivable date (the +housekeeper will supply details) from the British mound on which the +keep stands, to the Georgian smoking-room built by the grandfather of +the present earl; but the main body of the house, with which we are +principally concerned--the long gray pile facing south down to the +lake, and northwards into the court--is Jacobean down to the smallest +detail, and extremely good at that. It was on the end of this that the +thirteenth earl the fifteenth baron and the fourteenth viscount (one +man, not three) thought it proper to build on a Palladian kind of +smoking-room of red sandstone, brought at enormous cost from half across +England. Fortunately, however, ivy has since covered the greater part of +its exterior. + +It was in this room--also used as a billiard-room--that Archie Guiseley +(Viscount Merefield), and Dick Guiseley, his first cousin, first heard +the news of Frank's intentions. + +They were both dressed for dinner, and were knocking the balls about for +ten minutes, waiting for the gong, and they were talking in that +incoherent way characteristic of billiard-players. + +"The governor's not very well again," observed Archie, "and the doctor +won't let him go up to town. That's why we're here." + +Dick missed a difficult cannon (he had only arrived from town himself by +the 6.17), and began to chalk his cue very carefully. + +"There's nothing whatever to do," continued Archie, "so I warn you." + +Dick opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, pursing it up +precisely as once more he addressed himself to the balls, and this time +brought off a really brilliant stroke. + +"And he's in a terrible way about Frank," continued the other. "You've +heard all about that?" + +Dick nodded. + +"And he swears he won't have him home again, and that he can go to the +devil." + +Dick arched his eyebrows interrogatively. + +"Of course, he doesn't mean it.... But the gout, you know, and all +that.... I think Frank had better keep out of the way, though, for a +bit. Oh! by the way, the Rector and Jenny are coming to dinner." + +"What does Jenny say to it all?" asked Dick gently. + +"Oh! Jenny laughs." + +These two young men--for Archie was only twenty-five, and Dick a year or +two older--were quite remarkably like one another in manner and general +bearing. Each, though their faces were entirely different, wore that +same particular form of mask that is fashionable just now. Each had a +look in his eyes as if the blinds were down--rather insolent and yet +rather pleasant. Each moved in the same kind of way, slow and +deliberate; each spoke quietly on rather a low note, and used as few +words as possible. Each, just now, wore a short braided dinner-jacket of +precisely the same cut. + +For the rest, they were quite unlike. Archie was clean-shaven, of a +medium sort of complexion, with a big chin and rather loosely built; +Dick wore a small, pointed brown beard, and was neat and alert. Neither +of them did anything particular in the world. Archie was more or less +tied to his father, except in the autumn--for Archie drew the line at +Homburg, and went about for short visits, returning continually to look +after the estate; Dick lived in a flat in town on six hundred a year, +allowed him by his mother, and was supposed to be a sort of solicitor. +They saw a good deal of one another, off and on, and got on together +rather better than most brothers; certainly better than did Archie and +Frank. It was thought a pity by a good many people that they were only +cousins. + + * * * * * + +Then, as they gossiped gently, the door suddenly opened and a girl came +in. + +She was a very striking girl indeed, and her beauty was increased just +now by obvious excitement held well in check. She was tall and very +fair, and carried herself superbly, looking taller than she really was. +Her eyes, particularly bright just now, were of a vivid blue, wide-open +and well set in her face; her mouth was strong and sensible; and there +was a glorious air of breeziness and health about her altogether. She +was in evening dress, and wore a light cloak over her white shoulders. + +"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said--"Oh! good evening, Mr. Dick!--but +there's something wrong. Clarkson ran out to tell us that Lord +Talgarth--it's a telegram or something. Father sent me to tell you." + +Archie looked at her a second; then he was gone, swiftly, but not +hurriedly. The girl turned to Dick. + +"I'm afraid it's something about Frank," she said. "I heard Clarkson +mention his name to father. Is there any more news?" + +Dick laid down his cue across the table. + +"I only came an hour ago," he said. "Archie was telling me just now." + +Jenny went across to the deep chair on the hearth, threw off her cloak +and sat down. + +"Lord Talgarth's--well--if he was my father I should say he was in a +passion. I heard his voice." She smiled a little. + +Dick leaned against the table, looking at her. + +"Poor Frank!" he said. + +She smiled again, more freely. + +"Yes ... poor, dear Frank! He's always in hot water, isn't he?" + +"I'm afraid it's serious this time," observed Dick. "What did he want to +become a Catholic for?" + +"Oh, Frank's always unexpected!" + +"Yes, I know; but this happens to be just the one very thing--" + +She looked at him humorously. + +"Do you know, I'd no notion that Lord Talgarth was so deeply religious +until Frank became a Catholic." + +"Yes, I know," said Dick. "But it is just his one obsession. Frank must +have known that." + +"And I've not the slightest doubt," said Jenny, "that that was an +additional reason for his doing it." + +"Well, what'll happen?" + +She jerked her head a little. + +"Oh! it'll pass off. You'll see. Frank'll find out, and then we shall +all be happy ever afterwards." + +"But meantime?" + +"Oh! Frank'll go and stay with friends a month or two. I daresay he'll +come to the Kirkbys', and I can go and see him." + +"Suppose he does something violent? He's quite capable of it." + +"Oh! I shall talk to him. It'll be all right. I'm very sensible indeed, +you know. All my friends tell me that." + +Dick was silent. + +"Don't you think so?" + +"Think what?" + +"That I'm very sensible." + +Dick made a little movement with his head. + +"Oh! I suppose so. Yes, I daresay.... And suppose my uncle cuts him off +with a shilling? He's quite capable of it. He's a very heavy father, you +know." + +"He won't. I shall talk to him too." + +"Yes; but suppose he does?" + +She threw him a swift glance. + +"Frank'll put the shilling on his watch-chain, after it's been shown +with all the other wedding-presents. What are you going to give me, Mr. +Dick?" + +"I shall design a piece of emblematic jewelry," said Dick very gravely. +"When's the wedding to be?" + +"Well, we hadn't settled. Lord Talgarth wouldn't make up his mind. I +suppose next summer some time." + +"Miss Jenny--" + +"Yes?" + +"Tell me--quite seriously--what you'd do if there was a real row--a +permanent one, I mean--between Frank and my uncle?" + +"Dear Mr. Dick--don't talk so absurdly. I tell you there's not going to +be a row. I'm going to see to that myself." + +"But suppose there was?" + +Jenny stood up abruptly. + +"I tell you I'm a very sensible person, and I'm not going to imagine +absurdities. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to strike an +attitude and talk about love in a cottage?" + +"Well, that would be one answer." + +"Very well, then. That'll do, won't it? You can take it as said.... I'm +going to see what's happening." + +But as she went to the door there came footsteps and voices outside; and +the next moment the door opened suddenly, and Lord Talgarth, followed by +his son and the Rector, burst into the room. + + +(II) + +I am very sorry to have to say it, but the thirteenth Earl of Talgarth +was exactly like a man in a book--and not a very good book. His +character was, so to speak, cut out of cardboard--stiff cardboard, and +highly colored, with gilt edges showing here and there. He also, as has +been said, resembled a nobleman on the stage of the Adelphi. He had a +handsome inflamed face, with an aquiline nose and white eyebrows that +moved up and down, and all the other things; he was stout and tall, +suffered from the gout, and carried with him in the house a black stick +with an india-rubber pad on the end. There were no shades about him at +all. Construct a conventionally theatrical heavy father, of noble +family, and you have Lord Talgarth to the life. There really are people +like this in the world--of whom, too, one can prophesy, with tolerable +certainty, how they will behave in any given situation. + +Certainly, Lord Talgarth was behaving in character now. He had received +meek Mr. Mackintosh's deferential telegram, occupying several sheets, +informing him that his son had held an auction of all his belongings, +and had proposed to take to the roads; asking, also, for instructions as +to how to deal with him. And the hint of defiant obstinacy on the part +of Frank--the fact, indeed, that he had taken his father at his +word--had thrown that father into a yet more violent fit of passion. +Jenny had heard him spluttering and exclamatory with anger as she came +into the hall (the telegram had but that instant been put into his +hands), and even now the footmen, still a little pale, were exchanging +winks in the hall outside; while Clarkson, his valet, and the butler +stood in high and subdued conference a little way off. + +What Lord Talgarth would really have wished was that Frank should have +written to him a submissive--even though a disobedient--letter, telling +him that he could not forego his convictions, and preparing to assume +the _rôle_ of a Christian martyr. For he could have sneered at this, and +after suitable discipline forgiven its writer more or less. Of course, +he had never intended for one instant that his threats should really be +carried out; but the situation--to one of Lord Talgarth's +temperament--demanded that the threats should be made, and that Frank +should pretend to be crushed by them. That the boy should have behaved +like this brought a reality of passion into the affair--disconcerting +and infuriating--as if an actor should find his enemy on the stage was +armed with a real sword. There was but one possibility left--which Lord +Talgarth instinctively rather than consciously grasped at--namely, that +an increased fury on his part should once more bring realities back +again to a melodramatic level, and leave himself, as father, master both +of the situation and of his most disconcerting son. Frank had behaved +like this in minor matters once or twice before, and Lord Talgarth had +always come off victor. After all, he commanded all the accessories. + + * * * * * + +When the speeches had been made--Frank cut off with a shilling, driven +to the Colonies, brought back again, and finally starved to death at his +father's gates--Lord Talgarth found himself in a chair, with Jenny +seated opposite, and the rest of the company gone to dinner. He did not +quite realize how it had all been brought about, nor by whose +arrangement it was that a plate of soup and some fish were to come +presently, and Jenny and he to dine together. + +He pulled himself together a little, however, and began to use phrases +again about his "graceless son," and "the young villain," and "not a +penny of his." (He was, of course, genuinely angry; that must be +understood.) + +Then Jenny began to talk. + +"I think, you know," she said quietly, "that you aren't going the right +way to work. (It's very impertinent of me, isn't it?--but you did say +just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)" + +"Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sensible girl, my dear. I've +always said that. But as for this young--" + +"Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you. +Is that right, Lord Talgarth?)." She waited till the man was gone again +and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she took up her own. "Well, +I think what you've done is exactly the thing to make Frank more +obstinate than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, if you'd only +laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and +told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character, +who wants looking after--" + +Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still breathing rather heavily, and +was making something of a noise over his soup. + +"But how can I say that, when I think--" + +"Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too late. No; that would +never do. You must keep it up--only you mustn't be really angry. Why not +try a little cold severity?" + +She looked so charming and humorous that the old man began to melt a +little. He glanced up at her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows. + +"I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind of gruffness, "when you +find you've got to marry a pauper?" + +"I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. "That wouldn't do +either." + +"Oh! you're counting on that eight hundred a year still, are you?" + +Jenny allowed a little coldness to appear on her face. Rude banter was +all very well, but it mustn't go too far. (Secretly she allowed to +herself sometimes that this old man had elements of the cad in his +character.) + +"That's entirely my own affair," she said, "and Frank's." + +Lord Talgarth blazed up a little. + +"And the eight hundred a year is mine," he said. + +Jenny laid down her spoon as the servant reappeared with the fish and +the menu-card. He came very opportunely. And while her host was +considering what he would eat next, she was pondering her next move. + +Jenny, as has been said, was an exceedingly sensible girl. She had grown +up in the Rectory, down at the park gates; and since her mother's death, +three years previously, had managed her father's house, including her +father, with great success. She had begun to extend her influence, for +the last year or two, even over the formidable lord of the manor +himself, and, as has been seen, was engaged to his son. Her judgment was +usually very sound and very sane, and the two men, with the Rector, had +been perfectly right just now in leaving the old man to her care for an +hour or so. If anything could quiet him it would be this girl. She was +quite fearless, quite dignified, and quite able to hold her own. And her +father perceived that she rather enjoyed it. + +When the man had gone out again, she resumed: + +"Well, let's leave it," she said, "for a day or two. There's no hurry, +and--" + +"But I must answer this--this telegram," he growled. "What am I to say +to the feller?" + +"Tell him to follow his discretion, and that you have complete +confidence--" + +"But--" + +"Yes; I know you haven't, really. But it'll do no harm, and it'll make +him feel important." + +"And what if the boy does take to the roads?" + +"Let him," said Jenny coolly. "It won't kill him." + +He looked up at her again in silence. + +Jenny herself was very far from comfortable, though she was conscious of +real pleasure, too, in the situation. She had seen this old man in a +passion pretty often, but she had never seen him in a passion with any +real excuse. No one ever thwarted him. He even decided where his doctor +should send him for his cure, and in what month, and for how long. And +she was not, therefore, quite certain what would happen, for she knew +Frank well enough to be quite sure that he meant what he said. However, +she reflected, the main thing at present was to smooth things down all +round as far as possible. Then she could judge. + +"Can't make out why you ever consented to marry such a chap at all!" he +growled presently. + +"Oh, well--" said Jenny. + + +(III) + +It was a delicious evening, and the three men, after dinner, strolled +out on to the broad terrace that ran, looking over the lake, straight up +and down the long side of the house. They had not had the advantage, +since the servants were in the room, of talking over the situation as +they wished, and there was no knowing when Lord Talgarth and Jenny might +emerge. So they sat down at a little stone table at the end furthest +from the smoking-room, and Archie and Dick lit their cigarettes. + +There is not a great deal to say about the Rector. The most effective +fact about him was that he was the father of Jenny. It was a case, here, +of "Averill following Averill": his father and grandfather, both second +sons, as was the Rector himself, had held the living before him, and had +performed the duties of it in the traditional and perfectly respectable +way. This one was a quiet middle-aged man, clean-shaven except for two +small whiskers. He wore a white tie, and a small gold stud was visible +in the long slit of his white shirt-front. He was on very easy terms in +this house, in an unintimate manner, and dined here once a fortnight or +so, without saying or hearing anything of particular interest. He had +been secretly delighted at his daughter's engagement, and had given his +consent with gentle and reserved cordiality. He was a Tory, not exactly +by choice, but simply--for the same reason as he was Church of +England--because he was unable, in the fiber of him, to imagine anything +else. Of course, Lord Talgarth was the principal personage in his world, +simply because he was Lord Talgarth and owned practically the whole +parish and two-thirds of the next. He regarded his daughter with the +greatest respect, and left in her hands everything that he decently +could. And, to do her justice, Jenny was a very benevolent, as well as +capable, despot. In short, the Rector plays no great part in this drama +beyond that of a discreet, and mostly silent, Greek chorus of +unimpeachable character. He disapproved deeply, of course, of Frank's +change of religion--but he disapproved with that same part of him that +appreciated Lord Talgarth. It seemed to him that Catholicism, in his +daughter's future husband, was a defect of the same kind as would be a +wooden leg or an unpleasant habit of sniffing--a drawback, yet not +insuperable. He would be considerably relieved if it could be cured. + + * * * * * + +The three men sat there for some while without interruption from the +smoking-room, while the evening breeze died, the rosy sky paled, and the +stars came out one by one, like diamonds in the clear blue. They said, +of course, all the proper things, and Dick heard a little more than he +had previously known. + +Dick was always conscious of a faint, almost impersonal, resentment +against destiny when he stayed at Merefield. It was obvious to him that +the position of heir there was one which would exactly have suited his +tastes and temperament. He was extremely pleased to belong to the +family--and it was, indeed, a very exceptional family as regards +history: it had been represented in nearly every catastrophe since the +Norman Conquest, and always on the winning side, except once--but it was +difficult to enjoy the distinction as it deserved, living, as he did, in +a flat in London all by himself. When his name was mentioned to a +well-informed stranger, it was always greeted by the question as to +whether he was one of the Guiseleys of Merefield, and it seemed to him +singularly annoying that he could only answer "First cousin." Archie, of +course, was a satisfactory heir; there was no question of that--he was +completely of Dick's own school of manner--but it seemed a kind of +outrage that Frank, with his violent convictions and his escapades, +should be Archie's only brother. There was little of that repose about +him that a Guiseley needed. + +It would be about half-past nine that the sound of an opening door, and +voices, from the further end of the terrace, told them that the +smoking-room conference was over, and they stood up as Jenny, very +upright and pale in the twilight, with her host at her side, came up +towards them. Dick noticed that the cigar his uncle carried was smoked +down almost to the butt, and augured well from that detail. The old +man's arm was in the girl's, and he supported himself on the other side, +limping a little, on his black stick. + +He sat down with a grunt and laid his stick across the table. + +"Well, boys, we've settled it," he said. "Jenny's to write the +telegram." + +"No one need be anxious any more," announced Jenny imperturbably. "Lord +Talgarth's extremely angry still, as he has every right to be, and +Frank's going to be allowed to go on the tramp if he wants to." + +The Rector waited, in deferential silence, for corroboration. + +"Jenny's a very sensible girl," observed Lord Talgarth. "And what she +says is quite right." + +"Do you mean to say--" began Archie. + +The old man frowned round at him. + +"All that I've said holds good," he said. + +"Frank's made his bed and he must lie on it. I warned him. And Jenny +sees that, too." + +Archie glanced at the girl, and Dick looked hard at her, straight into +her face. But there was absolutely no sign there of any perturbation. +Certainly she looked white in the falling dusk, but her eyes were merry +and steadfast, and her voice perfectly natural. + +"That's how we've settled it," she said. "And if I'm satisfied, I +imagine everyone else ought to be. And I'm going to write Frank a good +long letter all by myself. Come along, father, we must be going. Lord +Talgarth isn't well, and we mustn't keep him up." + + +(IV) + +When the last game of billiards had been played, and whisky had been +drunk, and Archie had taken up his candle, Dick stood still, with his +own in his hand. + +"Aren't you coming?" said Archie. + +Dick paused. + +"I think I'll smoke one more cigarette on the terrace," he said. "It's a +heavenly night, and I want to get the taste of the train out of my +mouth." + +"All right, then. Lock up, will you, when you come in? I'm off." + +It was, indeed, a heavenly night. Behind him as he sat at the table +where they had had coffee the great house shimmered pale in the summer +twilight, broken here by a line or two of yellow light behind shuttered +windows, here with the big oriel window of the hall, blazing with coats, +fully illuminated. (He must remember, he thought, to put out the lights +there as he went to bed.) + +And about him was the great soft, sweet-smelling darkness, roofed in by +the far-off sky alight with stars; and beneath him in the valley he +could catch the glimmer of the big lake and the blotted masses of pine +and cypress black against it. + +It was here, then, under these circumstances, that Dick confessed to +himself, frankly and openly for the first time, that he was in love with +Jenny Launton. + +He had known her for years, off and on, and had thought of her as a +pretty girl and a pleasant companion. He had skated with her, ridden +with her, danced with her, and had only understood, with a sense of mild +shock, at the time of her engagement to Frank six months before, that +she was of an age to become a wife to someone. + +That had been the beginning of a process which culminated to-night, as +he now understood perfectly. Its next step had been a vague wonder why +Archie hadn't fallen in love with her himself; and he had explained it +by saying that Archie had too great a sense of his own importance to +permit himself to marry a rector's daughter with only a couple of +hundred a year of her own. (And in this explanation I think he was quite +correct.) Then he had begun to think of her himself a good +deal--dramatically, rather than realistically--wondering what it would +feel like to be engaged to her. If a younger son could marry her, surely +a first cousin could--even of the Guiseleys. So it had gone on, little +by little. He had danced with her here at Christmas--just after the +engagement--and had stayed on a week longer than he had intended. He had +come up again at Easter, and again at Whitsuntide, though he always +protested to his friends that there was nothing to do at Merefield in +the summer. And now here he was again, and the thing had happened. + +At first, as he sat here, he tried to analyze his attitude to Frank. + +He had never approved of Frank altogether; he didn't quite like the +queer kinds of things that Frank did; for Frank's reputation at +Merefield was very much what it was at Cambridge. He did ridiculous and +undignified things. As a small boy, he had fought at least three pitched +battles in the village, and that was not a proper thing for a Guiseley +to do. He liked to go out with the keepers after poachers, and Dick, +very properly, asked himself what keepers were for except to do that +kind of thing for you? There had been a bad row here, too, scarcely +eighteen months ago; it had been something to do with a horse that was +ill-treated, and Frank had cut a very absurd and ridiculous figure, +getting hot and angry, and finally thrashing a groom, or somebody, with +his own hands, and there had been uncomfortable talk about police-courts +and actions for assault. Finally, he had fallen in love with, proposed +to, and become engaged to, Jenny Launton. That was an improper thing for +a younger son to do, anyhow, at his age, and Dick now perceived that the +fact that Jenny was Jenny aggravated the offense a hundredfold. And, +last of all, he had become a Catholic--an act of enthusiasm which seemed +to Dick really vulgar. + +Altogether, then, Frank was not a satisfactory person, and it would do +him no harm to have a little real discipline at last.... + + * * * * * + +It was the striking of midnight from the stable clock that woke Dick up +from his deep reverie, and was the occasion of his perceiving that he +had come to no conclusion about anything, except that Frank was an ass, +that Jenny was--well--Jenny, and that he, Dick, was an ill-used person. + +I do not like to set down here, even if I could, all the considerations +that had passed through Dick's mind since a quarter-past eleven, simply +because the very statement of them would give a false impression. Dick +was not a knave, and he did not deceive himself about himself more than +most of us do. Yet he had considered a number of points that, strictly +speaking, he ought not to have considered. He had wondered whether Frank +would die; he had wondered whether, if he did not, Lord Talgarth would +really be as good as his word; and, if so, what effect that would have +on Jenny. Finally, he had wondered, with a good deal of intellectual +application, what exactly Jenny had meant when she had announced all +that about the telegram she was going to send in Lord Talgarth's name, +and the letter she was going to send in her own. (He had asked Archie +just now in the smoking-room, and he, too, had confessed himself beaten. +Only, he had been quite sure that jenny would get her way and obtain +Frank's forgiveness.) + +Also, in the course of his three-quarters of an hour he had considered, +for perhaps the hundredth time since he had come to the age of +discretion, what exactly three lives between a man and a title stood +for. Lord Talgarth was old and gouty; Archie was not married, and showed +no signs of it; and Frank--well, Frank was always adventurous and +always in trouble. + +Well, I have set down the points, after all. But it must not be thought +that the gentleman with the pointed brown beard and thoughtful eyes, who +at five minutes past twelve went up the two steps into the smoking-room, +locked the doors, as he had been directed, took up his candle and went +to bed, went with an uneasy conscience, or, in fact, was a villain in +any way whatever. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +The first spot in Frank's pilgrimage which I have been able to visit and +identify in such a way that I am able to form to myself a picture of his +adventure more or less complete in all its parts, lies about ten miles +north-west of Doncaster, in a little valley, where curiously enough +another pilgrim named Richard lived for a little while nearly six +hundred years ago. + +Up to the time of Frank's coming there, in the season of hay-making, +numberless little incidents of his experience stand out, vivid, indeed, +but fragmentary, yet they do not form to my mind a coherent whole. I +think I understand to some extent the process by which he became +accustomed to ordinary physical hard living, into which the initiation +began with his series of almost wholly sleepless nights and heavy +sleep-burdened days. Night was too strange--in barns, beneath hay-ricks, +in little oppressive rooms, in stable-lofts--for him to sleep easily at +first; and between his tramps, or in the dinner-hour, when he managed to +get work, he would drop off in the hot sunshine down into depths of +that kind of rest that is like the sea itself--glimmering gulfs, lit by +glimpses of consciousness of the grass beneath his cheek, the bubble of +bird-song in the copses, stretching down into profound and utter +darkness. + +Of how the little happenings of every day wore themselves into a +coherent whole, and modified, not indeed himself, but his manner of life +and his experience and knowledge, I can make no real picture at all. The +first of these took place within ten miles of Cambridge on his first +morning, and resulted in the bruised face which Mr. Harris noticed; it +concerned a piece of brutality to a dog in which Frank interfered.... +(He was extraordinarily tender to animals.) Then there was the learning +as to how work was obtained, and, even more considerable, the doing of +the work. The amateur, as Frank pointed out later, began too vigorously +and became exhausted; the professional set out with the same +deliberation with which he ended. One must not run at one's spade, or +hoe, or whatever it was; one must exercise a wearisome self-control ... +survey the work to be done, turn slowly, spit on one's hands, and after +a pause begin, remembering that the same activity must show itself, if +the work was to be renewed next day, up to the moment of leaving off. + +Then there was the need of becoming accustomed to an entirely different +kind of food, eaten in an entirely different way, and under entirely +different circumstances. There was experience to be gained as to washing +clothes--I can almost see Frank now by a certain kind of stream, +stripped to the waist, waiting while his shirt dried, smoking an +ill-rolled cigarette, yet alert for the gamekeeper. Above all, there was +an immense volume of learning--or, rather, a training of instinct--to be +gained respecting human nature: a knowledge of the kind of man who would +give work, the kind of man who meant what he said, and the kind of man +who did not; the kind of woman who would threaten the police if milk or +bread were asked for--Frank learned to beg very quickly--the kind of +woman who would add twopence and tell him to be off, and the kind of +woman who, after a pause and a slow scrutiny, would deliberately refuse +to supply a glass of water. Then there was the atmosphere of the little +towns to be learned--the intolerable weariness of pavements, and the +patient persistence of policemen who would not allow you to sit down. He +discovered, also, during his wanderings, the universal fact that +policemen are usually good-hearted, but with absolutely no sense of +humor whatever; he learned this through various attempts to feign that +the policeman was in fancy-dress costume and had no real authority. He +learned, too, that all crimes pale before "resisting the police in the +execution of their duty"; then, he had to learn, to, the way in which +other tramps must be approached--the silences necessary, the sort of +questions which were useless, the jokes that must be laughed at and the +jokes that must be resented. + +All this is beyond me altogether; it was beyond even Frank's own powers +of description. A boy, coming home for the holidays for the first time, +cannot make clear to his mother, or even to himself, what it is that has +so utterly changed his point of view, and his relations towards familiar +things. + + * * * * * + +So with Frank. + +He could draw countless little vignettes of his experiences and +emotions--the particular sensation elicited, for example, by seeing +through iron gates happy people on a lawn at tea--the white china, the +silver, the dresses, the flannels, the lawn-tennis net--as he went past, +with string tied below his knees to keep off the drag of the trousers, +and a sore heel; the emotion of being passed by a boy and a girl on +horseback; the flood of indescribable associations roused by walking for +half a day past the split-oak paling of a great park, with lodge-gates +here and there, the cooing of wood-pigeons, and the big house, among +its lawns and cedars and geranium-beds, seen now and then, far off in +the midst. But what he could not describe, or understand, was the inner +alchemy by which this new relation to things modified his own soul, and +gave him a point of view utterly new and bewildering. Curiously enough, +however (as it seems to me), he never seriously considered the +possibility of abandoning this way of life, and capitulating to his +father. A number of things, I suppose--inconceivable to +myself--contributed to his purpose; his gipsy blood, his extraordinary +passion for romance, the attraction of a thing simply because it was +daring and unusual, and finally, a very exceptionally strong will that, +for myself, I should call obstinacy. + +The silence--as regards his old world--was absolute and unbroken. He +knew perfectly well that by now letters and telegrams must be waiting +for him at Jack's home, including at least one from Jenny, and probably +a dozen; but as to Jenny, he knew she would understand, and as to the +rest, he honestly did not care at all. He sent her a picture postcard +once or twice--from Ely, Peterborough, Sleaford and Newark--towns where +he stayed for a Sunday (I have seen in Sleaford the little room where he +treated himself to a bed for two nights)--and was content. He made no +particular plans for the future; he supposed something would turn up; +and he settled with himself, by the help of that same will which I have +mentioned before, that he would precipitate no conclusions till he +reached Barham later on in the early autumn. + +His faith and morals during these weeks are a little difficult to +describe. As regards his morals, at least in one particular point, he +had formulated the doctrine that, when he was very hungry, game might +not be touched, but that rabbits and birds were permissible if they +could be snared in the hedges of the high-road. He became an expert at +this kind of thing, and Jack has described to me, as taught by Frank, a +few devices of which I was entirely ignorant. Frank tramped for a couple +of days with a gamekeeper out of work, and learned these things from +him, as well as one or two simple methods of out-of-door cookery. As +regards his religion, I think I had better not say much just now; very +curious influences were at work upon him: I can only say that Frank +himself has described more than once, when he could be induced to talk, +the extraordinary, and indeed indescribable, thrill with which he saw, +now and again, in town or country, a priest in his vestments go to the +altar--for he heard mass when he could.... + +So much, then, is all that I can say of the small, detached experiences +that he passed through, up to the point when he came out one evening at +sunset from one of the fields of Hampole where he had made hay all day, +when his job was finished, and where he met, for the first time, the +Major and Gertie Trustcott. + + +(II) + +They were standing with the sunset light behind them, as a glory--two +disreputable figures, such as one sees in countless thousands along all +the high-roads of England in the summer. The Major himself was a lean +man, with a red mustache turning gray, deep-set, narrow, blood-shot +eyes, a chin and very square jaw shaved about two days previously. He +had an old cricketing cap on his head, trousers tied up with string, +like Frank's, and one of those long, square-tailed, yellowish coats with +broad side-pockets such as a gamekeeper might have worn twenty years +ago. One of his boots was badly burst, and he, seemed to rest his weight +by preference on the other foot. He was not prepossessing; but Frank +saw, with his newly-gained experience, that he was different from other +tramps. He glanced at the girl and saw that she too was not quite of the +regular type, though less peculiar than her companion; and he noticed +with an odd touch at his heart that she had certain characteristics in +common with Jenny. She was not so tall, but she had the same colored +hair under a filthy white sun-bonnet and the same kind of blue eyes: but +her oval face again was weak and rather miserable. They were both deeply +sunburned. + +Frank had learned the discretion of the roads by now, and did no more +than jerk his head almost imperceptibly as he went past. (He proposed to +go back to the farm to get his dwindled belongings, as the job was over, +and to move on a few miles northward before sleeping.) + +As he went, however, he knew that the man had turned and was looking +after him: but he made no sign. He had no particular desire for company. +He also knew by instinct, practically for certain, that these two were +neither husband and wife, nor father and daughter. The type was obvious. + +"I say, sir!" + +Frank turned as bucolically as he could. + +"I say, sir--can you direct this lady and myself to a lodging?" + +Frank had tried to cultivate a low and characterless kind of voice, as +of a servant or a groom out of work. He knew he could never learn the +proper accent. + +"Depends on what kind of lodging you want, sir." + +"What'd suit you 'ud suit us," said the Major genially, dropping the +"sir." + +"I'm going further, sir," said Frank. "I've done my job here." + +The Major turned to the girl, and Frank caught the words, "What d'you +say, Gertie?" There was a murmur of talk; and then the man turned to him +again: + +"If you've no objection, sir, we'll come with you. My good lady here is +good for a mile or two more, she says, and we'd like some company." + +Frank hesitated. He did not in the least wish for company himself. He +glanced at the girl again. + +"Very good, sir," he said. "Then if you'll wait here I'll be back in +five minutes--I've got to get my belongings." + +He nodded to the low farm buildings in the valley just below the +village. + +"We will await you here, sir," said the Major magnificently, stroking +his mustache. + + * * * * * + +As Frank came back up the little hill a few minutes later, he had made +up his mind as to what to say and do. It was his first experience of a +gentleman-tramp, and it was obvious that under the circumstances he +could not pretend to be anything else himself. But he was perfectly +determined not to tell his name. None of his belongings had anything +more than his initials upon them, and he decided to use the name he had +already given more than once. Probably they would not go far together; +but it was worth while to be on the safe side. + +He came straight up to the two as they sat side by side with their feet +in the ditch. + +"I'm ready, sir," he said. "Yes; you've spotted me all right." + +"University man and public school boy," said the Major without moving. + +"Eton and Cambridge," said Frank. + +The Major sprang up. + +"Harrow and the Army," he said. "Shake hands." + +This was done. + +"Name?" said the Major. + +Frank grinned. + +"I haven't my card with me," he said. "But Frank Gregory will do." + +"I understand," said the Major. "And 'The Major' will do for me. It has +the advantage of being true. And this lady?--well, we'll call her my +wife." + +Frank bowed. He felt he was acting in some ridiculous dream; but his +sense of humor saved him. The girl gave a little awkward bow in +response, and dropped her eyes. Certainly she was very like Jenny, and +very unlike. + +"And a name?" asked Frank. "We may as well have one in case of +difficulties." + +The Major considered. + +"What do you say to Trustcott?" he asked. "Will that do?" + +"Perfectly," said Frank. "Major and Mrs. Trustcott.... Well, shall we be +going?" + + * * * * * + +Frank had no particular views as to lodgings, or even to roads, so long +as the direction was more or less northward. He was aiming, generally +speaking, at Selby and York; and it seemed that this would suit the +Major as well as anything else. There is, I believe, some kind of +routine amongst the roadsters; and about that time of the year most of +them are as far afield as at any time from their winter quarters. The +Major and Mrs. Trustcott, he soon learned, were Southerners; but they +would not turn homewards for another three months yet, at least. For +himself, he had no ideas beyond a general intention to reach Barham some +time in the autumn, before Jack went back to Cambridge for his fourth +year. + +"The country is not prepossessing about here," observed the Major +presently; "Hampole is an exception." + +Frank glanced back at the valley they were leaving. It had, indeed, an +extraordinarily retired and rural air; it was a fertile little tract of +ground, very limited and circumscribed, and the rail that ran through it +was the only sign of the century. But the bright air was a little dimmed +with smoke; and already from the point they had reached tall chimneys +began to prick against the horizon. + +"You have been here before?" he said. + +"Why, yes; and about this time last year, wasn't it, Gertie? I +understand a hermit lived here once." + +"A hermit might almost live here to-day," said Frank. + +"You are right, sir," said the Major. + + * * * * * + +Frank began to wonder, as he walked, as to why this man was on the +roads. Curiously enough, he believed his statement that he had been in +the army. The air of him seemed the right thing. A militia captain would +have swaggered more; a complete impostor would have given more details. +Frank began to fish for information. + +"You have been long on the roads?" he said. + +The Major did not appear to hear him. + +"You have been long on the roads?" persisted Frank. + +The other glanced at him furtively and rather insolently. "The younger +man first, please." + +Frank smiled. + +"Oh, certainly!" he said. "Well, I have left Cambridge at the end of +June only." + +"Ah! Anything disgraceful?" + +"You won't believe me, I suppose, if I say 'No'?" + +"Oh! I daresay I shall." + +"Well, then, 'No.'" + +"Then may I ask--?" + +"Oh, yes! I was kicked out by my father--I needn't go into details. I +sold up my things and came out. That's all!" + +"And you mean to stick to it?" + +"Certainly--at least for a year or two." + +"That's all right. Well, then--Major--what did we say? Trustcott? Ah, +yes, Trustcott. Well, then, I think we might add 'Eleventh Hussars'; +that's near enough. The final catastrophe was, I think, cards. Not that +I cheated, you understand. I will allow no man to say that of me. But +that was what was said. A gentleman of spirit, you understand, could not +remain in a regiment when such things could be said. Then we tumbled +downhill; and I've been at this for four years. And, you know, sir, it +might be worse!" + +Frank nodded. + +Naturally he did not believe as necessarily true this terse little +story, and he was absolutely certain that if cards were mixed up in it +at all, obviously the Major had cheated. So he just took the story and +put it away, so to speak. It was to form, he perceived, the +understanding on which they consorted together. Then he began to wonder +about the girl. The Major soon supplied a further form. + +"And Mrs. Trustcott, here? Well, she joined me, let us say, rather more +than eighteen months ago. We had been acquainted before that, however. +That was when I was consenting to serve as groom to some--er--some +Jewish bounder in town. Mrs. Trustcott's parents live in town." + +The girl, who had been trudging patiently a foot or two behind them, +just glanced up at Frank and down again. He wondered exactly what her +own attitude was to all this. But she made no comment. + +"And now we know one another," finished the Major in a tone of genial +finality. "So where are you taking us--er--Mr. Gregory?" + + +(III) + +They were fortunate that night. + +The part of Yorkshire where they were traveling consists chiefly of an +innumerable quantity of little cottages, gathered for the most part +round collieries. One has the impression--at any rate, from a +motor--that there is nothing but villages. But that is not a fact. There +are stretches of road, quite solitary at certain hours; and in one of +these they noticed presently a little house, not twenty yards from the +road, once obviously forming part of a row of colliers' cottages, of +which the rest were demolished. + +It was not far off from ruin itself, and was very plainly uninhabited. +Across the front door were nailed deal props, originally, perhaps, for +the purpose of keeping it barred, and useful for holding it in its +place. The Major and Gertie kept watch on the road while Frank pushed +open the crazy little gate and went round to the back. A minute later he +called to them softly. + +He had wrenched open the back door, and within in the darkness they +could make out a little kitchen, stripped of everything--table, +furniture, and even the range itself. The Major kicked something +presently in the gloom, swore softly, and announced he had found a +kettle. They decided that all this would do very well. + + * * * * * + +Tramps do not demand very much, and these were completely contented when +they had made a small fire, damped down with a turf to prevent it +smoking, had boiled a little water, stewed some tea, and eaten what they +had. Even this was not luxurious. The Major produced the heel of a +cheese and two crushed-looking bananas, and Frank a half-eaten tin of +sardines and a small, stale loaf. The Major announced presently that he +would make a savory; and, indeed, with cheese melted on to the bread, +and sardines on the top, he did very well. Gertie moved silently about; +and Frank, in the intervals of rather abrupt conversation with the +Major, found his eyes following her as she spread out their small +possessions, vanished up the stairs and reappeared. Certainly she was +very like Jenny, even in odd little details--the line of her eyebrows, +the angle of her chin and so forth--perhaps more in these details than +in anything else. He began to wonder a little about her--to imagine her +past, to forecast her future. It seemed all rather sordid. She +disappeared finally without a word: he heard her steps overhead, and +then silence. + +Then he had to attend to the Major a little more. + +"It was easy enough to tell you," said that gentleman. + +"How?" + +"Oh, well, if nothing else, your clothes." + +"Aren't they shabby enough?" + +The Major eyed him with half-closed lids, by the light of the single +candle-end, stuck in its own wax on the mantelshelf. + +"They're shabby enough, but they're the wrong sort. There's the cut, +first--though that doesn't settle it. But these are gray flannel +trousers, for one thing, and then the coat's not stout enough." + +"They might have been given me," said Frank, smiling. + +"They fit you too well for that." + +"I'll change them when I get a chance," observed Frank. + +"It would be as well," assented the Major. + + * * * * * + +Somehow or another the sense of sordidness, which presently began to +affect Frank so profoundly, descended on him for the first time that +night. He had managed, by his very solitariness hitherto, to escape it +so far. It had been possible to keep up a kind of pose so far; to +imagine the adventure in the light of a very much prolonged and very +realistic picnic. But with this other man the thing became impossible. +It was tolerable to wash one's own socks; it was not so tolerable to see +another man's socks hung up on the peeling mantelpiece a foot away from +his own head, and to see two dirty ankles, not his own, emerging from +crazy boots. + +The Major, too, presently, when he grew a trifle maudlin over his own +sorrows, began to call him "Frankie," and "my boy," and somehow it +mattered, from a man with the Major's obvious record. Frank pulled +himself up only just in time to prevent a retort when it first happened, +but it was not the slightest use to be resentful. The thing had to be +borne. And it became easier when it occurred to him to regard the Major +as a study; it was even interesting to hear him give himself away, yet +all with a pompous appearance of self-respect, and to recount his first +meeting with Gertie, now asleep upstairs. + +The man was, in fact, exactly what Frank, in his prosperous days, would +have labeled "Bounder." He had a number of meaningless little +mannerisms--a way of passing his hand over his mustache, a trick of +bringing a look of veiled insolence into his eyes; there were subjects +he could not keep away from--among them Harrow School, the Universities +(which he called 'Varsity), the regiment he had belonged to, and a +certain type of adventure connected with women and champagne. And +underneath the whole crust of what the Major took to be breeding, there +was a piteous revelation of a feeble, vindictive, and rather nasty +character. It became more and more evident that the cheating +incident--or, rather, the accusation, as he persisted in calling +it--was merely the last straw in his fall, and that the whole thing had +been the result of a crumbly unprincipled kind of will underneath, +rather than of any particular strain of vice. He appeared, even now, to +think that his traveling about with a woman who was not his wife was a +sort of remnant of fallen splendor--as a man might keep a couple of +silver spoons out of the ruin of his house. + +"I recommend you to pick up with one," remarked the Major. "There are +plenty to be had, if you go about it the right way." + +"Thanks," said Frank, "but it's not my line." + + +(IV) + +The morning, too, was a little trying. + +Frank had passed a tolerable night. The Major had retired upstairs about +ten o'clock, taking his socks with him, presumably to sleep in them, and +Frank had heard him creaking about upstairs for a minute or two; there +had followed two clumps as the boots were thrown off; a board suddenly +spoke loudly; there was a little talking--obviously the Major had +awakened Gertie in order to make a remark or two--and then silence. + +Frank had not slept for half an hour; he was thinking, with some +depression, of the dreary affair into which he had been initiated, of +the Major, and of Gertie, for whom he was beginning to be sorry. He did +not suppose that the man actually bullied her; probably he had done this +sufficiently for the present--she was certainly very quiet and +subdued--or perhaps she really admired him, and thought it rather +magnificent to travel about with an ex-officer. Anyhow, it was rather +deplorable.... + + * * * * * + +When he awoke next morning, the depression was on him still; and it was +not lifted by the apparition of Gertie on which he opened his eyes from +his corner, in an amazingly dirty petticoat, bare-armed, with her hair +in a thick untidy pig-tail, trying to blow the fire into warmth again. + +Frank jumped up--he was in his trousers and shirt. + +"Let me do that," he said. + +"I'll do it," said Gertie passionlessly. + + * * * * * + +The Major came down ten minutes later, considerably the worse for his +night's rest. Yesterday he had had a day's beard on him; to-day he had +two, and there was a silvery sort of growth in the stubble that made it +look wet. His eyes, too, were red and sunken, and he began almost +instantly to talk about a drink. Frank stood it for a few minutes, then +he understood and capitulated. + +"I'll stand you one," he said, "if you'll get me two packets of +Cinderellas." + +"What's the good of that?" said the Major. "Pubs aren't open yet. It's +only just gone five." + +"You'll have to wait, then," said Frank shortly. + +Presently the Major did begin to bully Gertie. He asked her what the +devil was the good of her if she couldn't make a fire burn better than +that. He elbowed her out of the way and set to work at it himself. She +said nothing at all. Yet there was not the faintest use in Frank's +interfering, and, indeed, there was nothing to interfere in. + +Food, too, this morning, seemed disgusting; and again Frank learned the +difference between a kind of game played by oneself and a reality in +which two others joined. There had been something almost pleasing about +unrolling the food wrapped up at supper on the previous night, and +eating it, with or without cooking, all alone; but there was something +astonishingly unpleasant in observing sardines that were now common +property lying in greasy newspaper, a lump of bread from which their +hands tore pieces, and a tin bowl of warmish cocoa from which all must +drink. This last detail was a contribution on the part of Major and Mrs. +Trustcott, and it would have been ungracious to refuse. The Major, too, +was sullen and resentful this morning, and growled at Gertie more than +once. + +Even the weather seemed unpropitious as they set out together again soon +after six. Rain had fallen in the night, yet not all the rain that there +was overhead. There were still clouds hanging, mixed with the smoke from +the chimneys; the hedges seemed dulled and black in spite of their +green; the cinder path they walked on was depressing, the rain-fed road +even more so. They passed a dozen men on their way to the pits, who made +remarks on the three, and retaliation was out of the question. + + * * * * * + +It was very disconcerting to Frank to find the difference that his new +circumstances made; and yet he did not seriously consider changing them. +It seemed to him, somehow or other, in that strange fashion in which +such feelings come, that the whole matter was pre-arranged, and that the +company in which he found himself was as inevitably his--at least for +the present--as the family to a child born into it. And there was, of +course, too, a certain element of relief in feeling himself no longer +completely alone; and there was also, as Frank said later, a curious +sense of attraction towards, and pity for, Gertie that held him there. + +At the first public-house that was open the Major stopped. + +"I'll get your Cinderellas now, if you like," he said. + +This had not been Frank's idea, but he hardly hesitated. + +"All right," he said. "Here's fourpence." + +The Major vanished through the swing-doors as a miner came out, and a +gush of sweet and sickly scent--beer, spirits, tobacco--poured upon the +fresh air. And there was a vision of a sawdusted floor and spittoons +within. + +Frank looked at Gertie, who had stopped like a patient donkey, and, like +a prudent one, had let her bundle instantly down beside the Major's. + +"Like one, too?" he said. + +She shook her head. + +"Not for me." ... And no more. + +In a couple of minutes the Major was out again. + +"Only had one packet left," he said, and with an air of extreme +punctiliousness and magnanimity replaced one penny in Frank's hand. He +had the air of one who is insistent on the little honesties of life. +There was also a faintly spirituous atmosphere about him, and his eyes +looked a little less sunken. + +Then he handed over the cigarettes. + +"Shouldn't mind one myself," he said genially. + +Frank gave him one before lighting his own. + +"You're a good sort," said the Major, "and I wish I could give you one +of my old cigars I used to give my friends." + +"Ah! well, when your ship comes home," observed Frank, throwing away his +match. + +The Major nodded his head as with an air of fallen grandeur. + +"Well," he said, "_vorwärts_. That means 'forward,' my dear," he +explained to Gertie. + +Gertie said nothing. They took up their bundles and went on. + + +(V) + +It was not till a week later that Gertie did that which was to effect so +much in Frank--she confided in him. + +The week had consisted of the kind of thing that might be +expected--small negligible adventures; work now and then--the Major and +Frank working side by side--a digging job on one day, the carrying of +rather dingy smoke-stained hay on another, the scraping of garden-paths +that ran round the small pink house of a retired tradesman, who observed +them magnificently though a plate-glass window all the while, with a +cigar in his teeth, and ultimately gave them ninepence between them. +They slept here and there--once, on a rainy night, in real lodgings, +once below a haystack. Frank said hardly a word to Gertie, and did +little more than listen to the Major, who was already beginning to +repeat himself; but he was aware that the girl was watching him. + +The crisis came about under circumstances that might be expected--on a +rather sentimental kind of Sunday evening, in a village whose name I +forget (perhaps it was Escrick) between Selby and York. Frank had made a +small excursion by himself in the morning and had managed to hear mass; +they had dined well off cold bacon and beans, and had walked on in the +afternoon some miles further; and they came to the village a little +after six o'clock. The Major had a blister, which he had exhibited at +least four times to the company, and had refused to go further; and as +they came to the outskirts of the village, volunteered to go and look +for shelter, if the two would wait for him at a stile that led across +fields to the old church. + +The scene was rather like the setting of the last act in a melodrama of +a theater on the Surrey side of the Thames--the act in which the injured +heroine, with her child, sinks down fainting as the folk are going to +church in the old village on a June evening among the trees--leading up +to moonlight effects and reunion. There was no organ to play "off," but +the bells were an excellent substitute, and it was these that presently +melted the heart of Gertie. + +When the Major had disappeared, limping, the two climbed over the stile +and sat down with their bundles under the hedge, but they presently +found that they had chosen something of a thoroughfare. Voices came +along presently, grew louder, and stopped as the speakers climbed the +stile. The first pair was of a boy and girl, who instantly clasped again +mutual waists, and went off up the path across the field to the +churchyard without noticing the two tramps; their heads were very near +together. + +Then other couples came along, old and young, and twice a trio--one, two +young men in black, who skirmished on either side of a very sedate girl +in white; one, two girls who shoved one another, and giggled, walking in +step three yards behind another young man with his hat on one side, who +gloried in being talked at and pretended to be rapt in abstraction. Then +some children came; then a family--papa walking severely apart in a silk +hat, and mamma, stout and scarlet-faced, in the midst of the throng. +Finally there came along a very old Darby and Joan, who with many +Yorkshire ejaculations helped one another over the stile, and moved on +with bent heads, scolding one another affectionately. It was as this +last couple reached the spot where the path ran into the corn that the +peal of four bells broke out, and Gertie broke down. + +Frank had not been noticing her particularly. He was gloomy himself; the +novelty of the whole affair had gone; the Major was becoming +intolerable, and Frank's religion was beginning to ebb from his +emotions. Mass this morning had not been a success from an emotional +point of view; he had had an uncomfortable seat on a pitch-pine bench in +a tin church with an American organ; the very young priest had been +tiresome and antipathetic.... Frank had done his best, but he was tired +and bored; the little church had been very hot, and it was no longer any +fun to be stared at superciliously by a stout tradesman as he came out +into the hot sunshine afterwards. + +Just now he had been watching the figures make their appearance from the +stile, re-form groups and dwindle slowly down to the corn, and their +heads and shoulders bob along above it--all with a kind of resentment. +These people had found their life; he was still looking for his. He was +watching, too, the strangely unreal appearance of the sunlit fields, the +long shadows, the golden smoky light, and the church tower, set among +cypresses half a mile away--yet without any conscious sentiment. He had +not said a word to Gertie, nor she to him, and he was totally taken by +surprise when, after the first soft crash of bells for evening service, +she had suddenly thrown herself round face forward among the grasses and +burst out sobbing. + +"My dear girl!" said Frank, "whatever's the matter?" Then he stopped. + + * * * * * + +Fortunately, the procession of worshipers had run dry, and the two were +quite alone. He sat upright, utterly ignorant of what to say. He thought +perhaps she was in pain ... should he run for the Major or a doctor?... +Then, as after a minute or two of violent sobbing she began a few +incoherent words, he understood. + +"Oh! I'm a wicked girl ... a wicked girl ... it's all so beautiful ... +the church bells ... my mother!" + + * * * * * + +He understood, then, what had precipitated this crisis and broken down +the girl's reserve. It was, in fact, exactly that same appeal which +holds a gallery breathless and tearful in the last act of a Surrey-side +melodrama--the combination of Sunday quiet, a sunset, church bells, +associations and human relationships; and Gertie's little suburban soul +responded to it as a bell to a bell-rope. It was this kind of thing that +stood to her for holiness and peace and purity, and it had gone clean +through her heart. And he understood, too, that it was his presence +that had allowed her to break down. The Major's atmosphere had held her +taut so far. Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat as he +stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sunday fields and then down +at the shaking shoulders and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of +Gertie.... He did not know what to do ... he hoped the Major would not +be back just yet. Then he understood he must say something. + +"Don't cry," he said. "The Major--" + +She sat up on the instant in sudden consternation, her pretty, weak, +sunburned face disfigured with tears, but braced for the moment by fear. + +"No, no," said Frank; "he isn't coming yet; but--" + +Then she was down again, moaning and talking. "Oh!... Oh!... I'm a +wicked girl.... My mother!... and I never thought I should come to +this!" + +"Well, why don't you chuck it?" said Frank practically. + +"I can't!... I can't! I ... I love him!" + +That had not occurred to this young man as a conceivable possibility, +and he sat silenced. The church-bells pealed on; the sun sank a little +lower; Gertie sobbed more and more gently; and Frank's mind worked like +a mill, revolving developments. Finally, she grew quiet, lay still, and, +as the bells gave place to one of their number, sat up. She dabbed at +her eyes with a handful of wet grass, passed her sleeve across them once +or twice, and began to talk. + +"I ... I'm very silly, Frankie," she said, "but I can't help it. I'm +better now. Don't tell George." + +"Of course I shan't!" said Frank indignantly. + +"You're a gentleman too," said Gertie. (Frank winced a little, +interiorly, at the "too.") "I can see that you're polite to a lady. And +I don't know however I came to tell you. But there it is, and no harm's +done." + +"Why don't you leave him?" said Frank courageously. A little wave of +feeling went over her face. + +"He's a gentleman," she said.... "No, I can't leave him. But it does +come over you sometimes; doesn't it?" (Her face wavered again.) "It was +them bells, and the people and all." + +"Where's your home?" + +She jerked her head in a vague direction. + +"Down Londonwards," she said. "But that's all done with. I've made my +bed, and--" + +"Tell me plainly: does he bully you?" + +"Not to say bully," she said. "He struck me once, but never again." + +"Tell me if he does it again." + +A small, sly, admirative look came into her eyes. "We'll see," she said. + + * * * * * + +Frank was conscious of a considerable sense of disappointment. The thing +had been almost touching just now, as the reserve first broke up, but it +was a very poor little soul, it seemed to him, that had at last made its +appearance. (He did not yet see that that made it all the more +touching.) He did not quite see what to do next. He was Christian enough +to resent the whole affair; but he was aristocratic enough in his +fastidiousness to think at this moment that perhaps it did not matter +much for people of this sort. Perhaps it was the highest ideal that +persons resembling the Major and Gertie could conceive. But her next +remark helped to break up his complacency. + +"You're a Catholic," she said. "People say that you Catholics don't mind +this kind of thing--me and the Major, I mean." + +There was a dreadful sort of sly suggestiveness about this remark that +stung him. He exploded: and his wounded pride gave him bitterness. + +"My good girl," he said, "Catholics simply loathe it. And even, +personally, I think it's beastly." + +"Well--I ..." + +"I think it's beastly," said Frank didactically. "A good girl like you, +well-brought-up, good parents, nice home, religious--instead of which +"--he ended in a burst of ironical reminiscence--"you go traveling about +with a--" he checked himself--"a man who isn't your husband. Why don't +you marry him?" + +"I can't!" wailed Gertie, suddenly stricken again with remorse; "his +wife's alive." + +Frank jumped. Somehow that had never occurred to him. And yet how +amazingly characteristic of the Major! + +"Well--leave him, then!" + +"I can't!" cried poor Gertie. "I can't!... I can't!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +Frank awoke with a start and opened his eyes. + +But it was still dark and he could see nothing. So he turned over on the +other side and tried to go to sleep. + +The three of them had come to this little town last night after two or +three days' regular employment; they had sufficient money between them; +they had found a quite tolerable lodging; they had their programme, such +as it was, for the next day or so; and--by the standard to which he had +learned to adjust himself--there was no sort of palpable cause for the +horror that presently fell on him. I can only conjecture that the origin +lay within, not without, his personality. + +The trouble began with the consciousness that on the one side he was +really tired, and on the other that he could not sleep and, to clinch +it, the knowledge that a twenty-mile walk lay before him. He began to +tell himself that sleep was merely a question of will--of will +deliberately relaxing attention. He rearranged his position a little; +shifted his feet, fitted himself a little more closely into the +outlines of the bed, thrust one hand under the pillow and bade himself +let go. + +Then the procession of thoughts began as orderly as if by signal. + +He found himself presently, after enumerating all the minor physical +points of discomfort--the soreness of his feet, the knobbiness of the +bed, the stuffiness of the room in which the three were sleeping, the +sound of the Major's slow snoring--beginning to consider the wisdom of +the whole affair. This was a point that he had not consciously yet +considered, from the day on which he had left Cambridge. The impetus of +his first impulse and the extreme strength of his purpose had, up to the +present--helped along by novelty--kept him going. Of course, the moment +had to come sooner or later; but it seems a little hard that he was +obliged to face it in that peculiarly dreary clarity of mind that falls +upon the sleepless an hour or two before the dawn. + +For, as he looked at it all now, he saw it as an outsider would see it, +no longer from the point of view of his own personality. He perceived a +young man, of excellent abilities and prospects, sacrificing these +things for an idea that fell to pieces the instant it was touched. He +touched it now with a critical finger, and it did so fall to pieces; +there was, obviously, nothing in it at all. It was an impulse of silly +pride, of obstinacy, of the sort of romance that effects nothing. There +was Merefield waiting for him--for he knew perfectly well that terms +could be arranged; there was all that leisureliness and comfort and +distinction in which he had been brought up and which he knew well how +to use; there was Jenny; there was his dog, his horse ... there was, in +fact, everything for which Merefield stood. He saw it all now, +visualized and clear in the dark; and he had exchanged all +this--well--for this room, and the Major's company, and back-breaking +toil.... And for no reason. + +So he regarded all this for a good long while; with his eyes closed, +with the darkness round him, with every detail visible and insistent, +seen as in the cold light of morning before colors reassert themselves +and reconcile all into a reasonable whole.... + +"... I must really go to sleep!" said Frank to himself, and screwed up +his eyes tight. + +There came, of course, a reaction presently, and he turned to his +religion. He groped for his rosary under his pillow, placed before him +(according to the instructions given in the little books) the "Mystery +of the Annunciation to Mary," and began the "Our Father." ... Half-way +through it he began all over again to think about Cambridge, and +Merefield and Jack Kirkby, and the auction in his own rooms, and his +last dinner-party and the design on the menu-cards, and what a fool he +was; and when he became conscious of the rosary again he found that he +held in his fingers the last bead but three in the fifth decade. He had +repeated four and a half decades without even the faintest semblance of +attention. He finished them hopelessly, and then savagely thrust the +string of beads under his pillow again; turned over once more, +rearranged his feet, wished the Major would learn how to sleep like a +gentleman; and began to think about his religion in itself. + + * * * * * + +After all, he began to say to himself, what proof was there--real +scientific proof--that the thing was true at all? Certainly there was a +great deal of it that was, very convincing--there was the curious ring +of assertion and confidence in it, there was its whole character, +composed (like personality) of countless touches too small to be +definable; there was the definite evidence adduced from history and +philosophy and all the rest. But underneath all that--was there, after +all, any human evidence in the world sufficient to establish the +astounding dogmas that lay at the root? Was it conceivable that any such +evidence could be forthcoming? + +He proceeded to consider the series of ancient dilemmas which, I +suppose, have presented themselves at some time or another to every +reasonable being--Free-will and Predestination; Love and Pain; +Foreknowledge and Sin; and their companions. And it appeared to him, in +this cold, emotionless mood, when the personality shivers, naked, in the +presence of monstrous and unsympathetic forces, that his own religion, +as much as every other, was entirely powerless before them. + +He advanced yet further: he began to reflect upon the innumerable little +concrete devotions that he had recently learned--the repetition of +certain words, the performance of certain actions--the rosary for +instance; and he began to ask himself how it was credible that they +could possibly make any difference to eternal issues. + +These things had not yet surrounded themselves with the atmosphere of +experience and association, and they had lost the romance of novelty; +they lay before him detached, so to say, and unconvincing. + +I do not mean to say that during this hour he consciously disbelieved; +he honestly attempted to answer these questions; he threw himself back +upon authority and attempted to reassure himself by reflecting that +human brains a great deal more acute than his own found in the dilemmas +no final obstacles to faith; he placed himself under the shelter of the +Church and tried to say blindly that he believed what she believed. But, +in a sense, he was powerless: the blade of his adversary was quicker +than his own; his will was very nearly dormant; his heart was entirely +lethargic, and his intellect was clear up to a certain point and +extraordinarily swift.... + +Half an hour later he was in a pitiable state; and had begun even to +question Jenny's loyalty. He had turned to the thought of her as a last +resort for soothing and reassurance, and now, in the chilly dawn, even +she seemed unsubstantial. + +He began by remembering that Jenny would not live for ever; in fact, she +might die at any moment; or he might; and he ended by wondering, +firstly, whether human love was worth anything at all, and, secondly, +whether he possessed Jenny's. He understood now, with absolute +certitude, that there was nothing in him whatever which could possibly +be loved by anyone; the whole thing had been a mistake, not so much on +his part as on Jenny's. She had thought him to be something he was not. +She was probably regretting already the engagement; she would certainly +not fulfill it. And could she possibly care for anyone who had been such +an indescribable fool as to give up Merefield, and his prospects and his +past and his abilities, and set out on this absurd and childish +adventure? So once more he came round in a circle and his misery was +complete. + + * * * * * + +He sat up in bed with a sudden movement as the train of thought clicked +back into its own beginning, clasped his hands round his knees and +stared round the room. + +The window showed a faint oblong of gray now, beyond where the Major +breathed, and certain objects were dingily and coldly visible. He +perceived the broken-backed chair on which his clothes were heaped--with +the exception of his flannel shirt, which he still wore; he caught a +glimmer of white where Gertie's blouse hung up for an airing. + +He half expected that things would appear more hopeful if he sat up in +bed. Yet they did not. The sight of the room, such as it was, brought +the concrete and material even more forcibly upon him--the gross things +that are called Facts. And it seemed to him that there were no facts +beyond them. These were the bones of the Universe--a stuffy bedroom, a +rasping flannel suit, a cold dawn, a snoring in the gloom, and three +bodies, heavy with weariness.... There once had been other facts: +Merefield and Cambridge and Eton had once existed; Jenny had once been a +living person who loved him; once there had been a thing called +Religion. But they existed no longer. He had touched reality at last. + + * * * * * + +Frank drew a long, dismal sigh; he lay down; he knew the worst now; and +in five minutes he was asleep. + + +(II) + +Of course, the thing wore away by midday, and matters had readjusted +themselves. But the effect remained as a kind of bruise below the +surface. He was conscious that it had once been possible for him to +doubt the value of everything; he was aware that there was a certain +mood in which nothing seemed worth while. + +It was practically his first experience of the kind, and he did not +understand it. But it did its work; and I date from that day a certain +increased sort of obstinacy that showed itself even more plainly in his +character. One thing or the other must be the effect of such a mood in +which--even though only for an hour or two--all things other than +physical take on themselves an appearance of illusiveness: either the +standard is lowered and these things are treated as slightly doubtful; +or the will sets its teeth and determines to live by them, whether they +are doubtful or not. And the latter I take to be the most utter form of +faith. + + * * * * * + +About midday the twine round Frank's bundle broke abruptly, and every +several article fell on to the road. He repressed a violent feeling of +irritation, and turned round to pick them up. The Major and Gertie +instinctively made for a gate in the hedge, rested down their bundles +and leaned against it. + +Frank gathered the articles--a shirt, a pair of softer shoes, a razor +and brush, a tin of potted meat, a rosary, a small round cracked +looking-glass and a piece of lead piping--and packed them once more +carefully together on the bank. He tested his string, knotted it, drew +it tight, and it broke again. The tin of potted meat--like some small +intelligent animal--ran hastily off the path and dived into a small +drain. + +A short cry of mirth broke from the Major, and Gertie smiled. + +Frank said nothing at all. He lay down on the road, plunged his arm into +the drain and drew up the potted meat; it had some disagreeable-looking +moist substance adhering to it, which he wiped off on to his sleeve, and +then regretted having done so. Again he packed his things; again he drew +the string tight, and again it snapped. + +"Lord! man, don't be so hard on it." + +Frank looked up with a kind of patient fury. His instinct was to kick +every single object that lay before him on the path as hard as possible +in every direction. + +"Have you any more string?" he said. + +"No. Stick the things in your pocket and come on." + +Frank made no answer. He went to the hedge and drew out a long supple +twig of hazel, stripped it of its leaves, and once more tried, with it, +to tie up his parcel. But the angle was too acute, and just as the twig +tightened satisfactorily it snapped, and this time the razor slid out +sideways into a single minute puddle that lay on the path. + +The Major snorted in mirthful impatience. + +"But--" + +"Kindly let me alone," said Frank icily. "The thing's got to go like +this, or not at all." + +He drew out the razor from the puddle, opened it and dried the blade on +his sleeve. During the process Gertie moved suddenly, and he looked up. +When he looked down again be perceived that he had slit a neat slice +into the cloth of his jacket. + +He remained quite still for one moment. Then he sat down on the bank, +and examined the twine once more. + +The Major began to make slightly offensive comments. Then Frank looked +up. + +"You can go to hell!" he said quite softly, "or anywhere else you like. +But I'm going to do up the bundle in my way and not yours." + + * * * * * + +Now that is a sort of parable. It really happened, for it was reported +to a witness by Frank himself exactly as I have told it, and it seems to +me a very good little symbol of his state of mind. It is quite +indefensible, of course--and especially his regrettable language that +closed the interview; but it gives a pleasant little glimpse, I think, +of Frank's character just now, in section. The things had to go in a +certain way: he saw no adequate reason to change that way, and +ultimately, of course, the twine held. It must have been a great +satisfaction to him. + + +(III) + +It seems that Frank must have been allowed just now to sample several +different kinds of moods, for he had a very different kind of awakening +a day or two later. + +They had come to some piece of open country that I am unable to +identify, and for some reason or other determined to spend the night out +of doors. There was a copse a hundred yards away from the road, and in +the copse a couple of small shelters built, probably, for wood-pigeon +shooting. The Major and Gertie took possession of one, and Frank of the +other, after they had supped in the dark under the beeches. + + * * * * * + +Frank slept deeply and well, half waking once, however, at that strange +moment of the night when the earth turns and sighs in her sleep, when +every cow gets up and lies down again. He was conscious of a shrill +crowing, thin as a bugle, from some farm-yard out of sight; then he +turned over and slept again. + +When he awoke it was daylight. He lay on his back looking at the network +of twigs overhead, the beech leaves beyond, and the sky visible only in +glimpses--feeling extremely awake and extremely content. Certainly he +was a little stiff when he moved, but there was a kind of interior +contentment that caused that not to matter. + +After a minute or two he sat up, felt about for his shoes and slipped +them on. Then he unwound the wrapping about his neck, and crept out of +the shelter. + +It was that strange pause before the dawn when the light has broadened +so far as to extinguish the stars, and to bring out all the colors of +earth into a cold deliberate kind of tint. Everything was absolutely +motionless about him as he went under the trees and came out above the +wide park-land of which the copse was a sort of barrier. The dew lay +soaking and thick on the grass slopes, but there was not yet such light +as to bring out its sparkle; and everywhere, dotted on the green before +him, sat hundreds of rabbits, the nearest not twenty yards away. + +The silence and the solemnity of the whole seemed to him extraordinary. +There was not a leaf that stirred--each hung as if cut of steel; there +was not a bird which chirped nor a distant cock that crew; the rabbits +eyed him unafraid in this hour of truce. + +It seemed to him like some vast stage on to which he had wandered +unexpectedly. The performance of the day before had been played to an +end, the night scene-shifting was finished, and the players of the new +eternal drama were not yet come. An hour hence they would be all about: +the sounds would begin again; men would cross the field-paths, birds +would be busy; the wind would awake and the ceaseless whisper of leaves +answer its talking. But at present the stage was clear-swept, washed, +clean and silent. + +It was the solemnity then that impressed him most--solemnity and an air +of expectation. Yet it was not mere expectation. There was a suggestion +of the fundamental and the normal, as if perhaps movement and sound +were, after all, no better than interruptions; as if this fixed poise of +nature were something complete in itself; as if these trees hung out +their leaves to listen to something that they could actually hear, as if +these motionless creatures of the woodland were looking upon something +that they could actually see; as if there were some great secret +actually present and displayed in dead silence and invisibility before +those only who possessed the senses necessary to perceive it. + + * * * * * + +It was odd to regard life from this standpoint--to look back upon the +days and their incidents that were past, forward upon the days and +incidents to come. Again it was possible for Frank to look upon these +things as an outsider and a deliberate critic--as he had done in the +stuffy room of the lodging-house in the town. Yet now, though he was +again an outsider, though he was again out of the whirl of actual +living, he seemed to be looking at things--staring out, as he was, +almost unseeingly at the grass slopes before him--from exactly the +opposite side. Then, they had seemed to him the only realities, these +tangible physical things, and all else illusion: now it was the physical +things that were illusive, and something else that was real. Once again +the two elements of life lay detached--matter and spirit; but it was as +obviously now spirit that was the reality as it had been matter a day or +two before. It was obviously absurd to regard these outward things on +which he looked as anything but a frame of something completely +different. They were too silent, too still, too little self-sufficient +to be complete in themselves. Something solid lay embraced within +them.... + +So, then, he stared and ruminated, scarcely perceiving that he thought, +so intensely conscious was he of that of which he thought. It was not +that he understood anything of that on which he looked; he was but aware +that there was something to be understood. And the trees hung rigid +above him, and the clear blue sky still a hard stone beyond them, not +yet flushed with dawn; and the grass lay before him, contracted, it +seemed, with cold, and every blade soaked in wet; and the silence was +profound.... + +Then a cock crew, a mile away, a thin, brazen cry; a rabbit sat up, then +crouched and bolted, and the spell faded like a mist. + +Frank turned and walked back under the trees, to see if the Major was +awake. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +We are arrived now at one of those few deplorable incidents in Frank's +career, against which there is no defense. And the painful thing about +it is that Frank never seemed to think that it required any defense. He +shows no penitence for it in his diary: and yet moralists are united in +telling us that we must never do evil that good may come. It is only, +paralleled by his rash action in leaving Cambridge in defiance of all +advice and good sense; so far, that is to say, as a legally permissible +act, however foolish, can be paralleled by one of actual crime. +Moralists, probably, would tell us, in fact, that the first led +inevitably to the second. + +It fell out in this way. + +Once or twice in his travels with the Major he had been haunted by an +uncomfortable suspicion that this or that contribution that the warrior +made to their common table had not been come by honestly. When a +gentleman, known to possess no more than tenpence, and with a +predilection to drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse; let us say, +at seven o'clock, and reappears, rather breathless, forty minutes later +with a newly-plucked fowl--or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and +still warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, issues out +again later in the evening and returns with a strong smell of spirits +and a watery eye--it seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been +scrupulously honest. In cases of this kind Frank persevered in making +some excuse for not joining in the festivity: he put it to himself as +being a matter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was simply +that in a young man who made no scruple of begging in cases of +necessity. However, there it was, and even the Major, who began by +protesting, ended by acquiescing. + + * * * * * + +They were somewhere in the neighborhood of Market Weighton when the +thing happened--I cannot identify the exact spot. The situation was as +follows: + +They had secured an excellent barn for their night's lodging--facing on +the road on the outskirts of a village. Behind them were, the farm +buildings, and the farmer's household gone to bed. The sun had set and +it was dark. They had supped sparingly, of necessity, and had finished +every morsel of food. (Frank had even found himself mechanically +gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) They had had a bad week of it; +the corn was not yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work +anywhere for honest men. The Major's gloom had become terrible; he had +even made remarks upon a choice between a workhouse and a razor. He had +got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets inside out to +secure the last possible grains of tobacco, and had smoked about a +quarter of a pipeful gathered in this way without uttering one word. He +had then uttered a short string of them, had seized his cap and +disappeared. + +Frank, too, was even more heavy and depressed than usual. The last +shreds of romance were gone from his adventure long ago, and yet his +obstinacy held firm. But he found he could not talk much. He watched +Gertie listlessly as she, listless too, began to spread out nondescript +garments to make a bed in the corner. He hardly spoke to her, nor she to +him. + +He was beginning to feel sleepy, when he heard rather hurried steps, as +of one trying to run on tiptoe, coming up the lane, and an instant later +in popped the Major. + +"Put out that damned light!" he whispered sharply. + +The candle end went out with the swiftness of thought. + +"What's up?" Frank roused himself to ask. There had been a strenuous +look about the face seen an instant before that interested him. + +There was dead silence. Gertie seemed frozen into motionlessness in her +corner, almost as if she had had experience of this kind of thing +before. Frank listened with all his ears; it was useless to stare into +the dark: here in this barn the blackness was complete. + +At first there was no sound at all, except a very soft occasional scrape +of a boot-nail that betokened that the Major was seeking cover +somewhere. Then, so suddenly that he started all over, Frank felt a hand +on his arm and smelt a tobacco-laden breath. (Alas! there had been no +drink to-night.) + +"See here, Frankie, my boy.... I ... I've got the thing on me.... What +shall I do with it?... It's no good chucking it away: they'd find it." + +"Got what?" whispered Frank. + +"There was a kid coming along ... she had a tin of something ... I don't +even know what it is.... And ... and she screamed out and someone ran +out. But they couldn't spot me; it was too dark." + +"Hush!" whispered Frank sharply, and the hand tightened on his arm. But +it was only a rat somewhere in the roof. + +"Well?" he said. + +"Frankie ... I suppose you wouldn't take it from me ... and ... and be +off somewhere. We could meet again later.... I ... I'm afraid someone +may have spotted us coming through the village earlier. They'll ... +they'll search, I expect." + +"You can do your own dirty work," whispered Frank earnestly through the +darkness. + +"Frankie, my boy ... don't be hard on a poor devil.... I ... I can't +leave Gertie." + +"Well, hide it somewhere." + +"No good--they'd ... Good God--!" + +The voice was stricken into silence once more, as a light, hardly seen +before it was gone again, shone through a crack in the side of the barn. +Then there was unmistakable low talking somewhere. + +Frank felt the man, crouched at his side, suddenly stand up noiselessly, +and in that instant his own mind was made up. + +"Give it here, you fool," he said. "Here!" + +He felt a smooth flat and circular thing thrust suddenly into his hands +with a whisper that he could not catch, and simultaneously he heard a +rush of footsteps outside. He had just time to stuff the thing inside +his coat and roll over as if asleep when the door flew open, and three +or four men, with a policeman at their head, burst into the barn. + + +(II) + +It would be charitable, I think, to suppress the name of the small +market-town where the trial was held. The excellent magistrates who +conducted it certainly did their best under very difficult +circumstances; for what are you to do if a man accused of theft +cordially pleads guilty? and yet, certainly it would distress them to +hear of a very obvious miscarriage of justice executed at their hands. + +On Friday morning at ten o'clock the vehicles began to arrive--the motor +of the country gentleman, the dog-cart of the neighboring rector, and +the brougham of the retired general. It was the General who presided. + +The court-room was not more dismal than court-rooms usually are. When I +visited it on my little pilgrimage, undertaken a few months ago, it had +been repainted and the woodwork grained to represent oak. Even so, it +was not cheering. + +At the upper end, under one of the windows, were ranged five seats on a +daďs, with a long baize-covered table before them. Then, on a lower +level, stood the clerk's and solicitors' table, fenced by a rail from +the vulgar crowd who pressed in, hot and excited, to see the criminals +and hear justice done. There was a case arising from an ancient family +feud, exploded at last into crime; one lady had thrown a clog at another +as the last repartee in a little dialogue held at street doors; the clog +had been well aimed, and the victim appeared now with a very large white +bandage under her bonnet, to give her testimony. This swelled the crowd +beyond its usual proportions, as both ladies were well known in society. + +The General was a kindly-looking old man (Frank recognized his name as +soon as he heard it that morning, though he had never met him before) +and conversed cheerily with his brother magistrates as they took their +seats. The Rector was--well, like other rectors, and the Squire like +other squires. + + * * * * * + +It was a quarter to twelve before the ladies' claims were adjusted. They +were both admonished in a paternal kind of way, and sent about their +business, since there was disputed evidence as to whether or not the +lady with the bandage had provoked the attack, not only by her language, +but by throwing a banana-skin at the lady without the bandage. They were +well talked to, their husbands were bidden to keep them in order, and +they departed, both a little crestfallen, to discuss the whole matter +over a pint of beer. + +There was a little shifting about in court; a policeman, looking +curiously human without his helmet, pushed forward from the door and +took his place by the little barrier. The magistrates and the clerk and +the inspector all conferred a little together, and after an order or +two, the door near the back of the court leading from the police-cells +opened, and Frank stepped forward into the dock, followed by another +policeman who clicked the barrier behind the prisoner and stood, +waiting, like Rhadamanthus. Through the hedge of the front row of the +crowd peered the faces of Gertie and the Major. + +We need not bother with the preliminaries--in fact, I forget how they +ran--Frank gave his name of Frank Gregory, his age as twenty-two years, +his occupation as casual laborer, and his domicile as no fixed abode. + +The charge was read to him. It was to the effect that he, on the night +of Tuesday, the twenty-third instant, had in the village (whose name I +choose to forget, if I ever knew it), seized from Maggie Cooper, aged +nine years, a tin of preserved salmon, with intent to steal. The +question put to the prisoner was: Did he or did he not plead guilty? + +"I plead guilty, sir," said Frank, without a tremor. + +He had been two full days in the cells by now, and it had not improved +his appearance. He was still deeply sunburned, but he was a little pale +under the eyes, and he was unshaven. He had also deliberately rumpled +his hair and pulled his clothes to make them look as untidy as possible. +He answered in a low voice, so as to attract as little attention as +possible. He had given one quick look at the magistrates as he came in, +to make sure he had never met them out shooting or at dinner-parties, +and he had been deeply relieved to find them total strangers. + +"You plead guilty, eh?" said the General. + +Frank nodded. + +"Well, well! let's hear the whole story. Where is the complainant?" + +A rather pale and awe-stricken child appeared somewhere in a little box +opposite Frank, with a virtuous mother in black silk behind her. It +appeared that this child was on her way to her aunt--her father was a +grocer--with a tin of salmon that had been promised and forgotten (that +was how she came to be out so late). As she reached the corner by +Barker's Lane a man had jumped at her and seized the tin. (No; he had +not used any other violence.) She had screamed at the top of her voice, +and Mrs. Jennings' door had opened. Then the man had run away. + +"Had she seen the man clearly?" No, she hadn't seen him at all; she had +just seen that he was a man. ("Called himself one," put in a voice.) The +witness here cast an indignant--almost vindictive--look at Frank. + +Then a few corroborations were issued. Mrs. Jennings, a widow lady, +keeping house for her brother who was a foreman in Marks' yard, ratified +the statement about the door being opened. She was going to shut up for +the night when she heard the child scream. Her brother, a severe-looking +man, with a black beard, finished her story. He had heard his sister +call out, as he was taking off his boots at the foot of the stairs; he +had run out with his laces dangling, in time to see the man run past the +public-house fifty yards up the street. No ... he, too, had not seen the +man clearly, but he had seen him before, in company with another; the +two had come to his yard that afternoon to ask for work and been +refused, as they wanted no more hands. + +"Well, what had happened then?" + +He had hammered at two or three doors as he ran past, among them that of +the police-constable, and himself had run on, in time to hear the +prisoner's footsteps run up the lane leading to the barn. He had stopped +then as he was out of breath, and as he thought they would have the man +now, since there was no exit from the lane except through Mr. Patten's +farm-yard, and if he'd gone that way they'd have heard the dogs. + +Finally the police-constable corroborated the entire story, and added +that he, in company with the foreman and two other men, had "proceeded" +to the barn immediately, and there had found the prisoner, who was +pretending to be asleep, with the tin of salmon (produced and laid on +the table) hidden inside his jacket. He had then taken him into custody. + +"Was there any one else in the barn?" + +Yes--two persons, who gave the names of George and Gertie Trustcott. +These were prepared to give evidence as to the prisoner's identity, and +as to his leaving and returning to the barn on the evening in question, +if the magistrate wished.... Yes; they were present in court. + + * * * * * + +The General began to turn a little testy as the constable finished. He +seemed a magistrate who liked to be paternal, and he appeared to grow +impatient under the extraordinarily correct language of the policeman. + +He turned to Frank--seeming to forget all about the two witnesses not +yet called--and spoke rather sharply: + +"You don't deny all that? You plead guilty, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," said Frank, gazing at the very pink salmon emblazoned on +the tin. + +"Why did you do it?" + +"I was hungry, sir." + +"Hungry, eh? An able-bodied lad like you? Can't you work, then?" + +"When I can get it, sir," said Frank + +"Eh?... eh? Well, that's true enough. You couldn't get it that day, +anyhow. Mr. What's-his-name's told us that." + +"Yes, sir." + +Then the Rector leaned forward swiftly--to Frank's horror. + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"Do I, sir? I'm very pleased to hear it." + +There was a faint snigger in court. + +"Where were you educated?" persisted the Rector. + +"Am I bound to incriminate myself, sir?" + +"Incriminate?" said the General suddenly interested. "Eh? you mean, +after a good education. I see. No, of course you're not, my lad." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"And you plead guilty? And you'd like the case dealt with now?" + +"If you please, sir." + +The clerk rose swiftly in his place and began to whisper to the +magistrates behind his hand. Frank understood perfectly what was +happening; he understood that it was doubtful whether or no his case +could be dealt with in this court. He exploded within himself a violent +adjuration to the Supreme Authorities, and the next instant the General +sat back. + +"Nonsense! nonsense! It isn't highway robbery at all within the meaning +of the term. We'll deal with it now--eh, gentlemen?" + +There was a little more whispering, and finally the General settled +himself and took up a quill pen. + +"Well, we'll deal with it now, my lad, as you wish. I'm sorry to see a +fellow like you in this position--particularly if you've had a good +education, as you seem to have had. Cowardly thing, you know, to attack +a child like that, isn't it? even if you were hungry. You ought to be +more hardy than that, you know--a great fellow like you--than to mind a +bit of hunger. Boys like you ought to enlist; that'd make a man of you +in no time. But no.... I know you; you won't.... You'd sooner loaf about +and pick up what you can--sooner than serve His Majesty. Well, well, +there's no compulsion--not yet; but you should think over it. Come and +see me, if you like, when you've done your time, and we'll see what can +be done. That'd be better than loafing about and picking up tins of +salmon, eh?" + +"Well, I've no more to say. But you just think over it. And we'll give +you fourteen days." + + * * * * * + +Then as Frank went out he saw the three magistrates lean back in +conversation. + + +(III) + +I find it very hard to explain, even to myself, the extraordinary +depression that fell upon Frank during his fourteen days. He could +hardly bear even to speak of it afterwards, and I find in his diary no +more than a line or two, and those as bald as possible. Apparently it +was no kind of satisfaction to him to know that the whole thing was +entirely his own doing, or that it was the thought of Gertie that had +made him, in the first instance, take the tin from the Major. Yet it was +not that there was any sense of guilt, or even of mistake. One would +have thought that from everybody's point of view, and particularly +Gertie's, it would be an excellent thing for the Major to go to prison +for a bit. It would certainly do him no harm, and it would be a real +opportunity to separate the girl from his company. As for any wrong in +his pleading guilty, he defended it (I must say, with some adroitness) +by saying that it was universally acknowledged that the plea of "Not +Guilty" is merely formal, and in no way commits one to its intrinsic +truth (and he is right there, at least according to Moral Theology as +well as common sense) and, therefore, that the alternative plea is also +merely formal. + +And yet he was depressed by his fourteen days to the verge of +melancholia. + +There are several contributory causes that may be alleged. + +First, there is the extreme ignominy of all the circumstances, beginning +with the paternal scolding in court, in the presence of grocers and +persons who threw clogs, continuing with the dreary journey by rail, in +handcuffs, and the little crowds that gathered to laugh or stare, and +culminating with the details of the prison life. It is not pleasant for +a cleanly man to be suspected of dirt, to be bathed and examined all +over by a man suffering himself apparently from some species of eczema; +it is not pleasant to be ordered about peremptorily by uniformed men, +who, three months before, would have touched their hats to you, and to +have to do things instantly and promptly for the single reason that one +is told to do them. + +Secondly, there was the abrupt change of life--of diet, air and +exercise.... + +Thirdly, there was the consideration, the more terrible because the more +completely unverifiable, as to what difference all this would make, not +only to the regard of his friends for him, but to his own regard for +himself. Innocence of a fault does not entirely do away with the +distress and stigma of its punishment. He imagined himself telling +Jenny; he tried to see her laughing, and somehow he could not. It was +wholly uncharacteristic of all that he knew of her, and yet somehow, +night after night, as the hours dragged by, he seemed to see her looking +at him a little contemptuously. + +"At any rate," he almost heard her say, "if you didn't do it, you made a +friend of a man who did. And you were in prison." + +Oh! there are countless excellent explanations of his really terrible +depression; and yet somehow it does not seem to me at all in line with +what I know of Frank, to think that they explain it in the least. I +prefer to believe, with a certain priest who will appear by and by, that +the thing was just one stage of a process that had to be accomplished, +and that if it had not come about in this way, it must have come about +in another. As for his religion, all emotional grasp of that fled, it +seemed finally, at the touch of real ignominy. He retained the +intellectual reasons for which he had become a Catholic, but the thing +seemed as apart from him as his knowledge of law--such as it +was--acquired at Cambridge, or his proficiency in lawn-tennis. Certainly +it was no kind of consolation to him to reflect on the sufferings of +Christian martyrs! + +It was a Friday evening when he came out and went quickly round the +corner of the jail, in order to get away from any possibility of being +identified with it. + +He had had a short interview with the Governor--a very conscientious and +religious man, who made a point of delivering what he called "a few +earnest words" to every prisoner before his release. But, naturally +enough, they were extraordinarily off the point. It was not helpful to +Frank to have it urged upon him to set about an honest livelihood--it +was what he had tried to do every day since June--and not to go about +robbing innocent children of things like tins of salmon--it was the very +last thing he had ever dreamed of doing. + + * * * * * + +He had also had more than one interview with the chaplain of the +Established Church, in consequence of his resolute refusal to +acknowledge any religious body at all (he had determined to scotch this +possible clue to his identification); and those interviews had not been +more helpful than any other. It is not of much use to be entreated to +turn over a new leaf when you see no kind of reason for doing so; and +little books left tactfully in your cell, directed to the same point, +are equally useless. Frank read them drearily through. He did not +actually kick them from side to side of his cell when he had finished; +that would have been offensive to the excellent intentions of the +reverend gentleman.... + +Altogether I do not quite like to picture Frank as he was when he came +out of jail, and hurried away. It is such a very startling contrast with +the gayety with which he had begun his pilgrimage. + + * * * * * + +He had had plenty of time to think over his plans during the last +fortnight, and he went, first, straight to the post-office. The Governor +had given him half-a-crown to start life with, and he proposed to +squander fourpence of it at once in two stamps, two sheets of paper and +two envelopes. + +His first letter was to be to Jack; the second to Major Trustcott, who +had thoughtfully given him the address where he might be found about +that date. + +But there were to be one or two additional difficulties first. + +He arrived at the post-office, went up the steps and through the swing +doors. The place had been newly decorated, with a mahogany counter and +light brass lattice rails, behind which two young ladies of an +inexpressibly aristocratic demeanor and appearance were engaged in +conversation: their names, as he learned from a few sentences he +listened to before daring to interrupt so high a colloquy, were Miss +Mills and Miss Jamieson. + +After a decent and respectful pause Frank ventured on his request. + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please ... miss." +(He did manage that!) + +Miss Mills continued her conversation: + +"So I said to her that that would never do, that Harold would be sure to +get hold of it, and that then--" + +Frank shuffled his feet a little. Miss Mills cast him a high glance. + +"--There'd be trouble, I said, Miss Jamieson." + +"You did quite right, dear." + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss." He +clicked four pence together on the counter. Miss Mills rose slowly from +her place, went a yard or two, and took down a large book. Frank watched +her gratefully. Then she took a pen and began to make entries in it. + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please." + +Frank's voice shook a little with anger. He had not learned his lesson +yet. + +Miss Mills finished her entry; looked at Frank with extreme disdain, +and finally drew out a sheet of stamps. + +"Pennies?" she inquired sharply. + +"Please." + +Two penny stamps were pushed across and two pennies taken up. + +"And now two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss," went on +Frank, encouraged. He thought himself foolish to be angry. Miss Jamieson +uttered a short laugh and glanced at Miss Mills. Miss Mills pursed her +lips together and took up her pen once more. + +"Will you be good enough to give me what I ask for, at once, please?" + +The whole of Frank blazed in this small sentence: but Miss Mills was +equal to it. + +"You ought to know better," she said, "than to come asking for such +things here! Taking up a lot of time like that." + +"You don't keep them?" + +Miss Mills uttered a small sound. Miss Jamieson tittered. + +"Shops are the proper places for writing-paper. This is a post-office." + +Words cannot picture the superb high breeding shown in this utterance. +Frank should have understood that he had been guilty of gross +impertinence in asking such things of Miss Mills; it was treating her +almost as a shop-girl. But he was extremely angry by now. + +"Then why couldn't you have the civility to tell me so at once?" + +Miss Jamieson laid aside a little sewing she was engaged on. + +"Look here, young man, you don't come bullying and threatening here. +I'll have to call the policeman if you do.... I was at the railway +station last Friday week, you know." + +Frank stood still for one furious instant. Then his heart sank and he +went out without a word. + + * * * * * + +The letters got written at last, late that evening, in the back room of +a small lodging-house where he had secured a bed. I have the one he +wrote to Jack before me as I write, and I copy it as it stands. It was +without address or date. + + "DEAR JACK, + + "I want you to do, something for me. I want you to go to + Merefield and see, first, Jenny, and then my father; and tell + them quite plainly and simply that I've been in prison for a + fortnight. I want Jenny to know first, so that she can think of + what to say to my father. The thing I was sent to prison for + was that I pleaded guilty to stealing a tin of salmon from a + child called Mary Cooper. You can see the account of the case + in the County Gazette for last Saturday week, the + twenty-seventh. The thing I really did was to take the tin from + somebody else I was traveling with. He asked me to. + + "Next, I want you to send on any letters that may have come for + me to the address I enclose on a separate piece of paper. + Please destroy the address at once; but you can show this + letter to Jenny and give her my love. You are not to come and + see me. If you don't, I'll come and see you soon. + + "Things are pretty bad just now, but I'm going to go through + with it. + + "Yours, + + "F. + + "P.S.--By the way, please address me as Mr. F. Gregory when you + write." + + * * * * * + +He was perfectly obstinate, you understand, still. + + * * * * * + +Frank's troubles as regards prison were by no means exhausted by his +distressing conversation with the young ladies in the post office, and +the next one fell on him as he was leaving the little town early on the +Saturday morning. + +He had just turned out of the main street and was going up a quiet side +lane that looked as if it would lead to the York Road, when he noticed +a disagreeable little scene proceeding up a narrow _cul-de-sac_ across +whose mouth he was passing. + +A tall, loose-limbed young man, in his working-clothes, obviously +slightly excited with drink, had hold of a miserable old man by the +scruff of the neck with one hand, and was cuffing him with the other. + +Now I do not wish to represent Frank as a sort of knight-errant, but the +fact is that if anyone with respectable and humane ideas goes on the +tramp (I have this from the mouth of experienced persons) he has to make +up his mind fairly soon either to be a redresser of wrongs or to be +conveniently short-sighted. Frank was not yet sufficiently experienced +to have learned the wisdom of the second alternative. + +He went straight up the _cul-de-sac_ and without any words at all hit +the young man as hard as possible under the ear nearest to him. + +There seems to have been a moment of amazed silence; the young man +dropped the old one, who fled out into the lane, and struck back at +Frank, who parried. Simultaneously a woman screamed somewhere; and faces +began to appear at windows and doors. + +It is curious how the customs of the Middle Ages, as well as some of +their oaths, seem to have descended to the ranks of the British +working-man. In the old days--as also in prize-fights to-day--it was +quite usual to assail your adversary with insults as well as with blows. +This was done now. The young man, with a torrent of imprecations, +demanded who Frank thought he was, asked where he was coming to, +required of society in general an explanation of a stranger's +interfering between a son and a qualified father. There was a murmur of +applause and dissent, and Frank answered, with a few harmless expletives +such as he had now learned to employ as a sort of verbal disguise, that +he did not care how many sons or fathers were in question, that he did +not propose to see a certain kind of bully abuse an old man, and that he +would be happy to take the old man's place.... + +Then the battle was set. + +Frank had learned to box in a certain small saloon in Market Street, +Cambridge, and knew perfectly well how to take care of himself. He +received about half the force of one extremely hard blow just on his +left cheek-bone before he got warmed to his work; but after that he did +the giving and the loose-limbed young man the receiving, Frank was even +scientific; he boxed in the American manner, crouching, with both arms +half extended (and this seems to have entirely bewildered his adversary) +and he made no effort to reach the face. He just thumped away steadily +below the spot where the ribs part, and where--a doctor informs me--a +nerve-center, known as the _solar plexus_, is situated. He revolved, +too, with considerable agility, round his opponent, and gradually drew +the battle nearer and nearer to the side lane outside. He knew enough of +slum-chivalry by now to be aware that if a sympathizer, or sycophant, of +the young man happened to be present, he himself would quite possibly +(if the friend happened to possess sufficient courage) suddenly collapse +from a disabling blow on the back of the neck. Also, he was not sure +whether there was any wife in the question; and in this case it would be +a poker, or a broken bottle, held dagger-wise, that he would have to +meet. And he wished therefore to have more room round him than the +_cul-de-sac_ afforded. + +But there was no need for precaution. + +The young man had begun to look rather sickly under the eyes and to +hiccup three or four times in distressed manner; when suddenly the +clamor round the fight ceased. Frank was aware of a shrill old voice +calling out something behind him; and the next instant, simultaneously +with the dropping of his adversary's hands, he himself was seized from +behind by the arms, and, writhing, discerned is blue sleeve and a gloved +hand holding him. + +"Now, what's all this?" said a voice in his ear. + +There was a chorus of explanation, declaring that "'Alb" had been set +upon without provocation. There was a particularly voluble woman with +red arms and an exceedingly persuasive manner, who advanced from a +doorway and described the incident from her own point of view. She had +been hanging out the children's things, she began, and so forth; and +Frank was declared the aggressor and "'Alb" the innocent victim. + +Then the chorus broke out again, and "'Alb," after another fit of +hiccupping, corroborated the witnesses in a broken and pathetically +indignant voice. + +Frank tore himself from one embracing arm and faced round, still held by +the other. + +"All right; I shan't run away.... Look here; that's a black lie. He was +hitting that old man. Where is he? Come on, uncle, and tell us all about +it." + +The old man advanced, his toothless face contorted with inexplicable +emotion, and corroborated the red-armed woman, and the chorus generally, +with astonishing volubility and emphasis. + +"You old fool!" said Frank curtly. "What are you afraid of? Let's have +the truth, now. Wasn't he hitting you?" + +"He, he, he!" giggled the old man, torn by the desire of +self-preservation on one side and, let us hope, by a wish for justice on +the other. "He warn't hittin' of me. He's my son, he is.... 'Alb is.... +We were just having--" + +"There! get out of this," said the policeman, releasing Frank with a +shove. "We don't want your sort here. Coming and making trouble.... Yes; +my lad. You needn't look at me like that. I know you." + +"Who the deuce are you talking to?" snapped Frank. + +"I know who I'm talking to, well enough," pronounced the policeman +judicially. "F. Gregory, ain't it? Now you be off out of this, or you'll +be in trouble again." + +There was something vaguely kindly about the man's manner, and Frank +understood that he knew very tolerably where the truth lay, but wished +to prevent further disturbance. He gulped down his fury. It was no good +saying anything; but the dense of the injustice of the universe was very +bitter. He turned away-- + +A murmur of indignation broke out from the crowd, bidding the policeman +do his duty. + +And as Frank went up the lane, he heard that zealous officer addressing +the court with considerable vigor. But it was very little comfort to +him. He walked out of the town with his anger and resentment still hot +in his heart at the indignity of the whole affair. + + +(V) + +By the Sunday afternoon Frank was well on his way to York. + +It was a heavy, hot day, sunny, but with brooding clouds on the low +horizons; and he was dispirited and tired as he came at last into a +small, prim village street rather after two o'clock (its name, once +more, I suppress). + +His possessions by now were greatly reduced. His money had gone, little +by little, all through his journey with the Major, and he had kept of +other things only one extra flannel shirt, a pair of thick socks and a +small saucepan he had bought one day. The half-crown that the Governor +had given him was gone, all but fourpence, and he wanted, if possible, +to arrive at York, where he was to meet the Major, at least with that +sum in his possession. Twopence would pay for a bed and twopence more +for supper. + +Half-way up the street he stopped suddenly. Opposite him stood a small +brick church, retired by a few yards of turf, crossed by a path, from +the iron railings that abutted on the pavement: and a notice-board +proclaimed that in this, church of the Sacred Heart mass was said on +Sundays at eleven, on holidays of obligation at nine, and on weekdays at +eight-thirty A.M. Confessions were heard on Saturday evenings +and on Thursday evenings before the first Friday, from eight +to nine P.M. Catechism was at three P.M. on Sundays; and +rosary, sermon and benediction at seven P.M. A fat cat, looking +as if it were dead, lay relaxed on the grass beneath this board. + +The door was open and Frank considered an instant. But he thought that +could wait for a few minutes as he glanced at the next house. This was +obviously the presbytery. + +Frank had never begged from a priest before, and he hesitated a little +now. Then he went across the street into the shadow on the other side, +leaned against the wall and looked. The street was perfectly empty and +perfectly quiet, and the hot summer air and sunshine lay on all like a +charm. There was another cat, he noticed, on a doorstep a few yards +away, and he wondered how any living creature in this heat could +possibly lie like that, face coiled round to the feet, and the tail laid +neatly across the nose. A dreaming cock crooned heart-brokenly somewhere +out of sight, and a little hot breeze scooped up a feather of dust in +the middle of the road and dropped again. + +Even the presbytery looked inviting on a day like this. He had walked a +good twenty-five miles to-day, and the suggestion of a dark, cool room +was delicious. It was a little pinched-looking house, of brick, like the +church, squeezed between the church and a large grocery with a +flamboyant inscription over its closed shutters. All the windows were +open, hung inside with cheap lace curtains, and protected with +dust-screens. He pictured the cold food probably laid out within, and +his imagination struck into being a tall glass jug of something like +claret-cup, still half-full. Frank had not dined to-day. + +Then he limped boldly across the street, rapped with the cast-iron +knocker, and waited. + +Nothing at all happened. + + * * * * * + +Presently the cat from the notice-board appeared round the corner, eyed +Frank suspiciously, decided that he was not dangerous, came on, walking +delicately, stepped up on to the further end of the brick stair, and +began to arch itself about and rub its back against the warm angle of +the doorpost. Frank rapped again, interrupting the cat for an instant, +and then stooped down to scratch it under the ear. The cat crooned +delightedly. Steps sounded inside the house; the cat stopped writhing, +and as the door opened, darted in noiselessly with tail erect past the +woman who held the door uninvitingly half open. + +She had a thin, lined face and quick black eyes. + +"What do you want?" she asked sharply, looking up and down Frank's +figure with suspicion. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the bruise on his +cheek-bone. + +"I want to see the priest, please," said Frank. + +"You can't see him." + +"I am very sorry," said Frank, "but I must see him." + +"Coming here begging!" exclaimed the woman bitterly. "I'd be ashamed! Be +off with you!" + +Frank's dignity asserted itself a little. + +"Don't speak to me in that tone, please. I am a Catholic, and I wish to +see the priest." + +The woman snorted; but before she could speak there came the sound of an +opening door and a quick step on the linoleum of the little dark +passage. + +"What's all this?" said a voice, as the woman stepped back. + +He was a big, florid young man, with yellow hair, flushed as if with +sleep; his eyes were bright and tired-looking, and his collar was +plainly unbuttoned at the back. Also, his cassock was unfastened at the +throat and he bore a large red handkerchief in his hand. Obviously this +had just been over his face. + +Now, I do not blame this priest in the slightest. He had sung a late +mass--which never agreed with him--and in his extreme hunger he had +eaten two platefuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and drunk a +glass and a half of solid beer. And he had just fallen into a deep sleep +before giving Catechism, when the footsteps and voices had awakened him. +Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this road paid him a +call, and he had not yet met with one genuine case of want. When he had +first come here he had helped beggars freely and generously, and he +lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, out of which he paid his +housekeeper fifteen. + +"What do you want?" he said. + +"May I speak to you, father?" said Frank. + +"Certainly. Say what you've got to say." + +"Will you help me with sixpence, father?" + +The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely. + +"Are you a Catholic?" + +"Yes, father." + +"I didn't see you at mass this morning." + +"I wasn't here this morning. I was walking on the roads." + +"Where did you hear mass?" + +"I didn't hear it at all, father. I was on the roads." + +"What's your work?" + +"I haven't any." + +"Why's that?" + +Frank shrugged his shoulders a little. + +"I do it when I can get it," he said. + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"I am pretty well educated." + +The priest laughed shortly. + +"What's that bruise on your cheek?" + +"I was in a street fight, yesterday, father." + +"Oh, this is ridiculous!" he said. "Where did you come from last?" + +Frank paused a moment. He was very hot and very tired.... Then he spoke. + +"I was in prison till Friday," he said. "I was given fourteen days on +the charge of robbing a child, on the twenty-sixth. I pleaded guilty. +Will you help me, father?" + +If the priest had not been still half stupid with sleep and indigestion, +and standing in the full blaze of this hot sun, he might have been +rather struck by this last sentence. But he did have those +disadvantages, and he saw in it nothing but insolence. + +He laughed again, shortly and angrily. + +"I'm amazed at your cheek," he said. "No, certainly not! And you'd +better learn manners before you beg again." + +Then he banged the door. + + * * * * * + +About ten minutes later he woke up from a doze, very wide awake indeed, +and looked round. There lay on the table by him a Dutch cheese, a large +crusty piece of bread and some very soft salt butter in a saucer. There +was also a good glass of beer left--not claret-cup--in a glass jug, very +much as Frank had pictured it. + +He got up and went out to the street door, shading his eyes against the +sun. But the street lay hot and dusty in the afternoon light, empty from +end to end, except for a cat, nose in tail, coiled on the grocery +door-step. + +Then he saw two children, in white frocks, appear round a corner, and he +remembered that it was close on time for Catechism. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +(I) + +About the time that Frank was coming into the village where the priest +lived, Jenny had just finished lunch with her father. She took a book, +two cigarettes, a small silver matchbox and a Japanese fan, and went out +into the garden. She had no duties this afternoon; she had played the +organ admirably at the morning service, and would play it equally +admirably at the evening service. The afternoon devotions in the little +hot Sunday school--she had decided, in company with her father a year or +two ago--and the management of the children, were far better left in the +professional hands of the schoolmistress. + +She went straight out of the drawing-room windows, set wide and shaded +by awnings, and across the lawn to the seat below the ancient yews. +There she disposed herself, with her feet up, lit a cigarette, buried +the match and began to read. + + * * * * * + +She had not heard from Frank for nearly three weeks; his last +communication had been a picture postcard of Selby Abbey, with the +initial "F" neatly printed at the back. But she was not very greatly +upset. She had written her letter as she had promised, and had heard +from Jack Kirkby, to whose care she sent it, that he had no idea of +Frank's whereabouts, and that he would send on the letter as soon as he +knew more. She supposed that Frank would communicate with her again as +soon as he thought proper. + +Other circumstances to be noted were that Dick had gone back to town +some while ago, but would return almost immediately now for the +grouse-shooting; that Archie and Lord Talgarth were both up at the +house--indeed, she had caught sight of them in the red-curtained +chancel-pew this morning, and had exchanged five words with them both +after the service--and that in all other respects other things were as +they had been a month ago. + +The Dean of Trinity had telegraphed in great dismay on the morning +following his first communication that Frank had gone, and that no one +had the slightest idea of his destination; he had asked whether he +should put detectives on the track, and had been bidden, in return, +politely but quite firmly, to mind his own business and leave Lord +Talgarth's younger son to Lord Talgarth. + +It was a sleepy afternoon, even up here among the hills, and Jenny had +not read many pages before she became aware of it. The Rectory garden +was an almost perfect place for a small doze; the yews about her made a +grateful shade, and the limes behind them even further cooled the air, +and, when the breeze awoke, as one talking in his sleep, the sound about +her was as of gentle rain. The air was bright and dusty with insects; +from the limes overhead, the geranium beds, and the orchard fifty yards +away, came the steady murmur of bees and flies. + +Jenny woke up twenty minutes later with a sudden start, and saw someone +standing almost over her. She threw her feet down, still bewildered by +the sudden change and the glare on which she opened her eyes, and +perceived that it was Jack Kirkby, looking very dusty and hot. + +"I am so sorry," said Jack apologetically, "but I was told you were out +here." + +She did not know Jack very well, though she had known him a long time. +She looked upon him as a pleasant sort of boy whom she occasionally met +at lawn-tennis parties and flower shows, and things like that, and she +knew perfectly how to talk to young men. + +"How nice of you to came over," she said. "Did you bicycle? Have +something to drink?" + +She made room for him on the seat and held out her second cigarette. + +"It's your last," said Jack. + +"I've lots more in the house." + +She watched him as he lit it, and as the last shreds of sleep rolled +away, put the obvious question. + +"You've news of Frank?" + +Jack threw away the match and drew two or three draughts of smoke before +answering. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Where is he?" + +"He gave an address at York, though he wasn't there when he wrote. I +sent your letter on there yesterday." + +"Oh I did he give any account of himself?" + +Jack looked at her. + +"Well, he did. I've come about that. It's not very pleasant." + +"Is he ill?" asked Jenny sharply. + +"Oh, no; not at all; at least, he didn't say so." + +"What's the matter, then?" + +Jack fumbled in his breast-pocket and drew out a letter, which he held a +moment before unfolding. + +"I think you'd better read what he says, Miss Launton. It isn't +pleasant, but it's all over now. I thought I'd better tell you that +first." + +She held out her hand without speaking. + +Jack gave it her, and addressed himself carefully to his cigarette. He +didn't like this kind of thing at all, he wished Frank wouldn't give him +unpleasant commissions. But, of course, it had to be done. He looked out +at the lawn and the sleepy house, but was aware of nothing except the +girl beside him in her white dress and the letter in her hands. When she +had finished it, she turned back and read it again. Then she remained +perfectly still, with the letter held on her knee. + +"Poor, dear old boy!" she said suddenly and quietly. + +An enormous wave of relief rolled up and enveloped Jack. He had been +exceedingly uncomfortable this morning, ever since the letter had come. +His first impulse had been to ride over instantly after breakfast; then +he had postponed it till lunch; then he had eaten some cold beef about +half-past twelve and come straight away. He told himself he must give +her plenty of time to write by the late Sunday night post. + +He had not exactly distrusted Jenny; Frank's confidence was too +overwhelming and too infectious. But he had reflected that it was not a +wholly pleasant errand to have to inform a girl that her lover had been +in prison for a fortnight. But the tone in which she had just said those +four words was so serene and so compassionate that he was completely +reassured. This really was a fine creature, he said to himself. + +"I'm extraordinarily glad you take it like that," he said. + +Jenny looked at him out of her clear, direct eyes. + +"You didn't suppose I should abuse him, did you?... How exactly like +Frank! I suppose he did it to save some blackguard or other." + +"I expect that was it," said Jack. + +"Poor, dear old boy!" she said again. + +There was a moment's silence. Then Jack began again: + +"You see, I've got to go and tell Lord Talgarth. Miss Launton, I wish +you'd come with me. Then we can both write by to-night's post." + +Jenny said nothing for an instant. Then: + +"I suppose that would be best," she said. "Shall we go up pretty soon? I +expect we shall find him in the garden." + +Jack winced a little. Jenny smiled at him openly. + +"Best to get it over, Mr. Jack. I know it's like going to the dentist. +But it can't be as bad as you think. It never is. Besides, you'll have +somebody to hold your hand, so to speak." + +"I hope I shan't scream out loud," observed Jack. "Yes, we'd better +go--if you don't mind." + +He stood up and waited. Jenny rose at once. + +"I'll go and get a hat. Wait for me here, will you? I needn't tell +father till this evening." + + +(II) + +The park looked delicious as they walked slowly up the grass under the +shade of the trees by the side of the drive. The great beeches and elms +rose in towering masses, in clump after clump, into the distance, and +beneath the nearest stood a great stag with half a dozen hinds about +him, eyeing the walkers. The air was very still; only from over the hill +came the sound of a single church bell, where some infatuated clergyman +hoped to gather the lambs of his flock together for instruction in the +Christian religion. + +"That's a beauty," said Jack, waving a languid hand towards the stag. +"Did you ever hear of the row Frank and I got into when we were boys?" + +Jenny smiled. She had been quite silent since leaving the Rectory. + +"I heard of a good many," she said. "Which was this?" + +Jack recounted a story of Red Indians and ambuscades and a bow and +arrows, ending in the flight of a frantic stag over the palings and +among the garden beds; it was on a Sunday afternoon, too. + +"Frank was caned by the butler, I remember; by Lord Talgarth's express +orders. Certainly he richly deserved it. I was a guest, and got off +clear." + +"How old were you?" + +"We were both about eleven, I think." + +"Frank doesn't strike me as more than about twelve now," observed Jenny. + +"There's something in that," admitted Jack.... "Oh! Lord! how hot it +is!" He fanned himself with his hat. + + * * * * * + +There was no sign of life as they passed into the court and up to the +pillared portico; and at last, when the butler appeared, the irregular +state of his coat-collar showed plainly that he but that moment had put +his coat on. + +(This would be about the time that Frank left the village after his +interview with the priest.) + +Yes; it seemed that Lord Talgarth was probably in the garden; and, if +so, almost certainly in the little square among the yews along the upper +terrace. His lordship usually went there on hot days. Would Miss Launton +and Mr. Kirkby kindly step this way? + +No; he was not to trouble. They would find their own way. On the upper +terrace? + +"On the upper terrace, miss." + + * * * * * + +The upper terrace was the one part of the old Elizabethan garden left +entirely unaltered. On either side rose up a giant wall of yew, shaped +like a castle bastion, at least ten feet thick; and between the two ran +a broad gravel path up to the sun-dial, bordered on either side by huge +herbaceous beds, blazing with the color of late summer. In two or three +places grass paths crossed these, leading by a few yards of turf to +windows cut in the hedge to give a view of the long, dazzling lake +below, and there was one gravel path, parallel to these, that led to the +little yew-framed square built out on the slope of the hill. + +Two very silent persons now came out from the house by the garden door +on the south side, turned along the path, went up a dozen broad steps, +passed up the yew walk and finally turned again down the short gravel +way and stood abashed. + +His lordship was indeed here! + +A long wicker chair was set in one angle, facing them, in such a +position that the movement of the sun would not affect the delightful +shade in which the chair stood. A small table stood beside it, with the +_Times_ newspaper tumbled on to it, a box of cigars, a spirit-bottle of +iridescent glass, a syphon, and a tall tumbler in which a little ice lay +crumbled at the bottom. And in the wicker chair, with his mouth wide +open, slept Lord Talgarth. + +"Good gracious!" whispered Jenny. + +There was a silence, and then like far-off thunder a slow meditative +snore. It was not an object of beauty or dignity that they looked upon. + +"In one second I shall laugh," asserted Jenny, still in a cautious +whisper. + +"I think we'd better--" began Jack; and stopped petrified, to see one +vindictive-looking eye opened and regarding him, it seemed, with an +expression of extraordinary malignity. Then the other eye opened, the +mouth abruptly closed and Lord Talgarth sat up. + +"God bless my soul!" + +He rolled his eyes about a moment while intelligence came back. + +"You needn't be ashamed of it," said Jenny. "Mr. Jack Kirkby caught me +at it, too, half an hour ago." + +His lordship's senses had not even now quite returned. He still stared +at them innocently like a child, cleared his throat once or twice, and +finally stood up. + +"Jack Kirkby, so it is! How do, Jack? And Jenny? + +"That's who we are," said Jenny. "Are you sure you're quite recovered?" + +"Recovered! Eh--!" (He emitted a short laugh.) "Sit down. There's chairs +somewhere." + +Jack hooked out a couple that were leaning folded against the low wall +of yew beneath the window and set them down. + +"Have a cigar, Jack?" + +"No, thanks." + +They were on good terms--these two. Jack shot really well, and was smart +and deferential. Lord Talgarth asked no more than this from a young man. + +"Well--what's the matter?" + +Jack left it thoughtfully for Jenny to open the campaign. She did so +very adroitly. + +"Mr. Jack came over to see me," she said, "and I thought I couldn't +entertain him better than by bringing him up to see you. You haven't +such a thing as a cigarette, Lord Talgarth?" + +He felt about in his pockets, drew out a case and pushed it across the +table. + +"Thanks," said Jenny; and then, without the faintest change of tone: +"We've some news of Frank at last." + +"Frank, eh? Have you? And what's the young cub at, now?" + +"He's in trouble, as usual, poor boy!" remarked Jenny, genially. "He's +very well, thank you, and sends you his love." + +Lord Talgarth cast her a pregnant glance. + +"Well, if he didn't, I'm sure he meant to," went on Jenny; "but I +expect he forgot. You see, he's been in prison." + +The old man jerked such a face at her, that even her nerve failed for an +instant. Jack saw her put her cigarette up to her mouth with a hand that +shook ever so slightly. And yet before the other could say one word she +recovered herself. + +"Please let me say it right out to the end first," she said. "No; please +don't interrupt! Mr. Jack, give me the letter ... oh! I've got it." (She +drew it out and began to unfold it, talking all the while with +astonishing smoothness and self-command.) "And I'll read you all the +important part. It's written to Mr. Kirkby. He got it this morning and +very kindly brought it straight over here at once." + +Jack was watching like a terrier. On the one side he saw emotions so +furious and so conflicting that they could find no expression, and on +the other a restraint and a personality so complete and so compelling +that they simply held the field and permitted no outburst. Her voice was +cool and high and natural. Then he noticed her flick a glance at +himself, sideways, and yet perfectly intelligible. He stood up. + +"Yes, do just take a stroll, Mr. Kirkby.... Come back in ten minutes." + +And as he passed out again through the thick archway on to the terrace +he heard, in an incredibly matter-of-fact voice, the letter begin. + + "DEAR JACK...." + +Then he began to wonder what, as a matter of interest, Lord Talgarth's +first utterance would be. But he felt he could trust Jenny to manage +him. She was an astonishingly sane and sensible girl. + + +(III) + +He was at the further end of the terrace, close beneath the stable wall, +when the stable clock struck the quarter for the second time. That would +make, he calculated, about seventeen minutes, and he turned reluctantly +to keep his appointment. But he was still thirty yards away from the +opening when a white figure in a huge white hat came quickly out. She +beckoned to him with her head, and he followed her down the steps. She +gave him one glance as if to reassure him as he caught her up, but said +not a word, good or bad, till they had passed through the house again, +and were well on their way down the drive. + +"Well?" said Jack. + +Jenny hesitated a moment. + +"I suppose anyone else would have called him violent," she said. "Poor +old dear! But it seems to me he behaved rather well on the +whole--considering all things." + +"What's he going to do?" + +"If one took anything he said as containing any truth at all, it would +mean that he was going to flog Frank with his own hands, kick him first +up the steps of the house then down again, and finally drown him in the +lake with a stone round his neck. I think that was the sort of +programme." + +"But--" + +"Oh! we needn't be frightened," said Jenny. "But if you ask me what he +will do, I haven't the faintest idea." + +"Did you suggest anything?" + +"He knows what my views are," said jenny. + +"And those?" + +"Well--make him a decent allowance and let him alone." + +"He won't do that!" said Jack. "That's far too sensible." + +"You think so?" + +"That would solve the whole problem, of course," went on Jack, "marriage +and everything. I suppose it would have to be about eight hundred a +year. And Talgarth must have at least thirty thousand." + +"Oh! he's more than that," said Jenny. "He gives Mr. Dick twelve +hundred." + +There was a pause. Jack did not know what to think. He was only quite +certain that the thing would have been far worse if he had attempted to +manage it himself. + +"Well, what shall I say to Frank?" he asked. Jenny paused again. + +"It seems to me the best thing for you to do is not to write. I'll write +myself this evening, if you'll give me his address, and explain--" + +"I can't do that," said Jack. "I'm awfully sorry, but--" + +"You can't give me his address?" + +"No, I'm afraid I mustn't. You see, Frank's very particular in his +letter...." + +"Then how can I write to him? Mr. Kirkby, you're really rather--" + +"By George! I've got it!" cried Jack. "If you don't mind my waiting at +the Rectory. Why shouldn't you write to him now, and let me take the +letter away and post it? It'll go all the quicker, too, from Barham." + +He glanced at her, wondering whether she were displeased. Her answer +reassured him. + +"That'll do perfectly," she said, "if you're sure you don't mind +waiting." + +The Rectory garden seemed more than ever a harbor from storm as they +turned into it. The sun was a little lower now, and the whole lawn lay +in shadow. As they came to the door she stopped. + +"I think I'd better go and get it over," she said. "I can tell father +all about it after you've gone. Will you go now and wait there?" She +nodded towards the seat where they had sat together earlier. + + * * * * * + +But it was nearly an hour before she came out again, and a neat maid, in +apron and cap, had come discreetly out with the tea-things, set them +down and retired. + +Jack had been thinking of a hundred things, which all centered round +one--Frank. He had had a real shock this morning. It had been +intolerable to think of Frank in prison, for even Jack could guess +something of what that meant to him; and the tone of the letter had been +so utterly unlike what he had been accustomed to from his friend. He +would have expected a bubbling torrent of remarks--wise and +foolish--full of personal descriptions and unkind little sketches. And, +indeed, there had come this sober narration of facts and requests.... + +But in all this there was one deep relief--that it should be a girl like +Jenny who was the heart of the situation. If she had been in the least +little bit disturbed, who could tell what it would mean to Frank? For +Frank, as he knew perfectly well, had a very deep heart indeed, and had +enshrined Jenny in the middle of it. Any wavering or hesitation on her +part would have meant misery to his friend. But now all was perfectly +right, he reflected; and really, after all, it did not matter very much +what Lord Talgarth said or did. Frank was a free agent; he was very +capable and very lovable; it couldn't possibly be long before something +turned up, and then, with Jenny's own money the two could manage very +well. And Lord Talgarth could not live for ever; and Archie would do the +right thing, even if his father didn't. + + * * * * * + +It was after half-past four before he looked up at a glint of white and +saw Jenny standing at the drawing-room window. She stood there an +instant with a letter in her hand; then she stepped over the low sill +and came towards him across the grass, serene and dignified and +graceful. Her head was bare again, and the great coils of her hair +flashed suddenly as they caught a long horizontal ray from the west. + +"Here it is," she said. "Will you direct it? I've told him everything." + +Jack nodded. + +"That's excellent!" he said. "It shall go to-night." + +He glanced up at her and saw her looking at him with just the faintest +wistfulness. He understood perfectly, he said to himself: she was still +a little unhappy at not being allowed to send the letter herself. What a +good girl she was! + +"Have some tea before you go?" she said. + +"Thanks. I'd better not. They'll be wondering what's happened to me." + +As he shook hands he tried to put something of his sympathy into his +look. He knew exactly how she was feeling, and he thought her splendidly +brave. But she hardly met his eyes, and again he felt he knew why. + +As he opened the garden gate beyond the house he turned once more to +wave. But she was busy with the tea-things, and a black figure was +advancing briskly upon her from the direction of the study end of the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +(I) + +Life had been a little difficult for the Major for the last fortnight or +so. Not only was Frank's material and moral support lacking to him, but +the calls upon him, owing to Gertie's extreme unreasonableness, had +considerably increased. He had explained to her, over and over again, +with a rising intensity each time, how unselfishly he had acted +throughout, how his sole thought had been for her in his recent course +of action. It would never have done, he explained pacifically, for a +young man like Frank to have the responsibility of a young girl like +Gertie on his hands, while he (the Major) was spending a fortnight +elsewhere. And, in fact, even on the most economical grounds he had +acted for the best, since it had been himself who had been charged in +the matter of the tin of salmon, it would not have been a fortnight, but +more like two months, during which the little community would have been +deprived of his labor. He reminded her that Frank had had a clean record +up to that time with the police.... + +But explanation had been fruitless. Gertie had even threatened a +revelation of the facts of the case at the nearest police-station, and +the Major had been forced to more manly tactics with her. He had not +used a stick; his hands had served him very well, and in the course of +his argument he had made a few insincere remarks on the mutual relations +of Frank and Gertie that the girl remembered. + + * * * * * + +He had obtained a frugal little lodging in one of the small streets of +York, down by the river--indeed looking straight on to it; and, for a +wonder, five days' regular work at the unloading of a string of barges. +The five days expired on the Saturday before Frank was expected, but he +had several shillings in hand on the Sunday morning when Frank's letter +arrived, announcing that he hoped to be with them again on Sunday night +or Monday morning. Two letters, also, had arrived for his friend on the +Sunday morning--one in a feminine handwriting and re-directed, with an +old postmark of June, as well as one of the day before--he had held it +up to the light and crackled it between his fingers, of course, upon +receiving it--and the other an obvious bill--one postmark was Cambridge +and the other Barham. He decided to keep them both intact. Besides, +Gertie had been present at their delivery. + +The Major spent, on the whole, an enjoyable Sunday. He lay in bed till +a little after twelve o'clock, with a second-hand copy of the Sporting +Times, and a tin of tobacco beside him. They dined at about one o'clock, +and he managed to get a little spirit to drink with his meal. He had +walked out--not very far--with Gertie in the afternoon, and had managed +by representing himself as having walked seven miles--he was determined +not to risk anything by foolishly cutting it too fine--to obtain a +little more. They had tea about six, and ate, each of them, a kippered +herring and some watercress. Then about seven o'clock Frank suddenly +walked in and sat down. + +"Give me something to eat and drink," he said. + +He looked, indeed, extraordinarily strained and tired, and sat back on +the upturned box by the fireplace as if in exhaustion. He explained +presently when Gertie had cooked another herring, and he had drunk a +slop-basinful of tea, that he had walked fasting since breakfast, but he +said nothing about the priest. The Major with an air of great +preciseness measured out half a finger of whisky and insisted, with the +air of a paternal doctor, upon his drinking it immediately. + +"And now a cigarette, for God's sake," said Frank. "By the way, I've got +some work for to-morrow." + +"That's first-rate, my boy," said the Major. "I've been working myself +this week." + +Frank produced his fourpence and laid it on the corner of the table. + +"That's for supper and bed to-night," he said. + +"Nonsense, my boy; put it back in your pocket." + +"Kindly take that fourpence," remarked Frank. "You can add some +breakfast to-morrow, if you like." + + * * * * * + +He related his adventures presently--always excepting the priest--and +described how he had met a man at the gate of a builder's yard this +evening as he came through York, who had promised him a day's job, and +if things were satisfactory, more to follow. + +"He seemed a decent chap," said Frank. + + * * * * * + +The Major and Gertie had not much to relate. They had left the +market-town immediately after Frank's little matter in the magistrates' +court, and had done pretty well, arriving in York ten days ago. They +hardly referred to Frank's detention, though he saw Gertie looking at +him once or twice in a curiously shy kind of way, and understood what +was in her mind. But for very decency's sake the Major had finally to +say something. + +"By the way, my boy, I won't forget what you did for me and for my +little woman here. I'm not a man of many words, but--" + +"Oh! that's all right," said Frank sleepily. "You'll do as much for me +one day." + +The Major assented with fervor and moist eyes. It was not till Frank +stood up to go to bed that anyone remembered the letters. + +"By the way, there are two letters come for you," said the Major, +hunting in the drawer of the table. Frank's bearing changed. He whisked +round in an instant. + +"Where are they?" + +They were put into his hand. He looked at them carefully, trying to make +out the postmark--turned them upside down and round, but he made no +motion to open them. + +"Where am I to sleep?" he said suddenly. "And can you spare a bit of +candle?" + +(And as he went upstairs, it must have been just about the time that the +letter-box at Barham was cleared for the late Sunday post.) + + +(II) + +Frank lay a long time awake in the dark that night, holding tight in his +hand Jenny's letter, written to him in June. The bill he had not even +troubled to open. + +For the letter said exactly and perfectly just all those things which +he most wished to hear, in the manner in which he wished to hear them. +It laughed at him gently and kindly; it called him an extraordinarily +silly boy; it said that his leaving Cambridge, and, above all, his +manner of leaving it--Frank had added a postscript describing his +adventure with the saddle and the policeman--were precisely what the +writer would have expected of him; it made delightful and humorous +reflections upon the need of Frank's turning over a new leaf--there was +quite a page of good advice; and finally it gave him a charming +description--just not over the line of due respect--of his father's +manner of receiving the news, with extracts from some of the choicest +remarks made upon that notable occasion. It occupied four +closely-written pages, and if there were, running underneath it +all, just the faintest taint of strain and anxiety, loyally +concealed--well--that made the letter no less pleasant. + +I have not said a great deal about what Jenny meant to Frank, just +because he said so very little about her himself. She was, in fact, +almost the only element in his variegated life upon which he had not +been in the habit of pouring out torrential comments and reflections. +His father and Archie were not at all spared in his conversation with +his most intimate friends; in fact, he had been known, more than once, +in a very select circle at Cambridge, to have conducted imaginary +dialogues between those two on himself as their subject, and he could +imitate with remarkable fidelity his Cousin Dick over a billiard-table. +But he practically never mentioned Jenny; he had not even a photograph +of her on his mantelpiece. And it very soon became known among his +friends, when the news of his engagement leaked out through Jack, that +it was not to be spoken of in his presence. He had preserved the same +reticence, it may be remembered, about his religion. + +And so Frank at last fell asleep on a little iron bedstead, just +remembering that it was quite possible he might have another letter from +her to-morrow, if Jack had performed his commission immediately. But he +hardly expected to hear till Tuesday. + + * * * * * + +Gertie was up soon after five next morning to get breakfast for her men, +since the Major had announced that he would go with Frank to see whether +possibly there might not be a job for him too; and as soon as they had +gone, very properly went to sleep again on the bed in the sitting-room. + +Gertie had a strenuous time of it, in spite of the Major's frequently +expressed opinion that women had no idea what work was. For, first, +there was the almost unending labor of providing food and cooking it as +well as possible; there was almost a standing engagement of mending and +washing clothes; there were numerous arguments to be conducted, on terms +of comparative equality, if possible, with landladies or farmers' +wives--Gertie always wore a brass wedding-ring and showed it sometimes a +little ostentatiously; and, finally, when the company was on the march, +it was only fair that she should carry the heavier half of the luggage, +in order to compensate for her life of luxury and ease at other times. +Gertie, then, was usually dog-tired, and slept whenever she could get a +chance. + +It was nearly eight o'clock before she was awakened again by sharp +knocking on her door; and on opening it, found the landlady' standing +there, examining a letter with great attention. (It had already been +held up to the light against the kitchen window.) + +"For one of your folks, isn't it, Mrs.--er--" Gertie took it. It was +written on excellent paper, and directed in a man's handwriting to Mr. +Gregory: + +"Thank you, Mrs.--er--" said Gertie. + +Then she went back into her room, put the letter carefully away in the +drawer of the table and set about her household business. + +About eleven o'clock she stepped out for a little refreshment. She had, +of course, a small private exchequer of her own, amounting usually to +only a few pence, of which the Major knew nothing. This did not strike +her as at all unfair; she only wondered gently sometimes at masculine +innocence in not recognizing that such an arrangement was perfectly +certain. She got into conversation with some elder ladies, who also had +stepped out for refreshment, and had occasion, at a certain point, to +lay her wedding-ring on the bar-counter for exhibition. So it was not +until a little after twelve that she remembered the time and fled. She +was not expecting her men home to dinner; in fact, she had wrapped up +provisions for them in fragments of the Major's _Sporting Times_ before +they had left; but it was safer to be at home. One never knew. + +As she came into the room, for an instant her heart leaped into her +mouth, but it was only Frank. + +"Whatever's the matter?" she said. + +"Turned off," said Frank shortly. He was sitting gloomily at the table +with his hands in his pockets. + +"Turned off?" + +He nodded. + +"What's up?" + +"'Tecs," said Frank. + +Gertie's mouth opened a little. + +"One of them saw me going in and wired for instructions. He had seen the +case in the police-news and thought I answered to the description. Then +he came back at eleven and told the governor." + +"And--" + +"Yes." + +There was a pause. + +"And George?" + +"Oh! he's all right," said Frank a little bitterly. "There's nothing +against him. Got any dinner, Gertie? I can't pay for it ... oh, yes, I +can; here's half a day." (He chucked ninepence upon the table; the +sixpence rolled off again, but he made no movement to pick it up.) + +Gertie looked at him a moment. + +"Well--" she began emphatically, then she stooped to pick up the +sixpence. + +Frank sighed. + +"Oh! don't begin all that--there's a good girl. I've said it all +myself--quite adequately, I assure you." + +Gertie's mouth opened again. She laid the sixpence on the table. + +"I mean, there's nothing to be said," explained Frank. "The point +is--what's to be done?" + +Gertie had no suggestions. She began to scrape out the frying-pan in +which the herrings had been cooked last night. + +"There's a letter for you," she said suddenly. + +Frank sat up. + +"Where?" + +"In the drawer there--by your hand. Frankie...." + +Frank tore at the handle and it came off. He uttered a short +exclamation. Then, with infinite craft he fitted the handle in again, +wrapped in yet one more scrap of the _Sporting Times_, and drew out the +drawer. His face fell abruptly as he saw the handwriting. + +"That can wait," he muttered, and chucked the letter face downwards on +to the table. + +"Frankie," said the girl again, still intent on her frying-pan. + +"Well?" + +"It's all my fault," she said in a low voice. + +"Your fault! How do you make that out?" + +"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have taken the tin from George, +and...." + +"Oh, Lord!" said Frank, "if we once begin on that!... And if it hadn't +been for George, he wouldn't have taken the tin; and if it hadn't been +for Maggie Cooper, there wouldn't have been the tin; and if it hadn't +been for Maggie's father's sister, she wouldn't have gone out with it. +It's all Maggie's father's sister's fault, my dear! It's nothing to do +with you." + +The words were brisk enough, but the manner was very heavy. It was like +repeating a lesson learned in childhood. + +"That's all right," began Gertie again, "but--" + +"My dear girl, I shall be annoyed if you go back to all that. Why can't +you let it alone? The point is, What's to happen? I can't go on sponging +on you and the Major." + +Gertie flushed under her tan. + +"If you ever leave us," she said, "I'll--" + +"Well?" + +"I'll ... I'll never leave George." + +Frank was puzzled for a moment. It seemed a _non sequitur_. + +"Do you mean--" + +"I've got me eyes," said Gertie emphatically, "and I know what you're +thinking, though you don't say much. And I've been thinking, too." + +Frank felt a faint warmth rise in his own heart. "You mean you've been +thinking over what I said the other day?" + +Gertie bent lower over her frying-pan and scraped harder than ever. + +"Do stop that confounded row one second!" shouted Frank. + +The noise stopped abruptly. Gertie glanced up and down again. Then she +began again, more gently. + +"That's better," said Frank.... "Well, I hope you have," he went on +paternally. "You're a good girl, Gertie, and you know better. Go on +thinking about it, and tell me when you've made up your mind. When'll +dinner be ready?" + +"Half an hour," said Gertie. + +"Well, I'll go out for a bit and look round." + +He took up the letter carelessly and went out. + + +(III) + +As he passed the window Gertie glanced towards it with the corner of her +eye. Then, frying-pan still in hand, she crept up to the angle and +watched him go down the quay. + +A very convenient barrel was set on the extreme edge of the embankment +above the water, with another beside it, and Frank made for this +immediately. She saw him sit on one of the barrels and put the letter, +still unopened, on the top of the other. Then he fumbled in his pockets +a little, and presently a small blue cloud of smoke went upwards like +incense. Gertie watched him for an instant, but he did not move again. +Then she went back to her frying-pan. + +Twenty minutes later dinner was almost ready. + +Gertie had spread upon the table, with great care, one of the Major's +white pocket-handkerchiefs. He insisted upon those being, not only +retained, but washed occasionally, and Gertie understood something of +his reasons, since in the corner of each was embroidered a monogram, of +which the letters were not "G.T." But she never could make out what they +were. + +Upon this tablecloth she had placed on one side a black-handled fork +with two prongs, and a knife of the same pattern (this was for Frank) +and on the other a small pewter tea-spoon and a knife, of which the only +handle was a small iron spike from which the wood had fallen away. (This +was for herself.) Then there was a tooth-glass for Frank, and a +teacup--without a handle, but with a gold flower in the middle of it, to +make up--for herself. In the center of the pocket-handkerchief stood a +crockery jug, with a mauve design of York Minster, with a thundercloud +behind it and a lady and gentleman with a child bowling a hoop in front +of it. This was the landlady's property, and was half full of beer. +Besides all this, there were two plates, one of a cold blue color, with +a portrait of the Prince Consort, whiskers and hat complete, in a small +medallion in the center, and the other white, with a representation of +the Falls of Lodore. There was no possibility of mistaking any of the +subjects treated upon these various pieces of table-ware, since the +title of each was neatly printed, in various styles, just below the +picture. + +Gertie regarded this array with her head on one side. It was not often +that they dined in such luxury. She wished she had a flower to put in +the center. Then she stirred the contents of the frying-pan with an iron +spoon, and went again to the window. + +The figure on the barrel had not moved; but even as she looked she saw +him put out his hand to the letter. She watched him. She saw him run a +finger inside the envelope, and toss the envelope over the edge of the +quay. Then she saw him unfold the paper inside and become absorbed. + +This would never do. Gertie's idea of a letter was that it occupied at +least several minutes to read through; so she went out quickly to the +street door to call him in. + +She called him, and he did not turn his head, nor even answer. + +She called him again. + + +(IV) + +The letter that Frank read lies, too, with a few other papers, before me +as I write. + +It runs as follows: + + "MY DEAR FRANK, + + "I know you won't like what I have to say, but it has to be + said. Believe me, it costs me as much to write as you to + read--perhaps more. + + "It is this: Our engagement must be at an end. + + "You have a perfect right to ask me for reasons, so I will give + them at once, as I don't want to open the subject again. It + would do no kind of good. My mind is absolutely made up. + + "My main reason is this: When I became engaged to you I did not + know you properly. I thought you were quite different from what + you are. I thought that underneath all your nice wildness, and + so on, there was a very solid person. And I hinted that, you + will remember, in my first letter, which I suppose you have + received just before this. And now I simply can't think that + any longer. + + "I don't in the least blame you for being what you are: that's + not my business. But I must just say this--that a man who can + do what you've done, not only for a week or two, as I thought + at first, as a sort of game, but for nearly three months, and + during that time could leave me with only three or four + postcards and no news; above all, a man who could get into + such disgrace and trouble, and actually go to prison, and yet + not seem to mind much--well, it isn't what I had thought of + you. + + "You see, there are a whole lot of things together. It isn't + just this or that, but the whole thing. + + "First you became a Catholic, without telling me anything until + just before. I didn't like that, naturally, but I didn't say + anything. It isn't nice for a husband and wife to be of + different religions. Then you ran away from Cambridge; then you + got mixed up with this man you speak of in your letter to Jack; + and you must have been rather fond of him, you know, to go to + prison for him, as I suppose you did. And yet, after all that, + I expect you've gone to meet him again in York. And then + there's the undeniable fact of prison. + + "You see, it's all these things together--one after another. I + have defended you to your father again and again; I haven't + allowed anybody to abuse you without standing up for you; but + it really has gone too far. You know I did half warn you in + that other letter. I know you couldn't have got it till just + now, but that wasn't my fault; and the letter shows what I was + thinking, even three months ago. + + "Don't be too angry with me, Frank. I'm very fond of you still, + and I shall always stand up for you when I can. And please + don't answer this in any way. Jack Kirkby isn't answering just + yet. I asked him not, though he doesn't know why. + + "Your father is going to send the news that the engagement is + broken off to the newspapers. + + "Yours sincerely, + "JENNY LAUNTON." + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +(I) + +Barham, as all Yorkshire knows, lies at the foot of a long valley, where +it emerges into the flatter district round Harrogate. It has a railway +all to itself, which goes no further, for Barham is shut in on the north +by tall hills and moors, and lies on the way to nowhere. It is almost +wholly an agricultural town, and has a curious humped bridge, right in +the middle of the town, where men stand about on market days and discuss +the price of bullocks. It has two churches--one, disused, on a +precipitous spur above the town, surrounded by an amazingly irregular +sort of churchyard, full, literally, to bursting (the Kirkbys lie there, +generation after generation of them, beneath pompous tombs), and the +other church a hideous rectangular building, with flat walls and +shallow, sham Gothic windows. It was thought extremely beautiful when it +was built forty years ago. The town itself is an irregular and rather +picturesque place, with a twisting steep High Street, looking as if a +number of houses had been shot at random into this nook among the hills +and left to find their own levels. + +The big house where the Kirkbys have lived since the middle of the +seventeenth century is close to the town, as the squire's house ought to +be, and its park gates open right upon the northern end of the old +bridge. There's nothing of great interest in the house (I believe there +is an old doorway in the cellar, mentioned in guide-books), since it was +rebuilt about the same time as the new church first rose. It is just a +big, comfortable, warm, cool, shady sort of house, with a large hall and +a fine oak staircase, surrounded by lawns and shrubberies, that adjoin +on the west the lower slopes, first of the park and then of the moors +that stretch away over the horizon. + +There is a pleasant feudal air about the whole place--feudal, in a small +and neighborly kind of way. Jack's father died just a year before his +only son came of age; and Jack himself, surrounded by sisters and an +excellent and beneficently-minded mother, has succeeded to all the +immemorial rights and powers, written and unwritten, of the Squire of +Barham. He entertained me delightfully for three or four days a few +months ago, when I was traveling about after Frank's footsteps, and I +noticed with pleasure as we drove through the town that there was +hardly a living creature in the town whom he did not salute; and who did +not salute him. + +He took me first to the bridge and pulled up in the middle of it, to +point out a small recess in it, over the central pier, intended, no +doubt, to give shelter to foot-passengers before the bridge was widened, +in case a large vehicle came through. + +"There," he said. "That's the place I first saw Frank when he came." + +We drove on up through the town, and at the foot of the almost +precipitous hill leading up to the ruined church we got out, leaving the +dog-cart in charge of the groom. We climbed the hill slowly, for it was +a hot day, Jack uttering reminiscences at intervals (many of which are +recorded in these pages) and turned in at the churchyard gate. + +"And this was the place," said Jack, "where I said good-by to him." + + +(II) + +It was on the twenty-fifth of September, a Monday, that Jack sat in the +smoking-room, in Norfolk jacket and gaiters, drinking tea as fast as he +possibly could. He had been out on the moors all day, and was as thirsty +as the moors could make him, and he had been sensual enough to smoke a +cigarette deliberately before beginning tea, in order to bring his +thirst to an acute point. + +Then, the instant he had finished he snatched for his case again, for +this was to be the best cigarette of the whole day, and discovered that +his sensuality had overreached itself for once, and that there were none +left. He clutched at the silver box with a sinking heart, +half-remembering that he had filled his case with the last of them this +morning. It was a fact, and he knew that there were no others in the +house. + +This would never do, and he reflected that if he sent a man for some +more, he would not get them for at least twenty minutes. (Jack never +could understand why an able-bodied footman always occupied twenty +minutes in a journey that ought to take eight.) So he put on his cap +again, stepped out of the low window and set off down the drive. + + * * * * * + +It was getting a little dark as he passed out of the lodge-gates. The +sun, of course, had set at least an hour before behind the great hill to +the west, but the twilight proper was only just beginning. He was nearly +at the place now, and as he breasted the steep ascent of the bridge, +peered over it, at least with his mind's eye, at the tobacconist's +shop--first on the left--where a store of "Mr. Jack's cigarettes" was +always on hand. + +He noticed in the little recess I have just spoken of a man leaning +with his elbows on the parapet, and staring out up the long reach of the +stream to the purple evening moors against the sky and the luminous +glory itself; and as he came opposite him, wondered vaguely who it was +and whether he knew him. Then, as he got just opposite him, he stopped, +uneasy at heart. + + * * * * * + +Naturally Frank was never very far away from Jack's thoughts just +now--ever since, indeed, he had heard the news in a very discreet letter +from the Reverend James Launton a week or two ago. (I need not say he +had answered this letter, not to the father, but to the daughter, but +had received no reply.) + +He had written a frantic letter to Frank himself then, but it had been +returned, marked: "Unknown at this address." And ever since he had eyed +all tramps on the road with an earnestness that elicited occasionally a +salute, and occasionally an impolite remark. + +The figure whose back he saw now certainly was not much like Frank; but +then--again--it was rather like him. It was dressed in a jacket and +trousers so stained with dust and wet as to have no color of their own +at all, and a cloth cap of the same appearance. A bundle tied up in a +red handkerchief, and a heavy stick, rested propped against an angle of +the recess. + +Jack cleared his throat rather loud and stood still, prepared to be +admiring the view, in case of necessity; the figure turned an eye over +its shoulder, then faced completely round; and it was Frank Guiseley. + +Jack for the first instant said nothing at all, but stood transfixed, +with his mouth a little open and his eyes staring. Frank's face was +sunburned almost beyond recognition, his hair seemed cut shorter than +usual, and the light was behind him. + +Then Jack recovered. + +"My dear man," he said, "why the--" + +He seized him by the hands and held him, staring at him. + +"Yes; it's me all right," said Frank. "I was just wondering--" + +"Come along, instantly.... Damn! I've got to go to a tobacconist's; it's +only just here. There isn't a cigarette in the house. Come with me?" + +"I'll wait here," said Frank. + +"Will you? I shan't be a second." + +It was, as a matter of fact, scarcely one minute before Jack was back; +he had darted in, snatched a box from the shelf and vanished, crying out +to "put it down to him." He found Frank had faced round again and was +staring at the water and sky and high moors. He snatched up his friend's +bundle and stick. + +"Come along," he said, "we shall have an hour or two before dinner." + +Frank, in silence, took the bundle and stick from him again, firmly and +irresistibly, and they did not speak again till they were out of +ear-shot of the lodge. Then Jack began, taking Frank's arm--a custom for +which he had often been rebuked. + +"My dear old man!" he said. "I ... I can't say what I feel. I know the +whole thing, of course, and I've expressed my mind plainly to Miss +Jenny." + +"Yes?" + +"And to your father. Neither have answered, and naturally I haven't been +over again.... Dick's been there, by the way." + +Frank made no comment. + +"You look simply awful, old chap," pursued Jack cheerily. "Where on +earth have you been for the last month? I wrote to York and got the +letter returned." + +"Oh! I've been up and down," said Frank impassively. + +"With the people you were with before--the man, I mean?" + +"No. I've left them for the present. But I shall probably join them +again later." + +"Join...!" began the other aghast. + +"Certainly! This thing's only just begun," said Frank, with that same +odd impassivity. "We've seen the worst of it, I fancy." + +"But you don't mean you're going back! Why, it's ridiculous!" + +Frank stopped. They were within sight of the house now and the lights +shone pleasantly out. + +"By the way, Jack, I quite forgot. You will kindly give me your promise +to make no sort of effort to detain me when I want to go again, or I +shan't come any further." + +"But, my dear chap--" + +"Kindly promise at once, please." + +"Oh, well! I promise, but--" + +"That's all right," said Frank, and moved on. + + * * * * * + +"I say," said Jack, as they came up to the hall door. "Will you talk now +or will you change, or what?" + +"I should like a hot bath first. By the way, have you anyone staying in +the house?" + +"Not a soul; and only two sisters at home. And my mother, of course." + +"What about clothes?" + +"I'll see about that. Come on round to the smoking-room window. Then +I'll get in Jackson and explain to him. I suppose you don't mind your +name being known? He'll probably recognize you, anyhow." + +"Not in the least, so long as no one interferes." + +Jack rang the bell as soon as they came into the smoking-room, and Frank +sat down in a deep chair. Then the butler came. He cast one long look at +the astonishing figure in the chair. + +"Oh!--er--Jackson, this is Mr. Frank Guiseley. He's going to stay here. +He'll want some clothes and things. I rather think there are some suits +of mine that might do. I wish you'd look them out." + +"I beg your pardon, sir? + +"This is Mr. Frank Guiseley--of Merefield.... It is, really! But we +don't want more people talking than are necessary. You understand? +Please don't say anything about it, except that he's come on a +walking-tour. And please tell the housekeeper to get the Blue Room +ready, and let somebody turn on the hot water in the bath-room until +further notice. That's all, Jackson ... and the clothes. You +understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And get the _eau de lubin_ from my dressing-room and put it in the +bath-room. Oh, yes; and the wooden bowl of soap." + +"These clothes of mine are not to be thrown away, please, Jackson," +said Frank gravely from the chair. "I shall want them again." + +"Yes, sir." + +"That's all, then," said Jack. + +Mr. Jackson turned stiffly and left the room. + +"It's all right," said Jack. "You remember old Jackson. He won't say a +word. Lucky no one saw us as we came up." + +"It doesn't matter much, does it?" said Frank. + +There was a pause. + +"I say, Frank, when will you tell me--" + +"I'll answer any questions after dinner to-night. I simply can't talk +now." + +Dinner was a little difficult that night. + +Mrs. Kirkby had been subjected to a long lecture from her son during the +half hour in which she ought to have been dressing, in order to have it +firmly implanted in her mind that Frank--whom she had known from a +boy--was simply and solely in the middle of a walking-tour all by +himself. She understood the situation perfectly in a minute and a +half--(she was a very shrewd woman who did not say much)--but Jack was +not content. He hovered about her room, fingering photographs and +silver-handled brushes, explaining over and over again how important it +was that Frank should be made to feel at his case, and that Fanny and +Jill--(who were just old enough to come to dinner in white high-necked +frocks that came down to their very slender ankles, and thick pig-tails +down their backs)--must not be allowed to bother him. Mrs. Kirkby said, +"Yes, I understand," about a hundred and thirty times, and glanced at +the clock. She stood with one finger on the electric button for at least +five minutes before venturing to ring for her maid, and it was only that +lady's discreet tap at one minute before eight that finally got Jack out +of the room. He looked in on Frank in the middle of his dressing, found +to his relief that an oldish suit of dress-clothes fitted him quite +decently, and then went to put on his own. He came down to the +drawing-room seven minutes after the gong with his ears very red and his +hair in a plume, to find Frank talking to his mother, and eyed by his +sisters who were pretending to look at photographs, with all the ease in +the world. + +But dinner itself was difficult. It was the obvious thing to talk about +Frank's "walking-tour"; and yet this was exactly what Jack dared not do. +The state of the moors, and the deplorable ravages made among the young +grouse by the early rains, occupied them all to the end of fish; to the +grouse succeeded the bullocks: to the bullocks, the sheep, and, by an +obvious connection--obvious to all who knew that gentleman--from the +sheep to the new curate. + +But just before the chocolate _soufflée_ there came a pause, and Jill, +the younger of the two sisters, hastened to fill the gap. + +"Did you have a nice walking-tour, Mr. Guiseley?" + +Frank turned to her politely. + +"Yes, very nice, considering," he said. + +"Have you been alone all the time?" pursued Jill, conscious of a social +success. + +"Well, no," said Frank. "I was traveling with a ... well, with a man who +was an officer in the army. He was a major." + +"And did you--" + +"That's enough, Jill," said her mother decidedly. "Don't bother Mr. +Guiseley. He's tired with his walk." + +The two young men sat quiet for a minute or two after the ladies had +left the room. Then Jack spoke. + +"Well?" he said. + +Frank looked up. There was an odd, patient kind of look in his eyes that +touched Jack a good deal. Frank had not been distinguished for +submissiveness hitherto. + +"Oh! a bit later, if you don't mind," he said. "We can talk in the +smoking-room." + + +(IV) + +"Well, I'll tell you the whole thing as far as I understand it," began +Frank, as the door closed behind Jackson, who had brought whisky and +candles. "And then I'll answer any questions you want." + +He settled himself back in his chair, stretching out his legs and +clasping his hands behind his head. Jack had a good view of him and +could take notice of his own impressions, though he found them hard to +put into words afterwards. The words he finally chose were "subdued" and +"patient" again, and there are hardly two words that would have been +less applicable to Frank three months before. At the same time his +virility was more noticeable than ever; he had about him, Jack said, +something of the air of a very good groom--a hard-featured and sharp, +yet not at all unkindly look, very capable and, at the same time, very +much restrained. There was no sentimental nonsense about him at all--his +sorrow had not taken that form. + +"Well, I needn't talk much about Jenny's last letter and what happened +after that. I was entirely unprepared, of course. I hadn't the faintest +idea--Well, she was the one person about whom I had no doubts at all! I +actually left the letter unread for a few minutes (the envelope was in +your handwriting, you know)--because I had to think over what I had to +do next. The police had got me turned away from a builder's yard--" + +Jack emitted a small sound. He was staring at Frank with all his eyes. + +"Yes; that's their way," said Frank. "Well, when I read it, I simply +couldn't think any more at all for a time. The girl we were traveling +with--she had picked up with the man I had got into trouble over, you +know--the girl was calling me to dinner, she told me afterwards. I +didn't hear a sound. She came and touched me at last, and I woke up. But +I couldn't say anything. They don't even now know what's the matter. I +came away that afternoon. I couldn't even wait for the Major--" + +"Eh?" + +"The Major.... Oh! that's what the chap calls himself. I don't think +he's lying, either. I simply couldn't stand him another minute just +then. But I sent them a postcard that night--I forget where from; +and--There aren't any letters for me, are there? + +"One or two bills." + +"Oh! well, I shall hear soon, I expect. I must join them again in a day +or two. They're somewhere in this direction, I know." + +"And what did you do?" + +Frank considered. + +"I'm not quite sure. I know I walked a great deal. People were awfully +good to me. One woman stopped her motor--and I hadn't begged, either--" + +"You! Begged!" + +"Lord, yes; lots of times.... Well, she gave me a quid, and I didn't +even thank her. And that lasted me very well, and I did a little work +too, here and there." + +"But, good Lord! what did you do?" + +"I walked. I couldn't bear towns or people or anything. I got somewhere +outside of Ripon at last, and went out on to the moors. I found an old +shepherd's hut for about a week or ten days--" + +"And you--" + +"Lived there? Yes. I mended the hut thoroughly before I came away. And +then I thought I'd come on here." + +"What were you doing on the bridge?" + +"Waiting till dark. I was going to ask at the lodge then whether you +were at home." + +"And if I hadn't been?" + +"Gone on somewhere else, I suppose." + +Jack tried to help himself to a whisky and soda, but the soda flew out +all over his shirt-front like a fountain, and he was forced to make a +small remark. Then he made another. + +"What about prison?" + +Frank smiled. + +"Oh! I've almost forgotten that. It was beastly at the time, though." + +"And ... and the Major and the work! Lord! Frank, you do tell a story +badly." + +He smiled again much more completely. + +"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, +somehow." + +"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?" + +Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture. + +"Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack." + +"Yes." + +"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily +interested as to what's going to happen next--inside, I mean. At least, +sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang." + +Jack looked bewildered, and said so tersely. Frank leaned forward a +little. + +"It's like this, you see. Something or other has taken me in hand: I'm +blessed if I know what. All these things don't happen one on the top of +the other just by a fluke. There's something going on, and I want to +know what it is. And I suppose something's going to happen soon." + +"For God's sake do say what you mean!" + +"I can't more than that. I tell you I don't know. I only wish somebody +could tell me." + +"But what does it all amount to? What are you going to do next?" + +"Oh! I know that all right. I'm going to join the Major and Gertie +again." + +"Frank!" + +"Yes?... No, not a word, please. You promised you wouldn't. I'm going to +join those two again and see what happens." + +"But why?" + +"That's my job. I know that much. I've got to get that girl back to her +people again. She's not his wife, you know." + +"But what the devil--" + +"It seems to me to matter a good deal. Oh! she's a thoroughly stupid +girl, and he's a proper cad; but that doesn't matter. It's got to be +done; or, rather, I've got to try to do it. I daresay I shan't succeed, +but that, again, doesn't matter. I've got to do my job, and then we'll +see." + +Jack threw up his hands. + +"You're cracked!" he said. + +"I daresay," said Frank solemnly. + +There was a pause. It seemed to Jack that the whole thing must be a +dream. This simply wasn't Frank at all. The wild idea came to him that +the man who sat before him with Frank's features was some kind of +changeling. Mentally he shook himself. + +"And what about Jenny?" he said. + +Frank sat perfectly silent and still for an instant. Then he spoke +without heat. + +"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Sometimes I'd like to ... well, to make +her a little speech about what she's done, and sometimes I'd like to +crawl to her and kiss her feet--but both those things are when I'm +feeling bad. On the whole, I think--though I'm not sure--that is not my +business any more; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. It's part of the +whole campaign and out of my hands. It's no good talking about that any +more. So please don't, Jack." + +"One question?" + +"Well?" + +"Have you written to her or sent her a message?" + +"No." + +"And I want to say one other thing. I don't think it's against the +bargain." + +"Well?" + +"Will you take five hundred pounds and go out to the colonies?" + +Frank looked up with an amused smile. + +"No, I won't--thanks very much.... Am I in such disgrace as all that, +then?" + +"You know I don't mean that," said Jack quietly. + +"No, old chap. I oughtn't to have said that. I'm sorry." + +Jack waved a hand. + +"I thought perhaps you'd loathe England, and would like--And you don't +seem absolutely bursting with pride, you know." + +"Honestly, I don't think I am," said Frank. "But England suits me very +well--and there are the other two, you know. But I'll tell you one thing +you could do for me." + +"Yes?" + +"Pay those extra bills. I don't think they're much." + +"That's all right," said Jack. "And you really mean to go on with it +all?" + +"Why, yes." + + +(V) + +The moors had been pretty well shot over already since the twelfth of +August, but the two had a very pleasant day, for all that, a couple of +days later. They went but with a keeper and half a dozen beaters--Frank +in an old homespun suit of Jack's, and his own powerful boots, and made +a very tolerable bag. There was one dramatic moment, Jack told me, when +they found that luncheon had been laid at a high point on the hills from +which the great gray mass of Merefield and the shimmer of the lake in +front of the house were plainly visible only eight miles away. The flag +was flying, too, from the flagstaff on the old keep, showing, according +to ancient custom, that Lord Talgarth was at home. Frank looked at it a +minute or two with genial interest, and Jack wondered whether he had +noticed, as he himself had, that even the Rectory roof could be made +out, just by the church tower at the foot of the hill. + +Neither said anything, but as the keeper came up to ask for orders as +they finished lunch, he tactfully observed that there was a wonderful +fine view of Merefield. + +"Yes," said Frank, "you could almost make out people with a telescope." + + * * * * * + +The two were walking together alone as they dropped down, an hour before +sunset, on to the upper end of Barham. They were both glowing with the +splendid air and exercise, and were just in that state of weariness that +is almost unmixed physical pleasure to an imaginative thinker who +contemplates a hot bath, a quantity of tea, and a long evening in a +deep chair. Frank still preserved his impassive kind of attitude towards +things in general, but Jack noticed with gentle delight that he seemed +more off his guard, and that he even walked with something more of an +alert swing than he had on that first evening when they trudged up the +drive together. + +Their road led them past the gate of the old churchyard, and as they +approached it, dropping their feet faster and faster down the steep +slope, Jack noticed two figures sitting on the road-side, with their +feet in the ditch--a man and a girl. He was going past them, just +observing that the man had rather an unpleasant face, with a ragged +mustache, and that the girl was sunburned, fair-haired and rather +pretty, when he became aware that Frank had slipped behind him. The next +instant he saw that Frank was speaking to them, and his heart dropped to +zero. + +"All right," he heard Frank say, "I was expecting you. This evening, +then.... I say, Jack!" + +Jack turned. + +"Jack, this is Major and Mrs. Trustcott, I told you of. This is my +friend, Mr.--er--Mr. Jack." + +Jack bowed vaguely, overwhelmed with disgust. + +"Very happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said the Major, +straightening himself in a military manner. "My good lady and I were +resting here. Very pleasant neighborhood." + +"I'm glad you like it," said Jack. + +"Then, this evening," said Frank again. "Can you wait an hour or two?" + +"Certainly, my boy," said the Major. "Time's no consideration with us, +as you know." + +(Jack perceived that this was being said at him, to show the familiarity +this man enjoyed with his friend.) + +"Would nine o'clock be too late?" + +"Nine o'clock it shall be," said the Major. + +"And here?" + +"Here." + +"So long, then," said Frank. "Oh, by the way--" He moved a little closer +to this appalling pair, and Jack stood off, to hear the sound of a +sentence or two, and then the chink of money. + +"So long, then," said Frank again. "Come along, Jack; we must make +haste." + +"Good-evening, sir," cried the Major, but Jack made no answer. + + * * * * * + +"Frank, you don't mean to tell me that those are the people?" + +"That's the Major and Gertie--yes." + +"And what was all that about this evening?" + +"I must go, Jack. I'm sorry; but I told you it couldn't be more than a +few days at the outside." + +Jack was silent, but it was a hard struggle. + +"By the way, how shall we arrange?" went on the other. "I can't take +these clothes, you know; and I can't very well be seen leaving the house +in my own." + +"Do as you like," snapped Jack. + +"Look here, old man, don't be stuffy. How would it do if I took a bag +and changed up in that churchyard? It's locked up after dark, isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"You've got a key, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, that's it. And I'll leave the bag and the key in the hedge +somewhere." + +Jack was silent. + +Jack held himself loyally in hand that evening, but he could not talk +much. He consented to explain to his mother that Frank had to be off +after dinner that night, and he also visited the housekeeper's room, and +caused a small bundle, not much larger than a leg of mutton, including +two small bottles which jingled together, to be wrapped up in brown +paper--in which he inserted also a five-pound note (he knew Frank would +not take more)--and the whole placed in the bag in which Frank's old +clothes were already concealed. For the rest of the evening he sat, +mostly silent, in one chair, trying not to watch Frank in another; +pretending to read, but endeavoring to picture to his imagination what +he himself would feel like if he were about to join the Major and Gertie +in the churchyard at nine o'clock.... Frank sat quite quiet all the +evening, reading old volumes of _Punch_. + +They dined at half-past seven, by request--Frank still in his homespun +suit. Fanny and Jill were rather difficult. It seemed to them both a +most romantic thing that this black-eyed, sunburned young man, with whom +they had played garden-golf the day before, should really be continuing +his amazing walking-tour, in company with two friends, at nine o'clock +that very night. They wondered innocently why the two friends had not +been asked to join them at dinner. It was exciting, too, and unusual, +that this young man should dine in an old homespun suit. They asked a +quantity of questions. Where was Mr. Guiseley going first? Frank didn't +quite know; Where would he sleep that night? Frank didn't quite know; he +would have to see. When was the walking-tour going to end? Frank didn't +quite know. Did he really like it? Oh, well, Frank thought it was a good +thing to go on a walking tour, even if you were rather uncomfortable +sometimes. + +The leave-taking was unemotional. Jack had announced suddenly and +loudly in the smoking-room before dinner that he was going to see the +last of Frank, as far as the churchyard; Frank had protested, but had +yielded. The rest had all said good-by to him in the hall, and at a +quarter to nine the two young men went out into the darkness. + + +(VI) + +It was a clear autumn night--a "wonderful night of stars"--and the skies +blazed softly overhead down to the great blotted masses of the high +moors that stood round Barham. It was perfectly still, too--the wind had +dropped, and the only sound as the two walked down the park was the low +talking of the stream over the stones beyond the belt of trees fifty +yards away from the road. + +Jack was sick at heart; but even so, he tells me, he was conscious that +Frank's silence was of a peculiar sort. He felt somehow as if his friend +were setting out to some great sacrifice in which he was to suffer, and +was only partly conscious of it--or, at least, so buoyed by some kind of +exaltation or fanaticism as not to realize what he was doing. (He +reminded me of a certain kind of dream that most people have now and +then, of accompanying some friend to death: the friend goes forward, +silent and exultant, and we cannot explain nor hold him back. + +"That was the sort of feeling," said Jack lamely.) + + * * * * * + +Jack had the grim satisfaction of carrying the bag in which, so to +speak, the knife and fillet were hidden. He changed his mood half a +dozen times even in that quarter of an hour's walk through the town. Now +the thing seemed horrible, like a nightmare; now absurdly preposterous; +now rather beautiful; now perfectly ordinary and commonplace. After all, +Jack argued with himself, there are such people as tramps, and they +survive. Why should not Frank? He had gipsy blood in him, too. What in +the world was he--Jack--frightened of? + +"Do you remember our talking about your grandmother?" he said suddenly, +as they neared the lodge. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Only I've just thought of something else. Wasn't one of your people +executed under Elizabeth?" + +"By gad, yes; so he was. I'd quite forgotten. It was being on the wrong +side for once." + +"How--the wrong side?" + +There was amusement in Frank's voice as he answered. + +"It was for religion," he said. "He was a Papist. All the rest of them +conformed promptly. They were a most accommodating lot. They changed +each time without making any difficulty. I remember my governor telling +us about it once. He thought them very sensible. And so they were, by +George! from one point of view." + +"Has your religion anything to do with all this?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Frank, with an indifferent air. + + * * * * * + +There were a good many doors open in the High Street as they went up it, +and Jack saluted half a dozen people mechanically as they touched their +hats to him as he passed in the light from the houses. + +"What does it feel like being squire?" asked Frank. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Jack. + +"Rather good fun, I should think," said Frank. + + * * * * * + +They were nearing the steep part of the ascent presently, and the church +clock struck nine. + +"Bit late," said Frank. + +"When will you come again?" asked the other suddenly. "I'm here another +fortnight, you know, and then at Christmas again. Come for Christmas if +you can." + +"Ah! I don't know where I shall be. Give my love to Cambridge, though." + +"Frank!" + +"Yes?" + +"Mayn't I say what I think?" + +"No!" + + * * * * * + +Ah! there was the roof of the old church standing out against the stars, +and there could be no more talking. They might come upon the other two +at any moment now. They went five steps further, and there, in the +shadow of the gate, burned a dull red spot of fire, that kindled up as +they looked, and showed for an instant the heavy eyes of the Major with +a pipe in his mouth. + + * * * * * + +"Good-evening, sir," came the military voice, and the girl rose to her +feet beside him. "You're just in time." + +"Good-evening," said Jack dully. + +"We've had a pleasant evening of it up here, Mr. Kirkby, after we'd +stepped down and had a bit of supper at the 'Crown.'" + +"I suppose you heard my name there," said Jack. + +"Quite right, sir." + +"Give us the key," said Frank abruptly. + +He unlocked the door and pushed it back over the grass-grown gravel. + +"Wait for me here, will you?" he said to Jack. + +"I'm coming in. I'll show you where to change." + + * * * * * + +Twenty yards of an irregular twisted path, over which they stumbled two +or three times, led them down to the little ruined doorway at the west +end of the old church. Jack's father had restored the place admirably, +so far as restoration was possible, and there stood now, strong as ever, +the old tower, roofed and floored throughout, abutting on the four +roofless walls, within which ran the double row of column bases. + +Jack struck a light, kindled a bicycle lamp he had brought with him, and +led the way. + +"Come in here," he said. + +Frank followed him into the room at the base of the tower and looked +round. + +"This looks all right," he said. "It was a Catholic church once, I +suppose? + +"Yes; the parson says this was the old sacristy. They've found things +here, I think--cupboards in the wall, and so on." + +"This'll do excellently," said Frank. "I shan't be five minutes." + +Jack went out again without a word. He felt it was a little too much to +expect him to see the change actually being made, and the garments of +sacrifice put on. (It struck him with an unpleasant shock, considering +the form of his previous metaphor, that he should have taken Frank into +the old sacristy.) + +He sat down on the low wall, built to hold the churchyard from slipping +altogether down the hill-side, and looked out over the little town +below. + +The sky was more noticeable here; one was more conscious of the enormous +silent vault, crowded with the steady stars, cool and aloof; and, +beneath, of the feverish little town with sparks of red light dotted +here and there, where men wrangled and planned and bargained, and +carried on the little affairs of their little life with such astonishing +zest. Jack was far from philosophical as a rule, but it is a fact that +meditations of this nature did engross him for a minute or two while he +sat and waited for Frank, and heard the low voices talking in the lane +outside. It even occurred to him for an instant that it was just +possible that what Frank had said in the smoking-room before dinner was +true, and that Something really did have him in hand, and really, did +intend a definite plan and result to emerge from this deplorable and +quixotic nonsense. (I suppose the contrast of stars and human lights may +have helped to suggest this sort of thing to him.) + +Then he gave himself up again to dismal considerations of a more +particular kind. + + * * * * * + +He heard Frank come out, and turned to see him in the dim light, bag in +hand, dressed again as he had been three days ago. On his head once more +was the indescribable cap; on his body the indescribable clothes. He +wore on his feet the boots in which he had tramped the moors that day. +(How far away seemed that afternoon now, and the cheerful lunch in the +sunshine on the hill-top!) + +"Here I am, Jack." + +Then every promise went to the winds. Jack stood up and took a step +towards him. + +"Frank, I do implore you to give up this folly. I asked you not to do it +at Cambridge, and I ask you again now. I don't care a damn what I +promised. It's simple madness, and--" + +Frank had wheeled without a word, and was half-way to the gate. Jack +stumbled after him, calling under his breath; but the other had already +passed through the gate and joined the Major and Gertie before Jack +could reach him. + +"And so you think up here is the right direction?" Frank was saying. + +"I got some tips at the 'Crown,'" said the Major. "There are some farms +up there, where--" + +"Frank, may I speak to you a minute?" + +"No.... All right, Major; I'm ready at once if you are." + +He turned towards Jack. + +"By the way," he said, "what's in this parcel?" + +"Something to eat and drink," murmured Jack. + +"Oh ... I shan't want that, thanks very much. Here's the bag with the +clothes in it. I'm awfully grateful, old man, for all your kindness. +Awfully sorry to have bothered you." + +"By the way, Frankie," put in the hateful voice at his side, "I'll take +charge of that parcel, if you don't want it." + +"Catch hold, then," said Frank. "You're welcome to it, if you'll carry +it. You all right, Gertie?" + +The girl murmured something inaudible. As at their first meeting, she +had said nothing at all. The Major lifted a bundle out of the depths of +the hedge, slung it on his stick, and stood waiting, his face again +illuminated with the glow of his pipe. He had handed the new parcel to +Gertie without a word. + +"Well, good-by again, old man," said Frank, holding out his hand. He, +too, Jack saw, had his small bundle wrapped up in the red handkerchief, +as on the bridge when they had first met. Jack took his hand and shook +it. He could say nothing. + +Then the three turned and set their faces up the slope. He could see +them, all silent together, pass up, more and more dim in the darkness of +the hedge, the two men walking together, the girl a yard behind them. +Then they turned the corner and were gone. But Jack still stood where +Frank had left him, listening, until long after the sound of their +footfalls had died away. + + +(VII) + +Jack had a horrid dream that night. + +He was wandering, he thought, gun in hand after grouse, alone on the +high moors. It was one of those heavy days, so common in dreams, when +the light is so dim that very little can be seen. He was aware of +countless hill-tops round him, and valleys that ran down into profound +darkness, where only the lights of far-off houses could be discerned. +His sport was of that kind peculiar to sleep-imaginings. Enormous birds, +larger than ostriches, rose occasionally by ones or twos with incredible +swiftness, and soared like balloons against the heavy, glimmering sky. +He fired at these and feathers sprang from them, but not a bird fell. +Once he inflicted an indescribable wound ... and the bird sped across +the sky, blotting out half of it, screaming. Then as the screaming died +he became aware that there was a human note in it, and that Frank was +crying to him, somewhere across the confines of the wold, and the horror +that had been deepening with each shot he fired rose to an intolerable +climax. Then began one of the regular nightmare chases: he set off to +run; the screaming grew fainter each instant; he could not see his way +in the gloom; he clambered over bowlders; he sank in bogs, and dragged +his feet from them with infinite pains; his gun became an unbearable +burden, yet he dared not throw it from him; he knew that he should need +it presently.... The screaming had ceased now, yet he dared not stop +running; Frank was in some urgent peril, and he knew it was not yet too +late, if he could but find him soon. He ran and ran; the ground was +knee-deep now in the feathers that had fallen from the wounded birds; it +was darker than ever, yet he toiled on hopelessly, following, as he +thought, the direction from which the cries had come. Then as at last he +topped the rise of a hill, the screaming broke out again, shrill and +frightful, close at hand, and the next instant he saw beneath him in the +valley a hundred yards away that for which he had run so far. Running up +the slope below, at right angles to his own path came Frank, in the +dress-clothes he had borrowed, with pumps upon his feet; his hands were +outstretched, his face white as ashes, and he screamed as he ran. +Behind him ran a pack of persons whose faces he could not see; they ran +like hounds, murmuring as they came in a terrible whining voice. Then +Jack understood that he could save Frank; he brought his gun to the +shoulder, aimed it at the brown of the pack and drew the trigger. A snap +followed, and he discovered that he was unloaded; he groped in his +cartridge-belt and found it empty.... He tore at his pockets, and found +at last one cartridge; and as he dashed it into the open breach, his gun +broke in half. Simultaneously the quarry vanished over an edge of hill, +and the pack followed, the leaders now not ten yards behind the flying +figure in front. + +Jack stood there, helpless and maddened. Then he flung the broken pieces +of his gun at the disappearing runners; sank down in the gloom, and +broke out into that heart-shattering nightmare sobbing which shows that +the limit has been reached. + +He awoke, still sobbing--certain that Frank was in deadly peril, if not +already dead, and it was a few minutes before he dared to go to sleep +once more. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +The Rectory garden at Merefield was, obviously, this summer, the proper +place to spend most of the day. Certainly the house was cool--it was one +of those long, low, creeper-covered places that somehow suggest William +IV. and crinolines (if it is a fact that those two institutions +flourished together, as I think), with large, darkish rooms and wide, +low staircases and tranquil-looking windows through which roses peep; +but the shadow of the limes and the yews was cooler still. A table stood +almost permanently through those long, hot summer days in the place +where Dick had sat with Jenny, and here the Rector and his daughter +breakfasted, lunched and dined, day after day, for a really +extraordinarily long period. + +Jenny herself lived in the garden even more than her father; she got +through the household business as quickly as possible after breakfast, +and came out to do any small businesses that she could during the rest +of the morning. She wrote a few letters, read a few books, sewed a +little, and, on the whole, presented a very domestic and amiable +picture. She visited poor people for an hour or so two or three days a +week, and occasionally, when Lord Talgarth was well enough, rode out +with him and her father after tea, through the woods, and sometimes with +Lord Talgarth alone. + +She suffered practically no pangs of conscience at all on the subject of +Frank. Her letter had been perfectly sincere, and she believed herself +to have been exceedingly sensible. (It is, perhaps, one may observe, one +of the most dangerous things in the world to think oneself sensible; it +is even more dangerous than to be told so.) For the worst of it all was +that she was quite right. It was quite plain that she and Frank were not +suited to one another; that she had looked upon that particular quality +in him which burst out in the bread-and-butter incident, the leaving of +Cambridge, the going to prison, and so forth, as accidental to his +character, whereas it was essential. It was also quite certain that it +was the apotheosis of common-sense for her to recognize that, to say so, +and to break off the engagement. + +Of course, she had moments of what I should call "grace," and she would +call insanity, when she wondered for a little while whether to be +sensible was the highest thing in life; but her general attitude to +these was as it would be towards temptation of any other kind. To be +sensible, she would say, was to be successful and effective; to be +otherwise was to fail and to be ineffective. + +Very well, then. + + * * * * * + +At the beginning of September Dick Guiseley came to Merefield to shoot +grouse. The grouse, as I think I have already remarked, were backward +this year, and, after a kind of ceremonial opening, to give warning as +it were, on the twelfth of August, they were left in peace. Business was +to begin on the third, and on the evening of the second Dick arrived. + +He opened upon the subject that chiefly occupied his thoughts just now +with Archie that night when Lord Talgarth had gone to bed. They were +sitting in the smoking-room, with the outer door well open to admit the +warm evening air. They had discussed the prospects of grouse next day +with all proper solemnity, and Archie had enumerated the people who were +to form their party. The Rector was coming to shoot, and Jenny was to +ride out and join them at lunch. + +Then Archie yawned largely, finished his drink, and took up his candle. + +"Oh! she's coming, is she?" said Dick meditatively. + +Archie struck a match. + +"How's Frank?" went on Dick. + +"Haven't heard from him." + +"Where is the poor devil?" + +"Haven't an idea." + +Dick emitted a monosyllabic laugh. + +"And how's she behaving?" + +"Jenny? Oh! just as usual. She's a sensible girl and knows her mind." + +Dick pondered this an instant. + +"I'm going to bed," said Archie. "Got to have a straight eye to-morrow." + +"Oh! sit down a second.... I want to talk." + +Archie, as a compromise, propped himself against the back of a chair. + +"She doesn't regret it, then?" pursued Dick. + +"Not she," said Archie. "It would never have done." + +"I know," agreed Dick warmly. (It was a real pleasure to him that head +and heart went together in this matter.) "But sometimes, you know, women +regret that sort of thing. Wish they hadn't been quite so sensible, you +know." + +"Jenny doesn't," said Archie. + +Dick took up his glass which he had filled with his third +whisky-and-soda, hardly five minutes before, and drank half of it. He +sucked his mustache, and in that instant confidentialism rose in his +heart. + +"Well, I'm going to have a shot myself," he said. + +"What?" + +"I'm going to have a shot. She can but say 'No.'" + +Archie's extreme repose of manner vanished for a second. His jaw dropped +a little. + +"But, good Lord! I hadn't the faintest--" + +"I know you hadn't. But I've had it for a long time.... What d'you +think, Archie?" + +"My good chap--" + +"Yes, I know; leave all that out. We'll take that as read. What comes +next?" + +Archie looked at him a moment. + +"How d'you mean? Do you mean, do I approve?" + +"Well, I didn't mean that," admitted Dick. "I meant, how'd I better set +about it?" + +Archie's face froze ever so slightly. (It will be remembered that Jack +Kirkby considered him pompous.) + +"You must do it your own way," he said. + +"Sorry, old man," said Dick. "Didn't mean to be rude." + +Archie straightened himself from the chair-back. + +"It's all rather surprising," he said. "It never entered my head. I +must think about it. Good-night. Put the lights out when you come." + +"Archie, old man, are you annoyed?" + +"No, no; that's all right," said Archie. + +And really and truly that was all that passed between these two that +night on the subject of Jenny--so reposeful were they. + + +(II) + +There was a glorious breeze blowing over the hills as Jenny rode slowly +up about noon next day. The country is a curious mixture--miles of moor, +as desolate and simple and beautiful as moors can be, and by glimpses, +now and then in the valleys between, of entirely civilized villages, +with even a town or two here and there, prick-up spires and roofs; and, +even more ominous, in this direction and that, lie patches of smoke +about the great chimneys. + +Jenny was meditative as she rode up alone. It is very difficult to be +otherwise when one has passed through one considerable crisis, and +foresees a number of others that must be met, especially if one has not +made up one's mind as to the proper line of action. It is all very well +to be sensible, but a difficulty occasionally arises as to which of two +or three courses is the more in accordance with that character. To be +impulsive certainly leads to trouble sometimes, but also, sometimes it +saves it. + +Jenny looked charming in repose. She was in a delightful green habit; +she wore a plumy kind of hat; she rode an almost perfect little mare +belonging to Lord Talgarth, and her big blue, steady eyes roved slowly +round her as she went, seeing nothing. It was, in fact, the almost +perfect little mare who first gave warning of the approach to the +sportsmen, by starting violently all over at the sound of a shot, fired +about half a mile away. Jenny steadied her, pulled her up, and watched +between the cocked and twitching ears. + +Below her, converging slowly upwards, away from herself, moved a line of +dots, each precisely like its neighbor in color (Lord Talgarth was very +particular, indeed, about the uniform of his beaters), and by each moved +a red spot, which Jenny understood to be a flag. The point towards which +they were directed culminated in a low, rounded hill, and beneath the +crown of this, in a half circle, were visible a series of low defenses, +like fortifications, to command the face of the slope and the dips on +either side. This was always the last beat--in this moor--before lunch; +and lunch itself, she knew, would be waiting on the other side of the +hill. Occasionally as she watched, she saw a slight movement behind +this or that butt--no more--and the only evidence of human beings, +beside the beaters, lay in the faint wreath of all but invisible smoke +that followed the reports, coming now quicker and quicker, as the grouse +took alarm. Once with a noise like a badly ignited rocket, there burst +over the curve before her a flying brown thing, that, screaming with +terrified exultation, whirred within twenty yards of her head and +vanished into silence. (One cocked ear of the mare bent back to see if +the rocket were returning or not.) + +Jenny's meditations became more philosophical than ever as she looked. +She found herself wondering how much free choice the grouse--if they +were capable themselves of philosophizing--would imagine themselves to +possess in the face of this noisy but insidious death. She reminded +herself that every shred of instinct and experience that each furious +little head contained bade the owner of it to fly as fast and straight +as possible, in squawking company with as many friends as possible, away +from those horrible personages in green and silver with the agitating +red flags, and up that quiet slope which, at the worst, only emitted +sudden noises. A reflective grouse would perhaps (and two out of three +did) consider that he could fly faster and be sooner hidden from the +green men with red flags, if he slid crosswise down the valleys on +either side. But--Jenny observed--that was already calculated by these +human enemies, and butts (like angels' swords) commanded even these +approaches too. + +It was obvious, then, that however great might be the illusion of free +choice, in reality there was none: they were betrayed hopelessly by the +very instincts intended to safeguard them; practical common-sense, in +this case, at least, led them straight into the jaws of death. A little +originality and impulsiveness would render them immortal so far as guns +were concerned.... + +Yes; but there was one who had been original, who had actually preferred +to fly straight past a monster in green on a gray mare rather than to +face the peaceful but deathly slopes; and he had escaped. But obviously +he was an exception. Originality in grouse-- + +At this point the mare breathed slowly and contemptuously and advanced a +delicate, impatient foot, having quite satisfied herself that danger was +no longer imminent; and Jenny became aware she was thinking nonsense. + + * * * * * + +There were a number of unimportant but well-dressed persons at lunch, +with most of whom Jenny was acquainted. These extended themselves on the +ground and said the right things one after another; and all began with +long drinks, and all ended with heavy meals. There were two other women +whom she knew slightly, who had driven up half an hour before. +Everything was quite perfect--down even to hot grilled grouse that +emerged from emblazoned silver boxes, and hot black coffee poured from +"Thermos" flasks. Jenny asked intelligent questions and made herself +agreeable. + +At the close of lunch she found herself somehow sitting on a small rock +beside Dick. Lord Talgarth was twenty yards away, his gaitered legs very +wide apart, surveying the country and talking to the keeper. Her father +was looking down the barrels of his rather ineffective gun, and Archie, +with three or four other men and two women, a wife and a sister, was +smoking with his back against a rock. + +"Shall you be in to-morrow?" asked Dick casually. + +Jenny paused an instant. + +"I should think so!" she said. "I've got one or two things to do." + +"Perhaps I may look in? I want to talk to you about something if I may." + +"Shan't you be shooting again?" + +"No; I'm not very fit and shall take a rest." + +Jenny was silent. + +"About what time?" pursued Dick. + +Jenny roused herself with a little start. She had been staring out over +the hills and wondering if that was the church above Barham that she +could almost see against the horizon. + +"Oh! any time up to lunch," she said vaguely. + +Dick stood up slowly with a satisfied air and stretched himself. He +looked very complete and trim, thought Jenny, from his flat cap to his +beautifully-spatted shooting-boots. (It was twelve hundred a year, at +least, wasn't it?) + +"Well, I suppose we shall be moving directly," he said. + + * * * * * + +A beater came up bringing the mare just before the start was made. + +"All right, you can leave her," said Jenny. "I won't mount yet. Just +hitch the bridle on to something." + +It was a pleasant and picturesque sight to see the beaters, like a file +of medieval huntsmen, dwindle down the hill in their green and silver in +one direction, and, five minutes later, the sportsmen in another. It +looked like some mysterious military maneuver on a small scale; and +again Jenny considered the illusion of free choice enjoyed by the +grouse, who, perhaps, two miles away, crouched in hollows among the +heather. And yet, practically speaking, there was hardly any choice at +all.... + +Lady Richard, the wife of one of the men, interrupted her in a drawl. + +"Looks jolly, doesn't it?" she said. + +Jenny assented cordially. + +(She hated this woman, somehow, without knowing why. She said to herself +it was the drawl and the insolent cold eyes and the astonishing +complacency; and she only half acknowledged that it was the beautiful +lines of the dress and the figure and the assured social position.) + +"We're driving," went on the tall girl. "You rode, didn't you? + +"Yes." + +"Lord Talgarth's mare, isn't it? I thought I recognized her." + +"Yes. I haven't got a horse of my own, you know," said Jenny +deliberately. + +"Oh!" + +Jenny suddenly felt her hatred rise almost to passion. + +"I must be going," she said. "I've got to visit an old woman who's +dying. A rector's daughter, you know--" + +"Ah! yes." + +Then Jenny mounted from a rock (Lady Richard held the mare's head and +settled the habit), and rode slowly away downhill. + + +(III) + +Dick approached the Rectory next day a little before twelve o'clock with +as much excitement in his heart as he ever permitted to himself. + +Dick is a good fellow--I haven't a word to say against him, except +perhaps that he used to think that to be a Guiseley, and to have +altogether sixteen hundred a year and to live in a flat in St. James's, +and to possess a pointed brown beard and melancholy brown eyes and a +reposeful manner, relieved him from all further effort. I have wronged +him, however; he had made immense efforts to be proficient at billiards, +and had really succeeded; and, since his ultimate change of fortune, has +embraced even further responsibilities in a conscientious manner. + +Of course, he had been in love before in a sort of way; but this was +truly different. He wished to marry Jenny very much indeed.... That she +was remarkably sensible, really beautiful and eminently presentable, of +course, paved the way; but, if I understand the matter rightly, these +were not the only elements in the case. It was the genuine thing. He did +not quite know how he would face the future if she refused him; and he +was sufficiently humble to be in doubt. + +The neat maid told him at the door that Miss Launton had given +directions that he was to be shown into the garden if he came.... No; +Miss Launton was in the morning-room, but she should be told at once. So +Dick strolled across the lawn and sat down by the garden table. + +He looked at the solemn, dreaming house in the late summer sunshine; he +observed a robin issue out from a lime tree and inspect him sideways; +and then another robin issue from another lime tree and drive the first +one away. Then he noticed a smear of dust on his own left boot, and +flicked it off with a handkerchief. Then, as he put his handkerchief +away again, he saw Jenny coming out from the drawing-room window. + +She looked really extraordinarily beautiful as she came slowly across +towards him and he stood to meet her. She was bare-headed, but her face +was shadowed by the great coils of hair. She was in a perfectly plain +pink dress, perfectly cut, and she carried herself superbly. She looked +just a trifle paler than yesterday, he thought, and there was a very +reserved, steady kind of question in her eyes. (I am sorry to be obliged +to go on saying this sort of thing about Jenny every time she comes upon +the scene; but it is the sort of thing that everyone is obliged to go on +thinking whenever she makes her appearance.) + +"I've got a good deal to say," said Dick, after they had sat a moment +or two. "May I say it right out to the end?" + +"Why, certainly," said Jenny. + +Dick leaned back and crossed one knee over the other. His manner was +exactly right--at any rate, it was exactly what he wished it to be, and +all through his little speech he preserved it. It was quite restrained, +extremely civilized, and not at all artificial. It was his method of +presenting a fact--the fact that he really was in love with this +girl--and was in his best manner. There was a lightness of touch about +this method of his, but it was only on the surface. + +"I daresay it's rather bad form my coming and saying all this so soon, +but I can't help that. I know you must have gone through an awful lot in +the last month or two--perhaps even longer--but I don't know about that. +And I want to begin by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn't. The +fact is that--well, that I daren't risk waiting." + +He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the robin that had gone and +come again since Jenny had appeared), but he was aware that at his first +sentence she had suddenly settled down into complete motionlessness. He +wondered whether that was a good omen or not. + +"Well, now," he said, "let me give a little account of myself first. I'm +just thirty-one; I've got four hundred a year of my own, and Lord +Talgarth allows me twelve hundred a year more. Then I've got other +expectations, as they say. My uncle gives me to understand that my +allowance is secured to me in his will; and I'm the heir of my aunt, +Lady Simon, whom you've probably met. I just mention that to show I'm +not a pauper--" + +"Mr. Guiseley--" began Jenny. + +"Please wait. I've not done yet. Do you mind? ... I'm a decent living +man. I'm not spotless, but I'll answer any questions you like to put--to +your father. I've not got any profession, though I'm supposed to be a +solicitor; but I'm perfectly willing to work if ... if it's wished, or +to stand for Parliament, or anything like that--there hasn't, so far, +seemed any real, particular reason why I should work. That's all. And I +think you know the sort of person I am, all round. + +"And now we come to the point." (Dick hesitated a fraction of a second. +He was genuinely moved.) "The point is that I'm in love with you, and I +have been for some time past. I ... I can't put it more plainly ... (One +moment, please, I've nearly done.) ... I can't think of anything else; +and I haven't been able to for the last two or three months. I ... I ... +I'm fearfully sorry for poor old Frank; I'm very fond of him, you know, +but I couldn't help finding it an extraordinary relief when I heard the +news. And now I've come to ask you, perfectly straight, whether you'll +consent to be my wife." + +Dick looked at her for the first time since he had begun his little +speech. + +She still sat absolutely quiet (she had not even moved at the two words +she had uttered), but she had gone paler still. Her mouth was in repose, +without quiver or movement, and her beautiful eyes looked steadily on to +the lawn before her. She said nothing. + +"If you can't give me an answer quite at once," began Dick again +presently, "I'm perfectly willing to--" + +She turned and looked him courageously in the face. + +"I can't say 'Yes,'" she said. "That would be absurd.... You have been +quite straightforward with me, and I must be straightforward with you. +That is what you wish, isn't it?" + +Dick inclined his head. His heart was thumping furiously with +exultation--in spite of her words. + +"Then what I say is this: You must wait a long time. If you had insisted +on an answer now, I should have said 'No.' I hate to keep you waiting, +particularly when I do really think it will be 'No' in the long run; but +as I'm not quite sure, and as you've been perfectly honest and +courteous, if you really wish it I won't say 'No' at once. Will that +do?" + +"Whatever you say," said Dick. + +"You mustn't forget I was engaged to Frank till quite lately. Don't you +see how that obscures one's judgment? I simply can't judge now, and I +know I can't.... You're willing to wait, then?--even though I tell you +now that I think it will be 'No'?" + +"Whatever you say," said Dick again; "and may I say thank you for not +saying 'No' at once?" + +A very slight look of pain came into the girl's eyes. + +"I would sooner you didn't," she said. "I'm sorry you said that...." + +"I'm sorry," said poor Dick. + +There was a pause. + +"One other thing," said Jenny. "Would you mind not saying anything to my +father? I don't want him to be upset any more. Have you told anybody +else you were--?" + +"Yes," said Dick bravely, "I told Archie." + +"I'm sorry you did that. Will you then just tell him exactly what I +said--exactly, you know. That I thought it would be 'No'; but that I +only didn't say so at once because you wished it." + +"Very well," said Dick. + +It was a minute or so before either spoke again. Jenny had that +delightful and soothing gift which prevents silence from being empty. It +is the same gift, in another form, as that which enables its possessor +to put people at their ease. (It is, I suppose, one of the elements of +tact.) Dick had a sense that they were still talking gently and +reasonably, though he could not quite understand all that Jenny was +meaning. + +She interrupted it by a sudden sentence. + +"I wonder if it's fair," she said. "You know I'm all but certain. I only +don't say so because--" + +"Let it be at that," said Dick. "It's my risk, isn't it?" + + +(III) + +When he had left her at last, she sat on perfectly still in the same +place. The robin had given it up in despair: this human creature was not +going to scratch garden-paths as she sometimes did, and disclose rich +worms and small fat maggots. But a cat had come out instead and was now +pacing with stiff forelegs, lowered head and trailing tail, across the +sunny grass, endeavoring to give an impression that he was bent on some +completely remote business of his own. + +He paused at the edge of the shadow and eyed the girl malignantly. + +"Wow!" said the cat. + +There was no response. + +"Wow!" said the cat. + +Jenny roused herself. + +"Wow!" said Jenny meditatively. + +"Wow!" said the cat, walking on. + +"Wow!" said Jenny. + +Again there was a long silence. + +"Wow!" said Jenny indignantly. + +The cat turned a slow head sideways as he began to cross the path, but +said nothing. He waited for another entreaty, but Jenny paid no more +attention. As he entered the yews he turned once more. + +"Wow!" said the cat, almost below his breath. + +But Jenny made no answer. The cat cast one venomous look and +disappeared. + + * * * * * + +Then there came out a dog--a small brown and black animal, very sturdy +on his legs, and earnest and independent in air and manner. He was the +illegitimate offspring of a fox-terrier. He trotted briskly across from +the direction of the orchard, diagonally past Jenny. As he crossed the +trail of the cat he paused, smelt, and followed it up for a yard or two, +till he identified for certain that it proceeded from an acquaintance; +then he turned to resume his journey. The movement attracted the girl's +attention. + +"Lama!" called Jenny imperiously. "Come here this instant!" + +Lama put his head on one side, nodded and smiled at her indulgently, and +trotted on. + + * * * * * + +"Oh, dear me!" said Jenny, sighing out loud. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +There lived (and still lives, I believe) in the small Yorkshire village +of Tarfield a retired doctor, entirely alone except for his servants, in +a large house. It is a very delightful house, only--when I stayed there +not long ago--it seemed to me that the doctor did not know how to use +it. It stands in its own grounds of two or three acres, on the +right-hand side of the road to a traveler going north, separated by a +row of pollarded limes from the village street, and approached--or, +rather, supposed to be approached--by a Charles II. gate of iron-scroll +work. I say "supposed to be approached" because the gate is invariably +kept locked, and access can only be gained to the house through the side +gate from the stable-yard. The grounds were abominably neglected when I +saw them; grass was growing on every path, and as fine a crop of weeds +surged up amongst the old autumn flowers as ever I have seen. The house, +too, was a sad sight. There here two big rooms, one on either side of +the little entrance-hall--one a dining-room, the other a sort of +drawing-room--and both were dreary and neglected-looking places. In the +one the doctor occasionally ate, in the other he never sat except when a +rare visitor came to see him, and the little room supposed to be a study +at the foot of the stairs in the inner hall that led through the kitchen +was hardly any better. I was there, I say, last autumn, and the +condition of the place must have been very much the same as that in +which it was when Frank came to Tarfield in October. + +For the fact was that the doctor--who was possessed of decent private +means--devoted the whole of his fortune, the whole of his attention, and +the whole of his life--such as it was--to the study of toxins upstairs. + +Toxins, I understand, have something to do with germs. Their study +involves, at any rate at present, a large stock of small animals, such +as mice and frogs and snakes and guinea-pigs and rabbits, who are given +various diseases and then studied with loving attention. I saw the +doctor's menagerie when I went to see him about Frank; they were chiefly +housed in a large room over the kitchen, communicating with the doctor's +own room by a little old powder-closet with two doors, and the smell was +indescribable. Ranks of cages and boxes rose almost to the ceiling, and +in the middle of the room was a large business-like looking wooden +kitchen-table with various appliances on it. I saw the doctor's room +also--terribly shabby, but undoubtedly a place of activity. There were +piles of books and unbound magazines standing about in corners, with +more on the table, as well as a heap of note-books. An array of glass +tubes and vary-colored bottles stood below the window, with a +microscope, and small wooden boxes on one side. And there was, besides, +something which I think he called an "incubator"--a metal affair, +standing on four slender legs; a number of glass tubes emerged from +this, each carefully stoppered with cotton wool, and a thermometer +thrust itself up in one corner. + +A really high degree of proficiency in any particular subject invariably +leads to atrophy in other directions. A man who eats and breathes and +dreams Toxins, for instance, who lives so much in Toxins that he +corresponds almost daily with learned and unintelligible Germans; who +knows so much about Toxins that when he enters, with shabby trousers and +a small hand-bag, into the room of a polished specialist in Harley +Street, he sees as in a dream the specialist rise and bow before +him--who, when he can be persuaded to contribute a short and highly +technical article to a medical magazine, receives a check for +twenty-five guineas by return of post--a man of this kind is peculiarly +open to the danger of thinking that anything which cannot be expressed +in terms of Toxin is negligible nonsense. It is the characteristic +danger of every specialist in every branch of knowledge; even +theologians are not wholly immune. + +It was so in the case of Dr. Whitty (I forget all the initials that +should follow his name). He had never been married, he never took any +exercise; occasionally, when a frog's temperature approached a crisis, +he slept in his clothes, and forgot to change them in the morning. And +he was the despair of the zealous vicar. He was perfectly convinced +that, since the force that underlay the production of Toxins could +accomplish so much, it could surely accomplish everything. He could +reduce his roses, his own complexion, the grass on his garden-paths, the +condition of his snakes', and frogs' skins, and the texture of his +kitchen-table--if you gave him time--to terms of Toxin; therefore, +argued Dr. Whitty, you could, if you had more time, reduce everything +else to the same terms. There wasn't such a thing as a soul, of +course--it was a manifestation of a combination of Toxins (or +anti-Toxins, I forget which); there was no God--the idea of God was the +result of another combination of Toxins, akin to a belief in the former +illusion. Roughly speaking, I think his general position was that as +Toxins are a secretion of microbes (I am certain of that phrase, +anyhow), so thought and spiritual experiences and so forth are a +secretion of the brain. I know it sounded all very brilliant and +unanswerable and analogous to other things. He hardly ever took the +trouble to say all this; he was far too much interested in what he +already knew, or was just on the point of finding out, to treat of these +extravagant and complicated ramifications of his subject. When he really +got to know his mice and bats, as they deserved to be known, it might be +possible to turn his attention to other things. Meanwhile, it was +foolish and uneconomical. So here he lived, with a man-of-all-work and +his man's wife, and daily went from strength to strength in the +knowledge of Toxins. + + * * * * * + +It was to this household that there approached, in the month of October, +a small and dismal procession of three. + +The doctor was first roused to a sense of what was happening as he +shuffled swiftly through his little powder-closet one morning soon after +breakfast, bearing in his hand the corpse of a mouse which had at last, +and most disappointingly, succumbed to a severe attack of some hybrid of +leprosy. As he flew through to his microscope he became aware of an +altercation in the stable-yard beneath. + +"I tell you he ain't a proper doctor," he heard his man explaining; "he +knows nothing about them things." + +"My good fellow," began a high, superior voice out of sight; but Dr. +Whitty swept on, and was presently deep in indescribable disgustingness +of the highest possible value to the human race, especially in the South +Seas. Time meant nothing at all to him, when this kind of work was in +hand; and it was after what might be an hour or two hours, or ten +minutes, that he heard a tap on his door. + +He uttered a sound without moving his eye, and the door opened. + +"Very sorry, sir," said his man, "but there's a party in the yard as +won't--" + +The doctor held up his hand for silence, gazed a few moments longer, +poked some dreadful little object two or three times, sighed and sat +back. + +"Eh?" + +"There's a party in the yard, sir, wants a doctor." + +(This sort of thing had happened before.) + +"Tell them to be off," he said sharply. He was not an unkindly man, but +this sort of thing was impossible. "Tell them to go to Dr. Foster." + +"I 'ave, sir," said the man. + +"Tell them again," said the doctor. + +"I 'ave, sir. 'Arf a dozen times." + +The doctor sighed--he was paying practically no attention at all, of +course. The leprous mouse had been discouraging; that was all. + +"If you'd step down, sir, an instant--" + +The doctor returned from soaring through a Toxined universe. + +"Nonsense," he said sharply. "Tell them I'm not practicing. What do they +want?" + +"Please, sir, it's a young man as 'as poisoned 'is foot, 'e says. 'E +looks very bad, and--" + +"Eh? Poison?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The doctor appeared to reflect a moment (that mouse, you know--); then +he recovered. + +"I'll be down directly," he said almost mechanically. "Take 'em all into +the study." + + +(II) + +Dr. Whitty could hardly explain to me, even when he tried, exactly why +he had made an exception in this particular instance. Of course, I +understand perfectly myself why he did; but, for himself, all he could +say was that he supposed the word Poison happened to meet his mood. He +had honestly done with the mouse just now; he had no other very critical +case, and he thought he might as well look at the poisoned young man +for an instant, before finally despatching him to Dr. Foster, six miles +further on. + +When he came into the study ten minutes later he found the party ranged +to meet him. A girl was sitting on a box in the corner by the window, +and stood up to receive him; a young man was sitting back in a Windsor +chair, with one boot off, jerking spasmodically; his eyes stared +unmeaningly before him. A tallish, lean man of a particularly +unprepossessing appearance was leaning over him with an air of immense +solicitude. They were all three evidently of the tramp-class. + +What they saw--with the exception of Frank, I expect, who was too far +gone to notice anything--was a benignant-looking old man, very shabby, +in an alpaca jacket, with a rusty velvet cap on his head, and very +bright short-sighted eyes behind round spectacles. This figure appeared +in the doorway, stood looking at them a moment, as if bewildered as to +why he or they were there at all; and then, with a hasty shuffling +movement, darted across the floor and down on his knees. + +The following colloquy was held as soon as the last roll of defiled +bandage had dropped to the floor, and Frank's foot was disclosed. + +"How long's this been going on?" asked the doctor sharply, holding the +discolored thing carefully in his two hands. + +"Well, sir," said the Major reflectively, "he began to limp about--let's +see--four days ago. We were coming through--" + +The doctor, watching Frank's face curiously (the spasm was over for the +present), cut the Major short by a question to the patient. + +"Now, my boy, how d'you feel now?" + +Frank's lips moved; he seemed to be trying to lick them; but he said +nothing, and his eyes closed, and he grinned once or twice, as if +sardonically. + +"When did these spasms begin?" went on the doctor, abruptly turning to +the Major again. + +"Well, sir--if you mean that jerking--Frankie began to jerk about half +an hour ago when we were sitting down a bit; but he's seemed queer since +breakfast. And he didn't seem to be able to eat properly." + +"How do you mean? D'you mean he couldn't open his mouth?" + +"Well, sir, it was something like that." + +The doctor began to make comments in a rapid undertone, as if talking to +himself; he pressed his hand once or twice against Frank's stomach; he +took up the filthy bandage and examined it. Then he looked at the boot. + +"Where's the sock?" he asked sharply. + +Gertie produced it from a bundle. He looked at it closely, and began to +mumble again. Then he rose to his feet. + +"What's the matter with him, doctor?" asked the Major, trying to look +perturbed. + +"We call it tetanus," said the doctor. + +"Who are you, my man?" he said. "Any relation?" + +The Major looked at him loftily. + +"No, sir.... I am his friend." + +"Ha! Then you must leave your friend in my charge. He shall be well in a +week at the latest." + +The Major was silent. + +"Well?" snapped the doctor. + +"I understood from your servant, sir--" + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"I am an educated man." + +"Ha--well--no business of mine. What were you about to say?" + +"I understood from your servant, sir, that this was not quite in your +line; and since--" + +The specialist smiled grimly. He snatched up a book from a pile on the +table, thrust open the title-page and held it out. + +"Read that, sir.... As it happens, it's my hobby. Go and ask Dr. +Foster, if you like.... No, sir; I must have your friend; it's a good +sound case." + +The Major read the title-page in a superior manner. It purported to be +by a James Whitty, and the name was followed by a series of distinctions +and of the initials, which I have forgotten. F.R.S. were the first. + +"My name," said the doctor. + +The Major handed the book back with a bow. + +"I am proud to make your acquaintance, Dr. Whitty. I have heard of you. +May I present Mrs. Trustcott?" + +Gertie looked confused. The doctor made a stiff obeisance. Then his face +became animated again. + +"We must move your friend upstairs," he said. "If you will help, Mr. +Trustcott, I will call my servant." + + +(III) + +It was about half-past nine that night that the doctor, having rung the +bell in the spare bedroom, met his man at the threshold. + +"I'll sleep in this room to-night," he said; "you can go to bed. Bring +in a mattress, will you?" + +The man looked at his master's face. (He looked queer-like, reported +Thomas later to his wife.) + +"Hope the young man's doing well, sir?" + +A spasm went over the doctor's face. + +"Most extraordinary young man in the world," he said.... Then he broke +off. "Bring the mattress at once, Thomas. Then you can go to bed." + +He went back and closed the door. + + * * * * * + +Thomas had seldom seen his master so perturbed over a human being +before. He wondered what on earth was the matter. During the few minutes +that he was in the room he looked at the patient curiously, and he +noticed that the doctor was continually looking at him too. Thomas +described to me Frank's appearance. He was very much flushed, he said, +with very bright eyes, and he was talking incessantly. And it was +evidently this delirious talking that had upset the doctor. I tried to +get out of Doctor Whitty what it was that Frank had actually said, but +the doctor shut up his face tight and would say nothing. Thomas was more +communicative, though far from adequate. + +It was about religion, he said, that Frank was talking--about +religion.... And that was really about all that he could say of that +incident. + +Thomas awoke about one o'clock that night, and, still with the +uneasiness that he had had earlier in the evening, climbed out of bed +without disturbing his wife, put on his slippers and great-coat and made +his way down the attic stairs. The October moon was up, and, shining +through the staircase window, showed him the door of the spare bedroom +with a line of light beneath it. From beyond that door came the steady +murmur of a voice.... + +Now Thomas's nerves were strong: he was a little lean kind of man, very +wiry and active, nearly fifty years old, and he had lived with his +master, and the mice and the snakes, and disagreeable objects in +bottles, for more than sixteen years. He had been a male nurse in an +asylum before that. Yet there was something--he told me later--that +gripped him suddenly as he was half-way down the stairs and held him in +a kind of agony which he could in no way describe. It was connected with +the room behind that lighted door. It was not that he feared for his +master, nor for Frank. It was something else altogether. (What a pity it +is that our system of education teaches neither self-analysis nor the +art of narration!) + +He stood there--he told me--he should think for the better part of ten +minutes, unable to move either way, listening, always listening, to the +voice that rose and sank and lapsed now and then into silences that +were worse than all, and telling himself vigorously that he was not at +all frightened. + +It was a creak somewhere in the old house that disturbed him and snapped +the thin, rigid little thread that seemed to paralyze his soul; and +still in a sort of terror, though no longer in the same stiff agony, he +made his way down the three or four further steps of the flight, laid +hold of the handle, turned it and peered in. + +Frank was lying quiet so far as he could see. A night-light burned by +the bottles and syringes on the table at the foot of the bed, and, +although shaded from the young man's face, still diffused enough light +to shoes the servant the figure lying there, and his master, seated +beyond the bed, very close to it, still in his day-clothes--still, even, +in his velvet cap--his chin propped in his hand, staring down at his +patient, utterly absorbed and attentive. + +There was nothing particularly alarming in all that, and yet there was +that in the room which once more seized the man at his heart and held +him there, rigid again, terrified, and, above all, inexpressibly awed. +(At least, that is how I should interpret his description.) He said that +it wasn't like the spare bedroom at all, as he ordinarily knew it (and, +indeed, it was a mean sort of room when I saw it, without a fireplace, +though of tolerable size). It was like another room altogether, said +Thomas. + +He tried to listen to what Frank was saying, and I imagine he heard it +all quite intelligently; yet, once more, all he could say afterwards was +that it was about religion ... about religion.... + +So he stood, till he suddenly perceived that the doctor was looking at +him with a frown and contorted features of eloquence. He understood that +he was to go. He closed the door noiselessly; and, after another pause, +sped upstairs without a sound in his red cloth slippers. + + +(IV) + +When Frank awoke to normal consciousness again, he lay still, wondering +what it was all about. He saw a table at the foot of his bed and noticed +on it a small leather case, two green bottles stoppered with +india-rubber, and a small covered bowl looking as if it contained +beef-tea. He extended his explorations still further, and discovered an +Hanoverian wardrobe against the left wall, a glare of light (which he +presently discerned to be a window), a dingy wall-paper, and finally a +door. As he reached this point the door opened and an old man with a +velvet skull-cap, spectacles, and a kind, furrowed face, came in and +stood over him. + +"Well?" said the old man. + +"I am a bit stiff," said Frank. + +"Are you hungry?" + +"I don't think so." + +"Well, you're doing very well, if that's any satisfaction to you," +observed the doctor, frowning on him doubtfully. + +Frank said nothing. + +The doctor sat down on a chair by the bed that Frank suddenly noticed +for the first time. + +"Well," said the doctor, "I suppose you want to know the facts. Here +they are. My name is Whitty; I'm a doctor; you're in my house. This is +Wednesday afternoon; your friends brought you here yesterday morning. +I've given them some work in the garden. You were ill yesterday, but +you're all right now." + +"What was the matter?" + +"We won't bother about names," said the doctor with a kind sharpness. +"You had a blister; it broke and became a sore; then you wore one of +those nasty cheap socks and it poisoned it. That's all." + +"That's in those bottles?" asked Frank languidly. (He felt amazingly +weak and stupid.) + +"Well, it's an anti-toxin," said the doctor. "That doesn't tell you +much, does it?" + +"No," said Frank.... "By the way, who's going to pay you, doctor? I +can't." + +The doctor's face rumpled up into wrinkles. (Frank wished he wouldn't +sit with his back to the window.) + +"Don't you bother about that, my boy. You're a case--that's what you +are." + +Frank attempted a smile out of politeness. + +"Now, how about some more beef-tea, and then going to sleep again?" + +Frank assented. + + * * * * * + +It was not until the Thursday morning that things began to run really +clear again in Frank's mind. He felt for his rosary under his pillow and +it wasn't there. Then he thumped on the floor with a short stick which +had been placed by him, remembering that in some previous existence he +had been told to do this. + +A small, lean man appeared at the door, it seemed, with the quickness of +thought. + +"My rosary, please," said Frank. "It's a string of beads. I expect it's +in my trouser-pocket." + +The man looked at him with extraordinary earnestness and vanished. + +Then the doctor appeared holding the rosary. + +"Is this what you want?" he asked. + +"That's it! Thanks very much." + +"You're a Catholic?" went on the other, giving it him. + +"Yes." + +The doctor sat down again. + +"I thought so," he said. + +Frank wondered why. Then a thought crossed his mind. + +"Have I been talking?" he said. "I suppose I was delirious?" + +The doctor made no answer for a moment; he was looking at him fixedly. +Then he roused himself. + +"Well, yes, you have," he said. + +Frank felt rather uncomfortable. + +"Hope I haven't said anything I shouldn't." + +The old man laughed shortly and grimly. + +"Oh, no," he said. "Far from it. At least, your friends wouldn't think +so." + +"What was it about?" + +"We'll talk about that later, if you like," said the doctor. "Now I want +you to get up a bit after you've had some food." + + * * * * * + +It was with a very strange sensation that Frank found himself out in the +garden next day, in a sheltered corner, seated in a wicker chair in +which, by the help of bamboo poles, he had been carried downstairs by +Thomas and the Major, with the doctor leading the way and giving +directions as to how to turn the corners. The chair was brought out +through an irregularly-shaped little court at the back of the house and +set down in the warm autumn noon, against an old wall, with a big +kitchen garden, terribly neglected, spread before him. The smoke of +burning went up in the middle distance, denoting the heap of weeds +pulled by the Major and Gertie during the last three days. He saw Gertie +in the distance once or twice, in a clean sun-bonnet, going about her +business, but she made no sign. The smell of the burning weeds gave a +pleasant, wholesome and acrid taste to his mouth. + +"Now then," said the doctor, "we can have our little talk." And he sat +down beside him on another chair. + + * * * * * + +Frank felt a little nervous, he scarcely knew why. It seemed to him that +it would be far better not to refer to the past at all. And it appeared +to him a little unusual that a doctor should be so anxious about it. +Twice or three times since yesterday this old man had begun to ask him a +question and had checked himself. There was a very curious eagerness +about him now. + +"I'm awfully grateful and all that," said Frank. "Is there anything +special you want to know? I suppose I've been talking about my people?" + +The doctor waved a wrinkled hand. + +"No, no," he said, "not a word. You talked about a girl a little, of +course--everybody does; but not much. No, it isn't that." + +Frank felt relieved. He wasn't anxious about anything else. + +"I'm glad of that. By the way, may I smoke?" + +The doctor produced a leather case of cigarettes and held it out. + +"Take one of these," he said. + +"Because," continued Frank, "I'm afraid I mustn't talk about my people. +The name I've got now is Gregory, you know." He lit his cigarette, +noticing how his fingers still shook, and dropped the match. + +"No, it's not about that," said the doctor; "it's not about that." + +Frank glanced at him, astonished by his manner. + +"Well, then--?" he began. + +"I want to know first," said the doctor slowly, "where you've got all +your ideas from. I've never heard such a jumble in my life. I know you +were delirious; but ... but it hung together somehow; and it seemed much +more real to you than anything else." + +"What did?" asked Frank uncomfortably. + +The doctor made no answer for a moment. He looked out across the untidy +garden with its rich, faded finery of wild flowers and autumn leaves, +and the yellowing foliage beyond the wall, and the moors behind--all +transfigured in October sunshine. The smoke of the burning weeds drew +heavenly lines and folds of ethereal lace-work across the dull splendors +beyond. + +"Well," he said at last, "everything. You know I've heard hundreds and +hundreds of folks ..." he broke off again, "... and I know what people +call religion about here--and such a pack of nonsense ..." (He turned on +Frank again suddenly.) "Where d'you get your ideas from?" + +"Do you mean the Catholic religion?" said Frank. + +"Bah! don't call it that. I know what that is--" Frank interrupted him. + +"Well, that's my religion," he said. "I haven't got any other." + +"But ... but the way you hold it," cried the other; "the grip ... the +grip it has of you. That's the point. D'you mean to tell me--" + +"I mean that I don't care for anything else in the whole world," said +Frank, stung with sudden enthusiasm. + +"But ... but you're not mad! You're a very sensible, fellow. You don't +mean to tell me you really believe all that--all that about pain and so +on? We doctors know perfectly what all that is. It's a reaction of +Nature ... a warning to look out ... it's often simply the effects of +building up; and we're beginning to think--ah! that won't interest you! +Listen to me! I'm what they call a specialist--an investigator. I can +tell you, without conceit, that I probably know all that is to be known +on a certain subject. Well, I can tell you as an authority--" + +Frank lifted his head a little. He was keenly interested by the fire +with which this other enthusiast spoke. + +"I daresay you can," said Frank. "And I daresay it's all perfectly true; +but what in the world has all that got to do with it--with the use made +of it--the meaning of it? Now I--" + +"Hush! hush!" said the doctor. "We mustn't get excited. That's no good." + +He stopped and stared mournfully out again. + +"I wish you could really tell me," he said more slowly. "But that's just +what you can't. I know that. It's a personal thing." + +"But my dear doctor--" said Frank. + +"That's enough," said the other. "I was an old fool to think it +possible--" + +Frank interrupted again in his turn. (He was conscious of that +extraordinary mental clearness that comes sometimes to convalescents, +and he suddenly perceived there was something behind all this which had +not yet made its appearance.) + +"You've some reason for asking all this," he said. "I wish you'd tell me +exactly what's in your mind." + +The old man turned and looked at him with a kind of doubtful fixedness. + +"Why do you say that, my boy?" + +"People like you," said Frank smiling, "don't get excited over people +like me, unless there's something.... I was at Cambridge, you know. I +know the dons there, and--" + +"Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor, drawing a long breath. "I hadn't +meant to. I know it's mere nonsense; but--" He stopped an instant and +called aloud: "Thomas! Thomas!" + +Thomas's lean head, like a bird's, popped out from a window in the +kitchen court behind. + +"Come here a minute." + +Thomas came and stood before them with a piece of wash-leather in one +hand and a plated table-spoon in the other. + +"I want you to tell this young gentleman," said the doctor +deliberately, "what you told me on Wednesday morning." + +Thomas looked doubtfully from one to the other. + +"It was my fancy, sir," he said. + +"Never mind about that. Tell us both." + +"Well, sir, I didn't like it. Seemed to me when I looked in--" + +("He looked in on us in the middle of the night," explained the doctor. +"Yes, go on, Thomas.") + +"Seemed to me there was something queer." + +"Yes?" said the doctor encouragingly. + +"Something queer," repeated Thomas musingly.... "And now if you'll +excuse me, sir, I'll have to get back--" + +The doctor waved his hands despairingly as Thomas scuttled back without +another word. + +"It's no good," he said, "no good. And yet he told me quite +intelligibly--" + +Frank was laughing quietly to himself. + +"But you haven't told me one word--" + +"Don't laugh," said the old man simply. "Look here, my boy, it's no +laughing matter. I tell you I can't think of anything else. It's +bothering me." + +"But--" + +The doctor waved his hands. + +"Well," he said, "I can say it no better. It was the whole thing. The +way you looked, the way you spoke. It was most unusual. But it affected +me--it affected me in the same way; and I thought that perhaps you could +explain." + + +(V) + +It was not until the Monday afternoon that Frank persuaded the doctor to +let him go. Dr. Whitty said everything possible, in his emphatic way, as +to the risk of traveling again too soon; and there was one scene, +actually conducted in the menagerie--the only occasion on which the +doctor mentioned Frank's relations--during which he besought the young +man to be sensible, and to allow him to communicate with his family. +Frank flatly refused, without giving reasons. + +The doctor seemed strangely shy of referring again to the conversation +in the garden; and, for his part, Frank shut up like a box. They seem +both to have been extraordinarily puzzled at one another--as such people +occasionally are. They were as two persons, both intelligent and +interested, entirely divided by the absence of any common language, or +even of symbols. Words that each used meant different things to the +other. (It strikes me sometimes that the curse of Babel was a deeper +thing than appears on the surface.) + +The Major and Gertie, all this while, were in clover. The doctor had no +conception of what six hours' manual work could or could not do, and, in +return for these hours, he made over to the two a small disused +gardener's cottage at the end of his grounds, some bedding, their meals, +and a shilling the day. It was wonderful how solicitous the Major was as +to Frank's not traveling again until it was certain he was capable of +it; but Frank had acquired a somewhat short and decisive way with his +friend, and announced that Monday night must see them all cleared out. + +The leave-taking--so far as I have been able to gather--was rather +surprisingly emotional. The doctor took Frank apart into the study where +he had first seen him, and had a short conversation, during which one +sovereign finally passed from the doctor to the patient. + +I have often tried to represent to myself exactly what elements there +were in Frank that had such an effect upon this wise and positive old +man. He had been a very upsetting visitor in many ways. He had +distracted his benefactor from a very important mouse that had died of +leprosy; he had interfered sadly with working hours; he had turned the +house, comparatively speaking, upside down. Worse than all, he had--I +will not say modified the doctor's theories--that would be far too +strong a phrase; but he had, quite unconsciously, run full tilt against +them; and finally, worst of all, he had done this right in the middle of +the doctor's own private preserve. There was absolutely every element +necessary to explain Frank's remarks during his delirium; he was a +religiously-minded boy, poisoned by a toxin and treated by the +anti-toxin. What in the world could be expected but that he should rave +in the most fantastic way, and utter every mad conception and idea that +his subjective self contained. As for that absurd fancy of the doctor +himself, as well as of his servant that there was "something queer" in +the room--the more he thought of it, the less he valued it. Obviously it +was the result of a peculiar combination of psychological conditions, +just as psychological conditions were themselves the result of an +obscure combination of toxin--or anti-toxin--forces. + +Yet for all that, argue as one may, the fact remained that this dry and +rather misanthropic scientist was affected in an astonishing manner by +Frank's personality. (It will appear later on in Frank's history that +the effect was more or less permanent.) + +Still more remarkable to my mind was the very strong affection that +Frank conceived for the doctor. (There is no mystery coming: the doctor +will not ultimately turn out to be Frank's father in disguise; Lord +Talgarth still retains that distinction.) But it is plainly revealed by +Frank's diary that he was drawn to this elderly man by very much the +same kind of feelings as a son might have. And yet it is hardly possible +to conceive two characters with less in common. The doctor was a +dogmatic materialist--and remains so still--Frank was a Catholic. The +doctor was scientific to his finger-tips--Frank romantic to the same +extremities; the doctor was old and a confirmed stay-at-home--Frank was +young, and an incorrigible gipsy. Yet so the matter was. I have certain +ideas of my own, but there is no use in stating them, beyond saying +perhaps that each recognized in the other--sub-consciously only, since +each professed himself utterly unable to sympathize in the smallest +degree with the views of the other--a certain fixity of devotion that +was the driving-force in each life. Certainly, on the surface, there are +not two theories less unlike than the one which finds the solution of +all things in Toxin, and the other which finds it in God. But perhaps +there is a reconciliation somewhere. + + * * * * * + +The Major and Gertie were waiting in the stable-yard when the two other +men emerged. The Major had a large bag of apples--given him by Thomas at +the doctor's orders--which he was proceeding to add to Gertie's load at +the very moment when the two others came out. Frank took them, without a +word, and slung them over his own back. + +The doctor stood blinking a moment in the strong sunshine. + +"Well, good-by, my boy," he said. "Good luck! Remember that if ever you +come this way again--" + +"Good-by, sir," said Frank. + +He held out his disengaged hand. + +Then an astonishing thing happened. The doctor took the hand, then +dropped it; threw his arms round the boy's neck, kissed him on both +cheeks, and hurried back through the garden gate, slamming it behind +him. And I imagine he ran upstairs at once to see how the mice were. + + * * * * * + +Well, that is the whole of the incident. The two haven't met since, that +I am aware. And I scarcely know why I have included it in this book. But +I was able to put it together from various witnesses, documentary and +personal, and it seemed a pity to leave it out. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +An enormous physical weariness settled down on Frank, as he trudged +silently with the Major, towards evening, a week later. + +He had worked all the previous day in a farm-yard--carting manure, and +the like; and though he was perfectly well again, some of the spring had +ebbed from his muscles during his week's rest. This day, too, the first +of November, had been exhausting. They had walked since daybreak, after +a wretched night in a barn, plodding almost in silence, mile after mile, +against a wet south-west wind, over a discouraging kind of high-road +that dipped and rose and dipped again, and never seemed to arrive +anywhere. + +It is true that Frank was no longer intensely depressed; quite another +process had been at work upon him for the last two or three months, as +will be seen presently; but his limbs seemed leaden, and the actual +stiffness in his shoulders and loins made walking a little difficult. + +They were all tired together. They did not say much to one another. +They had, in fact, said all that there was to be said months ago; and +they were reduced--as men always are reduced when a certain pitch is +reached--to speak simply of the most elementary bodily things--food, +tobacco and sleep. The Major droned on now and then--recalling luxuries +of past days--actual roofs over the head, actual hot meat to put in the +mouth, actual cigars--and Frank answered him. Gertie said nothing. + + * * * * * + +She made up for it, soon after dark had fallen, by quite suddenly +collapsing into a hedge, and announcing that she would die if she didn't +rest. The Major made the usual remarks, and she made no answer. + +Frank interposed suddenly. + +"Shut up," he said. "We can't stop here. I'll go on a bit and see what +can be done." + +And, as he went off into the darkness, leaving his bundle, he heard the +scolding voice begin again, but it was on a lower key and he knew it +would presently subside into a grumble, soothed by tobacco. + + * * * * * + +He had no idea as to the character of the road that lay before him. They +had passed through a few villages that afternoon, whose names meant +nothing to him, and he scarcely knew why, even, they were going along +this particular road. They were moving southwards towards London--so +much had been agreed--and they proposed to arrive there in another month +or so. But the country was unfamiliar to him, and the people seemed +grudging and uncouth. They had twice been refused the use of an outhouse +for the night, that afternoon. + +It seemed an extraordinarily deserted road. There were no lights from +houses, so far as he could make out, and the four miles that had been +declared at their last stopping-place to separate them from the next +village appeared already more like five or six. Certainly the three of +them had between two and three shillings, all told; there was no actual +need of a workhouse just yet, but naturally it was wished to spend as +little as possible. + +Then on a sudden he caught a glimpse of a light burning somewhere, that +appeared and vanished again as he moved, and fifty yards more brought +him to a wide sweep, a pair of gate-posts with the gate fastened back, +and a lodge on the left-hand side. So much he could make out dimly +through the November darkness; and as he stood there hesitating, he +thought he could see somewhere below him a few other lights burning +through the masses of leafless trees through which the drive went +downhill. + +He knew very well by experience that lodge-keepers were, taken +altogether, perhaps the most unsympathetic class in the community. (They +live, you see, right on the high road, and see human nature at its +hottest and crossest as well as its most dishonest.) Servants at back +doors were, as a rule, infinitely more obliging; and, as obviously this +was the entrance to some big country house, the right thing to do would +be to steal past the lodge on tiptoe and seek his fortune amongst the +trees. Yet he hesitated; the house might be half a mile away, for all he +knew; and, certainly there was a hospitable look about the fastened-back +gate. + +There came a gust of wind over the hills behind him, laden with wet.... +He turned, went up to the lodge door and knocked. + +He could hear someone moving about inside, and just as he was beginning +to wonder whether his double tap had been audible, the door opened and +disclosed a woman in an apron. + +"Can you very kindly direct me--" began Frank politely. + +The woman jerked her head sharply in the direction of the house. + +"Straight down the hill," she said. "Them's the orders." + +"But--" + +It was no good; the door was shut again in his face, and he stood alone +in the dark. + +This was all very unusual. Lodge-keepers did not usually receive +"orders" to send tramps, without credentials, on to the house which the +lodge was supposed to guard.... That open gate, then, must have been +intentional. Plainly, however, he must take her at her word; and as he +tramped down the drive, he began to form theories. It must be a fanatic +of some kind who lived here, and he inclined to consider the owner as +probably an eccentric old lady with a fad, and a large number of +lap-dogs. + +As he came nearer, through the trees, he became still more astonished, +for as the branches thinned, he became aware of lights burning at such +enormous distances apart that the building seemed more like a village +than a house. + +Straight before him shone a row of lighted squares, high up, as if hung +in air, receding in perspective, till blocked out by a black mass which +seemed a roof of some kind; far on the left shone some kind of +illuminated gateway, and to his right another window or two glimmered +almost beneath his feet. + +Another fifty yards down the winding drive disclosed a sight that made +him seriously wonder whether the whole experience were real, for now +only a few steps further on, and still lower than the level at which he +was, stood, apparently, a porter's lodge, as of a great college. There +was a Tudor archway, with rooms above it and rooms on either side; a +lamp hung from the roof illuminated the dry stone pavement within, and +huge barred gates at the further end, shut off all other view. It looked +like the entrance to some vast feudal castle, and he thought again that +if an eccentric old lady lived here, she must be very eccentric indeed. +He began to wonder whether a seneschal in a belt hung with keys would +presently make his appearance: he considered whether or not he could +wind a horn, if there were no other way of summoning the retainers. + +When at last he tapped at a small interior door, also studded and barred +with iron, and the door opened, the figure he did see was hardly less of +a shock to him than a seneschal would have been. + +For there stood, as if straight out of a Christmas number, the figure of +a monk, tall, lean, with gray hair, clean-shaven, with a pair of merry +eyes and a brisk manner. He wore a broad leather band round his black +frock, and carried his spare hand thrust deep into it. + + +(II) + +The monk sighed humorously. + +"Another of them," he said. "Well, my man?" + +"Please, father--" + +The monk closed his eyes as in resignation. + +"You needn't try that on," he said. "Besides, I'm not a father. I'm a +brother. Can you remember that?" + +Frank smiled back. + +"Very well, brother. I'm a Catholic myself." + +"Ah! yes," sighed the monk briskly. "That's what they all say. Can you +say the 'Divine Praises'? Do you know what they are?... However, that +makes no difference, as--" + +"But I can, brother. 'Blessed be God. Blessed be His--" + +"But you're not Irish?" + +"I know I'm not. But--" + +"Are you an educated man? However, that's not my affair. What can I do +for you, sir?" + +The monk seemed to take a little more interest in him, and Frank took +courage. + +"Yes," he said, "I'm an educated man. My name's Frank Gregory. I've got +two friends out on the road up there--a man and a woman. Their name's +Trustcott--and the woman--" + +"No good; no good," said the monk. "No women." + +"But, brother, she really can't go any further. I'm very sorry, but we +simply must have shelter. We've got two or three shillings, if +necessary--" + +"Oh, you have, have you?" said the monk keenly. "That's quite new. And +when did you touch food last? Yesterday morning? (Don't say 'S'elp me!' +It's not necessary.)" + +"We last touched food about twelve o'clock to-day. We had beans and cold +bacon," said Frank deliberately. "We're perfectly willing to pay for +shelter and food, if we're obliged. But, of course, we don't want to." + +The monk eyed him very keenly indeed a minute or two without speaking. +This seemed a new type. + +"Come in and sit down a minute," he said. "I'll fetch the guest-master." + +It was a very plain little room in which Frank sat, and seemed designed, +on purpose, to furnish no temptation to pilferers. There was a table, +two chairs, a painted plaster statue of a gray-bearded man in black +standing on a small bracket with a crook in his hand; a pious book, much +thumb-marked, lay face downwards on the table beside the oil lamp. There +was another door through which the monk had disappeared, and that was +absolutely all. There was no carpet and no curtains, but a bright little +coal fire burned on the hearth, and two windows looked, one up the drive +down which Frank had come, and the other into some sort of courtyard on +the opposite side. + +About ten minutes passed away without anything at all happening. Frank +heard more than one gust of rain-laden wind dash against the little +barred window to the south, and he wondered how his friends were getting +on. The Major, at any rate, he knew, would manage to keep himself +tolerably dry. Then he began to think about this place, and was +surprised that he was not surprised at running into it like this in the +dark. He knew nothing at all about monasteries--he hardly knew that +there were such things in England (one must remember that he had only +been a Catholic for about five months), and yet somehow, now that he had +come here, it all seemed inevitable. (I cannot put it better than that: +it is what he himself says in his diary.) + +Then, as he meditated, the door opened, and there came in a thin, +eager-looking elderly man, dressed like the brother who followed him, +except that over his frock he wore a broad strip of black stuff, +something like a long loose apron, hanging from his throat to his feet, +and his head was enveloped in a black hood. + +Frank stood up and bowed with some difficulty. He was beginning to feel +stiff. + +"Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright gray eyes, puckered at +the corners, running over and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from +close-cut hair to earthy boots. "Brother James tells me you wish to see +me." + +"It was Brother James who said so, father," said Frank. + +"What is it you want?" + +"I've got two friends on the road who want shelter--man and woman. We'll +pay, if necessary, but--" + +"Never mind about that," interrupted the priest sharply. "Who are you?" + +"The name I go by is Frank Gregory." + +"The name you go by, eh?... Where were you educated?" + +"Eton and Cambridge." + +"How do you come to be on the roads?" + +"That's a long story, father." + +"Did you do anything you shouldn't?" + +"No. But I've been in prison since." + +"And your name's Frank Gregory.... F.G., eh?" + +Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that he was known. + +"Well--good-night, father--" + +The priest turned with upraised hand. + +"Brother James, just step outside." + +Then he continued as the door closed. + +"You needn't go, Mr.--er--Gregory. Your name shall not be mentioned to a +living being without your leave." + +"You know about me?" + +"Of course I do.... Now be sensible, my dear fellow; go and fetch your +friends. We'll manage somehow." (He raised his voice and rapped on the +table.) "Brother James ... go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge. +Make arrangements to put the woman up somewhere, either there or in a +gardener's cottage. Then bring the man down here.... His name?" + +"Trustcott," said Frank. + +"And when you come back, I shall be waiting for you here." + + +(III) + +Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary sense of familiarity +descended on him as, half an hour later, the door of a cell closed +behind Dom Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room with a +bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waiting for him, a can of hot +water, a sponging tin and a small iron bed. + +I think I understand what he means. Somehow or other a well-ordered +monastery represents the Least Common Multiple of nearly all pleasant +houses. It has the largeness and amplitude of a castle, and the +plainness of decent poverty. It has none of that theatricality which it +is supposed to have, none of the dreaminess or the sentimentality with +which Protestants endow it. He had passed just now through, first, a +network of small stairways, archways, vestibules and passages, and then +along two immense corridors with windows on one side and closed doors on +the other. Everywhere there was the same quiet warmth and decency and +plainness--stained deal, uncarpeted boards, a few oil pictures in the +lower corridor, an image or two at the turn and head of the stairs; it +was lighted clearly and unaffectedly by incandescent gas, and the only +figures he had seen were of two or three monks, with hooded heads (they +had raised these hoods slightly in salutation as he passed), each going +about his business briskly and silently. There was even a cheerful smell +of cooking at the end of one of the corridors, and he had caught a +glimpse of two or three aproned lay brothers, busy in the firelight and +glow of a huge kitchen, over great copper pans. + +The sense of familiarity, then, is perfectly intelligible: a visitor to +a monastery steps, indeed, into a busy and well-ordered life, but there +is enough room and air and silence for him to preserve his individuality +too. + + * * * * * + +As soon as he was washed and dressed, he sat down in a chair before the +fire; but almost immediately there came a tap on his door, and the +somewhat inflamed face of the Major looked in. + +"Frankie?" he whispered, and, reassured, came in and closed the door +behind. (He looked very curiously small and unimportant, thought Frank. +Perhaps it was the black suit that had been lent him.) + +"By gad, Frankie ... we're in clover," he whispered, still apparently +under the impression that somehow he was in church. "There are some +other chaps, you know, off the roads too, but they're down by the lodge +somewhere." (He broke off and then continued.) "I've got such a queer +Johnnie in my room--ah! you've got one, too." + +He went up to examine a small plaster statue of a saint above the +prie-dieu. + +"It's all right, isn't it?" said Frank sleepily. + +"And there's another Johnnie's name on the door. The Rev. S. Augustine, +or something." + +He tip-toed back to the fire, lifted his tails, and stood warming +himself with a complacent but nervous smile. + +(Frank regarded him with wonder.) + +"What do all the Johnnies do here?" asked the Major presently. "Have a +rare old time, I expect. I bet they've got cellars under here all right. +Just like those chaps in comic pictures, ain't it?" + +(Frank decided it was no use to try to explain.) + +The Major babbled on a minute or two longer, requiring no answer, and +every now and then having his roving eye caught by some new marvel. He +fingered a sprig of yew that was twisted into a crucifix hung over the +bed. ("Expect it's one of those old relics," he said, "some lie or +other.") He humorously dressed up the statue of the saint in a +pocket-handkerchief, and said: "Let us pray," in a loud whisper, with +one eye on the door. And all the while there still lay on him apparently +the impression that if he talked loud or made any perceptible sound he +would be turned out again. + +He was just beginning a few steps of a noiseless high-kicking dance when +there was a tap at the door, and he collapsed into an attitude of +weak-kneed humility. Dom Hildebrand came in. + +"If you're ready," he said, "we might go down to supper." + + * * * * * + +Frank relates in his diary that of all else in the monastery, apart from +the church, the refectory and its manners impressed him most. (How easy +it is to picture it when one has once seen the ceremonies!) + +He sat at a center table, with the Major opposite (looking smaller than +ever), before a cloth laid with knife, spoon and forks. All round the +walls on a low daďs, with their backs against them, sat a row of perhaps +forty monks, of every age, kind and condition. The tables were bare +wood, laid simply with utensils and no cloths, with a napkin in each +place. At the end opposite the door there sat at a table all alone a +big, portly, kindly-faced man, of a startlingly fatherly appearance, +clean-shaven, gray-haired, and with fine features. This was the Abbot. +Above him hung a crucifix, with the single word "_Sitio_" beneath it on +a small black label. + +The meal began, however, with the ceremony of singing grace. The rows of +monks stood out, with one in the middle, facing the Abbot, each with his +hood forward and his hands hidden in his scapular. It was sung to a +grave tone, with sudden intonations, by the united voices in +unison--blessing, response, collect, psalm and the rest. (Frank could +not resist one glance at the Major, whose face of consternation +resembled that of a bird in the company of sedate cats.) + +Then each went to his place, and, noiselessly, the orderly meal began +and continued to the reading first of the gospel, and then of a history, +from a pulpit built high in the wall. All were served by lay brothers, +girded with aprons; almost every movement, though entirely natural, +seemed ordered by routine and custom, and was distinguished by a serious +sort of courtesy that made the taking of food appear, for once, as a +really beautiful, august, and almost sacramental ceremony. The great +hall, too, with its pointed roof, its tiled floor, its white-wood +scrubbed tables, and its tall emblazoned windows, seemed exactly the +proper background--a kind of secular sanctuary. The food was plain and +plentiful: soup, meat, cheese and fruit; and each of the two guests had +a small decanter of red wine, a tiny loaf of bread, and a napkin. The +monks drank beer or water. + +Then once more followed grace, with the same ceremonial. + +When this was ended, Frank turned to see where Father Hildebrand was, +supposing that all would go to their rooms; but as he turned he saw the +Abbot coming down alone. He moved on, this great man, with that same +large, fatherly air, but as he passed the two guests, he inclined +slightly towards them, and Frank, with a glance to warn the Major, +understanding that they were to follow, came out of his place and passed +down between the lines of the monks, still in silence. + +The Abbot went on, turned to the right, and as he moved along the +cloister, loud sonorous chanting began behind. So they went, on and on, +up the long lighted corridor, past door after door, as in some church +procession. Yet all was obviously natural and familiar. + +They turned in at last beneath an archway to the left, went through a +vestibule, past a great stone of a crowned Woman with a Child in her +arms, and as they entered the church, the Abbot dipped his finger into a +stoop and presented it to Frank. Frank touched the drop of water, made +the sign of the cross, and presented again his damp finger to the Major, +who looked at him with a startled eye. + +The Abbot indicated the front row of the seats in the nave, and Frank +went into it, to watch the procession behind go past, flow up the steps, +and disappear into the double rows of great stalls that lined the choir. + +There was still silence--and longer silence, till Frank understood.... + + +(IV) + +His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom little by little, and he began to +be able to make out the magnificence of the place he was in. Behind him +stretched the immense nave, its roof and columns lost in darkness, its +sides faintly illuminated by the glimmer of single oil-lamps, each in a +small screened-off chapel. But in front of him was the greater splendor. + +From side to side across the entrance to the choir ran the rood-screen, +a vast erection of brown oak and black iron, surmounted by a high loft, +from which glimmered down sheaves of silvered organ pipes, and, higher +yet, in deep shadow, he could make out three gigantic figures, of which +the center one was nailed to a cross. Beyond this began the stalls--dark +and majestic, broken by carving--jutting heads of kings and priests +leaning forward as if to breathe in the magnetism of that immense living +silence generated by forty men at their prayers. At the further end +there shone out faintly the glory of the High Altar, almost luminous, it +seemed, in the light of the single red spark that hung before it. Frank +could discern presently the gilded figures that stood among the +candlesticks behind, the throne and crucifix, the mysterious veiling +curtains of the Tabernacle.... Finally, in the midst of the choir, +stood a tall erection which he could not understand. + + * * * * * + +An extraordinary peace seemed to descend and envelop him as he looked--a +kind of crown and climax of various interior experiences that were +falling on him now--for the last few weeks. (It is useless trying to put +it into words. I shall hope to do my best presently by quoting Frank +himself.) There was a sense of home-coming; there was a sense of +astonishing sanity; there was a sense of an enormous objective peace, +meeting and ratifying that interior peace which was beginning to be his. +It appeared to him, somehow, as if for the first time he experienced +without him that which up to now he had chiefly found within. Certainly +there had been moments of this before--not merely emotional, you +understand--when heart and head lay still from their striving, and the +will reposed in Another Will. But this was the climax: it summed up all +that he had learned in the last few months; it soothed the last scars +away, it explained and answered--and, above all, correlated--his +experiences. No doubt it was the physical, as well as the spiritual, +atmosphere of this place, the quiet corridors, the warmth and the +plainness and the solidity, even the august grace of the refectory--all +these helped and had part in the sensation. Yet, if it is possible for +you to believe it, these were no more than the vessels from which the +heavenly fluid streamed; vessels, rather, that contained a little of +that abundance that surged up here as in a fountain.... + +Frank started a little at a voice in his ear. + +"When's it going to begin?" whispered the Major in a hoarse, +apprehensive voice. + + +(V) + +A figure detached itself presently from the dark mass of the stalls and +came down to where they were sitting. Frank perceived it was Father +Hildebrand. + +"We're singing Mattins of the Dead, presently," he said in a low voice. +"It's All Souls' Eve. Will you stay, or shall I take you to your room?" + +The Major stood up with alacrity. + +"I'll stay, if I may," said Frank. + +"Very well. Then I'll take Mr. Trustcott upstairs." + + * * * * * + +Half an hour later the ceremony began. + +Here, I simply despair of description. I know something of what Frank +witnessed and perceived, for I have been present myself at this affair +in a religious house; but I do not pretend to be able to write it down. + +First, however, there was the external, visible, audible service: the +catafalque, a bier-like erection, all black and yellow, guarded by +yellow flames on yellow candles--the grave movements, the almost +monstrous figures, the rhythm of the ceremonies, and the wail of, the +music of forty voices singing as one--all that is understood.... + +But the inner side of these things--the reverse of which these things +are but a coarse lining, the substance of which this is a shadow--that +is what passes words and transcends impressions. + +It seemed to Frank that one section, at any rate, of that enormous truth +at which he had clutched almost blindly when he had first made his +submission to the Church--one chamber in that House of Life--was now +flung open before him, and he saw in it men as trees walking.... He was +tired and excited, of course; he was intensely imaginative; but there +are some experiences that a rise of temperature cannot explain and that +an imagination cannot originate.... + +For it seemed to him that here he was aware of an immeasurable need to +which those ministrations were addressed, and this whole was countless +in its units and clamant in its silence. It was as a man might see the +wall of his room roll away, beyond which he had thought only the night +to lie, and discern a thronging mass of faces crying for help, pressing +upon him, urging, yet all without sound or word. He attempts in his +diary to use phrases for all this--he speaks of a pit in which is no +water, of shadows and forms that writhe and plead, of a light of glass +mingled with fire; and yet of an inevitability, of a Justice which there +is no questioning and a Force that there is no resisting. And, on the +other side, there was this help given by men of flesh and blood like +himself--using ceremonies and gestures and strange resonant words.... +The whole was as some enormous orchestra--there was the wail on this +side, the answer on that--the throb of beating hearts--there were +climaxes, catastrophes, soft passages, and yet the result was one vast +and harmonious whole. + +It was the catafalque that seemed to him the veiled door to that other +world that so manifested itself--seen as he saw it in the light of the +yellow candles--it was as the awful portal of death itself; beneath that +heavy mantle lay not so much a Body of Humanity still in death, as a +Soul of Humanity alive beyond death, quick and yet motionless with pain. +And those figures that moved about it, with censor and aspersorium, were +as angels for tenderness and dignity and undoubted power. They were men +like himself, yet they were far more; and they, too, one day, like +himself, would pass beneath that pall and need the help of others that +should follow them.... + + * * * * * + +Something of this is but a hint of what Frank experienced; it came and +went, no doubt, in gusts, yet all through he seems to have felt that +sense that here was a door into that great watching world beyond--that +here, in what is supposed by the world to be the narrow constraint of +religion, was a liberty and an outlook into realities such as the open +road and nature can but seldom give. But for my part, I can no more +follow him further than I can write down the passion of the lover and +the ecstasy of the musician. If these things could be said in words, +they would have been said long ago. But at least it was along this path +of perception that Frank went--a path that but continued the way along +which he had come with such sure swiftness ever since the moment he had +taken his sorrows and changed them from bitter to sweet. Some sentences +that he has written mean nothing to me at all.... + +Only this I see clearly, both from my talks with Father Hildebrand and +from the diary which Frank amplified at his bidding--that Frank had +reached the end of a second stage in his journey, and that a third was +to begin. + +It is significant also, I think, in view of what is to follow, that the +last initiation of this stage should have taken place on such an +occasion as this. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +There are certain moods into which minds, very much tired or very much +concentrated, occasionally fall, in which the most trifling things take +on them an appearance of great significance. A man in great anxiety, for +example, will regard as omens or warnings such things as the ringing of +a bell or the flight of a bird. I have heard this process deliberately +defended by people who should know better. I have heard it said that +those moods of intense concentration are, as a matter of fact states of +soul in which the intuitive or mystical faculties work with great +facility, and that at such times connections and correlations are +perceived which at other times pass unnoticed. The events of the world +then are, by such people, regarded as forming links in a chain of +purpose--events even which are obviously to the practical man merely the +effects of chance and accident. It is utterly impossible, says the +practical man, that the ringing of a bell, or the grouping of +tea-leaves, or the particular moment at which a picture falls from a +wall, can be anything but fortuitous: and it is the sign of a weak and +superstitious mind to regard them as anything else. There can be no +purpose or sequence except in matters where we can perceive purpose or +sequence. + +Of course the practical man must be right; we imply that he is right, +since we call him practical, and I have to deplore, therefore, the fact +that Frank on several occasions fell into a superstitious way of looking +at things. The proof is only too plain from his own diary--not that he +interprets the little events which he records, but that he takes such +extreme pains to write them down--events, too, that are, to all +sensibly-minded people, almost glaringly unimportant and insignificant. + + * * * * * + +I have two such incidents to record between the the travelers' leaving +the Benedictine monastery and their arriving in London in December. The +Major and Gertie have probably long since forgotten the one which they +themselves witnessed, and, indeed, there is no particular reason why +they should remember it. Of the other Frank seems to have said nothing +to his friends. Both of them, however, are perfectly insignificant--they +concern, respectively, only a few invisible singers and a couple of +quite ordinary human beings. They are described with a wholly +unnecessary wealth of detail in Frank's diary, though without comment, +and I write them down here for that reason, and that reason only. + +The first was as follows: + +They were approaching a certain cathedral town, not a hundred miles from +London, and as the evening was clear and dry, though frosty, and money +was low, they determined to pass the night in a convenient brick-yard +about half a mile out of the town. + +There was a handy shed where various implements were kept; the Major, by +the help of a little twisted wire, easily unfastened the door. They +supped, cooking a little porridge over a small fire which they were able +to make without risk, and lay down to sleep after a pipe or two. + +Tramps go to sleep early when they mean business, and it could not have +been more than about eleven o'clock at night when Frank awoke with the +sense that he had slept long and deeply. He seems to have lain there, +content and quiet enough, watching the last ember dying in the brazier +where they had made their fire.... There was presently a stir from the +further corner of the shed, a match was struck, and Frank, from his +improvised pillow, beheld the Major's face suddenly illuminated by the +light with which he was kindling his pipe once more. He watched the face +with a sort of artistic interest for a few seconds--the drooping +shadows, the apparently cavernous eyes, the deep-shaded bar of the +mustache across the face. In the wavering light cast from below it +resembled the face of a vindictive beast. Then the Major whispered, +between his puffs: + +"Frankie?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! you're awake too, are you?" + +"Yes." + +A minute later, though they had spoken only in whispers, Gertie drew a +long sighing breath from her corner of the shed and they could hear that +she, too, sat up and cleared her throat. + +"Well, this is a pretty job," said the Major jovially to the company +generally. "What's the matter with us?" + +Frank said nothing. He lay still, with a sense of extraordinary content +and comfort, and heard Gertie presently lie down again. The Major smoked +steadily. + +Then the singing began. + + * * * * * + +It was a perfectly still night, frost-bound and motionless. It was late +enough for the sounds of the town to have died away (cathedral towns go +to bed early and rise late), and, indeed, almost the only sounds they +had heard, even three or four hours before, had been the occasional +deliberate chime of bells, like a meditative man suddenly uttering a +word or two aloud. Now, however, everything was dead silent. Probably +the hour had struck immediately before they awoke, since Frank remarks +that it seemed a long time before four notes tolled out the quarter. + +The singing came first as a sensation rather than as a sound, so far +away was it. It was not at once that Frank formulated the sense of +pleasure that he experienced by telling himself that someone was +singing. + +At first it was a single voice that made itself heard--a tenor of +extraordinary clarity. The air was unknown to him, but it had the +character of antiquity; there was a certain pleasant melancholy about +it; it contained little trills and grace-notes, such as--before harmony +developed in the modern sense--probably supplied the absence of chords. +There was no wind on which the sound could rise or fall, and it grew +from a thread out of the distance into clear singing not a quarter of a +mile away.... + +The Major presently grunted over his pipe some expression of surprise; +but Frank could say nothing. He was almost holding his breath, so great +was his pleasure. + +The air, almost regretfully, ran downhill like a brook approaching, an +inevitable full close; and then, as the last note was reached, a chord +of voices broke in with some kind of chorus. + +The voices were of a quartette of men, and rang together like struck +notes, not loud or harsh, but, on the contrary, with a restrained +softness that must, I suppose, have been the result of very careful +training. It was the same air that they were repeating, but the +grace-notes were absent, and the four voices, in chord after chord, +supplied their place by harmony. It was impossible to tell what was the +subject of the song or even whether it were sacred or secular, for it +was of that period--at least, so I conjecture--when the two worlds were +one, and when men courted their love and adored their God after the same +fashion. Only there ran through all that air of sweet and austere +melancholy, as if earthly music could do no more than hint at what the +heart wished to express. + + * * * * * + +Frank listened in a sort of ecstasy. The music was nearer now, coming +from the direction from which the three travelers had themselves come +this afternoon. Presently, from the apparent diminuendo, it was plain +that the singers were past, and were going on towards the town. There +was no sound of footsteps; the Major remarked on that, when he could +get Frank to attend a few minutes later, when all was over; but there +were field paths running in every direction, as well as broad stretches +of grass beside the road, so the singers may very well have been walking +on soft ground. (These points are dispassionately noted down in the +diary.) + +The chorus was growing fainter now; once more the last slopes of the +melody were in sight--those downhill gradations of the air that told of +the silence to come. Then once more, for an instant, there was silence, +till again, perhaps nearly a quarter of a mile away, the single tenor +voice began _da capo_. And the last that Frank heard, at the moment +before the quarter struck and, soft and mellow though it was, jarred the +air and left the ear unable to focus itself again on the tiny woven +thread of sound, was, once more the untiring quartette taking up the +melody, far off in the silent darkness. + +It seems to me a curious little incident--this passing of four singers +in the night; it might have seemed as if our travelers, by a kind of +chance, were allowed to overhear the affairs of a world other than their +own--and the more curious because Frank seems to have been so much +absorbed by it. Of course, from a practical point of view, it is almost +painfully obvious what is the explanation. It must have been a quartette +from the cathedral choir, returning from some festivity in the suburbs; +and it must have happened that they followed the same route, though +walking on the grass, along which Frank himself had come that evening. + + +(II) + +The second incident is even more ordinary, and once again I must declare +that nothing would have induced me to incorporate it into this story had +it not appeared, described very minutely in the sort of log-book into +which Frank's diary occasionally degenerates. + +They were within a very few miles of the outskirts of London, and +December had succeeded November. They had had a day or two of work upon +some farm or other. (I have not been able to identify the place), and +had run into, and, indeed, exchanged remarks with two or three groups of +tramps also London bound. + +They were given temporary lodgings in a loft over a stable, by the +farmer for whom they worked, and this stable was situated in a court at +the end of the village street, with gates that stood open all day, +since the yard was overlooked by the windows of the farmer's +living-house--and, besides, there was really nothing to steal. + +They had finished their work in the fields (I think it had to do with +the sheep and mangel-wurzels, or something of the kind); they had +returned to their lodgings, received their pay, packed up their +belongings, and had already reached the further end of the village on +their way to London, when Frank discovered that he had left a pair of +socks behind. This would never do: socks cost money, and their absence +meant sore feet and weariness; so he told the Major and Gertie to walk +on slowly while he went back. He would catch them up, he said, before +they had gone half a mile. He hid his bundle under a hedge--every pound +of weight made a difference at the end of a day's work--and set off. + +It was just at that moment between day and night--between four and five +o'clock--as he came back into the yard. He went straight through the +open gates, glancing about, to explain matters to the farmer if +necessary, but, not seeing him, went up the rickety stairs, groped his +way across to the window, took down his socks from the nail an which he +had hung them last night, and came down again. + +As he came into the yard, he thought he heard something stirring within +the open door of the stable on his right, and thinking it to be the +farmer, and that an explanation would be advisable, looked in. + +At first he saw nothing, though he could hear a horse moving about in +the loose-box in the corner. Then he saw a light shine beneath the crack +of the second door, beside the loose-box, that led into the farm-yard +proper; and the next instant the door opened, a man came in with a +lantern obviously just lighted, as the flame was not yet burned up, and +stopped with a half-frightened look on seeing Frank. But he said +nothing. + +Frank himself was just on the point of giving an explanation when he, +too, stopped dead and stared. It seemed to him that he had been here +before, under exactly the same circumstances; he tried to remember what +happened next, but he could not.... + +For this was what he saw as the flame burned up more brightly. + +The man who held the lantern and looked at him in silence with a +half-deprecating air was a middle-aged man, bearded and bare-headed. He +had thrown over his shoulders a piece of sacking, that hung from him +almost like a robe. The light that he carried threw heavy wavering +shadows about the stable, and Frank noticed the great head of a +cart-horse in the loose-box peering through the bars, as if to inquire +what the company wanted. Then, still without speaking, Frank let his +eyes rove round, and they stopped suddenly at the sight of yet one more +living being in the stable. Next to the loose-box was a stall, empty +except for one occupant; for there, sitting on a box with her back to +the manger and one arm flung along it to support her weight, was the +figure of a girl. Her head, wrapped in an old shawl, leaned back against +her arm, and a very white and weary face, absolutely motionless, looked +at him. She had great eyes, with shadows beneath, and her lips were half +opened. By her side lay a regular tramp's bundle. + +Frank looked at her steadily a moment, then he looked back at the man, +who still had not moved or spoken. The draught from the door behind blew +in and shook the flame of his lantern, and the horse sighed long and +loud in the shadows behind. Once more Frank glanced at the girl; she had +lowered her arm from the manger and now sat looking at him, it seemed, +with a curious intentness and expectancy. + +There was nothing to be said. Frank bowed a little, almost +apologetically, and went out. + +Now that was absolutely all that happened. Frank says so expressly in +his diary. He did not speak to them, nor they to him; nor was any +explanation given on either side. He went out across the yard in +silence, seeing nothing of the farmer, but hearing a piano begin to play +beyond the brightly lighted windows, of which he could catch a glimpse +over the low wall separating the yard from the garden. He walked quickly +up the village street and caught up his companions, as he had said, less +than half a mile further on. He said nothing to them of his +experience--indeed, what was there to say?--but he must have written it +down that same night when they reached their next lodging, and written +it down, too, with that minuteness of detail which surprised me so much +when I first read it. + + * * * * * + +For the explanation of the whole thing is as foolishly obvious as was +that of the singing that the three had heard in the suburbs of +Peterborough. Obviously a couple of tramps had turned into this stable +for shelter. Perhaps the girl was the man's daughter; perhaps his wife; +perhaps neither. Plainly they had no right there--and that would explain +the embarrassed silence of the two: they knew they were trespassing, and +feared to be turned away. Perhaps already they had been turned away from +the village inn. But the girl was obviously tired out, and the man had +determined to risk it. + +That, then, was the whole affair--commonplace, and even a little sordid. +And yet Frank thought that it was worth writing down! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +_An extract, taken by permission, from a few pages of Frank Guiseley's +diary. These pages were written with the encouragement of Dom Hildebrand +Maple, O.S.B., and were sent to him later at his own request._ + +"... He told me a great many things that surprised me. For instance, he +seemed to know all about certain ideas that I had had, before I told him +of them, and said that I was not responsible, and he picked out one or +two other things that I had said, and told me that these were much more +serious.... + +"I went to confession to him on Friday morning, in the church. He did +not say a great deal then, but he asked if I would care to talk to him +afterwards. I said I would, and went to him in the parlor after dinner. +The first thing that happened was that he asked me to tell him as +plainly as I could anything that had happened to me--in my soul, I +mean--since I had left Cambridge. So I tried to describe it. + +"I said that at first things went pretty well in my soul, and that it +was only bodily things that troubled me--getting fearfully tired and +stiff, being uncomfortable, the food, the sleeping, and so on. Then, as +soon as this wore off I met the Major and Gertie. I was rather afraid of +saying all that I felt about these; but he made me, and I told him how +extraordinarily I seemed to hate them sometimes, how I felt almost sick +now and then when the Major talked to me and told me stories.... The +thing that seemed to torment me most during this time was the contrast +between Cambridge and Merefield and the people there, and the company of +this pair; and the only relief was that I knew I _could_, as a matter of +fact, chuck them whenever I wanted and go home again. But this relief +was taken away from me as soon as I understood that I had to keep with +them, and do my best somehow to separate them. Of course, I must get +Gertie back to her people some time, and till that's done it's no good +thinking about anything else. + +"After a while, however--I think it was just before I got into trouble +with the police--I began to see that I was a conceited ass for hating +the Major so much. It was absurd for me, I said, to put on airs, when +the difference between him and me was just that he had been brought up +in one way and I in another. I hated the things he did and said, not +because they were wrong, but because they were what I called 'bad form.' +That was really the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it made me +feel miserable. I used to think that it was rather good of me to be kind +to animals and children, but I began to see that it was simply the way I +was made: it wasn't any effort to me. I simply 'saw red' when I came +across cruelty. And I saw that that was no good. + +"Then I began to see that I had done absolutely nothing of any good +whatever--that nothing had _really_ cost me anything; and that the +things I was proud of were simply self-will--my leaving Cambridge, and +all the rest. They were theatrical, or romantic, or egotistical; there +was no real sacrifice. I should have minded much more not doing them. I +began to feel extraordinarily small. + +"Then the whole series of things began that simply smashed me up. + +"First there was the prison business. That came about in this way: + +"I had just begun to see that I was all wrong with the Major--that by +giving way to my feelings about him (I don't mean that I ever showed it, +but that was only because I thought it more dignified not to!), I was +getting all wrong with regard to both him and myself, and that I must do +something that my whole soul hated if it was to be of any use. Then +there came that minute in the barn, when I heard the police were after +us, and that there was really no hope of escape. The particular thing +that settled me was Gertie. I knew, somehow, that I couldn't let the +Major go to prison while she was about. And then I saw that this was +just the very thing to do, and that I couldn't be proud of it ever, +because the whole thing was so mean and second-rate. Well, I did it, and +it did me a lot of good somehow. I felt really rolled in the dirt, and +that little thing in the post-office afterwards rubbed it in. I saw how +chock-full I must be of conceit really to mind that, as I did, and to +show off, and talk like a gentleman. + +"Then there came the priest who refused to help me. That made me for a +time perfectly furious, because I had always said to myself that +Catholics, and especially priests, would always understand. But before I +got to York I saw what an ass I had made of myself. Of course, the +priest was perfectly right (I saw that before I got ten yards away, +though I wouldn't acknowledge it for another five miles). I was a dirty +tramp, and I talked like a brazen fool. (I remember thinking my +'openness' to him rather fine and manly!) Well, that made me smaller +still. + +"Then a sort of despair came on me when the police got me turned out of +my work in York. I know it was only a little thing (though I still +think it unfair), but it was like a pebble in your boot when you're +already going lame from something else. + +"And then came Jenny's letter. (I want to write about that rather +carefully.) + +"I said just now that I was getting to feel smaller and smaller. That's +perfectly true, but there was still a little hard lump in the middle +that would not break. Things might have gone crumbling away at me for +ever, and I might have got smaller still, but they wouldn't have smashed +me. + +"Now there were two things that I held on to all this time--my religion +and Jenny. I gave them turns, so to speak, though Jenny was never +absent. When everything religious tasted flat and dull and empty, I +thought about Jenny: when things were better--when I had those two or +three times I told Father Hildebrand about (...)--I still thought of +Jenny, and imagined how splendid it would be when we were both Catholics +together and married. But I never dreamed that Jenny would ever be angry +or disappointed. I wouldn't talk about her to anybody ever, because I +was so absolutely certain of her. I knew, I thought, that the whole +world might crumble away, but that Jenny would always understand, down +at the bottom, and that she and I would remain.... + +"Well, then came her letter. + +"Honestly, I don't quite know what I was doing inside for the next week +or so. Simply everything was altered. I never had any sort of doubt that +she meant what she said, and it was as if there wasn't any sun or moon +or sky. It was like being ill. Things happened round me: I ate and drank +and walked, but the only thing I wanted was to get away, and get down +somewhere into myself and hide. Religion, of course, seemed no good at +all. I don't understand quite what people mean by 'consolations' of +religion. Religion doesn't seem to me a thing like Art or Music, in +which you can take refuge. It either covers everything, or it isn't +religion. Religion never has seemed to me (I don't know if I'm wrong) +one thing, like other things, so that you can change about and back +again.... It's either the background and foreground all in one, or it's +a kind of game. It's either true, or it's a pretense. + +"Well, all this, in a way, taught me it was absolutely true. Things +wouldn't have held together at all unless it was true. But it was no +sort of satisfaction. It seemed to me for a while that it was horrible +that it was true; that it was frightful to think that God could be like +that--since this Jenny-business had really happened. But I didn't feel +all this exactly consciously at the time. I seemed as if I was ill, and +could only lie still and watch and be in hell. One thing, however, +Father Hildebrand thought very important (he asked me about it +particularly) was that I honestly did not feel any resentment whatever +against either God or Jenny. It was frightful, but it was true, and I +just had to lie still inside and look at it. He tells me that this shows +that the first part of the 'process,' as he called it, was finished (he +called it the 'Purgative Way'). And I must say that what happened next +seems to fit in rather well. + +"The new 'process' began quite suddenly when I awoke in the shepherd's +hut one morning at Ripon. The instant I awoke I knew it. It was very +early in the morning, just before sunrise, but there was a little wood +behind me, and the birds were beginning to chirp. + +"It's very hard to describe it in words, but the first thing to say is +that I was not exactly happy just then, but absolutely content. I think +I should say that it was like this: I saw suddenly that what had been +wrong in me was that I had made myself the center of things, and God a +kind of circumference. When He did or allowed things, I said, 'Why does +He?'--_from my point of view_. That is to say, I set up my ideas of +justice and love and so forth, and then compared His with mine, not mine +with His. And I suddenly saw--or, rather, I knew already when I +awoke--that this was simply stupid. Even now I cannot imagine why I +didn't see it before: I had heard people say it, of course--in sermons +and books--but I suppose it had meant nothing to me. (Father Hildebrand +tells me that I had seen it intellectually, but had never embraced it +with my will.) Because when one once really sees that, there's no longer +any puzzle about anything. One can simply never say 'Why?' again. The +thing's finished. + +"Now this 'process' (as Father H. calls it) has gone on in a most +extraordinary manner ever since. That beginning near Ripon was like +opening a door into another country, and I've been walking ever since +and seeing new things. All sorts of things that I had believed as a +Catholic--things, I mean, which I assented to simply because the Church +said so, have, so to speak, come up and turned themselves inside out. I +couldn't write them down, because you can't write these things down, or +even put them intelligibly to yourself. You just _see that they are so_. +For instance, one morning at mass--quite suddenly--I saw how the +substance of the bread was changed, and how our Lord is united with the +soul at Communion--of course it's a mystery (that's what I mean by +saying that it can't be written down)--but I saw it, in a flash, and I +can see it still in a sort of way. Then another day when the Major was +talking about something or other (I think it was about the club he used +to belong to in Piccadilly), I understood about our Lady and how she is +just everything from one point of view. And so on. I had that kind of +thing at Doctor Whitty's a good deal, particularly when I was getting +better. I could talk to him all the time, too, or count the knobs on the +wardrobe, or listen to the Major and Gertie in the garden--and yet go on +all the time seeing things. I knew it wasn't any good talking to Doctor +Whitty himself much, though I can't imagine why a man like that doesn't +see it all for himself.... + +"It seems to me most extraordinary now that I ever could have had those +other thoughts I told Father H. about--I mean about sins, and about +wondering whether, after all, the Church was actually true. In a sort of +way, of course, they come back to me still, and I know perfectly well I +must be on my guard; but somehow it's different. + +"Well, all this is what Father H. calls the 'Illuminative Way,' and I +think I understand what he means. It came to a sort of point on All +Souls' Eve at the monastery. I saw the whole thing then for a moment or +two, and not only Purgatory. But I will write that down later. And +Father H. tells me that I must begin to look forward to a new +'process'--what he calls the 'Way of Union.' I don't understand much +what he means by that; I don't see that more could happen to me. I am +absolutely and entirely happy; though I must say that there has seemed a +sort of lull for the last day or two--ever since All Souls' Day, in +fact. Perhaps something is going to happen. It's all right, anyhow. It +seems very odd to me that all this kind of thing is perfectly well known +to priests. I thought I was the first person who had ever felt quite +like this. + +"I must add one thing. Father H. asked me whether I didn't feel I had a +vocation to the Religious Life; he told me that from everything he could +see, I had, and that my coming to the monastery was simply providential. + +"Well, I don't agree, and I have told him so. I haven't the least idea +what is going to happen next; but I know, absolutely for certain, that I +have got to go on with the Major and Gertie to East London. Gertie will +have to be got away from the Major somehow, and until that is done I +mustn't do anything else. + +"I have written all this down as plainly as I can, because I promised +Father H. I would." + + + + +PART III + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mrs. Partington was standing at the door of her house towards sunset, +waiting for the children to come back from school. + +Her house is situated in perhaps the least agreeable street--Turner +Road--in perhaps the least agreeable district of East London--Hackney +Wick. It is a disagreeable district because it isn't anything in +particular. It has neither the tragic gayety of Whitechapel nor the +comparative refinement of Clapton. It is a large, triangular piece of +land, containing perhaps a square mile altogether, or rather more, +approached from the south by the archway of the Great Eastern Railway, +defined on one side by the line, and along its other two sides, partly +by the river Lea--a grimy, depressed-looking stream--and partly by the +Hackney Marshes--flat, dreary wastes of grass-grown land, useless as +building ground and of value only for Saturday afternoon recreations of +rabbit coursing and football. The dismalness of the place is beyond +description at all times of the year. In winter it is bleak and chilly; +in summer it is hot, fly-infested, and hideously and ironically +reminiscent of real fields and real grass. The population is calculated +to change completely about every three years, and I'm sure I am not +surprised. It possesses two important blocks of buildings besides the +schools--a large jam factory and the church and clergy-house of the Eton +Mission. + +Turner Road is perhaps the most hopeless of all the dozen and a half of +streets. (It is marked black, by the way, in Mr. Booth's instructive +map.) It is about a quarter of a mile long and perfectly straight. It is +intersected at one point by another street, and is composed of tall dark +houses, with flat fronts, perhaps six or seven stories in height. It is +generally fairly silent and empty, and is inhabited by the most +characteristic members of the Hackney Wick community--quiet, white-faced +men, lean women, draggled and sharp-tongued, and countless +over-intelligent children--all of the class that seldom remain long +anywhere--all of the material out of which the real criminal is +developed. No booths or stalls ever stand here; only, on Saturday +nights, there is echoed here, as in a stone-lined pit, the cries and the +wheel-noises from the busy thoroughfare a hundred yards away round the +corner. The road, as a whole, bears an aspect of desperate and fierce +dignity; there is never here the glimpse of a garden or of flowers, as +in Mortimer Road, a stone's throw away. There is nothing whatever except +the tall, flat houses, the pavements, the lampposts, the grimy +thoroughfare and the silence. The sensation of the visitor is that +anything might happen here, and that no one would be the wiser. There is +an air of horrible discretion about these houses. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Partington was--indeed is (for I went to see her not two months +ago)--of a perfectly defined type. She must have been a handsome factory +girl--dark, slender, and perfectly able to take care of herself, with +thin, muscular arms, generally visible up to the elbow, hard hands, a +quantity of rather untidy hair--with the tongue of a venomous orator and +any amount of very inferior sentiment, patriotic and domestic. She has +become a lean, middle-aged woman, very upright and very strong, without +any sentiment at all, but with a great deal of very practical human +experience to take its place. She has no illusions about either this +world or the next; she has borne nine children, of which three survive; +and her husband is almost uninterruptedly out of work. However, they are +prosperous (for Turner Road), and have managed, so far, to keep their +home together. + +The sunset was framed in a glow of smoky glory at the end of the street +down which Mrs. Partington was staring, resembling a rather angry +search-light turned on from the gates of heaven. The street was still +quiet; but already from the direction of the Board-school came thin and +shrill cries as the swarm of children exploded in all directions. Mrs. +Partington (she would have said) was waiting for her children--Jimmy, +Maggie and 'Erb--and there were lying within upon the bare table three +thick slices of bread and black jam; as a matter of fact, she was +looking out for her lodgers, who should have arrived by midday. + +Then she became aware that they were coming, even as she looked, +advancing down the empty street _en échelon_. Two of them she knew well +enough--they had lodged with her before; but the third was to be a +stranger, and she was already interested in him--the Major had hinted at +wonderful mysteries.... + +So she shaded her eyes against the cold glare and watched them +carefully, with that same firm, resolute face with which she always +looked out upon the world; and even as, presently, she exchanged that +quick, silent nod of recognition with the Major and Gertie, still she +watched the brown-faced, shabby young man who came last, carrying his +bundle and walking a little lame. + +"You're after your time," she said abruptly. + +The Major began his explanations, but she cut them short and led the way +into the house. + + +(II) + +I find it very difficult to record accurately the impression that Frank +made upon Mrs. Partington; but that the impression was deep and definite +became perfectly clear to me from her conversation. He hardly spoke at +all, she said, and before he got work at the jam factory he went out for +long, lonely walks across the marshes. He and the Major slept together, +it seemed, in one room, and Gertie, temporarily with the children and +Mrs. Partington in another. (Mr. Partington, at this time, happened to +be away on one of his long absences.) At meals Frank was always quiet +and well-behaved, yet not ostentatiously. Mrs. Partington found no fault +with him in that way. He would talk to the children a little before they +went to school, and would meet them sometimes on their way back from +school; and all three of them conceived for him an immense and +indescribable adoration. All this, however, would be too long to set +down in detail. + +It seems to have been a certain air of pathos which Mrs. Partington +herself cast around him, which affected her the most, and I imagine her +feeling to have been largely motherly. There was, however, another +element very obviously visible, which, in anyone but Mrs. Partington, I +should call reverence.... She told me that she could not imagine why he +was traveling with the Major and Gertie, so she at least understood +something of the gulf between them. + +So the first week crept by, bringing us up to the middle of December. + + * * * * * + +It was on the Friday night that Frank came back with the announcement +that he was to go to work at the jam factory on Monday. There was a +great pressure, of course, owing to the approach of Christmas, and Frank +was to be given joint charge of a van. The work would last, it seemed, +at any rate, for a week or two. + +"You'll have to mind your language," said the Major jocosely. (He was +sitting in the room where the cooking was done and where, by the way, +the entire party, with the exception of the two men, slept; and, at this +moment, had his feet on the low mantelshelf between the saucepan and +Jimmy's cap.) + +"Eh?" said Frank. + +"No language allowed there," said the Major. "They're damn particular." + +Frank put his cap down and took his seat on the bed. + +"Where's Gertie?" he asked. ("Yes, come on, Jimmie.") + +Jimmie crept up beside him, looking at him with big black, reverential +eyes. Then he leaned against him with a quick smile and closed his eyes +ecstatically. Frank put an arm round the boy to support him. + +"Oh! Gertie's gone to see a friend," said the Major. "Did you want her?" + +Frank said nothing, and Mrs. Partington looked from one to the other +swiftly. + +Mrs. Partington had gathered a little food for thought during the last +few days. It had become perfectly evident to her that the girl was very +much in love with this young man, and that while this young man either +was, or affected to be, ignorant of it, the Major was not. Gertie had +odd silences when Frank came into the room, or yet more odd +volubilities, and Mrs. Partington was not quite sure of the Major's +attitude. This officer and her husband had had dealings together in the +past of a nature which I could not quite determine (indeed, the figure +of Mr. Partington is still a complete mystery to me, and rather a +formidable mystery); and I gather that Mrs. Partington had learned from +her husband that the Major was not simply negligible. She knew him for a +blackguard, but she seems to have been uncertain of what kind was this +black-guardism--whether of the strong or the weak variety. She was just +a little uncomfortable, therefore, as to the significance of Gertie; and +had already wondered more than once whether or no she should say a +motherly word to the young man. + + * * * * * + +There came a sound of footsteps up the street as Mrs. Partington ironed +a collar of Jimmie's on the dining-room table, and laid down the iron as +a tap fell on the door. The Major took out his pipe and began to fill it +as she went out to see who was knocking. + +"Oh! good evening, Mrs. Partington," sounded in a clear, high-bred voice +from the street door. "May I come in for a minute or two? I heard you +had lodgers, and I thought perhaps--" + +"Well, sir, we're rather upside-down just now--and--" + +"Oh! I won't disturb you more than a minute," came the other voice +again. There were footsteps in the passage, and the next instant, past +the unwilling hostess, there came a young, fresh-colored clergyman, +carrying a silk hat, into the lamplight of the kitchen. Frank stood up +instantly, and the Major went so far as to take down his feet. Then he, +too, stood up. + +"Good evening!" said the clergyman. "May I just come in for a minute or +two? I heard you had come, and as it's in my district--May I sit down, +Mrs. Partington?" + +Mrs. Partington with sternly knit lips, swept a brown teapot, a +stocking, a comb, a cup and a crumby plate off the single unoccupied +chair, and set it a little forward near the fire. Clergymen were, to her +mind, one of those mysterious dispensations of the world for which there +was no adequate explanation at all--like policemen and men's gamblings +and horse-races. There they were, and there was no more to be said. They +were mildly useful for entertaining the children and taking them to +Southend, and in cases of absolute despair they could be relied upon for +soup-tickets or even half-crowns; but the big mysterious church, with +its gilded screen, its curious dark glass, and its white little +side-chapel, with the Morris hangings, the great clergy-house, the +ladies, the parish magazine and all the rest of it--these were simply +inexplicable. Above all inexplicable was the passion displayed for +district-visiting--that strange impulse that drove four +highly-cultivated young men in black frock-coats and high hats and +ridiculous little collars during five afternoons in the week to knock at +door after door all over the district and conduct well-mannered +conversations with bored but polite mothers of families. It was one of +the phenomena that had to be accepted. She supposed it stood for +something beyond her perceptions. + +"I thought I must come in and make your acquaintance," said the +clergyman, nursing his hat and smiling at the company. (He, too, +occasionally shared Mrs. Partington's wonder as to the object of all +this; but he, too, submitted to it as part of the system.) "People come +and go so quickly, you know--" + +"Very pleased to see a clergyman," said the Major smoothly. "No +objection to smoke, sir, I presume?" He indicated his pipe. + +"Not at all," said the clergyman. "In fact, I smoke myself; and if Mrs. +Partington will allow me--" He produced a small pink and gilded packet +of Cinderellas. (I think he thought it brought him vaguely nearer the +people to smoke Cinderellas.) + +"Oh! no objection at all, sir," put in Mrs. Partington, still a little +grimly. (She was still secretly resenting being called upon at half-past +six. You were usually considered immune from this kind of thing after +five o'clock.) + +"So I thought I must just look in and catch you one evening," explained +the clergyman once more, "and tell you that we're your friends here--the +clergy, you know--and about the church and all that." + +He was an extremely conscientious young man--this Mr. Parham-Carter--an +old Etonian, of course, and now in his first curacy. It was all pretty +bewildering to him, too, this great and splendid establishment, the +glorious church by Bodley, with the Magnificat in Gothic lettering below +the roof, the well-built and furnished clergy-house, the ladies' house, +the zeal, the self-devotion, the parochial machinery, the Band of +Hope, the men's and boys' clubs, and, above all, the furious +district-visiting. Of course, it produced results, it kept up the +standards of decency and civilization and ideals; it was a weight in the +balances on the side of right and good living; the clubs kept men from +the public-house to some extent, and made it possible for boys to grow +up with some chance on their side. Yet he wondered, in fits of +despondency, whether there were not something wrong somewhere.... But he +accepted it: it was the approved method, and he himself was a learner, +not a teacher. + +"Very kind of you, sir," said the Major, replacing his feet on the +mantelshelf. "And at what time are the services on Sunday?" + +The clergyman jumped. He was not accustomed to that sort of question. + +"I ..." he began. + +"I'm a strong Churchman, sir," said the Major. "And even if I were not, +one must set an example, you know. I may be narrow-minded, but I'm +particular about all that sort of thing. I shall be with you on Sunday." + +He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter. + +"Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next Sunday, and the Holy +Eucharist at eleven--and, of course, at eight." + +"No vestments, I hope?" said the Major sternly. + +Mr. Parham-Carter faltered a little. Vestments were not in use, but to +his regret. + +"Well, we don't use vestments," he said, "but--" + +The Major resumed his pipe with a satisfied air. + +"That's all right," he said. "Now, I'm not bigoted--my friend here's a +Roman Catholic, but--" + +The clergyman looked up sharply, and for the first time became +consciously conscious of the second man. Frank had sat back again on the +bed, with Jimmie beside him, and was watching the little scene quietly +and silently, and the clergyman met his eyes full. Some vague shock +thrilled through him; Frank's clean-shaven brown face seemed somehow +familiar--or was it something else? + +Mr. Parham-Carter considered the point for a little while in silence, +only half attending to the Major, who was now announcing his views on +the Establishment and the Reformation settlement. Frank said nothing at +all, and there grew on the clergyman a desire to hear his voice. He +made an opportunity at last. + +"Yes, I see," he said to the Major; "and you--I don't know your name?" + +"Gregory, sir," said Frank. And again a little shock thrilled Mr. +Parham-Carter. The voice was the kind of thing he had expected from that +face. + + * * * * * + +It was about ten minutes later, that the clergyman thought it was time +to go. He had the Major's positive promise to attend at least the +evening service on the following Sunday--a promise he did not somehow +very much appreciate--but he had made no progress with Frank. He shook +hands all round very carefully, told Jimmie not to miss Sunday-school, +and publicly commended Maggie for a recitation she had accomplished at +the Band of Hope on the previous evening; and then went out, accompanied +by Mrs. Partington, still silent, as far as the door. But as he actually +went out, someone pushed by the woman and came out into the street. + +"May I speak to you a minute?" said the strange young man, dropping the +"sir." "I'll walk with you as far as the clergy-house if you'll let me." + + * * * * * + +When they were out of earshot of the house Frank began. + +"You're Parham-Carter, aren't you?" he said. "Of Hales'." + +The other nodded. (Things were beginning to resolve themselves in his +mind.) + +"Well, will you give me your word not to tell a soul I'm here, and I'll +tell you who I am? You've forgotten me, I see. But I'm afraid you may +remember. D'you see?" + +"All right." + +"I'm Guiseley, of Drew's. We were in the same division once--up to +Rawlins. Do you remember?" + +"Good Lord! But--" + +"Yes, I know. But don't let's go into that. I've not done anything I +shouldn't. That's not the reason I'm like this. It's just turned out so. +And there's something else I want to talk to you about. When can I come +and see you privately? I'm going to begin work to-morrow at the jam +factory." + +The other man clutched at his whirling faculties. + +"To-night--at ten. Will that do?" + +"All right. What am I to say--when I ring the bell, I mean?" + +"Just ask for me. They'll show you straight up to my room." + +"All right," said Frank, and was gone. + + +(III) + +Mr. Parham-Carter's room in the clergy-house was of the regular +type--very comfortable and pleasing to the eye, as it ought to be for a +young man working under such circumstances; not really luxurious; pious +and virile. The walls were a rosy distemper, very warm and sweet, and +upon them, above the low oak book-cases, hung school and college groups, +discreet sporting engravings, a glorious cathedral interior, and the +Sistine Madonna over the mantelpiece. An oar hung all along one ceiling, +painted on the blade with the arms of an Oxford college. There was a +small _prie-dieu_, surmounted by a crucifix of Ober-Ammergau +workmanship: there was a mahogany writing-table with a revolving chair +set before it; there were a couple of deep padded arm-chairs, a +pipe-rack, and a row of photographs--his mother in evening dress, a +couple of sisters, with other well-bred-looking relations. Altogether, +with the curtains drawn and the fire blazing, it was exactly the kind of +room that such a wholesome young man ought to have in the East of +London. + +Frank was standing on the hearth-rug as Mr. Parham-Carter came in a +minute or two after ten o'clock, bearing a small tray with a covered +jug, two cups and a plate of cake. + +"Good-evening again," said the clergyman. "Have some cocoa? I generally +bring mine up here.... Sit down. Make yourself comfortable." + +Frank said nothing. He sat down. He put his cap on the floor by his +chair and leaned back. The other, with rather nervous movements, set a +steaming cup by his side, and a small silver box of cigarettes, matches +and an ash-tray. Then he sat down himself, took a long pull at his +cocoa, and waited with a certain apprehensiveness. + +"Who else is here?" asked Frank abruptly. + +The other ran through the three names, with a short biography of each. +Frank nodded, reassured at the end. + +"That's all right," he said. "All before my time, I expect. They might +come in, you know." + +"Oh, no!" said the clergyman. "I told them not, and--" + +"Well, let's come to business," said Frank. "It's about a girl. You saw +that man to-day? You saw his sort, did you? Well, he's a bad hat. And +he's got a girl going about with him who isn't his wife. I want to get +her home again to her people." + +"Yes?" + +"Can you do anything? (Don't say you can if you can't, please....) She +comes from Chiswick. I'll give you her address before I go. But I don't +want it muddled, you know." + +The clergyman swallowed in his throat. He had only been ordained +eighteen months, and the extreme abruptness and reality of the situation +took him a little aback. + +"I can try," he said. "And I can put the ladies on to her. But, of +course, I can't undertake--" + +"Of course. But do you think there's a reasonable chance? If not, I'd +better have another try myself." + +"Have you tried, then?" + +"Oh, yes, half a dozen times. A fortnight ago was the last, and I really +thought--" + +"But I don't understand. Are these people your friends, or what?" + +"I've been traveling with them off and on since June. They belong to +you, so far as they belong to anyone. I'm a Catholic, you know--" + +"Really? But--" + +"Convert. Last June. Don't let's argue, my dear chap. There isn't time." + +Mr. Parham-Carter drew a breath. + +There is no other phrase so adequate for describing his condition of +mind as the old one concerning head and heels. There had rushed on him, +not out of the blue, but, what was even more surprising, out of the very +dingy sky of Hackney Wick (and Turner Road, at that!), this astonishing +young man, keen-eyed, brown-faced, muscular, who had turned out to be a +school-fellow of his own, and a school-fellow whose reputation, during +the three hours since they had parted, he had swiftly remembered point +by point--Guiseley of Drew's--the boy who had thrown off his coat in +early school and displayed himself shirtless; who had stolen four out of +the six birches on a certain winter morning, and had conversed affably +with the Head in school yard with the ends of the birches sticking out +below the skirts of his overcoat; who had been discovered on the fourth +of June, with an air of reverential innocence, dressing the bronze +statue of King Henry VI. in a surplice in honor of the day. And now here +he was, and from his dress and the situation of his lodging-house to be +reckoned among the worst of the loafing class, and yet talking, with an +air of complete confidence and equality of a disreputable young +woman--his companion--who was to be rescued from a yet more disreputable +companion and restored to her parents in Chiswick. + +And this was not all--for, as Mr. Parham-Carter informed me +himself--there was being impressed upon him during this interview a very +curious sensation, which he was hardly able, even after consideration, +to put into words--a sensation concerning the personality and presence +of this young man which he could only describe as making him feel +"beastly queer." + + * * * * * + +It seems to have been about this point that he first perceived it +clearly--distinguished it, that is to say, from the whole atmosphere of +startling and suggesting mystery that surrounded him. + +He looked at Frank in silence a moment or two.... + +There Guiseley sat--leaning back in the red leather chair, his cocoa +still untouched. He was in a villainous suit that once, probably, had +been dark blue. The jacket was buttoned up to his chin, and a grimy +muffler surrounded his neck. His trousers were a great deal too short, +and disclosed above a yellow sock, on the leg nearest to him, about four +inches of dark-looking skin. His boots were heavy, patched, and entirely +uncleaned, and the upper toe-cap of one of them gaped from the leather +over the instep. His hands were deep in his pockets, as if even in this +warm room, he felt the cold. + +There was nothing remarkable there. It was the kind of figure presented +by unsatisfactory candidates for the men's club. And yet there was about +him this air, arresting and rather disconcerting.... + +It was a sort of electric serenity, if I understand Mr. Parham-Carter +aright--a zone of perfectly still energy, like warmth or biting cold, as +of a charged force: it was like a real person standing motionless in +the middle of a picture. (Mr. Parham-Carter did not, of course, use such +beautiful similes as these; he employed the kind of language customary +to men who have received a public school and university education, half +slang and half childishness; but he waved his hands at me and distorted +his features, and conveyed, on the whole, the kind of impression I have +just attempted to set down.) + +Frank, then, seemed as much out of place in this perfectly correct and +suitable little room as an Indian prince in Buckingham Palace; or, if +you prefer it, an English nobleman (with spats) in Delhi. He was just +entirely different from it all; he had nothing whatever to do with it; +he was wholly out of place, not exactly as regarded his manner (for he +was quite at his ease), but with regard to his significance. He was as a +foreign symbol in a familiar language. + +Its effect upon Mr. Parham-Carter was quite clear and strong. He +instanced to me the fact that he said nothing to Frank about his soul: +he honestly confessed that he scarcely even wished to press him to come +to Evensong on Sunday. Of course, he did not like Frank's being a Roman +Catholic; and his whole intellectual being informed him that it was +because Frank had never really known the Church of England that he had +left it. (Mr. Parham-Carter had himself learned the real nature of the +Church of England at the Pusey House at Oxford.) But there are certain +atmospheres in which the intellectual convictions are not very +important, and this was one of them. So here the two young men sat and +stared at one another, or, rather, Mr. Parham-Carter stared at Frank, +and Frank looked at nothing in particular. + +"You haven't drunk your cocoa," said the clergyman suddenly. + +Frank turned abruptly, took up the cup and drank the contents straight +off at one draught. + +"And a cigarette?" + +Frank took up a cigarette and put in his mouth. + +"By the way," he said, taking it out again, "when'll you send your +ladies round? The morning's best, when the rest of us are out of the +way." + +"All right." + +"Well, I don't think there's anything else?" + +"My dear chap," said the other, "I wish you'd tell me what it's all +about--why you're in this sort of life, you know. I don't want to pry, +but--" + +Frank smiled suddenly and vividly. + +"Oh, there's nothing to say. That's not the point. It's by my own choice +practically. I assure you I haven't disgraced anybody." + +"But your people--" + +"Oh! they're all right. There's nothing the matter with them.... Look +here! I really must be going." + +He stood up, and something seemed to snap in the atmosphere as he did +so. + +"Besides, I've got to be at work early--" + +"I say, what did you do then?" + +"Do then? What do you mean?" + +"When you stood up--Did you say anything?..." + +Frank looked at him bewildered. + +"I don't know what you're talking about." + +Mr. Parham-Carter did not quite know what he had meant himself. It was a +sensation come and gone, in an instant, as Frank had moved ... a +sensation which I suppose some people would call "psychical"--a +sensation as if a shock had vibrated for one moment through every part +of his own being, and of the pleasant little warm room where he was +sitting. He looked at the other, dazed for a second or two, but there +was nothing. Those two steady black eyes looked at him in a humorous +kind of concern.... + +He stood up himself. + +"It was nothing," he said. "I think I must be getting sleepy." + +He put out his hand. + +"Good-night," he said. "Oh! I'll come and see you as far as the gate." + +Frank looked at him a second. + +"I say," he said; "I suppose you've never thought of becoming a +Catholic?" + +"My dear chap--" + +"No! Well, all right.... oh! don't bother to come to the gate." + +"I'm coming. It may be locked." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Parham-Carter stood looking after Frank's figure even after it had +passed along the dark shop fronts and was turning the corner towards +Turner Road. Then it went under the lamplight, and disappeared. + +It was a drizzling, cold night, and he himself was bareheaded; he felt +the moisture run down his forehead, but it didn't seem to be happening +to him. On his right rose up the big parish-hall where the +entertainments were held, and beyond it, the east end of the great +church, dark now and tenantless; and he felt the wet woodwork of the +gate grasped in his fingers. + +He did not quite know what was happening to him but everything seemed +different. A hundred thoughts had passed through his mind during the +last half hour. It had occurred to him that he ought to have asked +Guiseley to come to the clergy-house and lodge there for a bit while +things were talked over; that he ought, tactfully, to have offered to +lend him money, to provide him with a new suit, to make suggestions as +to proper employment instead of at the jam factory--all those proper, +philanthropic and prudent suggestions that a really sensible clergyman +would have made. And yet, somehow, not only had he not made them, but it +was obvious and evident when he regarded them that they could not +possibly be made. Guiseley (of Drew's) did not require them, he was on +another line altogether.... And what was that line? + +Mr. Parham-Carter leaned on the gate a full five minutes considering all +this. But he arrived at no conclusion. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +The Rector of Merefield was returning from a short pastoral visitation +towards the close of an afternoon at the beginning of November. His +method and aims were very characteristic of himself, since he was one of +that numerous class of persons who, interiorly possessing their full +share of proper pride, wear exteriorly an appearance of extreme and +almost timid humility. The aims of his visiting were, though he was +quite unaware of the fact, directed towards encouraging people to hold +fast to their proper position in life (for this, after all, is only +another name for one's duty towards one's neighbor), and his method was +to engage in general conversation on local topics. There emerged, in +this way, information as to the patient's habits and actions; it would +thus transpire, for example, whether the patient had been to church or +not, whether there were any quarrels, and, if so, who were the +combatants and for what cause. + +He had been fairly satisfied to-day; he had met with good excuses for +the absence of two children from day-school, and of a young man from +choir-practice; he had read a little Scripture to an old man, and had +been edified by his comments upon it. It was not particularly +supernatural, but, after all, the natural has its place, too, in life, +and he had undoubtedly fulfilled to-day some of the duties for whose +sake he occupied the position of Rector of Merefield, in a completely +inoffensive manner. The things he hated most in the world were +disturbances of any kind, abruptness and the unexpected, and he had a +strong reputation in the village for being a man of peace. + +It sounds a hard thing to say of so conscientious a man, but a properly +preserved social order was perhaps to his mind the nearest approach to +the establishment of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Each person held +his proper position, including himself, and he no more expected others +to be untrue to their station than he wished to be untrue to his own. +There were, of course, two main divisions--those of gentle birth and +those not of gentle birth, and these were as distinct as the sexes. But +there were endless gradations in each respectively, and he himself +regarded those with as much respect as those of the angelic hierarchy: +the "Dominations" might, or might not be as "good" as the "Powers," but +they were certainly different, by Divine decree. It would be a species +of human blasphemy, therefore, for himself not to stand up in Lord +Talgarth's presence, or for a laborer not to touch his hat to Miss +Jenny. This is sometimes called snobbishness, but it is nothing of the +kind. It is merely a marked form of Toryism. + +It was a pleasant autumnal kind of afternoon, and he took off his hat as +he turned up past the park gates to feel the cool air, as he was a +little heated with his walk. He felt exceedingly content with all +things: there were no troubles in the parish, he enjoyed excellent +health, and he had just done his duty. He disliked pastoral visiting +very deeply indeed; he was essentially a timid kind of man, but he made +his rules and kept them, for he was essentially a conscientious man. He +was so conscientious that he was probably quite unaware that he disliked +this particular duty. + +Just as he came opposite the gates--great iron-work affairs with ramping +eagles and a Gothic lodge smothered in ivy--the man ran out and began to +wheel them back, after a hasty salute to his pastor; and the Rector, +turning, saw a sight that increased his complacency. It was just Jenny +riding with Lord Talgarth, as he knew she was doing that afternoon. + +They made a handsome, courtly kind of pair--a sort of "father and +daughter" after some romantic artist or other. Lord Talgarth's heavy +figure looked well-proportioned on horseback, and he sat his big black +mare very tolerably indeed. And Jenny looked delicious on the white +mare, herself in dark green. A groom followed twenty yards behind. + +Lord Talgarth's big face nodded genially to the Rector and he made a +kind of salute; he seemed in excellent dispositions; Jenny was a little +flushed with exercise, and smiled at her father with a quiet, friendly +dignity. + +"Just taking her ladyship home," said the old man.... "Yes; charming +day, isn't it?" + + * * * * * + +The Rector followed them, pleased at heart. Usually Jenny rode home +alone with the groom to take back her mare to the stables. It was the +first time, so far as he could remember, that Lord Talgarth had taken +the trouble to escort her all the way home himself. It really was very +pleasant indeed, and very creditable to Jenny's tact, that relations +were so cordial.... And they were dining there to-morrow, too. The +social order of Merefield seemed to be in an exceedingly sound +condition. + + +(II) + +Lord Talgarth, too, seemed to the lodge-keeper, as ten minutes later the +gates rolled back again to welcome their lord, in an unusually genial +temper (and, indeed, there was always about this old man as great a +capacity for geniality on one side as for temper on the other; it is +usually so with explosive characters). He even checked his horse and +asked after "the missus" in so many words; although two days before a +violent message had come down to complain of laxity in the gate-opening, +owing to the missus' indisposition on an occasion when the official +himself had been digging cabbages behind the Gothic lodge and the hoot +of the motor had not been heard. + +The missus, it seemed, was up and about again (indeed her husband caught +a glimpse out of the tail of his eye of a pale face that glanced and +withdrew again apprehensively above the muslin curtain beyond his +lordship). + +"That's all right," remarked Lord Talgarth heartily, and rode on. + +The lodge-keeper exchanged a solemn wink with the groom half a minute +later, and stood to watch the heavy figure ahead plunging about rather +in the saddle as the big black mare set her feet upon the turf and +viewed her stable afar off. + +It was a fact that Lord Talgarth was pleased with himself and all the +world to-day, for he kept it up even with the footman who slipped, and +all but lost his balance, as he brought tea into the library. + +"Hold up!" remarked the nobleman. + +The footman smiled gently and weakly, after the manner of a dependent, +and related the incident with caustic gusto to his fellows in the +pantry. + +After tea Lord Talgarth lay back in his chair and appeared to meditate, +as was observed by the man who fetched out the tea-things and poked the +fire; and he was still meditating, though now there was the aromatic +smell of tobacco upon the air, when his own man came to tell him that it +was time to dress. + +It was indeed a perfect room for arm-chair meditations; there were tall +book-shelves, mahogany writing-tables, each with its shaded electric +lamp; the carpet was as deep as a summer lawn; and in the wide hearth +logs consumed themselves in an almost deferential silence. There was +every conceivable thing that could be wanted laid in its proper place. +It was the kind of room in which it would seem that no scheme could +miscarry and every wish must prevail; the objective physical world +grouped itself so obediently to the human will that it was almost +impossible to imagine a state of things in which it did not so. The +great house was admirably ordered; there was no sound that there should +not be--no hitches, no gaps or cracks anywhere; it moved like a +well-oiled machine; the gong, sounded in the great hall, issued +invitations rather than commands. All was leisurely, perfectly adapted +and irreproachable. + + * * * * * + +It is always more difficult for people who live in such houses as these +to behave well under adverse fortune than for those who live in houses +where the Irish stew can be smelled at eleven o'clock in the morning, +and where the doors do not shut properly, and the kitchen range goes +wrong. Possibly something of this fact helped to explain the owner's +extreme violence of temper on the occasion of his son's revolt. It was +intolerable for a man all of whose other surroundings moved like +clockwork, obedient to his whims, to be disobeyed flatly by one whose +obedience should be his first duty--to find disorder and rebellion in +the very mainspring of the whole machine. + +Possibly, too, the little scheme that was maturing in Lord Talgarth's +mind between tea and dinner that evening helped to restore his +geniality; for, as soon as the thought was conceived, it became obvious +that it could be carried through with success. + +He observed: "Aha! it's time, is it?" to his man in a hearty kind of +way, and hoisted himself out of his chair with unusual briskness. + + +(III) + +He spent a long evening again in the library alone. Archie was away; and +after dining alone with all the usual state, the old man commanded that +coffee should be brought after him. The butler found him, five minutes +later, kneeling before a tall case of drawers, trying various keys off +his bunch, and when the man came to bring in whisky and clear away the +coffee things he was in his deep chair, a table on either side of him +piled with papers, and a drawer upon his knees. + +"You can put this lot back," he remarked to the young footman, +indicating a little pile of four drawers on the hearth-rug. He watched +the man meditatively as he attempted to fit them into their places. + +"Not that way, you fool! Haven't you got eyes?... The top one at the +top!" + +But he said it without bitterness--almost contemplatively. And, as the +butler glanced round a moment or two later to see that all was in order, +he saw his master once more beginning to read papers. + +"Good-night," said Lord Talgarth. + +"Good-night, my lord," said the butler. + +There was a good deal of discussion that night in the men's wing as to +the meaning of all this, and it was conducted with complete frankness. +Mr. Merton, the butler, had retired to his own house in the stable-yard, +and Mr. Clarkson, the valet, was in his lordship's dressing-room; so the +men talked freely. It was agreed that only two explanations were +possible for the unusual sweetness of temper: either Mr. Frank was to be +reinstated, or his father was beginning to break up. Frank was extremely +popular with servants always; and it was generally hoped that the former +explanation was the true one. Possibly, however, both were required. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Clarkson too was greatly _intrigué_ that night. He yawned about the +dressing-room till an unusually late hour, for Lord Talgarth generally +retired to rest between ten and half-past. To-night, however, it was +twenty minutes to twelve before the man stood up suddenly from the sofa +at the sound of a vibration in the passage outside. The old man came in +briskly, bearing a bundle of papers in one hand and a bed-candle in the +other, with the same twinkle of good temper in his eyes that he had +carried all the evening. + +"Give me the dispatch-box under the sofa," he said; "the one in the +leather case." + +This was done and the papers were laid in it, carefully, on the top. +Mr. Clarkson noticed that they had a legal appearance, were long-shaped +and inscribed in stiff lettering. Then the dispatch-box was reclosed and +set on the writing-table which my lord used sometimes when he was +unwell. + +"Remind me to send for Mr. Manners to-morrow," he said. (This was the +solicitor.) + + * * * * * + +Getting ready for bed that evening was almost of a sensational nature, +and Mr. Clarkson had to keep all his wits about him to respond with +sufficient agility to the sallies of his master. Usually it was all a +very somber ceremony, with a good deal of groaning and snarling in +asides. But to-night it was as cheerful as possible. + +The mysteries of it all are too great for me to attempt to pierce them; +but it is really incredible what a number of processes are necessary +before an oldish man, who is something of a buck and something of an +invalid, and altogether self-centered, is able to lay him down to rest. +There are strange doses to be prepared and drunk, strange manipulations +to be performed and very particular little ceremonies to be observed, +each in its proper place. Each to-night was accompanied by some genial +comment: the senna-pod distillation, that had been soaking since seven +p.m. in hot water, was drunk almost with the air of a toast; the +massaging of the ankles and toes (an exercise invented entirely by Lord +Talgarth himself) might have been almost in preparation for a dance. + +He stood up at last, an erect, stoutish figure, in quilted dressing-gown +and pyjamas, before the fire, as his man put on his slippers for him, +for the little procession into the next room. + +"I think I'm better to-night, Clarkson," he said. + +"Your lordship seems very well indeed, my lord," murmured that diplomat +on the hearth-rug. + +"How old do you think I am, Clarkson?" + +Clarkson knew perfectly well, but it was better to make a deprecatory +confused noise. + +"Ah! well, we needn't reckon by years ... I feel young enough," observed +the stately figure before the fire. + + * * * * * + +Then the procession was formed: the double doors were set back, the +electric light switched on; Lord Talgarth passed through towards the +great four-posted bed that stood out into the bedroom, and was in bed, +with scarcely a groan, almost before the swift Mr. Clarkson could be at +his side to help him in. He lay there, his ruddy face wonderfully +handsome against the contrast of his gray hair and the white pillow, +while Mr. Clarkson concluded the other and final ceremonies. A small +table had to be wheeled to a certain position beside the bed, and the +handle of the electric cord laid upon it in a particular place, between +the book and the tray on which stood some other very special draught to +be drunk in case of thirst. + +"Call me a quarter of an hour earlier than usual," observed the face on +the pillow. "I'll take a little stroll before breakfast." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"What did I tell you to remind me to do after breakfast?" + +"Send for Mr. Manners, my lord." + +"That's right. Good-night, Clarkson." + +"Good-night, my lord." + + * * * * * + +There was the usual discreet glance round the room to see that all was +in order; then the door into the dressing-room closed imperceptibly +behind Mr. Clarkson's bent back. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +Winter at Merefield Rectory is almost as delightful as summer, although +in an entirely different way. The fact is that the Rectory has managed +the perfect English compromise. In summer, with the windows and doors +wide open, with the heavy radiant creepers, with the lawns lying about +the house, with the warm air flowing over the smooth, polished floors +and lifting the thin mats, with the endless whistle of bird song--then +the place seems like a summer-house. And in winter, with the heavy +carpets down, and the thick curtains, the very polished floors, so cool +in summer, seem expressly designed to glimmer warmly with candle and +fire-light; and the books seem to lean forward protectively and reassert +themselves, and the low beamed ceilings to shelter and safeguard the +interior comfort. The center of gravity is changed almost imperceptibly. +In summer the place is a garden with a house in the middle; in winter a +house surrounded by shrubberies. + +The study in one way and the morning-room in another are the respective +pivots of the house. The study is a little paneled room on the +ground-floor, looking out upon the last of the line of old yews and the +beginning of the lawn; the morning-room (once known as the school-room) +is the only other paneled room in the house, on the first floor, looking +out upon the front. And round these two rooms the two sections of the +house-life tranquilly revolve. Here in one the Rector controls the +affairs of the parish, writes his sermons, receives his men friends (not +very many), and reads his books. There in the other Jenny orders the +domestic life of the house, interviews the cook, and occupies herself +with her own affairs. They are two rival, but perfectly friendly, camps. + + * * * * * + +Lately (I am speaking now of the beginning of November) there had not +been quite so much communication between the two camps as usual, not so +many informal negotiations. Jenny did not look in quite so often upon +her father--for ten minutes after breakfast, for instance, or before +lunch--and when he looked in on her he seemed to find her generally with +rather a preoccupied air, often sitting before the wide-arched +fireplace, with her hands behind her head, looking at the red logs. + +He was an easy man, as has been seen, and did not greatly trouble his +head about it: he knew enough of the world to recognize that an +extremely beautiful girl like Jenny, living on the terms she did with +the great house--and a house with men coming and going continually, to +say nothing of lawn-tennis parties and balls elsewhere--cannot +altogether escape complications. He was reasonable enough, too, to +understand that a father is not always the best confidant, and he had +supreme confidence in Jenny's common sense. + +I suppose he had his dreams; he would scarcely have been human if he had +not, and he was quite human. The throwing over of Frank had brought him +mixed emotions, but he had not been consulted either at the beginning or +the end of the engagement, and he acquiesced. Of Dick's affair he knew +nothing at all. + +That, then, was the situation when the bomb exploded. It exploded in +this way. + +He was sitting in his study one morning--to be accurate, it was the +first Saturday in November, two days after the events of the last +chapter--preparing to begin the composition of his sermon for the next +day. They had dined up at the great house the night before quite quietly +with Lord Talgarth and Archie, who had just come back. + +He had selected his text with great care from the Gospel for the day, +when the door suddenly opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual +on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing that he must be at his +sermon; but his faint sense of annoyance was completely dispelled by his +daughter's face. She was quite pale--not exactly as if she had received +a shock, but as if she had made up her mind to something; there was no +sign of tremor in her face; on the contrary, she looked extremely +determined, but her eyes searched his as she stopped. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to you for a few minutes?" + +She did not wait for his answer, but came straight in and sat down in +his easy-chair. He laid his pen down and turned a little at his +writing-table to face her. + +"Certainly, dear. What is it? Nothing wrong?" + +(He noticed she had a note in her hand.) + +"No, nothing wrong...." She hesitated. "But it's rather important." + +"Well?" + +She glanced down at the note she carried. Then she looked up at him +again. + +"Father, I suppose you've thought of my marrying some day--in spite of +Frank?" + +"Eh?" + +"Would you mind if I married a man older than myself--I mean a good deal +older?" + +He looked at her in silence. Two or three names passed before his mind, +but he couldn't remember-- + +"Father, I'm in trouble. I really am. I didn't expect--" + +Her voice faltered. He saw that she really found it difficult to speak. +A little wave of tenderness rolled over his heart. It was unlike her to +be so much moved. He got up and came round to her. + +"What is it, dear? Tell me." + +She remained perfectly motionless for an instant. Then she held out the +note to him, and simultaneously stood up. As he took it, she went +swiftly past him and out of the door. He heard the swish of her dress +pass up the stairs, and then the closing of a door. But he hardly heeded +it. He was reading the note she had given him. It was a short, perfectly +formal offer of marriage to her from Lord Talgarth. + + +(II) + +"Father, dear," said Jenny, "I want you to let me have my say straight +out, will you?" + +He bowed his head. + +They were sitting, on the evening of the same day, over the tea-things +in his study. He had not seen her alone for one moment since the +morning. She had refused to open her door to him when he went up after +reading the note: she had pleaded a headache at lunch, and she had been +invisible all the afternoon. Then, as he came in about tea-time, she had +descended upon him, rather pale, but perfectly herself, perfectly +natural, and even rather high-spirited. She had informed him that tea +would be laid in his study, as she wanted a long talk. She had poured +out tea, talking all the time, refusing, it seemed, to meet his eyes. +When she had finished, she had poured out his third cup, and then pushed +her own low chair back so far that he could not see her face. + +Then she had opened the engagement. + + * * * * * + +To say that the poor man had been taken aback would be a very poor way +of describing his condition. The thing simply had never entered his +head. He had dreamed, in wild moments, of Archie; he had certainly +contemplated Dick; but Lord Talgarth himself, gouty and aged +sixty-five!... And yet he had not been indignant. Indignation not only +did not do with Jenny, but it was impossible. To be quite frank, the man +was afraid of his daughter; he was aware that she would do ultimately +as she wished, and not as he wished; and his extreme discomfort at the +thought of this old man marrying his daughter was, since he was human, +partly counter-balanced by the thought of who the old man was. Lastly, +it must be remembered that Jenny was really a very sensible girl, and +that her father was quite conscious of the fact. + +Jenny settled herself once more in her chair and began. + + * * * * * + +"Father, dear, I want to be quite sensible about this. And I've been +very foolish and silly about it all day. I can't imagine why I behaved +as I did. There's nothing to go and mope about, that Lord Talgarth has +been kind enough to do me this honor. Because it is an honor, you know, +however you look at it, that anyone should ask one to be his wife. + +"Well, I want to say what I have to say first, and then I want you to +say exactly what you think. I've thought it all out, so I shan't be very +long." + +(He put down his cup noiselessly, as if in the presence of a sick +person. He was anxious not to lose a word, or even an inflection). + +"First of all, let's have all the things against it. He's an old man. We +mustn't forget that for one minute. And that's a very strong argument +indeed. Some people would think it final, but I think that's +foolish.... + +"Secondly, it never entered my head for one instant." (Jenny said this +quite deliberately, almost reverently.) "Of course I see now that he's +hinted at it very often, but I never understood it at the time. I've +always thought of him as a sort of--well--a sort of uncle. And that's +another strong argument against it. If it was a right thing to do, +oughtn't it to have occurred to me too? I'm not quite sure about that. + +"Thirdly, it's unsuitable for several reasons. It'll make talk. Here +have I been engaged to Frank for ages and broken it off. Can't you +imagine how people will interpret that now? I suppose I oughtn't to mind +what people say, but I'm afraid I do. Then I'm the Rector's daughter ... +and I've been running in and out continually--dining with them, sitting +with him alone. Can't you imagine what people--Lady Richard, for +instance--will make of it?... I shall be an adventuress, and all the +rest of it. That's not worth much as an argument, but it is a ... a +consideration. One must look facts in the face and think of the future. + +"Fourthly, Lord Talgarth probably won't live very long...." (Jenny +paused, and then, with extraordinary impressiveness, continued).... "And +that, of, course, is perhaps the strongest argument of all. If I could +be of any real use to him--" She stopped again. + +The Rector shifted a little in his chair. + +It was impossible for him to conceal from himself any longer the fact +that up to now he had really been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. +But he was a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons she +had advanced against that. She had put into words just the sensible view +of which he himself had only had a confused apprehension; she had +analyzed into all its component parts that general sense which one side +of him had pushed before him all day--that the thing was really +abominable. And this side of him at this time was uppermost. He drew a +whistling breath. + +"Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was very apparent in his +voice. But Jenny interrupted. + +"One minute, please, father! In fairness to--to everyone I must put the +other side.... I suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I fond +of him?--fond enough, that is, to marry him--because, of course, I'm +fond of him; he's been so extraordinarily kind always.... I suppose +that's really the only thing to be considered. If I were fond enough of +him, I suppose all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't that +so?... Yes; I want you to say what you think." + +He waited. Still he could make out nothing of her face, though he +glanced across the tea-things once or twice. + +"My dear, I don't know what to say. I--" + +"Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do you think that any +consideration at all ought to stand in the way, if I were--I don't say +for one single moment that I am--but if I were--well, really fond of +him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very plainly, but it's no good being +silly." + +He swallowed in his throat once or twice. + +"If you really were fond of him--I think ... I think that, no +consideration of the sort you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in +your way." + +"Thank you, father," said Jenny softly. + +"When did you first think of it?" + +Jenny paused. + +"I think I knew he was going to ask me two days ago--the day you met us +out riding, you know." + + * * * * * + +There was a long silence. + +They had already discussed, when Frank's affair had been before them, +all secondary details. + +The Rector's sister was to have taken Jenny's place. There was nothing +of that sort to talk about now. They were both just face to face with +primary things, and they both knew it. + +The Rector's mind worked like a mill--a mill whose machinery is running +aimlessly. The wheels went round and round, but they effected nothing. +He was completely ignorant as to what Jenny intended. He perceived--as +in a series of little vignettes--a number of hypothetical events, on +this side and that, but they drew to no conclusion in his mind. He was +just waiting on his daughter's will. + + * * * * * + +Jenny broke the silence with a slow remark in another kind of voice. + +"Father, dear, there's something else I must tell you. I didn't see any +need to bother you with it before. It's this. Mr. Dick Guiseley proposed +to me when he was here for the shooting." + +She paused, but her father said nothing. + +"I told him he must wait--that I didn't know for certain, but that I was +almost certain. If he had pressed for an answer I should have said 'No.' +Oddly enough, I was thinking only yesterday that it wasn't fair to keep +him waiting any longer. Because ... because it's 'No' ... anyhow, now." + +The Rector still could not speak. It was just one bewilderment. But +apparently Jenny did not want any comments. + +"That being so," she went on serenely, "my conscience is clear, anyhow. +And I mustn't let what I think Mr. Dick might say or think affect +me--any more than the other things. Must I?" + +"... Jenny, what are you going to do? Tell me!" + +"Father, dear," came the high astonished voice, "I don't know. I don't +know at all. I must think. Did you think I'd made up my mind? Why! How +could I? Of course I should say 'No' if I had to answer now." + +"I--" began the Rector and stopped. He perceived that the situation +could easily be complicated. + +"I must just think about it quietly," went on the girl. "And I must +write a note to say so.... Father ..." + +He glanced in her direction. + +"Father, about being fond of a man.... Need it be--well, as I was fond +of Frank? I don't think Lord Talgarth could have expected that, could +he? But if you--well--get on with a man very well, understand him--can +stand up to him without annoying him ... and ... and care for him, +really, I mean, in such a way that you like being with him very much, +and look up to him very much in all kinds of ways--(I'm very sorry to +have to talk like this, but whom am I to talk to, father dear?) Well, if +I found I did care for Lord Talgarth like that--like a sort of daughter, +or niece, and more than that too, would that--" + +"I don't know," said the Rector, abruptly standing up. "I don't know; +you mustn't ask me. You must settle all that yourself." + +She looked up at him, startled, it seemed, by the change in his manner. + +"Father, dear--" she began, with just the faintest touch of pathetic +reproach in her voice. But he did not appear moved by it. + +"You must settle," he said. "You have all the data. I haven't. I--" + +He stepped towards the door. + +"Tell me as soon as you have decided," he said, and went out. + + +(III) + +The little brown dog called Lama, who in an earlier chapter once trotted +across a lawn, and who had lately been promoted to sleeping upon Jenny's +bed, awoke suddenly that night and growled a low breathy remonstrance. +He had been abruptly kicked from beneath the bedclothes. + +"Get off, you heavy little beast," said a voice in the darkness. + +Lama settled himself again with a grunt, half of comfort, half of +complaint. + +"_Get off!_" came the voice again, and again his ribs were heaved at by +a foot. + +He considered it a moment or two, and even shifted nearer the wall, +still blind with sleep; but the foot pursued him, and he awoke finally +to the conviction that it would be more comfortable by the fire; there +was a white sheepskin there, he reflected. As he finally reached the +ground, a scratching was heard in the corner, and he was instantly +alert, and the next moment had fitted his nose, like a kind of +india-rubber pad, deep into a small mouse-hole in the wainscoting, and +was breathing long noisy sighs down into the delicious and +gamey-smelling darkness. + +"Oh! be quiet!" came a voice from the bed. + +Lama continued his investigations unmoved, and having decided, after one +long final blow, that there was to be no sport, returned to the +sheepskin with that brisk independent air that was so characteristic of +him. He was completely awake now, and stood eyeing the bed a moment, +with the possibility in his mind that his mistress was asleep again, +and that by a very gentle leap--But a match was struck abruptly, and he +lay down, looking, with that appearance of extreme wide-awakedness in +his black eyes that animals always wear at night, at his restless +mistress. + +He could not quite understand what was the matter. + +First she lit a candle, took a book from the small table by the bed and +began to read resolutely. This continued till Lama's eyes began to blink +at the candle flame, and then he was suddenly aware that the light was +out and the book closed, and all fallen back again into the clear gray +tones which men call darkness. + +He put his head down on his paws, but his eyebrows rose now and again as +he glanced at the bed. + +Then the candle was lighted again after a certain space of time, but +this time there was no book opened. Instead, his mistress took her arms +out of bed, and clasped them behind her head, staring up at the +ceiling.... + +This was tiresome, as the light was in his eyes, and his body was just +inert enough with sleep to make movement something of an effort.... + +Little by little, however, his eyebrows came down, remained down, and +his eyes closed.... + +He awoke again at a sound. The candle was still burning, but his +mistress had rolled over on to her side and seemed to be talking gently +to herself. Then she was over again on this side, and a minute later was +out of bed, and walking to and fro noiselessly on the soft carpet. + +He watched her with interest, his eyes only following her. He had never +yet fully understood this mysterious change of aspect that took place +every night--the white thin dress, the altered appearance of the head, +and--most mysterious of all--the two white things that ought to be feet, +but were no longer hard and black. He had licked one of them once +tentatively, and had found that the effect was that it had curled up +suddenly; there had been a sound as of pain overhead, and a swift slap +had descended upon him. + +He was observing these things now--to and fro, to and fro--and his eyes +moved with them. + + * * * * * + +After a certain space of time the movement stopped. She was standing +still near a carved desk--important because a mouse had once been +described sitting beneath it; and she stood so long that his eyes began +to blink once more. Then there was a rustle of paper being torn, and he +was alert again in a moment. Perhaps paper would be thrown for him +presently.... + +She came across to the hearth-rug, and he was up, watching her hands, +while his own short tail flickered three or four times in invitation. +But it was no good: the ball was crumpled up and thrown on to the red +logs. There was a "whup" from the fire and a flame shot up. He looked at +this carefully with his head on one side, and again lay down to watch +it. His mistress was standing quite still, watching it with him. + +Then, as the flame died down, she turned abruptly, went straight back to +the bed, got into it, drew the clothes over her and blew the candle out. + + * * * * * + +After a few moments steady staring at the fire, he perceived that a part +of the ball of paper had rolled out on to the stone hearth unburned. He +looked at it for some while, wondering whether it was worth getting up +for. Certainly the warmth was delicious and the sheepskin exquisitely +soft. + +There was no sound from the bed. A complete and absolute silence had +succeeded to all the restlessness. + +Finally he concluded that it was impossible to lie there any longer and +watch such a crisp little roll of paper still untorn. He got up, stepped +delicately on to the wide hearth, and pulled the paper towards him with +a little scratching sound. There was a sigh from the bed, and he paused. +Then he lifted it, stepped back to his warm place, lay down, and +placing his paws firmly upon the paper, began to tear scraps out of it +with his white teeth. + +"Oh, _be quiet_!" came the weary voice from the bed. + +He paused, considered; then he tore two more pieces. But it did not +taste as it should; it was a little sticky, and too stiff. He stood up +once more, turned round four times and lay down with a small grunt. + +In the morning the maid who swept up the ashes swept up these fragments +too. She noticed a wet scrap of a picture postcard, with the word +"Selby" printed in the corner. Then she threw that piece, too, into the +dustpan. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +Mrs. Partington and Gertie had many of those mysterious conversations +that such women have, full of "he's" and "she's" and nods and becks and +allusions and broken sentences, wholly unintelligible to the outsider, +yet packed with interest to the talkers. The Major, Mr. Partington +(still absent), and Frank were discussed continually and exhaustively; +and, so far as the subjects themselves ranged, there was hardly an +unimportant detail that did not come under notice, and hardly an +important fact that did. Gertie officially passed, of course, as Mrs. +Trustcott always. + +A couple of mornings after Frank had begun his work at the jam factory, +Mrs. Partington, who had stepped round the corner to talk with a friend +for an hour or so, returned to find Gertie raging. She raged in her own +way; she was as white as a sheet; she uttered ironical and +unintelligible sentences, in which Frank's name appeared repeatedly, and +it emerged presently that one of the Mission-ladies had been round +minding other folks' business, and that Gertie would thank that lady to +keep her airs and her advice to herself. + +Now Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie was not the Major's wife, and +Gertie knew that she knew it; and Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie knew +that she knew it. Yet, officially, all was perfectly correct; Gertie +wore a wedding-ring, and there never was the hint that she had not a +right to it. It was impossible, therefore, for Mrs. Partington to +observe out loud that she understood perfectly what the Mission-lady had +been talking about. She said very little; she pressed her thin lips +together and let Gertie alone. The conversations that morning were of +the nature of disconnected monologues from Gertie with long silences +between. + +It was an afternoon of silent storm. The Major was away in the West End +somewhere on mysterious affairs; the children were at school, and the +two women went about, each knowing what was in the mind of the other, +yet each resolved to keep up appearances. + +At half-past five o'clock Frank abruptly came in for a cup of tea, and +Mrs. Partington gave it him in silence. (Gertie could be heard moving +about restlessly overhead.) She made one or two ordinary remarks, +watching Frank when he was not looking. But Frank said very little. He +sat up to the table; he drank two cups of tea out of the chipped enamel +mug, and then he set to work on his kippered herring. At this point Mrs. +Partington left the room, as if casually, and a minute later Gertie came +downstairs. + + * * * * * + +She came in with an indescribable air of virtue, rather white in the +face, with her small chin carefully thrust out and her eyelids drooping. +It was a pose she was accustomed to admire in high-minded and +aristocratic barmaids. Frank nodded at her and uttered a syllable or two +of greeting. + +She said nothing; she went round to the window, carrying a white cotton +blouse she had been washing upstairs, and hung it on the clothes-line +that ran inside the window. Then, still affecting to be busy with it, +she fired her first shot, with her back to him. + +"I'll thank you to let my business alone...." + +(Frank put another piece of herring into his mouth.) + +"... And not to send round any more of your nasty cats," added Gertie +after a pause. + +There was silence from Frank. + +"Well?" snapped Gertie. + +"How dare you talk like that!" said Frank, perfectly quietly. + +He spoke so low that Gertie mistook his attitude, and, leaning her +hands on the table, she poured out the torrent that had been gathering +within her ever since the Mission-lady had left her at eleven o'clock +that morning. The lady had not been tactful; she was quite new to the +work, and quite fresh from a women's college, and she had said a great +deal more than she ought, with an earnest smile upon her face that she +had thought conciliatory and persuasive. Gertie dealt with her +faithfully now; she sketched her character as she believed it to be; she +traced her motives and her attitude to life with an extraordinary wealth +of detail; she threw in descriptive passages of her personal appearance, +and she stated, with extreme frankness, her opinion of such persons as +she had thought friendly, but now discovered to be hypocritical parsons +in disguise. Unhappily I have not the skill to transcribe her speech in +full, and there are other reasons, too, why her actual words are best +unreported: they were extremely picturesque. + +Frank ate on quietly till he had finished his herring; then he drank his +last cup of tea, and turned a little in his chair towards the fire. He +glanced at the clock, perceiving that he had still ten minutes, just as +Gertie ended and stood back shaking and pale-eyed. + +"Is that all?" he asked. + +It seemed it was not all, and Gertie began again, this time on a +slightly higher note, and with a little color in her face. Frank waited, +quite simply and without ostentation. She finished. + +After a moment's pause Frank answered. + +"I don't know what you want," he said. "I talked to you myself, and you +wouldn't listen. So I thought perhaps another woman would do it +better--" + +"I did listen--" + +"I beg your pardon," said Frank instantly. "I was wrong. You did listen, +and very patiently. I meant that you wouldn't do what I said. And so I +thought--" + +Gertie burst out again, against cats and sneaking hypocrites, but there +was not quite the same venom in her manner. + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then I won't make the mistake again. I am very +sorry--not in the least for having interfered, you understand, but for +not having tried again myself." (He took up his cap.) "You'll soon give +in, Gertie, you know. Don't you think so yourself?" + +Gertie looked at him in silence. + +"You understand, naturally, why I can't talk to you while the Major's +here. But the next time I have a chance--" + +The unlatched door was pushed open and the Major came in. + + +(II) + +There was an uncomfortable little pause for a moment. It is extremely +doubtful, even now, exactly how much the Major heard; but he must have +heard something, and to a man of his mind the situation that he found +must have looked extremely suspicious. Gertie, flushed now, with emotion +very plainly visible in her bright eyes, was standing looking at Frank, +who, it appeared, was a little disconcerted. It would have been almost +miraculous if the Major had not been convinced that he had interrupted a +little private love-making. + +It is rather hard to analyze the Major's attitude towards Gertie; but +what is certain is that the idea of anyone else making love to her was +simply intolerable. Certainly he did not treat her with any great +chivalry; he made her carry the heavier bundles on the tramp; he behaved +to her with considerable disrespect; he discussed her freely with his +friends on convivial occasions. But she was his property--his and no one +else's. He had had his suspicions before; he had come in quietly just +now on purpose, and he had found himself confronted by this very +peculiar little scene. + +He looked at them both in silence. Then his lips sneered like a dog's. + +"Pardon me," he said, with extreme politeness. "I appear to be +interrupting a private conversation." + +No one said anything. Frank leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +"It was private, then?" continued the Major with all the poisonous +courtesy at his command. + +"Yes; it was private," said Frank shortly. + +The Major put his bowler hat carefully upon the table. + +"Gertie, my dear," he said. "Will you be good enough to leave us for an +instant? I regret having to trouble you." + +Gertie breathed rather rapidly for a moment or two. She was not +altogether displeased. She understood perfectly, and it seemed to her +rather pleasant that two men should get into this kind of situation over +her. She was aware that trouble would come to herself later, probably in +the form of personal chastisement, but to the particular kind of +feminine temperament that she possessed even a beating was not wholly +painful, and the cheap kind of drama in which she found herself was +wholly attractive. After an instant's pause, she cast towards Frank what +she believed to be a "proud" glance and marched out. + +"If you've got much to say," said Frank rapidly, as the door closed, +"you'd better keep it for this evening. I've got to go in ... in two +minutes." + +"Two minutes will be ample," said the Major softly. + +Frank waited. + +"When I find a friend," went on the other, "engaged in an apparently +exciting kind of conversation, which he informs me is private, with one +who is in the position of my wife--particularly when I catch a sentence +or two obviously not intended for my ears--I do not ask what was the +subject of the conversation, but I--" + +"My dear man," said Frank, "do put it more simply." + +The Major was caught, so to speak, full in the wind. His face twitched +with anger. + +Then he flung an oath at Frank. + +"If I catch you at it again," he said, "there'll be trouble. God damn +you!" + +"That is as it may be," said Frank. + +The Major had had just one drink too much, and he was in the kind of +expansive mood that changes very rapidly. + +"Can you tell me you were not trying to take her from me?" he cried, +almost with pathos in his voice. + +This was, of course, exactly what Frank had been trying to do. + +"You can't deny it!... Then I tell you this, Mr. Frankie"--the Major +sprang up--"one word more from you to her on that subject ... and ... +and you'll know it. D'you understand me?" + +He thrust his face forward almost into Frank's. + +It was an unpleasant face at most times, but it was really dangerous +now. His lips lay back, and the peculiar hot smell of spirit breathed +into Frank's nostrils. Frank turned and looked into his eyes. + +"I understand you perfectly," he said. "There's no need to say any more. +And now, if you'll forgive me, I must get back to my work." + +He took up his cap and went out. + + * * * * * + +The Major, as has been said, had had one glass too much, and he had, +accordingly, put into words what, even in his most suspicious moments, +he had intended to keep to himself. It might be said, too, that he had +put into words what he did not really think. But the Major was, like +everyone else, for good or evil, a complex character, and found it +perfectly possible both to believe and disbelieve the same idea +simultaneously. It depended in what stratum the center of gravity +happened to be temporarily suspended. One large part of the Major knew +perfectly well, therefore, that any jealousy of Frank was simply +ridiculous--the thing was simply alien; and another part, not so large, +but ten times more concentrated, judged Frank by the standards by which +the Major (_qua_ blackguard) conducted his life. For people who lived +usually in that stratum, making love to Gertie, under such +circumstances, would have been an eminently natural thing to do, and, +just now, the Major chose to place Frank amongst them. + +The Major himself was completely unaware of these psychological +distinctions, and, as he sat, sunk in his chair, brooding, before +stepping out to attend to Gertie, he was entirely convinced that his +suspicions were justified. It seemed to him now that numberless little +details out of the past fitted, with the smoothness of an adjusted +puzzle, into the framework of his thought. + +There was, first, the very remarkable fact that Frank, in spite of +opportunities to better himself, had remained in their company. At +Barham, at Doctor Whitty's, at the monastery, obvious chances had +offered themselves and he had not taken them. Then there were the small +acts of courtesy, the bearing of Gertie's bundles two or three times. +Finally, there was a certain change in Gertie's manner--a certain silent +peevishness towards himself, a curious air that fell on her now and then +as she spoke to Frank or looked at him. + +And so forth. It was an extraordinarily convincing case, clinched now +by the little scene that he had just interrupted. And the very +irregularity of his own relations with Gertie helped to poison the +situation with an astonishingly strong venom. + +Of course, there were other considerations, or, rather, there was +one--that Frank, obviously, was not the kind of man to be attracted by +the kind of woman that Gertie was--a consideration made up, however, of +infinitely slighter indications. But this counted for nothing. It seemed +unsubstantial and shadowy. There were solid, definable arguments on the +one side; there was a vague general impression on the other.... + +So the Major sat and stared at the fire, with the candle-light falling +on his sunken cheeks and the bristle on his chin--a poor fallen kind of +figure, yet still holding the shadow of a shadow of an ideal that might +yet make him dangerous. + +Presently he got up with a sudden movement and went in search of Gertie. + + +(III) + +There are no free libraries in Hackney Wick; the munificences of Mr. +Carnegie have not yet penetrated to that district (and, indeed, the +thought of a library of any kind in Hackney Wick is a little +incongruous). But there is one in Homerton, and during the dinner-hour +on the following day Frank went up the steps of it, pushed open the +swing-doors, and found his way to some kind of a writing-room, where he +obtained a sheet of paper, an envelope and a penny stamp, and sat down +to write a letter. + +The picture that I have in my mind of Frank at this present time may +possibly be a little incorrect in one or two details, but I am quite +clear about its main outlines, and it is extremely vivid on the whole. I +see him going in, quietly and unostentatiously--quite at his ease, yet a +very unusual figure in such surroundings. I hear an old gentleman sniff +and move his chair a little as this person in an exceedingly shabby blue +suit with the collar turned up, with a muffler round his neck and large, +bulging boots on his feet, comes and sits beside him. I perceive an +earnest young lady, probably a typist in search of extra culture, look +at him long and vacantly from over her copy of Emerson, and can almost +see her mind gradually collecting conclusions about him. The attendant, +too, as he asks for his paper, eyes him shrewdly and suspiciously, and +waits till the three halfpence are actually handed across under the +brass wire partition before giving him the penny stamp. These +circumstances may be incorrect, but I am absolutely clear as to Frank's +own attitude of mind. Honestly, he no longer minds in the very least +how people behave to him; he has got through all that kind of thing long +ago; he is not at all to be commiserated; it appears to him only of +importance to get the paper and to be able to write and post his letter +without interruption. For Frank has got on to that plane--(I know no +other word to use, though I dislike this one)--when these other things +simply do not matter. We all touch that plane sometimes, generally under +circumstances of a strong mental excitement, whether of pleasure or +pain, or even annoyance. A man with violent toothache, or who has just +become engaged to be married, really does not care what people think of +him. But Frank, for the present at least, has got here altogether, +though for quite different reasons. The letter he wrote on this occasion +is, at present, in my possession. It runs as follows. It is very short +and business-like: + + "DEAR JACK, + + "I want to tell you where I am--or, rather, where I can be got + at in case of need. I am down in East London for the present, + and one of the curates here knows where I'm living. (He was at + Eton with me.) His address is: The Rev. E. Parham-Carter, The + Eton Mission, Hackney Wick, London, N.E. + + "The reason I'm writing is this: You remember Major Trustcott + and Gertie, don't you? Well, I haven't succeeded in getting + Gertie back to her people yet, and the worst of it is that the + Major knows that there's something up, and, of course, puts the + worst possible construction upon it. Parham-Carter knows all + about it, too--I've just left a note on him, with instructions. + Now I don't quite know what'll happen, but in case anything + does happen which prevents my going on at Gertie, I want you to + come and do what you can. Parham-Carter will write to you if + necessary. + + "That's one thing; and the next is this: I'd rather like to + have some news about my people, and for them to know (if they + want to know--I leave that to you) that I'm getting on all + right. I haven't heard a word about them since August. I know + nothing particular can have happened, because I always look at + the papers--but I should like to know what's going on + generally. + + "I think that's about all. I am getting on excellently myself, + and hope you are. I am afraid there's no chance of my coming to + you for Christmas. I suppose you'll be home again by now. + + "Ever yours, + "F.G." + + "P.S.--Of course you'll keep all this private--as well as where + I'm living." + +Now this letter seems to me rather interesting from a psychological +point of view. It is extremely business-like, but perfectly unpractical. +Frank states what he wants, but he wants an absurd impossibility. I like +Jack Kirkby very much, but I cannot picture him as likely to be +successful in helping to restore a strayed girl to her people. I suppose +Frank's only excuse is that he did not know whom else to write to. + +It is rather interesting, too, to notice his desire to know what is +going on at his home; it seems as if he must have had, some faint +inkling that something important was about to happen, and this is +interesting in view of what now followed immediately. + +He directed his letter, stamped it, and posted it in the library +post-box in the vestibule. Then, cap in hand, he pushed open the +swing-doors and ran straight into Mr. Parham-Carter. + +"Hullo!" said that clergyman--and went a little white. + +"Hullo!" said Frank; and then: "What's the matter?" + +"Where are you going?" + +"I'm going back to the jam factory." + +"May I walk with you?" + +"Certainly, if you don't mind my eating as I go along." + +The clergyman turned with him and went beside him in silence, as Frank, +drawing out of his side-pocket a large hunch of bread and cheese, +wrapped up in the advertisement sheet of the _Daily Mail_, began to fill +his mouth. + +"I want to know if you've had any news from home." + +Frank turned to him slightly. + +"No," he said sharply, after a pause. + +Mr. Parham-Carter licked his lips. + +"Well--no, it isn't bad news; but I wondered whether--" + +"What is it?" + +"Your governor's married again. It happened yesterday. I thought perhaps +you didn't know." + +There was dead silence for an instant. + +"No, I didn't know," said Frank. "Who's he married?" + +"Somebody I never heard of. I wondered whether you knew her." + +"What's her name?" + +"Wait a second," said the other, plunging under his greatcoat to get at +his waistcoat pocket. "I've got the paragraph here. I cut it out of the +_Morning Post_. I only saw it half an hour ago. I was coming round to +you this evening." + +He produced a slip of printed paper. Frank stood still a moment, leaning +against some area-railings--they were in the distinguished quarter of +Victoria Park Road--and read the paragraph through. The clergyman +watched him curiously. It seemed to him a very remarkable situation that +he should be standing here in Victoria Park Road, giving information to +a son as to his father's marriage. He wondered, but only secondarily, +what effect it would have upon Frank. + +Frank gave him the paper back without a tremor. + +"Thanks very much," he said. "No; I didn't know." + +They continued to walk. + +"D'you know her at all?" + +"Yes, I know her. She's the Rector's daughter, you know." + +"What! At Merefield? Then you must know her quite well." + +"Oh! yes," said Frank, "I know her quite well." + +Again there was silence. Then the other burst out: + +"Look here--I wish you'd let me do something. It seems to me perfectly +ghastly--" + +"My dear man," said Frank. "Indeed you can't do anything.... You got my +note, didn't you?" + +The clergyman nodded. + +"It's just in case I'm ill, or anything, you know. Jack's a great friend +of mine. And it's just as well that some friend of mine should be able +to find out where I am. I've just written to him myself, as I said in my +note. But you mustn't give him my address unless in case of real need." + +"All right. But are you sure--" + +"I'm perfectly sure.... Oh! by the way, that lady you sent round did no +good. I expect she told you?" + +"Yes; she said she'd never come across such a difficult case." + +"Well, I shall have to try again myself.... I must turn off here. Good +luck!" + + +(IV) + +Gertie was sitting alone in the kitchen about nine o'clock that +night--alone, that is to say, except for the sleeping 'Erb, who, in a +cot at the foot of his mother's bed, was almost invisible under a pile +of clothes, and completely negligible as a witness. Mrs. Partington, +with the other two children, was paying a prolonged visit in Mortimer +Road, and the Major, ignorant of this fact, was talking big in the bar +of the "Queen's Arms" opposite the Men's Club of the Eton Mission. + +Gertie was enjoying herself just now, on the whole. It is true that she +had received some chastisement yesterday from the Major; but she had the +kind of nature that preferred almost any sensation to none. And, indeed, +the situation was full of emotion. It was extraordinarily pleasant to +her to occupy such a position between two men--and, above all, two +"gentlemen." Her attitude towards the Major was of the most simple and +primitive kind; he was her man, who bullied her, despised her, dragged +her about the country, and she never for one instant forgot that he had +once been an officer in the army. Even his blows (which, to tell the +truth, were not very frequent, and were always administered in a +judicial kind of way) bore with them a certain stamp of brilliance; she +possessed a very pathetic capacity for snobbishness. Frank, on the other +side, was no less exciting. She regarded him as a good young man, almost +romantic, indeed, in his goodness--a kind of Sir Galahad; and he, +whatever his motive (and she was sometimes terribly puzzled about his +motives), at any rate, stood in a sort of rivalry to the Major; and it +was she who was the cause of contention. She loved to feel herself +pulled this way and that by two such figures, to be quarreled over by +such very strong and opposite types. It was a vague sensation to her, +but very vivid and attractive; and although just now she believed +herself to be thoroughly miserable, I have no doubt whatever that she +was enjoying it all immensely. She was very feminine indeed, and the +little scene of last night had brought matters to an almost exquisite +point. She was crying a little now, gently, to herself. + + * * * * * + +The door opened. Frank came in, put down his cap, and took his seat on +the bench by the fire. + +"All out?" he asked. + +Gertie nodded, and made a little broken sound. + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then I'm going to talk to you." + +Gertie wiped away a few more tears, and settled herself down for a +little morbid pleasure. It was delightful to her to be found crying over +the fire. Frank, at any rate, would appreciate that. + +"Now," said Frank, "you've got the choice once more, and I'm going to +put it plainly. If you don't do what I want this time, I shall have to +see whether somebody else can't persuade you." + +She glanced up, a little startled. + +"Look here," said Frank. "I'm not going to take any more trouble myself +over this affair. You were a good deal upset yesterday when the lady +came round, and you'll be more upset yet before the thing's over. I +shan't talk to you myself any more: you don't seem to care a hang what I +say; in fact, I'm thinking of moving my lodgings after Christmas. So now +you've got your choice." + +He paused. + +"On the one side you've got the Major; well, you know him; you know the +way he treats you. But that's not the reason why I want you to leave +him. I want you to leave him because I think that down at the bottom +you've got the makings of a good woman--" + +"I haven't," cried Gertie passionately. + +"Well, I think you have. You're very patient, and you're very +industrious, and because you care for this man you'll do simply anything +in the world for him. Well, that's splendid. That shows you've got grit. +But have you ever thought what it'll all be like in five years from +now?" + +"I shall be dead," wailed Gertie. "I wish I was dead now." + +Frank paused. + +"And when you're dead--?" he said slowly. + +There was an instant's silence. Then Frank took up his discourse again. +(So far he had done exactly what he had wanted. He had dropped two tiny +ideas on her heart once more--hope and fear.) + +"Now I've something to tell you. Do you remember the last time I talked +to you? Well, I've been thinking what was the best thing to do, and a +few days ago I saw my chance and took it. You've got a little +prayer-book down at the bottom of your bundle, haven't you? Well, I got +at that (you never let anyone see it, you know), and I looked through +it. I looked through all your things. Did you know your address was +written in it? I wasn't sure it was your address, you know, until--" + +Gertie sat up, white with passion. + +"You looked at my things?" + +Frank looked her straight in the face. + +"Don't talk to me like that," he said. "Wait till I've done.... Well, I +wrote to the address, and I got an answer; then I wrote again, and I got +another answer and a letter for you. It came this morning, to the +post-office where I got it." + +Gertie looked at him, still white, with her lips parted. + +"Give me the letter," she whispered. + +"As soon as I've done talking," said Frank serenely. "You've got to +listen to me first. I knew what you'd say: you'd say that your people +wouldn't have you back. And I knew perfectly well from the little things +you'd said about them that they would. But I wrote to make sure.... + +"Gertie, d'you know that they're breaking their hearts for you?... that +there's nothing, in the whole world they want so much as that you +should come back?..." + +"Give me the letter!" + +"You've got a good heart yourself, Gertie; I know that well enough. +Think hard, before I give you the letter. Which is best--the Major and +this sort of life--and ... and--well, you know about the soul and God, +don't you?... or to go home, and--" + +Her face shook all over for one instant. + +"Give me the letter," she wailed suddenly. + +Then Frank gave it her. + + +(V) + +"But I can't possibly go home like this," whispered Gertie agitatedly in +the passage, after the Major's return half an hour later. + +"Good Lord!" whispered Frank, "what an extraordinary girl you are, to +think--" + +"I don't care. I can't, and I won't." + +Frank cast an eye at the door, beyond which dozed the Major in the chair +before the fire. + +"Well, what d'you want?" + +"I want another dress, and ... and lots of things." + +Frank stared at her resignedly. + +"How much will it all come to?" + +"I don't know. Two pounds--two pounds ten." + +"Let's see: to-day's the twentieth. We must get you back before +Christmas. If I let you have it to-morrow, will it do?--to-morrow +night?" + +She nodded. A sound came from beyond the door, and she fled. + + * * * * * + +I am not sure about the details of the manner in which Frank got the two +pounds ten, but I know he got it, and without taking charity from a +soul. I know that he managed somehow to draw his week's money two days +before pay-day, and for the rest, I suspect the pawnshop. What is quite +certain is that when his friends were able to take stock of his +belongings a little later, the list of them was as follows: + +One jacket, one shirt, one muffler, a pair of trousers, a pair of socks, +a pair of boots, one cap, one tooth-brush, and a rosary. There was +absolutely nothing else. Even his razor was gone. + +Things, therefore, were pretty bad with him on the morning of the +twenty-second of December. I imagine that he still possessed a few +pence, but out of this few pence he had to pay for his own and Gertie's +journey to Chiswick, as well as keep himself alive for another week. At +least, so he must have thought. + +It must have been somewhere in Kensington High Street that he first had +a hint of a possibility of food to be obtained free, for, although I +find it impossible to follow all his movements during these days, it is +quite certain that he partook of the hospitality of the Carmelite +Fathers on this morning. He mentions it, with pleasure, in his diary. + +It is a very curious and medieval sight--this feeding of the poor in the +little deep passage that runs along the outside of the cloister of the +monastery in Church Street. The passage is approached by a door at the +back of the house, opening upon the lane behind, and at a certain hour +on each morning of the year is thronged from end to end with the most +astonishing and deplorable collection of human beings to be seen in +London. They are of all ages and sizes, from seventeen to seventy, and +the one thing common to them all is extreme shabbiness and poverty. + +A door opens at a given moment; the crowd surges a little towards a +black-bearded man in a brown frock, with an apron over it, and five +minutes later a deep silence, broken only by the sound of supping and +swallowing, falls upon the crowd. There they stand, with the roar of +London sounding overhead, the hooting of cars, the noise of innumerable +feet, and the rain--at least, on this morning--falling dismally down the +long well-like space. And here stand between two and three hundred men, +pinched, feeble, and yet wolfish, gulping down hot soup and bread, +looking something like a herd of ragged prisoners pent in between the +high walls. + +Here, then, Frank stood in the midst of them, gulping his soup. His van +and horses, strictly against orders, remained in Church Street, under +the care of a passer-by, whom Frank seems to have asked, quite openly, +to do it for him for God's sake. + +It is a dreary little scene in which to picture him, and yet, to myself, +it is rather pleasant, too. I like to think of him, now for the second +time within a few weeks, and all within the first six months of his +Catholic life, depending upon his Church for the needs of the body as +well as for the needs of the soul. There was nothing whatever to +distinguish him from the rest; he, too, had now something of that lean +look that is such a characteristic of that crowd, and his dress, too, +was entirely suitable to his company. He spoke with none of his hosts; +he took the basin in silence and gave it back in silence; then he wiped +his mouth on his sleeve, and went out comforted. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +Dick Guiseley sat over breakfast in his rooms off Oxford Street, +entirely engrossed in a local Yorkshire paper two days old. + +His rooms were very characteristic of himself. They were five in +number--a dining-room, two bedrooms, and two sitting-rooms divided by +curtains, as well as a little entrance-hall that opened on to the +landing, close beside the lift that served all the flats. They were +furnished in a peculiarly restrained style--so restrained, in fact, that +it was almost impossible to remember what was in them. One was just +conscious of a sense of extreme comfort and convenience. There was +nothing in particular that arrested the attention or caught the eye, +except here and there a space or a patch of wall about which Dick had +not yet made up his mind. He had been in them two years, indeed, but he +had not nearly finished furnishing. From time to time a new piece of +furniture appeared, or a new picture--always exceedingly good of its +kind, and even conspicuous. Yet, somehow or other, so excellent was his +taste, as soon as the thing was in place its conspicuousness (so to +speak) vanished amidst the protective coloring, and it looked as if it +had been there for ever. The colors were chosen with the same superfine +skill: singly they were brilliant, or at least remarkable (the ceilings, +for instance, were of a rich buttercup yellow); collectively they were +subdued and unnoticeable. And I suppose this is exactly what rooms ought +to be. + +The breakfast-table at which he sat was a good instance of his taste. +The silver-plate on it was really remarkable. There was a delightful +Caroline tankard in the middle, placed there for the sheer pleasure of +looking at it; there was a large silver cow with a lid in its back; +there were four rat-tail spoons; the china was an extremely cheap +Venetian crockery of brilliant designs and thick make. The coffee-pot +and milk-pot were early Georgian, with very peculiar marks; but these +vessels were at present hidden under the folded newspaper. There were +four chrysanthemums in four several vases of an exceptional kind of +glass. It sounds startling, I know, but the effect was not startling, +though I cannot imagine why not. Here again one was just conscious of +freshness and suitability and comfort. + + * * * * * + +But Dick was taking no pleasure in it all this morning. He was feeling +almost physically sick, and the little spirit-heated silver dish of +kidneys on his Queen Anne sideboard was undisturbed. He had cut off the +top of an egg which was now rapidly cooling, and a milky surface +resembling thin ice was forming on the contents of his coffee-cup. And +meanwhile he read. + +The column he was reading described the wedding of his uncle with Miss +Jenny Launton, and journalese surpassed itself. There was a great deal +about the fine old English appearance of the bridegroom, who, it +appeared, had been married in a black frock-coat and gray trousers, with +white spats, and who had worn a chrysanthemum in his button-hole (Dick +cast an almost venomous glance upon the lovely blossom just beside the +paper), and the beautiful youthful dignity of the bride, "so popular +among the humble denizens of the country-side." The bride's father, it +seemed, had officiated at the wedding in the "sturdy old church," and +had been greatly affected--assisted by the Rev. Matthieson. The wedding, +it seemed, had been unusually quiet, and had been celebrated by special +license: few of the family had been present, "owing," said the discreet +reporter, "to the express wish of the bridegroom." (Dick reflected +sardonically upon his own convenient attack of influenza from which he +was now completely recovered.) Then there was a great deal more about +the ancient home of the Guiseleys, and the aristocratic appearance of +Viscount Merefield, the young and popular heir to the earldom, who, it +appeared, had assisted at the wedding in another black frock-coat. +General Mainwaring had acted as best man. Finally, there was a short +description of the presents of the bridegroom to the bride, which +included a set of amethysts, etc.... + + * * * * * + +Dick read it all through to the luxuriant end, down to the peals of the +bells and the rejoicings in the evening. He ate several pieces of dry +toast while he read, crumbling them quickly with his left hand, and when +he had finished, drank his coffee straight off at one draught. Then he +got up, still with the paper, sat down in the easy-chair nearest to the +fire and read the whole thing through once more. Then he pushed the +paper off his knee and leaned back. + + * * * * * + +It would need a complete psychological treatise to analyze properly all +the emotions he had recently gone through--emotions which had been, so +to say, developed and "fixed" by the newspaper column he had just read. +He was a man who was accustomed to pride himself secretly upon the speed +with which he faced each new turn of fortune, and the correctness of the +attitude he assumed. Perhaps it would be fair to say that the Artistic +Stoic was the ideal towards which he strove. But, somehow, those +emotions would not sort themselves. There they all were--fury, +indignation, contempt, wounded pride, resignation, pity--there were no +more to be added or subtracted; each had its place and its object, yet +they would not coalesce. Now fury against his uncle, now pity for +himself, now a poisonous kind of contempt of Jenny. Or, again, a +primitive kind of longing for Jenny, a disregard of his uncle, an +abasement of himself. The emotions whirled and twisted, and he sat quite +still, with his eyes closed, watching them. + +But there was one more emotion which had made its appearance entirely +unexpectedly as soon as he had heard the news, that now, greatly to his +surprise, was beginning to take a considerable place amongst the +rest--and this was an extraordinarily warm sense of affection towards +Frank--of all people. It was composed partly of compassion, and partly +of an inexplicable sort of respect for which he could perceive no +reason. It was curious, he thought later, why this one figure should +have pushed its way to the front just now, when his uncle and Jenny and, +secondarily, that Rector ("so visibly affected by the ceremony") should +have occupied all the field. Frank had never meant very much to Dick; he +had stood for the undignified and the boyish in the midst of those +other stately elements of which Merefield, and, indeed, all truly +admirable life, was composed. + +Yet now this figure stood out before him with startling distinctness. + +First there was the fact that both Frank and himself had suffered +cruelly at the hands of the same woman, though Frank incomparably the +more cruelly of the two. Dick had the honesty to confess that Jenny had +at least never actually broken faith with himself; but he had also the +perspicuity to see that it came to very nearly the same thing. He knew +with the kind of certitude that neither needs nor appeals to evidence +that Jenny would certainly have accepted him if it had not been that +Lord Talgarth had already dawned on her horizon, and that she put him +off for a while simply to see whether this elderly sun would rise yet +higher in the heavens. It was the same consideration, no doubt, that had +caused her to throw Frank over a month or two earlier. A Lord Talgarth +in the bush was worth two cadets in the hand. That was where her +sensibleness had come in, and certainly it had served her well. + +It was this community of injury, then, that primarily drew Dick's +attention to Frank; and, when once it lead been so drawn, it lingered on +other points in his personality. Artistic Stoicism is a very satisfying +ideal so long as things go tolerably well. It affords an excellent +protection against such misfortunes as those of not being appreciated or +of losing money or just missing a big position--against all such ills as +affect bodily or mental conveniences. But when the heart is touched, +Artistic Stoicism peels off like rusted armour. Dick had seriously began +to consider, during the last few days, whether the exact opposite of +Artistic Stoicism (let us call it Natural Impulsiveness) is not almost +as good an equipment. He began to see something admirable in Frank's +attitude to life, and the more he regarded it the more admirable it +seemed. + +Frank, therefore, had begun to wear to him the appearance of something +really moving and pathetic. He had had a communication or two from Jack +Kirkby that had given him a glimpse of what Frank was going through, and +his own extremely artificial self was beginning to be affected by it. + + * * * * * + +He looked round his room now, once or twice, wondering whether it was +all worth while. He had put his whole soul into these rooms--there was +that Jacobean press with the grotesque heads--ah! how long he had +agonized over that in the shop in the King's Road, Chelsea, wondering +whether or not it would do just what he wanted, in that space between +the two doors. There was that small statue of a Tudor lady in a square +head-dress that he had bought in Oxford: he had occupied at least a week +in deciding exactly from what point she was to smile on him; there was +the new curtain dividing the two rooms: he had had half a dozen +patterns, gradually eliminated down to two, lying over his sofa-back for +ten days before he could make up his mind. (How lovely it looked, by the +way, just now, with that patch of mellow London sunlight lying across +the folds!) + +But was it all worth it?... He argued the point with himself, almost +passively, stroking his brown beard meditatively; but the fact that he +could argue it at all showed that the foundations of his philosophy were +shaken. + +Well, then ... Frank ... What about him? Where was he? + + +(II) + +About eleven o'clock a key turned in his outer door and a very +smart-looking page-boy came through, after tapping, with a telegram on a +salver. + +Dick was writing to Hamilton's, in Berners Street, about a question of +gray mats for the spare bedroom, and he took the telegram and tore open +the envelope with a preoccupied air. Then he uttered a small +exclamation. + +"Any answer, sir?" + +"No. Yes.... Wait a second." + +He took a telegraph-form with almost indecent haste, addressed it to +John Kirkby, Barham, Yorks, and wrote below: + + "_Certainly; will expect you dinner and sleep_.--RICHARD + GUISELEY." + +Then, when the boy had gone, he read again the telegram he had received: + + "_Have received letter from Frank; can probably discover + address if I come to town. Can you put me up + to-night?_--JACK KIRKBY, Barham." + +He pondered it a minute or so. Then he finished his note to Hamilton's, +but it was with a distracted manner. Then for several minutes he walked +up and down his rooms with his hands in his jacket-pockets, thinking +very deeply. He was reflecting how remarkable it was that he should hear +of Frank again just at this time, and was wondering what the next move +of Providence would be. + +The rest of Dick's day was very characteristic of him; and considering +my other personages in this story and their occupations, I take a +dramatic sort of pleasure in writing it down. + +He went out to lunch with a distinguished lady of his +acquaintance--whose name I forbear to give; she was not less than +seventy years old, and the two sat talking scandal about all their +friends till nearly four o'clock. The Talgarth affair, even, was +discussed in all its possible lights, and Dick was quite open about his +own part in the matter. He knew this old lady very well, and she knew +him very well. She was as shrewd as possible and extremely experienced, +and had helped Dick enormously in various intricacies and troubles of +the past; and he, on the other hand, as a well-informed bachelor, was of +almost equal service to her. She was just the least bit in the world +losing touch with things (at seventy you cannot do everything), and Dick +helped to keep her in touch. He lunched with her at least once a week +when they were both in town. + +At four he went to the Bath Club, ordered tea and toast and cigarettes, +and sat out, with his hat over his eyes, on the balcony, watching the +swimmers. There was a boy of sixteen who dived with surprising skill, +and Dick took the greatest possible pleasure in observing him. There was +also a stout man of his acquaintance whose ambition it had been for +months to cross the bath by means of the swinging rings, and this +person, too, afforded him hardly less pleasure, as he always had to let +go at the fourth ring, if not the third, whence he plunged into the +water with a sound that, curiously enough, was more resonant than +sibilant. + +At six, after looking through all the illustrated papers, he went out to +get his coat, and was presently in the thick of a heated argument with a +member of the committee on the subject of the new carpet in the front +hall. It was not fit, said Dick (searching for hyperboles), for even the +drawing-room of the "Cecil." + +This argument made him a little later than he had intended, and, as he +came up in the lift, the attendant informed him, in the passionless +manner proper to such people, that the Mr. Kirkby who had been mentioned +had arrived and was waiting for him in his rooms. + + +(III) + +Shortly before midnight Dick attempted to sum up the situation. They had +talked about Frank practically without ceasing, since Dick's man had set +coffee on the table at nine o'clock, and both had learned new facts. + +"Well, then, wire to go down to this man, Parham-Carter," said Dick, +"the first thing after breakfast to-morrow. Do you know anything about +the Eton Mission?" + +"No. One used to have a collection for it each half, you know, in the +houses." + +"How do we go?" + +"Oh! railway from Broad Street. I've looked it up. Victoria Park's the +station." + +Dick drew two or three draughts of smoke from his cigar-butt, and laid +it down in a small silver tray at his elbow. (The tray was a gift from +the old lady he had lunched with to-day.) + +"All you've told me is extraordinarily interesting," he said. "It really +was to get away this girl that he's stopped so long?" + +"I expect that's what he tells himself--that's the handle, so to speak. +But it's chiefly a sort of obstinacy. He said he would go on the roads, +and so he's gone." + +"I rather like that, you know," said Dick. + +Jack snorted a little. + +"Oh, it's better than saying a thing and not doing it. But why say it?" + +"Oh! one must do something," said Dick. "At least, some people seem to +think so. And I rather envy them, you know. I'm afraid I don't." + +"Don't what?" + +"Don't do anything. Unless you can call this sort of thing doing +something." He waved his hand vaguely round his perfectly arranged +room. + +Jack said nothing. He was inclined to be a little strenuous himself in +some ways, and he had always been conscious of a faint annoyance with +Dick's extreme leisureliness. + +"I see you agree," went on Dick. "Well, we must see what can be done." + +He stood up smiling and began to expand and contract his fingers +luxuriously before the fire behind his back. + +"If we can only get Frank away," murmured Jack. "That's enough for the +present." + +"And what do you propose to do with him then?" + +"Oh, Lord! Anything. Go round the world if he likes. Come and stay at my +place." + +"And suppose he thinks that's a bit too near to ... to Lady Talgarth.". + +This switched Jack back again to a line he had already run on for an +hour this evening. + +"Yes, that's the ghastly part of it all. He's sure not to have heard. +And who the devil's to tell him? And how will he take it?" + +"Do you know," said Dick, "I'm really not frightened about that? All +you've told me about him makes me think he'll behave very well. Funny +thing, isn't it, that you know him so much better than I do? I never +dreamed there was so much in him, somehow." + +"Oh, there's a lot in Frank. But one doesn't always know what it is." + +"Do you think his religion's made much difference?" + +"I think it's done this for him," said Jack slowly. "(I've been thinking +a lot about that). I think it's fixed things, so to speak ...." He +hesitated. He was not an expert in psychological analysis. Dick took him +up quickly. He nodded three or four times. + +"Exactly," he said. "That's it, no doubt. It's given him a center--a hub +for the wheel." + +"Eh?" + +"It's ... it's joined everything on to one point in him. He'll be more +obstinate and mad than ever before. He's got a center now.... I suppose +that's what religion's for," he added meditatively. + +This was Greek to Jack. He looked at Dick uncomprehendingly. + +Dick turned round and began to stare into the fire, still contracting +and expanding his fingers. + +"It's a funny thing--this religion," he said at last. "I never could +understand it." + +"And what about Archie?" asked Jack with sudden abruptness. (He had no +continuity of mind.) + +Dick brought his meditations to a close with equal abruptness, or +perhaps he would not have been so caustic as regards his first cousin. + +"Oh, Archie's an ass!" he said. "We can leave him out." + +Jack changed the subject again. He was feeling the situation very +acutely indeed, and the result was that all its elements came tumbling +out anyhow. + +"I've been beastly uncomfortable," he said. + +"Yes?" said Dick. "Any particular way?" + +Jack shifted one leg over the other. He had not approached one element +in the situation at all, as yet, with Dick, but it had been simmering in +him for weeks, and had been brought to a point by Frank's letter +received this morning. And now the curious intimacy into which he had +been brought with Dick began to warm it out of him. + +"You'll think me an ass, too, I expect," he said. "And I rather think +it's true. But I can't help it." + +Dick smiled at him encouragingly. (Certainly, thought Jack, this man was +nicer than he had thought him.) + +"Well, it's this--" he said suddenly. "But it's frightfully hard to put +into words. You know what I told you about Frank's coming to me at +Barham?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, there was something he said then that made me uncomfortable. And +it's made me more and more uncomfortable ever since ..." (He paused +again.) "Well, it's this. He said that he felt there was something going +on that he couldn't understand--some sort of Plan, he said--in which he +had to take part--a sort of scheme to be worked out, you know. I suppose +he meant God," he explained feebly. + +Dick looked at him questioningly. + +"Oh! I can't put it into words," said Jack desperately. "Nor did he, +exactly. But that was the kind of idea. A sort of Fate. He said he was +quite certain of it.... And there were lots of little things that fitted +in. He changed his clothes in the old vestry, you know--in the old +church. It seemed like a sort of sacrifice, you know. And then I had a +beastly dream that night. And then there was something my mother said.... +And now there's his letter: the one I showed you at dinner--about +something that might happen to him.... Oh! I'm a first-class ass, aren't +I?" + +There was a considerable silence. He glanced up in an ashamed sort of +way, at the other, and saw him standing quite upright and still, again +with his back to the fire, looking out across the room. From outside +came the hum of the thoroughfare--the rolling of wheels, the jingle of +bells, the cries of human beings. He waited in a kind of shame for +Dick's next words. He had not put all these feelings into coherent form +before, even to himself, and they sounded now even more fantastic than +he had thought them. He waited, then, for the verdict of this quiet man, +whom up to now he had deemed something of a fool, who cared about +nothing but billiards and what was called Art. (Jack loathed Art.) + +Then the verdict came in a surprising form. But he understood it +perfectly. + +"Well, what about bed?" said Dick quietly. + + +(IV) + +It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was +summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two +gentlemen. She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with +the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby. He got up very +quickly, and went downstairs two at a time. A minute later he brought +them both upstairs and shut the door. + +"Sit down," he said. "I'm most awfully glad you've come. I ... I've been +fearfully upset by all this, and I haven't known what to do." + +"Now where is he?" demanded Jack Kirkby. + +The clergyman made a deprecatory face. + +"I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. "And you know--" + +"But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose to fetch him away. It +simply mustn't go on. That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter +on to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by the way), and he +asked me to come up to town. I got to town last night, and we've come +down here at once this morning." + +Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who +sat opposite. + +"But you know I promised," he said. + +"Yes," burst in Jack; "but one doesn't keep promises one makes to +madmen. And--" + +"But he's not mad in the least. He's--" + +"Well?" + +"I was going to say that it seems to me that he's more sane than anyone +else," said the young man dismally. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but--" + +Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped. + +"I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle drawl. "And I quite +understand." + +"But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. "He must be mad. You don't +know Frank as I do--neither of you. And now there's this last +business--his father's marriage, I mean; and--" + +He broke off and looked across at Dick. + +"Go on," said Dick; "don't mind me." + +"Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it or not; but he must hear +sooner or later, and then--" + +"But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergyman. "I showed him the +paragraph myself." + +"He's heard of it! And he knows all about it!" + +"Certainly. And I understood from him that he knew the girl: the +Rector's daughter, isn't it?" + +"Knows the girl! Why, he was engaged to her himself." + +"_What_?" + +"Yes; didn't he tell you?" + +"He didn't give me the faintest hint--" + +"How did he behave? What did he say?" + +Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence. + +"What did he say?" snapped out Jack impatiently. + +"Say? He said nothing. He just told me he knew the girl, when I asked +him." + +"Good God!" remarked Jack. And there was silence. + +Dick broke it. + +"Well, it seems to me we're rather in a hole." + +"But it's preposterous," burst out Jack again. "Here's poor old Frank, +simply breaking his heart, and here are we perfectly ready to do +anything we can--why, the chap must be in hell!" + +"Look here, Mr. Parham-Carter," said Dick softly. "What about your going +round to his house and seeing if he's in, and what he's likely to be +doing to-day." + +"He'll be at the factory till this evening." + +"The factory?" + +"Yes; he's working at a jam factory just now." + +A sound of fury and disdain broke from Jack. + +"Well," continued Dick, "(May I take a cigarette, by the way?), why +shouldn't you go round and make inquiries, and find out how the land +lies? Then Kirkby and I might perhaps hang about a bit and run up +against him--if you'd just give us a hint, you know." + +The other looked at him a moment. + +"Well, perhaps I might," he said doubtfully. "But what--" + +"Good Lord! But you'll be keeping your promise, won't you? After all, +it's quite natural we should come down after his letter--and quite on +the cards that we should run up against him.... Please to go at once, +and let us wait here." + +In a quarter of an hour Mr. Parham-Carter came back quickly into the +room and shut the door. + +"Yes; he's at the factory," he said. "Or at any rate he's not at home. +And they don't expect him back till late." + +"Well?" + +"There's something up. The girl's gone, too. (No; she's not at the +factory.) And I think there's going to be trouble." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +(I) + +The electric train slowed down and stopped at the Hammersmith terminus, +and there was the usual rush for the doors. + +"Come on, Gertie," said a young man, "here we are." + +The girl remained perfectly still with her face hidden. + +The crowd was enormous this Christmas Eve, and for the most part laden +with parcels; the platforms surged with folk, and each bookstall, +blazing with lights (for it was after seven o'clock), was a center of a +kind of whirlpool. There was sensational news in the evening papers, and +everyone was anxious to get at the full details of which the main facts +were tantalizingly displayed on the posters. Everyone wanted to know +exactly who were the people concerned and how it had all happened. It +was a delightful tragedy for the Christmas festivities. + +"Come on," said the young man again. "They're nearly all out." + +"I can't," moaned the girl. + +Frank took her by the arm resolutely. + +"Come!" he said. + +Then she came, and the two passed out together into the mob waiting to +come in. + +"We shall have to walk," said Frank. "I'm sorry; but I've got to get +home somehow." + +She bowed her head and said nothing. + +Gertie presented a very unusual appearance this evening. Certainly she +had laid out the two-pound-ten to advantage. She was in a perfectly +decent dark dress with a red stripe in it; she had a large hat and some +species of boa round her neck; she even carried a cheap umbrella with a +sham silver band and a small hand-bag with one pocket-handkerchief +inside it. And to her own mind, no doubt, she was a perfect picture of +the ideal penitent--very respectable and even prosperous looking, and +yet with a dignified reserve. She was not at all flaunting, she must +have thought; neither was she, externally, anything of a disgrace. It +would be evident presently to her mother that she had returned out of +simple goodness of heart and not at all because her recent escapade had +been a failure. She would still be able to talk of "the Major" with +something of an air, and to make out that he treated her always like a +lady. (When I went to interview her a few months ago I found her very +dignified, very self-conscious, excessively refined and faintly +reminiscent of fallen splendor; and her mother told me privately that +she was beginning to be restless again and talked of going on to the +music-hall stage.) + +But there is one thing that I find it very hard to forgive, and that is, +that as the two went together under the flaming white lights towards +Chiswick High Street, she turned to Frank a little nervously and asked +him if he would mind walking just behind her. (Please remember, however, +in extenuation, that Gertie's new pose was that of the Superior Young +Lady.) + +"I don't quite like to be seen--" murmured this respectable person. + +"Oh, certainly!" said Frank, without an instant's hesitation. + + * * * * * + +They had met, half an hour before, by appointment, at the entrance to +the underground station at Victoria. Frank's van-journeyings would, he +calculated, bring him there about half-past six, and, strictly against +the orders of his superiors, but very ingeniously, with the connivance +of his fellow-driver of the van, he had arranged for his place to be +taken on the van for the rest of the evening by a man known to his +fellow-driver--but just now out of work--for the sum of one shilling, to +be paid within a week. He was quite determined not to leave Gertie alone +again, when once the journey to Chiswick had actually begun, until he +had seen her landed in her own home. + +The place of meeting, too, had suited Gertie very well. She had left +Turner Road abruptly, without a word to anyone, the instant that the +Major's military-looking back had been seen by her to pass within the +swing-doors of the "Queen's Arms" for his usual morning refreshment. +Then she had occupied herself chiefly by collecting her various things +at their respective shops, purchased by Frank's two-pound-ten, and +putting them on. She had had a clear threepence to spare beyond the few +shillings she had determined to put by out of the total, and had +expended it by a visit to the cinematograph show in Victoria Street. +There had been a very touching series of pictures of the "Old Home in +the Country," and the milking of the cows, with a general atmosphere of +roses and church-bells, and Gertie had dissolved into tears more than +once, and had cried noiselessly into her new pocket-handkerchief drawn +from her new hand-bag. But she had met Frank quite punctually, for, +indeed, she had burned her boats now entirely and there was nothing else +left for her to do. + + * * * * * + +At the entrance to Chiswick High Street another brilliant thought struck +her. She paused for Frank to come up. + +"Frankie," she said, "you won't say anything about the two-pound-ten, +will you? I shouldn't like them to think--" + +"Of course not," said Frank gravely, and after a moment, noticing that +she glanced at him again uneasily, understood, and fell obediently to +the rear once more. + + * * * * * + +About a quarter of a mile further on her steps began to go slower. Frank +watched her very carefully. He was not absolutely sure of her even now. +Then she crossed over the street between two trams, and Frank dodged +after her. Then she turned as if to walk back to Hammersmith. In an +instant Frank was at her side. + +"You're going the wrong way," he said. + +She stopped irresolutely, and had to make way for two or three hurrying +people, to pass. + +"Oh, Frankie! I can't!" she wailed softly. + +"Come!" said Frank, and took her by the arm once more. + +Five minutes later they stood together half-way down a certain long lane +that turns out of Chiswick High Street to the left, and there, for the +first time, she seems to have been genuinely frightened. The street was +quite empty; the entire walking population was parading up and down the +brightly-lit thoroughfare a hundred yards behind them, or feverishly +engaged in various kinds of provision shops. The lamps were sparse in +this lane, and all was comparatively quiet. + +"Oh, Frankie!" she moaned again. "I can't! I can't!... I daren't!" + +She leaned back against the sill of a window. + +Yet, even then, I believe she was rather enjoying herself. It was all so +extremely like the sort of plays over which she had been accustomed to +shed tears. The Prodigal's Return! And on Christmas Eve! It only +required a little snow to be falling and a crying infant at her +breast.... + +I wonder what Frank made of it. He must have known Gertie thoroughly +well by now, and certainly there is not one sensible man in a thousand +whose gorge would not have risen at the situation. Yet I doubt whether +Frank paid it much attention. + +"Where's the house?" he said. + +He glanced up at the number of the door by which he stood. + +"It must be a dozen doors further on," he said. + +"It's the last house in the row," murmured Gertie, in a weak voice. "Is +father looking out? Go and see." + +"My dear girl," said Frank, "do not be silly. Do remember your mother's +letter." + +Then she suddenly turned on him, and if ever she was genuine she was in +that moment. + +"Frankie," she whispered, "why not take me away yourself? Oh! take me +away! take me away!" + +He looked into her eyes for an instant, and in that instant he caught +again that glimpse as of Jenny herself. + +"Take me away--I'll live with you just as you like!" She took him by his +poor old jacket-lapel. "You can easily make enough, and I don't ask--" + +Then he detached her fingers and took her gently by the arm. + +"Come with me," he said. "No; not another word." + +Together in silence they went the few steps that separated them from the +house. There was a little garden in front, its borders set alternately +with sea-shells and flints. At the gate she hesitated once more, but he +unlatched the gate and pushed her gently through. + +"Oh! my gloves!" whispered Gertie, in a sharp tone of consternation. "I +left them in the shop next the A.B.C. in Wilton Road." + +Frank nodded. Then, still urging her, he brought her up to the door and +tapped upon it. + +There were footsteps inside. + +"God bless you, Gertie. Be a good girl. I'll wait in the road for ten +minutes, so that you can call me if you want to." + +Then he was gone as the door opened. + + +(II) + +The next public appearance of Frank that I have been able to trace, was +in Westminster Cathedral. Now it costs an extra penny at least, I think, +to break one's journey from Hammersmith to Broad Street, and I imagine +that Frank would not have done this after what he had said to Gertie +about the difficulty connected with taking an omnibus, except for some +definite reason, so it is only possible to conclude that he broke his +journey at Victoria in an attempt to get at those gloves. + +It seems almost incredible that Gertie should have spoken of her gloves +at such a moment, but it really happened. She told me so herself. And, +personally, on thinking over it, it seems to me tolerably in line +(though perhaps the line is rather unusually prolonged) with all that I +have been able to gather about her whole character. The fact is that +gloves, just then, were to her really important. She was about to appear +on the stage of family life, and she had formed a perfectly consistent +conception of her part. Gloves were an integral part of her +costume--they were the final proof of a sort of opulence and refinement; +therefore, though she could not get them just then, it was perfectly +natural and proper of her to mention them. It must not be thought that +Gertie was insincere: she was not; she was dramatic. And it is a fact +that within five minutes of her arrival she was down on her knees by her +mother, with her face hidden in her mother's lap, crying her heart out. +By the time she remembered Frank and ran out into the street, he had +been gone more than twenty minutes. + + * * * * * + +One of the priests attached to Westminster Cathedral happened to have a +pause about half-past nine o'clock in his hearing of confessions. He had +been in his box without a break from six o'clock, and he was extremely +tired and stiff about the knees. He had said the whole of his office +during intervals, and he thought he would take a little walk up and down +the south aisle to stretch his legs. + +So he unlatched the little door of his confessional, leaving the light +burning in case someone else turned up; he slipped off his stole and +came outside. + +The whole aisle, it seemed, was empty, though there was still a +sprinkling of folks in the north aisle, right across the great space of +the nave; and he went down the whole length, down to the west end to +have a general look up the Cathedral. + +He stood looking for three or four minutes. + +Overhead hung the huge span of brickwork, lost in darkness, incredibly +vast and mysterious, with here and there emerging into faint light a +slice of a dome or the slope of some architrave-like dogmas from +impenetrable mystery. Before him lay the immense nave, thronged now with +close-packed chairs in readiness for the midnight Mass, and they seemed +to him as he looked with tired eyes, almost like the bent shoulders of +an enormous crowd bowed in dead silence of adoration. But there was +nothing yet to adore, except up there to the left, where a very pale +glimmer shone on polished marble among the shadows before the chapel of +the Blessed Sacrament. There was one other exception; for overhead, +against the half-lighted apse, where a belated sacristan still moved +about, himself a shadow, busy with the last preparations of the High +Altar--there burgeoned out the ominous silhouette of the vast hanging +cross, but so dark that the tortured Christ upon it was invisible.... +Yet surely that was right on this night, for who, of all those who were +to adore presently the Child of joy, gave a thought to the Man of +Sorrows? His Time was yet three months away.... + + * * * * * + +As the priest stood there, looking and imagining, with that strange +clarity of mind and intuition that a few hours in the confessional gives +to even the dullest brain, he noticed the figure of a man detach itself +from one of the lighted confessionals on the left and come down towards +him, walking quickly and lightly. To his surprise, this young man, +instead of going out at the northwest door, wheeled and came towards +him. + +He noticed him particularly, and remembered his dress afterwards: it was +a very shabby dark blue suit, splashed with mud from the Christmas +streets, very bulgy about the knees; the coat was buttoned up tightly +round a muffler that had probably once been white, and his big boots +made a considerable noise as he came. + +The priest had a sudden impulse as the young man crossed him. + +"A merry Christmas," he said. + +The young man stopped a moment and smiled all over his face, and the +priest noticed the extraordinary serenity and pleasantness of the +face--and that, though it was the face of a Poor Man, with sunken cheeks +and lines at the corners of the mouth. + +"Thank you, Father," he said. "The same to you." + +Then he went on, his boots as noisy as ever, and turned up the south +aisle. And presently the sound of his boots ceased. + + * * * * * + +The priest still stood a moment or two, looking and thinking, and it +struck him with something of pleasure that the young man, though +obviously of the most completely submerged tenth, had not even hesitated +or paused, still less said one word, with the hope of a little something +for Christmas' sake. Surely he had spoken, too, with the voice of an +educated man. + +He became suddenly interested--he scarcely knew why, and the impression +made just by that single glimpse of a personality deepened every +moment.... What in the world was that young man doing here?... What was +his business up in that empty south aisle? Who was he? What was it all +about? + +He thought presently that he would go up and see; it was on his way back +to the clergy-house, too. But when he reached the corner of the aisle +and could see up it, there seemed to be no one there. + +He began to walk up, wondering more than ever, and then on a sudden he +saw a figure kneeling on the lower step of the chapel on the right, +railed off and curtained now, where the Crib was ready to be disclosed +two hours later. + +It all seemed very odd. He could not understand why anyone should wish +to pray before an impenetrable curtain. As he came nearer he saw it was +his friend all right. Those boots were unmistakable. The young man was +kneeling on the step, quite upright and motionless, his cap held in his +hands, facing towards the curtain behind which, no doubt, there stood +the rock-roofed stable, with the Three Personages--an old man, a maid +and a new-born Child. But their time, too, was not yet. It was two hours +away. + +Priests do not usually stare in the face of people who are saying their +prayers--they are quite accustomed to that phenomenon; but this priest +(he tells me) simply could not resist it. And as he passed on his +noiseless shoes, noticing that the light from his own confessional shone +full upon the man, he turned and looked straight at his face. + +Now I do not understand what it was that he saw; he does not understand +it himself; but it seems that there was something that impressed him +more than anything else that he had ever seen before or since in the +whole world. + +The young man's eyes were open and his lips were closed. Not one muscle +of his face moved. So much for the physical facts. But it was a case +where the physical facts are supremely unimportant.... At any rate, the +priest could only recall them with an effort. The point was that there +was something supra-physical there--(personally I should call it +supernatural)--that stabbed the watcher's heart clean through with one +over whelming pang.... (I think that's enough.) + + * * * * * + +When the priest reached the Lady chapel he sat down, still trembling a +little, and threw all his attention into his ears, determined to hear +the first movement that the kneeling figure made behind him. So he sat +minute after minute. The Cathedral was full of echoes--murmurous +rebounds of the noises of the streets, drawn out and mellowed into long, +soft, rolling tones, against which, as against a foil, there stood out +detached, now and then, the sudden footsteps of someone leaving or +entering a confessional, the short scream of a slipping chair--once the +sudden noise of a confessional-door being opened and the click of the +handle which turned out the electric light. And it was full of shadows, +too; a monstrous outline crossed and recrossed the apse behind the High +Altar, as the sacristan moved about; once a hand, as of a giant, +remained poised for an instant somewhere on the wall beside the throne. +It seemed to the priest, tired and clear-brained as he was, as if he sat +in some place of expectation--some great cavern where mysteries moved +and passed in preparation for a climax. All was hushed and confused, yet +alive; and the dark waves would break presently in the glory of the +midnight Mass. + +He scarcely knew what held him there, nor what it was for which he +waited. He thought of the lighted common-room at the end of the long +corridor beyond the sacristy. He wondered who was there; perhaps one or +two were playing billiards and smoking; they had had a hard day of it +and would scarcely get to bed before three. And yet, here he sat, tired +and over-strained, yet waiting--waiting for a disreputable-looking young +man in a dirty suit and muffler and big boots, to give over praying +before a curtain in an empty aisle. + +A figure presently came softly round the corner behind him. It was the +priest whom he had heard leaving his confessional just now. + +"Haven't you done yet?" whispered the new-comer, pausing behind his +chair. + +"Coming in a minute or two," he said. + +The figure passed on; presently a door banged like muffled thunder +somewhere beyond the sacristy, and simultaneously he heard a pair of +boots going down the aisle behind. + +He got up instantly, and with long, silent steps made his way down the +aisle also. The figure wheeled the corner and disappeared; he himself +ran on tip-toe and was in time to see him turning away from the +holy-water basin by the door. But he came so quickly after him that the +door was still vibrating as he put his hand upon it. He came out more +cautiously through the little entrance, and stood on the steps in time +to see the young man moving off, not five yards away, in the direction +of Victoria Street. But here something stopped him. + +Coming straight up the pavement outside the Art and Book Company depot +was a newsboy at the trot, yelling something as he came, with a poster +flapping from one arm and a bundle of papers under the other. The priest +could not catch what he said, but he saw the young man suddenly stop and +then turn off sharply towards the boy, and he saw him, after fumbling in +his pocket, produce a halfpenny and a paper pass into his hands. + +There then he stood, motionless on the pavement, the sheet spread before +him flapping a little in the gusty night wind. + +"Paper, sir!" yelled the boy, pausing in the road. "'Orrible--" + +The priest nodded; but he was not thinking much about the paper, and +produced his halfpenny. The paper was put into his hand, but he paid no +attention to it. He was still watching the motionless figure on the +pavement. About three minutes passed. Then the young man suddenly and +dexterously folded the paper, folded it again and slipped it into his +pocket. Then he set off walking and a moment later had vanished round +the corner into Victoria Street. + + * * * * * + +The priest thought no more of the paper as he went back through the +Cathedral, wondering again over what he had seen.... + +But the common-room was empty when he got to it, and presently he spread +the paper before him on the table and leaned over it to see what the +excitement was about. There was no doubt as to what the news was--there +were headlines occupying nearly a third of a column; but it appeared to +him unimportant as general news: he had never heard of the people +before. It seemed that a wealthy peer who lived in the North of England, +who had only recently been married for the second time, had been killed +in a motor smash together with his eldest son. The chauffeur had escaped +with a fractured thigh. The peer's name was Lord Talgarth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +(I) + +On the morning of the twenty-fourth a curious little incident +happened--I dug the facts out of the police news--in a small +public-house on the outskirts of South London. Obviously it is no more +than the sheerest coincidence. Four men were drinking a friendly glass +of beer together on their way back to work from breakfast. Their +ecclesiastical zeal seems to have been peculiarly strong, for they +distinctly stated that they were celebrating Christmas on that date, and +I deduce from that statement that beer-drinking was comparatively +infrequent with them. + +However, as they were about to part, there entered to them a fifth, +travel-stained and tired, who sat down and demanded some stronger form +of stimulant. The new-comer was known to these four, for his name was +given, and his domicile was mentioned as Hackney Wick. He was a small +man, very active and very silent and rather pale; and he seems to have +had something of a mysterious reputation even among his friends and to +be considered a dangerous man to cross. + +He made no mystery, however, as to where he had come from, nor whither +he was going. He had come from Kent, he said, and humorously added that +he had been hop-picking, and was going to join his wife and the family +circle for the festival of Christmas. He remarked that his wife had +written to him to say she had lodgers. + +The four men naturally stayed a little to hear all this news and to +celebrate Christmas once more, but they presently were forced to tear +themselves away. It was as the first man was leaving (his foreman +appears to have been of a tyrannical disposition) that the little +incident happened. + +"Why," he said, "Bill" (three out of the five companions seemed to have +been usually called "Bill"), "Bill, your boots are in a mess." + +The Bill in question made caustic remarks. He observed that it would be +remarkable if they were not in such weather. But the other persisted +that this was not mud, and a general inspection was made. This resulted +in the opinion of the majority being formed that Bill had trodden in +some blood. Bill himself was one of the majority, though he attempted in +vain to think of any explanation. Two men, however, declared that in +their opinion it was only red earth. (A certain obscurity appears in the +evidence at this point, owing to the common use of a certain expletive +in the mouth of the British working-man.) There was a hot discussion on +the subject, and the Bill whose boots were under argument seems to have +been the only man to keep his head. He argued very sensibly that if the +stains were those of blood, then he must have stepped in some--perhaps +in the gutter of a slaughter-house; and if it was not blood, then it +must be something else he had trodden in. It was urged upon him that it +was best washed off, and he seems finally to have taken the advice, +though without enthusiasm. + +Then the four men departed. + +The landlady's evidence was to the same effect. She states that the +new-comer, with whose name she had been previously unacquainted, though +she knew his face, had remained very tranquilly for an hour or so and +had breakfasted off bacon and eggs. He seemed to have plenty of money, +she said. He had finally set off, limping a little, in a northward +direction. + +Now this incident is a very small one. I only mention it because, in +reading the evidence later, I found myself reminded of a parallel +incident, recorded in a famous historical trial, in which something +resembling blood was seen on the hand of the judge. His name was Ayloff, +and his date the sixteenth century. + + +(II) + +Mrs. Partington had a surprise--not wholly agreeable--on that Christmas +Eve. For at half-past three, just as the London evening was beginning to +close in, her husband walked into the kitchen. + +She had seen nothing of him for six weeks, and had managed to get on +fairly well without him. I am not even now certain whether or no she +knows what her husband's occupation is during these absences of his--I +think it quite possible that, honestly, she does not--and I have no idea +myself. It seemed, however, this time, that he had prospered. He was in +quite a good temper, he was tolerably well dressed, and within ten +minutes of his arrival he had produced a handful of shillings. Five of +these he handed over to her at once for Christmas necessaries, and ten +more he entrusted to Maggie with explicit directions as to their +expenditure. + +While he took off his boots, his wife gave him the news--first, as to +the arrival of the Major's little party, and next as to its unhappy +dispersion on that very day. + +"He will 'ave it as the young man's gone off with the young woman," she +observed. + +Mr. Partington made a commentatory sound. + +"An' 'e's 'arf mad," she added. "'E means mischief if 'e can manage it." + +Mr. Partington observed, in his own particular kind of vocabulary, that +the Major's intentions were absurd, since the young man would scarcely +be such a peculiarly qualified kind of fool as to return. And Mrs. +Partington agreed with him. (In fact, this had been her one comfort all +day. For it seemed to her, with her frank and natural ideas, that, on +the whole, Frank and Gertie had done the proper thing. She was pleased, +too, to think that she had been right in her surmises as to Gertie's +attitude to Frank. For, of course, she never doubted for one single +instant that the two had eloped together in the ordinary way, though +probably without any intentions of matrimony.) + +Mr. Partington presently inquired as to where the Major was, and was +informed that he was, of course, at the "Queen's Arms." He had been +there, in fact, continuously--except for sudden excursions home, to +demand whether anything had been heard of the fugitives--since about +half-past eleven that morning. It was a situation that needed comfort. + +Mrs. Partington added a few comments on the whole situation, and +presently put on her bonnet and went out to supplement her Christmas +preparations with the extra five shillings, leaving her husband to doze +in the Windsor chair, with his pipe depending from his mouth. He had +walked up from Kent that morning, he said. + + * * * * * + +She returned in time to get tea ready, bringing with her various +"relishes," and found that the situation had developed slightly since +her departure. The Major had made another of his infuriated returns, and +had expanded at length to his old friend Mr. Partington, recounting the +extraordinary kindness he had always shown to Frank and the confidence +he had reposed in him. He had picked him up, it seemed, when the young +man had been practically starving, and had been father and comrade to +him ever since. And to be repaid in this way! He had succeeded also by +his eloquence, Mrs. Partington perceived, in winning her husband's +sympathies, and was now gone off again, ostensibly to scour the +neighborhood once more, but, more probably, to attempt to drown his +grieved and wounded feelings. + +Mrs. Partington set her thin lips and said nothing. She noticed also, as +she spread the table, a number of bottles set upon the floor, two of +them with yellow labels--the result of Maggie's errand--and prepared +herself to face a somewhat riotous evening. But Christmas, she reflected +for her consolation, comes but once a year. + +It was about nine o'clock that the two men and the one woman sat down to +supper upstairs. The children had been put to bed in the kitchen as +usual, after Jimmie had informed his mother that the clergyman had been +round no less than three times since four o'clock to inquire after the +vanished lodger. He was a little tearful at being put to bed at such an +unusually early hour, as Mr. Parham-Carter, it appeared, had promised +him no less than sixpence if he would come round to the clergy-house +within five minutes after the lodger's return, and it was obviously +impossible to traverse the streets in a single flannel shirt. + +His mother dismissed it all as nonsense. She told him that Frankie was +not coming back at all--that he wasn't a good young man, and had run +away without paying mother her rent. This made the situation worse than +ever, as Jimmie protested violently against this shattering of his +ideal, and his mother had to assume a good deal of sternness to cover up +her own tenderness of feeling. But she, too--though she considered the +flight of the two perfectly usual--was conscious of a very slight sense +of disappointment herself that it should have been this particular young +man who had done it. + +Then she went upstairs again to supper. + + +(III) + +The famous archway that gives entrance to the district of Hackney Wick +seems, especially on a rainy night, directly designed by the Great +Eastern Railway as a vantage ground for observant loafers with a desire +to know every soul that enters or leaves Hackney Wick. It is, of course, +possible to, enter Hackney Wick by other ways--it may be approached by +the marshes, and there is, I think, another way round about half a mile +to the east, under the railway. But those ways have nothing whatever to +do with people coming from London proper. You arrive at Victoria Park +Station; you turn immediately to the right and follow the pavement down, +with the park on your left, until you come to the archway where the road +unites with that coming from Homerton. One is absolutely safe, +therefore, assuming that one has not to deal with watchful criminals, in +standing under the arch with the certitude that sooner or later, if you +wait long enough, the man whom you expect to enter Hackney Wick will +pass within ten yards of you. + +Mr. Parham-Carter, of course, knew this perfectly well, and had, +finally, communicated the fact to the other two quite early in the +afternoon. An elaborate system of watches, therefore, had been arranged, +by which one of the three had been on guard continuously since three +o'clock. It was Jack who had had the privilege (if he had but known it) +of observing Mr. Partington himself returning home to his family for +Christmas, and it was Dick, who came on guard about five, who had seen +the Major--or, rather, what was to him merely a shabby and excited +man--leave and then return to the "Queen's Arms" during his hour's +watch. + + * * * * * + +After the amazing and shocking news, however, of the accident to Lord +Talgarth and Archie, the precautions had been doubled. It was the +clergyman who had first bought an evening paper soon after five o'clock, +and within five minutes the other two knew it also. + +It is of no good to try to describe the effect it had on their minds, +beyond saying that it made all three of them absolutely resolute that +Frank should by no possible means escape them. The full dramatic +situation of it all they scarcely appreciated, though it soaked more and +more into them gradually as they waited--two of them in the Men's Club +just round the corner, and the third, shivering and stamping, under the +arch. (An unemployed man, known to the clergyman, had been set as an +additional sentry on the steps of the Men's Club, whose duty it would +be, the moment the signal was given from the arch that Frank was +coming, to call the other two instantly from inside. Further, the +clergyman--as has been related--had been round three times since four +o'clock to Turner Road, and had taken Jimmie into his pay.) + +The situation was really rather startling, even to the imperturbable +Dick. This pleasant young man, to whom he had begun to feel very +strangely tender during the last month or two, now tramping London +streets (or driving a van), in his miserable old clothes described to +him by the clergyman, or working at the jam factory, was actually no one +else at this moment but the new Lord Talgarth--with all that that +implied. Merefield was his, the big house in Berkeley Square was his; +the moor in Scotland.... It was an entire reversal of the whole thing: +it was as a change of trumps in whist: everything had altered its +value.... + +Well, he had plenty of time, both before he came off guard at seven and +after he had joined the clergyman in the Men's Club, to sort out the +facts and their consequences. + + * * * * * + +About half-past ten the three held a consultation under the archway, +while trains rumbled overhead. They attracted very little attention +here: the archway is dark and wide; they were muffled to the eyes; and +there usually is a fringe of people standing under shelter here on rainy +evenings. They leaned back against the wall and talked. + +They had taken further steps since they had last met. Mr. Parham-Carter +had been round to the jam factory, and had returned with the news that +the van had come back under the charge of only one of the drivers, and +that the other one, who was called Gregory (whom Mr. Parham-Carter was +inquiring after), would certainly be dismissed in consequence. He had +taken the address of the driver, who was now off duty--somewhere in +Homerton--with the intention of going to see him next morning if Frank +had not appeared. + +There were two points they were discussing now. First, should the police +be informed? Secondly, was it probable that Frank would have heard the +news, and, if so, was it conceivable that he had gone straight off +somewhere in consequence--to his lawyers, or even to Merefield itself? + +Dick remembered the name of the firm quite well--at least, he thought +so. Should he send a wire to inquire? + +But then, in that case, Jack shrewdly pointed out, everything was as it +should be. And this reflection caused the three considerable comfort. + +For all that, there were one or two "ifs." Was it likely that Frank +should have heard the news? He was notoriously hard up, and the name +Talgarth had not appeared, so far, on any of the posters. Yet he might +easily have been given a paper, or picked one up ... and then.... + +So the discussion went on, and there was not much to be got out of it. +The final decision come to was this: That guard should be kept, as +before, until twelve o'clock midnight; that at that hour the three +should leave the archway and, in company, visit two places--Turner Road +and the police-station--and that the occupants of both these places +should be informed of the facts. And that then all three should go to +bed. + + +(IV) + +At ten minutes past eleven Dick moved away from the fire in the Men's +Club, where he had just been warming himself after his vigil, and began +to walk up and down. + +He had no idea why he was so uncomfortable, and he determined to set to +work to reassure himself. (The clergyman, he noticed, was beginning to +doze a little by the fire, for the club had just been officially closed +and the rooms were empty.) + +Of course, it was not pleasant to have to tell a young man that his +father and brother were dead (Dick himself was conscious of a +considerable shock), but surely the situation was, on the whole, +enormously improved. This morning Frank was a pauper; to-night he was +practically a millionaire, as well as a peer of the realm. This morning +his friends had nothing by which they might appeal to him, except common +sense and affection, and Frank had very little of the one, and, it would +seem, a very curious idea of the other. + +Of course, all that affair about Jenny was a bad business (Dick could +hardly even now trust himself to think of her too much, and not to +discuss her at all), but Frank would get over it. + +Then, still walking up and down, and honestly reassured by sheer reason, +he began to think of what part Jenny would play in the future.... It was +a very odd situation, a very odd situation indeed. (The deliberate and +self-restrained Dick used an even stronger expression.) Here was a young +woman who had jilted the son and married the father, obviously from +ambitious motives, and now found herself almost immediately in the +position of a very much unestablished kind of dowager, with the jilted +son reigning in her husband's stead. And what on earth would happen +next? Diamonds had been trumps; now it looked as if hearts were to +succeed them; and what a very remarkable pattern was that of these +hearts. + +But to come back to Frank-- + +And at that moment he heard a noise at the door, and, as the clergyman +started up from his doze, Dick saw the towzled and becapped head of the +unemployed man and his hand beckoning violently, and heard his hoarse +voice adjuring them to make haste. The gentleman under the arch, he +said, was signaling. + +The scene was complete when the two arrived, with the unemployed man +encouraging them from behind, half a minute later under the archway. + +Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and +was holding him in talk. + +"My dear chap," he was saying, "we've been waiting for you all day. +Thank the Lord you've come!" + +Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who now for the first time +saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such +minuteness. He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy +drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when Dick +had last seen him--only at Easter. But his voice was confident and +self-respecting enough. + +"My dear Jack," he was saying, "you really mustn't interrupt. I've only +just--" Then he broke off as he recognized the others. + +"So you've given me away after all," he said with a certain sternness to +the clergyman. + +"Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. "They came quite +unexpectedly this morning." + +"And you've told them that they could catch me here," said Frank "Well, +it makes no difference. I'm going on--Hullo! Dick!" + +"Look here!" said Dick. "It's really serious. You've heard about--" His +voice broke. + +"I've heard about it," said Frank. "But that doesn't make any difference +for to-night." + +"But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, +"it's simply ridiculous. We've come down here on purpose--you're killing +yourself--" + +"One moment," said Frank. "Tell me exactly what you want." + +Dick pushed to the front. + +"Let him alone, you fellows.... This is what we want, Frank. We want you +to come straight to the clergy-house for to-night. To-morrow you and +I'll go and see the lawyers first thing in the morning, and go up to +Merefield by the afternoon train. I'm sorry, but you've really got to go +through with it. You're the head of the family now. They'll be all +waiting for you there, and they can't do anything without you. This +mustn't get into the papers. Fortunately, not a soul knows of it yet, +though they would have if you'd been half an hour later. Now, come +along." + +"One moment," said Frank. "I agree with nearly all that you've said. I +quite agree with you that"--he paused a moment--"that the head of the +family should be at Merefield to-morrow night. But for to-night you +three must just go round to the clergy-house and wait. I've got to +finish my job clean out--and--" + +"What job?" cried two voices simultaneously. + +Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. + +"I really don't propose to go into all that now. It'd take an hour. But +two of you know most of the story. In a dozen words it's this--I've got +the girl away, and now I'm going to tell the man, and tell him a few +other things at the same time. That's the whole thing. Now clear off, +please. (I'm awfully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really +must let me finish it before I do anything else." + +There was a silence. + +It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that--at least, it seemed +consistent with what appeared to the three to be the amazing unreason of +all Frank's proceedings. They hesitated, and were lost. + +"Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney Wick before we've seen you +again?" demanded Jack hoarsely. + +Frank bowed his head. + +"Yes," he said. + +The clergyman and Dick were consulting in low voices. Jack looked at +them with a wild sort of appeal in his face. He was completely +bewildered, and hoped for help. But none came. + +"Will you swear--" he began again. + +Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend's shoulder. + +"Look here, old man. I'm really rather done up. I think you might let me +go without any more--" + +"All right, we agree," said Dick suddenly. "And--" + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then there's really no more--" + +He turned as if to go. + +"Frank, Frank--" cried Jack. + +Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went on. + +"Good-night," he cried. + +And so they let him go. + +They watched him, in silence, cross the road by the "Queen's Arms" and +pass up the left-hand pavement. As he drew near each lamp his shadow +lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared before him. After +the third lamp they lost him, and they knew he would a moment later pass +into Turner Road. + +So they let him go. + + +(V) + +Mr. Parham-Carter's room looked very warm and home-like after the +comfortlessness of the damp lamp-lit streets. It was as has already been +related: the Madonna, the prints, the low book-cases, the drawn +curtains, the rosy walls, the dancing firelight and the electric lamp. + +It was even reassuring at first--safe and protected, and the three sat +down content. A tray with some cold meat and cheese rested on the table +by the fire, and cocoa in a brown jug stood warming in the fender. They +had had irregular kinds of refreshments in the Men's Club at odd +intervals, and were exceedingly hungry.... + +They began to talk presently, and it was astonishing how the sight and +touch of Frank had cheered them. More than one of the three has +confessed to me since that a large part of the anxiety was caused by his +simple absence and by imaginative little pictures of street accidents. +It would have been so extremely ironical if he had happened to have +been run over on the day on which he became Lord Talgarth. + +They laid their little plans, too, for the next day. Dick had thought it +all out. He, Jack and Frank were to call at the lawyers' office in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, and leave a message, as the office would be closed +of course, immediately after the wanderer had been dressed properly in +ready-made clothes. Then they would catch the early afternoon train and +get to Merefield that night. The funeral could not possibly take place +for several days: there would have to be an inquest. + +Then they read over the account of the smash in the _Star_ +newspaper--special edition. It seemed to have been nobody's fault. The +brake had refused to act going down a steep hill; they had run into a +wall; the chauffeur had been thrown clean over it; the two passengers +had been pinned under the car. Lord Talgarth was dead at once; Archie +had died five minutes after being taken out. + +So they all talked at once in low voices, but in the obvious excitement +of relief. It was an extraordinary pleasure to them--now that they +looked at it in the sanity conferred by food and warmth--to reflect that +Frank was within a quarter of a mile of them--certainly in dreary +surroundings; but it was for the last time. To-morrow would see him +restored to ordinary life, his delusions and vagaries plucked from him +by irresistible circumstance, and the future in his hands. + + * * * * * + +Midnight still found them talking--alert and cheerful; but a little +silence fell as they heard the chiming of bells. + +"Christmas Day, by George!" said the clergyman. "Merry Christmas!" + +They shook hands, smiling shamefacedly, as is the custom of Englishmen. + +"And to think of old Frank--" mused Jack half aloud. "I told you, +Guiseley, about his coming to me in the autumn?" (He had been thinking a +great deal about that visit lately, and about what Frank had told him of +himself--the idea he had of Something going on behind the scenes in +which he had passively to take his part; his remark on how pleasant it +must be to be a squire. Well, the play had come to an end, it seemed; +now there followed the life of a squire indeed. It was curious to think +that Frank was, actually at this moment, Lord Talgarth!) + +Dick nodded his head, smiling to himself in his beard. Somehow or +another the turn things had taken had submerged in him for the present +the consciousness of the tragedy up at Merefield, and his own private +griefs, and the memory of Jenny. + +Jack told it all again briefly. He piled it on about the Major and his +extreme repulsiveness, and the draggled appearance of Gertie, and +Frank's incredible obstinacy. + +"And to think that he's brought it off, and got the girl home to her +people.... Well, thank the Lord that's over! We shan't have any more of +that sort of thing." + +Dick got up presently and began to walk about, eyeing the pictures and +the books. + +"Want to turn in?" asked the cleric. + +"Well, I think, as we've an early start--" + +The clergyman jumped up. + +"You've a beastly little room, I'm afraid. We're rather full up. And +you, Mr. Kirkby!" + +"I'll wait till you come back," he said. + + * * * * * + +The two went out, after good-nights, and Jack was left staring at the +fire. + +He felt very wide-awake, and listened contentedly to the dying noises of +the streets. Somewhere in that hive outside was Frank--old Frank. That +was very good to think of.... + +During these last months Frank's personality had been very persistently +before him. It was not that he pretended to understand him in the very +least; but he understood enough now to feel that there was something +very admirable in it all. It was mad and quixotic and absurd, but it +had a certain light of nobility. Of course, it would never do if people +in general behaved like that; society simply could not go on if everyone +went about espousing the cause of unhappy and badly-behaved individuals, +and put on old clothes and played the Ass. But, for all that, it was not +unpleasant to reflect that his own friend had chosen to do these things +in despite of convention. There was a touch of fineness in it. And it +was all over now, thank God.... What times they would have up in the +north! + +He heard a gate clash somewhere outside. The sound just detached itself +from the murmur of the night. Then a late train ran grinding over the +embanked railway behind the house, and drew up with the screaming of +brakes at Victoria Park Station, and distracted him again. + +"Are you ready, Mr. Kirkby?" said the clergyman, coming in. + +Jack stood up, stretching himself. In the middle of the stretch he +stopped. + +"What's that noise?" he asked. + +They stood listening. + +Then again came the sharp, prolonged tingle of an electric bell, +followed by a battering at a door downstairs. + +Jack, looking in the other's face, saw him go ever so slightly pale +beneath his eyes. + +"There's somebody at the door," said Mr. Parham-Carter. "I'll just go +down and see." + +And, as Jack stood there, motionless and breathless, he could hear no +sound but the thick hammering of his own heart at the base of his +throat. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +(I) + +At half-past eleven o'clock Mrs. Partington came upstairs to the room +where the two men were still drinking, to make one more suggestion that +it was time to go to bed. + +It was a dreary little room, this front bedroom on the first floor, +where Frank and the Major had slept last night in one large double bed. +The bed was pushed now close against the wall, the clothes still tumbled +and unmade, with various articles lying upon it, as on a table. A chair +without a back stood between it and the window. + +The table where the two men still sat was pulled close to the fire that +had been lighted partly in honor of Mr. Partington and partly in honor +of Christmas, and was covered with a _débris_ of plates and glasses and +tobacco and bottles. There was a jam-jar filled with holly obtained from +the butcher's shop, in the middle of the table. There was very little +furniture in the room; there was a yellow-painted chest of drawers +opposite the door, and this, too, held a little regiment of bottles; +there was a large oleograph of Queen Victoria hanging above the bed, +and a text--for some inscrutable reason--was permitted to hang above the +fireplace, proclaiming that "The Lord is merciful and long-suffering," +in Gothic letters, peeping modestly out of a wealth of painted +apple-blossoms, with a water-wheel in the middle distance and a stile. +On the further side of the fireplace was a washhand-stand, with a tin +pail below it, and the Major's bowler hat reposing in the basin. There +was a piece of carpet underneath the table, and a woolly sort of mat, +trodden through in two or three places, beside the bed. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Partington coughed as she came in, so tremendous was the reek of +tobacco smoke, burning paraffin and spirits. + +"Bless the men!" she said, and choked once more. + +She was feeling comparatively light-hearted; it was a considerable +relief to her that Frank actually had not come back, though she never +had for one instant expected him to do so. But she didn't want any more +disturbances or quarrels, and, as she looked at the Major, who turned in +his chair as she came in, she felt even more relieved. His appearance +was not reassuring. + +He had been drinking pretty steadily all day to drown his grief, and had +ended up by a very business-like supper with his landlord. There were +four empty beer bottles and one empty whisky bottle distributed on the +table or floor, and another half-empty whisky bottle stood between the +two men on the table. And as she looked at the Major (she was completely +experienced in alcoholic symptoms), she understood exactly what stage he +had reached.... + + * * * * * + +Now the Major was by no means a drunkard--let that be understood. He +drank whenever he could, but a tramp cannot drink to very grave excess. +He is perpetually walking and he is perpetually poor. But this was a +special occasion; it was Christmas; he was home in London; his landlord +had returned, and he had lost Gertie. + +He had reached, then, the dangerous stage, when the alcohol, after +having excited and warmed and confused the brain, recoils from it to +some extent, leaving it clear and resolute and entirely reckless, and +entirely conscious of any idea that happens to be dominant (at least, +that is the effect on some temperaments). The maudlin stage had passed +long ago, at the beginning of supper, when the Major had leaned his head +on his plate and wept over the ingratitude of man and the peculiar +poignancy of "old Frankie's" individual exhibition of it. A noisy stage +had succeeded to this, and now there was deadly quiet. + +He was rather white in the face; his eyes were set, but very bright, and +he was smoking hard and fast. + +"Now then," said Mrs. Partington cheerfully, "time for bed." + +Her husband winked at her gravely, which was his nearest approach to +hilarity. He was a quiet man at all times. + +The Major said nothing. + +"There! there's 'Erb awake again," said the mother, as a wail rose up +the staircase. "I'll be up again presently." And she vanished once more. + + * * * * * + +Two of the children were awake after all. + +Jimmie lay, black-eyed and alert, beside his brother, and looked at his +mother reflectively as she came in. He was still thinking about the +sixpence that might conceivably have been his. 'Erb's lamentation +stopped as she came in, and she went to the table first to turn down the +smoking lamp. + +She was quite a kindly mother, a great deal more tender than she seemed, +and 'Erb knew it well enough. But he respected her sufficiently to stop +crying when she came in. + +"Now then," she said with motherly sternness. "I can't 'ave--" + +Then she stopped abruptly. She had heard steps on the pavement outside +as she came into the room, and now she heard the handle of the street +door turned and someone come into the passage. She stood wondering, and +in that pause she missed her chance, for the steps came straight past +the door and began to go upstairs. It might, of course, conceivably be +one of the lodgers on the top-floor, and yet she knew it was not. She +whisked to the door a moment later, but it was too late, and she was +only just in time to see the figure she knew turn the corner of the four +stairs that led to the first-floor landing. + +"Is that Frankie?" asked Jimmie, suddenly sitting up in bed. "Oh! +mother, let me--" + +"You be quiet!" snapped the woman, and stood listening; with parted +lips. + + +(II) + +From that point Mrs. Partington seems to have been able to follow very +closely what must have taken place upstairs. + +It was a very quiet night, here in Turner Road: the roysterers were in +the better-lighted streets, and the sober folk were at home. And there +was not a footstep on the pavements outside to confuse the little drama +of sound that came down to her through the ill-fitting boards overhead. +She could not explain afterwards why she did not interfere. I imagine +that she hoped against hope that she was misinterpreting what she heard, +and also that a kind of terror seized her which she found it really +impossible to shake off. + +First, there was the opening and closing of the door; two or three +footsteps, and then dead silence. + +Then she heard talking begin, first one voice, then a crescendo, as if +two or three clamored together; then one voice again. (It was +impossible, so far, to distinguish which was which.) + +This went on for a minute or two; occasionally there was a crescendo, +and once or twice some voice rose almost into a shout. + +Then, without warning, there was a shuffling of feet, and a crash, as of +an overturned chair; and, instant upon the noise, 'Erb set up a +prolonged wail. + +"You be quiet!" snapped the woman in a sharp whisper. + +The noises went on: now the stamp of a foot; now the scraping of +something overhead and a voice or two in sharp deep exclamation, and +then complete silence once more. 'Erb was sobbing now, as noiselessly as +he could, terrified at his mother's face, and Jimmie was up, standing +on the floor in his flannel shirt, listening like his mother. Maggie +still slept deeply on the further side of the bed. + +The woman went on tip-toe a step nearer the door, opened it, and peeped +out irresolutely. But the uncarpeted stairs stretched up into the +darkness, unlit except for the glimmer that came from the room at whose +door she was standing.... + +There was a voice now, rising and falling steadily, and she heard it +broken in upon now and again by something that resembled a chuckle. +Somehow or another this sickened her more than all else; it was like her +husband's voice. She recoiled into the room, and, as she did so, there +came the sound of blows and the stamping of feet, and she knew, in a way +that she could not explain, that there was no fight going on. It was +some kind of punishment, not a conflict.... + +She would have given the world to move, to run to the street door and +scream for help; but her knees shook under her and her heart seemed to +be hammering itself to bits. Jimmie had hold of her now, clinging round +her, shaking with terror and murmuring something she could not +understand. Her whole attention was upstairs. She was wondering how long +it would go on. + +It must be past midnight now, she thought: the streets seethed still as +death. But overhead there was still movement and the sound of blows, +and then abruptly the end came. + +There was one more crescendo of noise--two voices raised in dispute, one +almost shrill, in anger or expostulation; then one more sudden and heavy +noise as of a blow or a fall, and dead silence. + + +(III) + +The next thing that Mrs. Partington remembered afterwards was that she +found herself standing on the landing upstairs, listening, yet afraid to +move. + +All was very nearly silent within: there was just low talking, and the +sound of something being moved. It was her husband's voice that she +heard. + +Beyond her the stairs ran up to the next story, and she became aware +presently that someone else was watching, too. An untidy head of a woman +leaned over the banisters, and candle-light from somewhere beyond lit up +her face. She was grinning. + + * * * * * + +Then the sharp whisper came down the stairs demanding what was up. + +Mrs. Partington jerked her thumb towards the closed door and nodded +reassuringly. She was aware that she must be natural at all costs. The +woman still hung over the banisters a minute longer and then was gone. + +Jimmie was with her too, now, still just in his shirt, perfectly quiet, +with a face as white as paper. His big black eyes dwelt on his mother's +face. + +Then suddenly she could bear the suspense no more. She stole up to the +door, still on tip-toe, still listening, and laid her fingers on the +handle. There were more gentle movements within now, the noise of water +and a basin (she heard the china clink distinctly), but no more words. + +She turned the handle resolutely and looked in. + + * * * * * + +The Major was leaning in the corner by the window, with his hands in his +pockets, staring with a dull, white, defiant kind of face at the bed. +The lamp on the mantelpiece lighted him up clearly. On his knees by the +bedside was her husband, with his back to her, supporting a basin on the +bed and some thing dark that hung over it. Then she saw Frank. It was he +who was lying on the bed almost upon his face; one boot dangled down on +this side, and it was his head that her husband was supporting. She +stared at it a moment in terror.... Then her eyes wandered to the floor, +where, among the pieces of broken glass, a pool of dark liquid spread +slowly over the boards. Twigs and detached leaves of holly lay in the +midst of it. And at that sight her instinct reasserted herself. + +She stepped forward and took her husband by the shoulder. He turned a +face that twitched a little towards her. She pushed him aside, took the +basin from him, and the young man's head.... + +"Clear out of this," she whispered sharply. "Quick, mind! You and the +Major!... Jimmie!" The boy was by her in an instant, shaking all over, +but perfectly self-controlled. + +"Jimmie, put your things on and be off to the clergy-house. Ring 'em up, +and ask for Mr. Carter. Bring him round with you." + +Frank's head slipped a little in her hands, and she half rose to steady +it. When she had finished and looked round again for her husband, the +room was empty. From below up the stairs came a sudden draught, and the +flame leaped in the lamp-chimney. And then, once more unrestrained, rose +up the wailing of 'Erb. + + +(IV) + +A little after dawn on that Christmas morning Mr. Parham-Carter sat +solitary in the kitchen. The children had been packed off to a +neighbor's house before, and he himself had been to and fro all night +and was tired out--to the priest's house at Homerton, to the doctor's, +and to the parish nurse. All the proper things had been done. Frank had +been anointed by the priest, bandaged by the doctor, and settled in by +the nurse into the middle of the big double bed. He had not yet +recovered consciousness. They were upstairs now--Jack, Dick and the +nurse; the priest and the doctor had promised to look in before +nine--there was nothing more that they could do for the present, they +said--and Mrs. Partington was out at this moment to fetch something from +the dispensary. + +He had heard her story during one of the intervals in the course of the +night, and it seemed to him that he had a tolerably accurate theory of +the whole affair--if, that is to say, her interpretation of the noises +she had heard was at all correct. + +The Major must have made an unexpected attack, probably by a kick that +had temporarily disabled Frank, and must then, with Mr. Partington's +judicial though amused approval, have proceeded to inflict chastisement +upon Frank as he lay on the floor. This must have gone on for a +considerable time; Frank seemed to have been heavily kicked all over his +body. And the thing must have ended with a sudden uncontrolled attack on +the part of the Major, not only with his boots, but with at least one of +the heavy bottles. The young man's head was cut deeply, as if by glass, +and it was probably three or four kicks on the head, before Mr. +Partington could interfere, that had concluded the punishment. The +doctor's evidence entirely corroborated this interpretation of events. +It was, of course, impossible to know whether Frank had had the time or +the will to make any resistance. The police had been communicated with, +but there was no news yet of the two men involved. + + * * * * * + +It was one of those bleak, uncomfortable dawns that have no beauty +either of warmth or serenity--at least it seemed so here in Turner Road. +Above the torn and dingy strip of lace that shrouded the lower part of +the window towered the black fronts of the high houses against the +steely western sky. It was extraordinarily quiet. Now and then a +footstep echoed and died suddenly as some passer-by crossed the end of +the street; but there was no murmur of voices yet, or groups at the +doors, as, no doubt, there would be when the news became known. + +The room, too, was cheerless; the fire was long ago gone out; the +children's bed was still tumbled and disordered, and the paraffin lamp +had smoked itself out half an hour ago. Overhead the clergyman could +hear now and again a very gentle footstep, and that was all. + +He was worn out with excitement and a kind of terror; and events took +for him the same kind of clear, hard outline as did the physical objects +themselves in this cold light of dawn. He had passed through a dozen +moods: furious anger at the senseless crime, at the hopeless, miserable +waste of a life, an overwhelming compassion and a wholly unreasonable +self-reproach for not having foreseen danger more clearly the night +before. There were other thoughts that had come to him too--doubts as to +whether the internal significance of all these things were in the least +analogous to the external happenings; whether, perhaps, after all, the +whole affair were not on the inner side a complete and perfect event--in +fact, a startling success of a nature which he could not understand. +Certainly, exteriorly, a more lamentable failure and waste could not be +conceived; there had been sacrificed such an array of advantages--birth, +money, education, gifts, position--and for such an exceedingly small and +doubtful good, that no additional data, it would appear, could possibly +explain the situation. Yet was it possible that such data did exist +somewhere, and that another golden and perfect deed had been done--that +there was no waste, no failure, after all? + +But at present these thoughts only came to him in glimpses; he was +exhausted now of emotion and speculation. He regarded the pitiless +facts with a sunken, unenergetic attention, and wondered when he would +be called again upstairs. + +There came a footstep outside; it hesitated, then the street door was +pushed open and the step came in, up to the room door, and a small face, +pinched with cold, its eyes all burning, looked at him. + +"Come in, Jimmie," he whispered. + + * * * * * + +And so the two sat, huddled one against the other, and the man felt +again and again a shudder, though not of cold, shake the little body at +his side. + + +(V) + +Ten minutes later a step came down the stairs, a little hurriedly, +though on tip-toe; and Mrs. Partington, her own thin face lined with +sleeplessness and emotion, and her lips set, nodded at him emphatically. +He understood, and went quickly past her, followed closely by the child, +and up the narrow stairs.... He heard the street-door close behind him +as the woman left the house. + +It seemed to him as he came into the room as if he had stepped clean out +of one world into another. And the sense of it was so sudden and abrupt +that he stood for an instant on the threshold amazed at the transition. + +First, it was the absolute stillness and motionlessness of the room that +impressed him, so far as any one element predominated. There were +persons in the room, but they were as statues. + +On the farther side of the bed, decent now and arranged and standing out +across the room, kneeled the two men, Jack Kirkby and Dick Guiseley, but +they neither lifted their eyes nor showed the faintest consciousness of +his presence as he entered. Their faces were in shadow: behind them was +the cold patch of the window, and a candle within half an inch of +extinction stood also behind them on a table in the corner, with one or +two covered vessels and instruments. + +The nurse kneeled on this side, one arm beneath the pillow and the other +on the counterpane. + +And then there was Frank. + + * * * * * + +He lay perfectly still upon his back, his hands clasped before him (and +even these were bandaged). His head lay high on three or four pillows, +and he wore what looked like a sort of cap, wholly hiding his hair and +ears. His profile alone showed clear-cut and distinct against the gloom +in the corner behind. His face was entirely tranquil, as pale as ivory; +his lips were closed. His eyes alone were alive. + +Presently those turned a little, and the man standing at the door, +understanding the look, came forward and kneeled too by the bed. + + * * * * * + +Then, little by little, he began, in that living stillness, to +understand rather better what it was that he was witnessing.... It was +not that there was anything physical in the room, beyond the things of +which his senses told him; there was but the dingy furniture, the white +bed, august now with a strange dignity as of a white altar, and the four +persons beside himself--five now, for Jimmie was beside him. But that +the physical was not the plane in which these five persons were now +chiefly conscious was the most evident thing of all.... There was about +them, not a Presence, not an air, not a sweetness or a sound, and yet it +is by such negatives only that the thing can be expressed. + + * * * * * + +And so they kneeled and waited. + + * * * * * + +"Why, Jack--" + +It shook the waiting air like the sound of a bell, yet it was only +whispered. The man nearest him on the other side shook with a single +spasmodic movement and laid his fingers gently on the bandaged hands. +And then for a long while there was no further movement or sound. + +"Rosary!" said Frank suddenly, still in a whisper.... "Beads...." + +Jack moved swiftly on his knees, took from the table a string of beads +from where they had been laid the night before, and put them into the +still fingers. Then he laid his own hands over them again. + + * * * * * + +Again there was a long pause. + +Outside in the street a footstep came up from the direction of Mortimer +Road, waxed loud and clear on the pavement, and died again down towards +the street leading to the marshes. And, but for this, there was no +further sound for a while. Then a cock crew, thin and shrill, somewhere +far away; a dray rumbled past the end of the street and was silent. + +But the silence in the room was of a different quality; or, rather, the +world seemed silent because this room was so, and not the other way. It +was here that the center lay, where a battered man was dying, and from +this center radiated out the Great Peace. + +It was no waste then, after all!--this life of strange unreason ending +in this very climax of uselessness, exactly when ordinary usefulness was +about to begin. Could that be waste that ended so? + +"Priest," whispered the voice from the bed. + +Then Dick leaned forward. + +"He has been," he said distinctly and slowly. "He was here at two +o'clock. He did--what he came for. And he's coming again directly." + +The eyes closed in sign of assent and opened again. + +He seemed to be looking, as in a kind of meditation, at nothing in +particular. It was as a man who waits at his ease for some pleasant +little event that will unroll by and by. He was in no ecstasy, and, it +seemed, in no pain and in no fierce expectation; he was simply at his +ease and waiting. He was content, whatever those others might be. + +For a moment it crossed the young clergyman's mind that he ought to pray +aloud, but the thing was dismissed instantly. It seemed to him +impertinent nonsense. That was not what was required. It was his +business to watch, not to act. + +So, little by little, he ceased to think actively, he ceased to consider +this and that. At first he had wondered how long it would be before the +doctor and the priest arrived. (The woman had gone to fetch them.) He +had wished that they would make haste.... He had wondered what the +others felt, and how he would describe it all to his Vicar. Now, little +by little, all this ceased, and the peace grew within and without, till +the balance of pressure was equalized and his attention floated at the +perfect poise. + +Again there was no symbol or analogy that presented itself. It was not +even by negation that he thought. There was just one positive element +that included all: time seemed to mean nothing, the ticks of the clock +with the painted face were scarcely consecutive; it was all one, and +distance was nothing, nor nearness--not even the nearness of the dying +face against the pillows.... + + * * * * * + +It was so, then, that something of that state to which Frank had passed +communicated itself to at least one of those who saw him die. + +A little past the half hour Frank spoke again. + +"My love to Whitty," he said.... "Diary.... Tell him...." + + * * * * * + +The end came a few minutes before nine o'clock, and it seems to have +come as naturally as life itself. There was no drama, no dying speech, +not one word. + +Those who were there saw him move ever so slightly in bed, and his head +lifted a little. Then his head sank once more and the Failure was +complete. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of None Other Gods, by Robert Hugh Benson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + +***** This file should be named 17627-8.txt or 17627-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/2/17627/ + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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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: None Other Gods + +Author: Robert Hugh Benson + +Release Date: January 29, 2006 [EBook #17627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + + + + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>NONE OTHER GODS</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ROBERT HUGH BENSON</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "THE CONVENTIONALISTS," "THE NECROMANCERS," "A WINNOWING," +ETC.</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p>Transcriber's note: Contents generated for HTML.</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#DEDICATORY_LETTER"><b>DEDICATORY LETTER</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PART_I"><b>PART I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Ia"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIa"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIa"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVa"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Va"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIa"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIa"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PART_II"><b>PART II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Ib"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIb"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIb"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVb"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Vb"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIb"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#PART_III"><b>PART III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Ic"><b>CHAPTER I</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIc"><b>CHAPTER II</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IIIc"><b>CHAPTER III</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IVc"><b>CHAPTER IV</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_Vc"><b>CHAPTER V</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIc"><b>CHAPTER VI</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIc"><b>CHAPTER VII</b></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIIIc"><b>CHAPTER VIII</b></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="NONE_OTHER_GODS" id="NONE_OTHER_GODS"></a>NONE OTHER GODS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="DEDICATORY_LETTER" id="DEDICATORY_LETTER"></a>DEDICATORY LETTER</h2> + + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Jack Kirkby</span>,</p> + +<p>To whom can I dedicate this book but to you who were, not only the best +friend of the man I have written about, but one without whom the book +could not have been written? It is to you that I owe practically all the +materials necessary for the work: it was to you that Frank left the +greater part of his diary, such as it was (and I hope I have observed +your instructions properly as regards the use I have made of it); it was +you who took such trouble to identify the places he passed through; and +it was you, above all, who gave me so keen an impression of Frank +himself, that it seems to me I must myself have somehow known him +intimately, in spite of the fact that we never met.</p> + +<p>I think I should say that it is this sense of intimacy, this +extraordinary interior accessibility (so to speak) of Frank, that made +him (as you and I both think) about the most lovable person we have ever +known. They were very extraordinary changes that passed over him, of +course—(and I suppose we cannot improve, even with all our modern +psychology, upon the old mystical names for such changes—Purgation, +Illumination and Union)—but, as theologians themselves tell us, that +mysterious thing which Catholics call the Grace of God does not +obliterate, but rather emphasizes and transfigures the natural +characteristics of every man upon whom it comes with power. It was the +same element in Frank, as it seems to me—the same root-principle, at +least—that made him do those preposterous things connected with bread +and butter and a railway train, that drove him from Cambridge in +defiance of all common-sense and sweet reasonableness; that held him +still to that deplorable and lamentable journey with his two traveling +companions, and that ultimately led him to his death. I mean, it was the +same kind of unreasonable daring and purpose throughout, though it +issued in very different kinds of actions, and was inspired by very +different motives.</p> + +<p>Well, it is not much good discussing Frank in public like this. The +people who are kind enough to read his life—or, rather, the six months +of it with which this book deals—must form their own opinion of him. +Probably a good many will think him a fool. I daresay he was; but I +think I like that kind of folly. Other people may think him simply +obstinate and tiresome. Well, I like obstinacy of that sort, and I do +not find him tiresome. Everyone must form their own views, and I have a +perfect right to form mine, which I am glad to know coincide with your +own. After all, you knew him better than anyone else.</p> + +<p>I went to see Gertie Trustcott, as you suggested, but I didn't get any +help from her. I think she is the most suburban person I have ever met. +She could tell me nothing whatever new about him; she could only +corroborate what you yourself had told me, and what the diaries and +other papers contained. I did not stay long with Miss Trustcott.</p> + +<p>And now, my dear friend, I must ask you to accept this book from me, and +to make the best of it. Of course, I have had to conjecture a great +deal, and to embroider even more; but it is no more than embroidery. I +have not touched the fabric itself which you put into my hands; and +anyone who cares to pull out the threads I have inserted can do so if +they will, without any fear of the thing falling to pieces.</p> + +<p>I have to thank you for many pleasurable and even emotional hours. The +offering which I present to you now is the only return I can make.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i17">I am,<br /></span> +<span class="i18">Ever yours sincerely,<br /></span> +<span class="i20"><span class="smcap">Robert Hugh Benson</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>P.S.—We've paneled a new room since you were last at Hare Street. Come +and see it soon and sleep in it. We want you badly. And I want to talk +a great deal more about Frank.</p> + +<p>P.P.S.—I hear that her ladyship has gone back to live with her father; +she tried the Dower House in Westmoreland, but seems to have found it +lonely. Is that true? It'll be rather difficult for Dick, won't it?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>NONE OTHER GODS</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Ia" id="CHAPTER_Ia"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>"I think you're behaving like an absolute idiot," said Jack Kirkby +indignantly.</p> + +<p>Frank grinned pleasantly, and added his left foot to his right one in +the broad window-seat.</p> + +<p>These two young men were sitting in one of the most pleasant places in +all the world in which to sit on a summer evening—in a ground-floor +room looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity College, Cambridge. It +was in that short space of time, between six and seven, during which the +Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and the dawdlers have not +yet returned from field and river; and Fellows and other persons, young +enough to know better, who think that a summer evening was created for +the reading of books, have not yet emerged from their retreats. A +white-aproned cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with trays +upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes out of the corner entrance +from the hostel; a cat or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for +the rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows slope eastwards, +and the fitful splash and trickle of the fountain asserts itself clearly +above the gentle rumble of Trinity Street.</p> + +<p>Within, the room in which these two sat was much like other rooms of the +same standing; only, in this one case the walls were paneled with +white-painted deal. Three doors led out of it—two into a tiny bedroom +and a tinier dining-room respectively; the third on to the passage +leading to the lecture-rooms. Frank found it very convenient, since he +thus was enabled, at every hour of the morning when the lectures broke +up, to have the best possible excuse for conversing with his friends +through the window.</p> + +<p>The room was furnished really well. Above the mantelpiece, where rested +an array of smoking-materials and a large silver cigarette-box, hung an +ancestral-looking portrait, in a dull gilded frame, of an aged man, with +a ruff round his neck, purchased for one guinea; there was a sofa and a +set of chairs upholstered in a good damask: a black piano by Broadwood; +a large oval gate-leg table; a bureau; shelves filled with very +indiscriminate literature—law books, novels, Badminton, magazines and +ancient school editions of the classics; a mahogany glass-fronted +bookcase packed with volumes of esthetic appearance—green-backed poetry +books with white labels; old leather tomes, and all the rest of the +specimens usual to a man who has once thought himself literary. Then +there were engravings, well framed, round the walls; a black iron-work +lamp, fitted for electric light, hung from the ceiling; there were a +couple of oak chests, curiously carved. On the stained floor lay three +or four mellow rugs, and the window-boxes outside blazed with geraniums. +The débris of tea rested on the window-seat nearest the outer door.</p> + +<p>Frank Guiseley, too, lolling in the window-seat in a white silk shirt, +unbuttoned at the throat, and gray flannel trousers, and one white shoe, +was very pleasant to look upon. His hair was as black and curly as a +Neapolitan's; he had a smiling, humorous mouth, and black eyes—of an +extraordinary twinkling alertness. His clean-shaven face, brown in its +proper complexion as well as with healthy sunburning (he had played very +vigorous lawn-tennis for the last two months), looked like a boy's, +except for the very determined mouth and the short, straight nose. He +was a little below middle height—well-knit and active; and though, +properly speaking, he was not exactly handsome, he was quite +exceptionally delightful to look at.</p> + +<p>Jack Kirkby, sitting in an arm-chair a yard away, and in the same sort +of costume—except that he wore both his shoes and a Third Trinity +blazer—was a complete contrast in appearance. The other had something +of a Southern Europe look; Jack was obviously English—wholesome red +cheeks, fair hair and a small mustache resembling spun silk. He was, +also, closely on six feet in height.</p> + +<p>He was anxious just now, and, therefore, looked rather cross, fingering +the very minute hairs of his mustache whenever he could spare the time +from smoking, and looking determinedly away from Frank upon the floor. +For the last week he had talked over this affair, ever since the amazing +announcement; and had come to the conclusion that once more, in this +preposterous scheme, Frank really meant what he said.</p> + +<p>Frank had a terrible way of meaning what he said—he reflected with +dismay. There was the affair of the bread and butter three years ago, +before either of them had learned manners. This had consisted in the +fastening up in separate brown-paper parcels innumerable pieces of bread +and butter, addressing each with the name of the Reverend Junior Dean +(who had annoyed Frank in some way), and the leaving of the parcels +about in every corner of Cambridge, in hansom cabs, on seats, on +shop-counters and on the pavements—with the result that for the next +two or three days the dean's staircase was crowded with messenger boys +and unemployables, anxious to return apparently lost property.</p> + +<p>Then there had been the matter of the flagging of a fast Northern train +in the middle of the fens with a red pocket-handkerchief, to find out if +it were really true that the train would stop, followed by a rapid +retreat on bicycles so soon as it had been ascertained that it was true; +the Affair of the German Prince traveling incognito, into which the +Mayor himself had been drawn; and the Affair of the Nun who smoked a +short black pipe in the Great Court shortly before midnight, before +gathering up her skirts and vanishing on noiseless india-rubber-shod +feet round the kitchen quarters into the gloom of Neville's Court, as +the horrified porter descended from his signal-box.</p> + +<p>Now many minds could have conceived these things; a smaller number of +people would have announced their intention of doing them: but there +were very few persons who would actually carry them all out to the very +end: in fact, Jack reflected, Frank Guiseley was about the only man of +his acquaintance who could possibly have done them. And he had done +them all on his own sole responsibility.</p> + +<p>He had remembered, too, during the past week, certain incidents of the +same nature at Eton. There was the master who had rashly inquired, with +deep sarcasm, on the fourth or fifth occasion in one week when Frank had +come in a little late for five-o'clock school, whether "Guiseley would +not like to have tea before pursuing his studies." Frank, with a radiant +smile of gratitude, and extraordinary rapidity, had answered that he +would like it very much indeed, and had vanished through the still +half-open door before another word could be uttered, returning with a +look of childlike innocence at about five-and-twenty minutes to six.</p> + +<p>"Please, sir," he had said, "I thought you said I might go?"</p> + +<p>"And have you had tea?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly, sir; at Webber's."</p> + +<p>Now all this kind of thing was a little disconcerting to remember now. +Truly, the things in themselves had been admirably conceived and +faithfully executed, but they seemed to show that Frank was the kind of +person who really carried through what other people only talked +about—and especially if he announced beforehand that he intended to do +it.</p> + +<p>It was a little dismaying, therefore, for his friend to reflect that +upon the arrival of the famous letter from Lord Talgarth—Frank's +father—six days previously, in which all the well-worn phrases occurred +as to "darkening doors" and "roof" and "disgrace to the family," Frank +had announced that he proposed to take his father at his word, sell up +his property and set out like a prince in a fairy-tale to make his +fortune.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jack had argued till he was sick of it, and to no avail. Frank had a +parry for every thrust. Why wouldn't he wait a bit until the governor +had had time to cool down? Because the governor must learn, sooner or +later, that words really meant something, and that he—Frank—was not +going to stand it for one instant.</p> + +<p>Why wouldn't he come and stay at Barham till further notice? They'd all +be delighted to have him: It was only ten miles off Merefield, and +perhaps—Because Frank was not going to sponge upon his friends. Neither +was he going to skulk about near home. Well, if he was so damned +obstinate, why didn't he go into the City—or even to the Bar? Because +(1) he hadn't any money; and (2) he would infinitely sooner go on the +tramp than sit on a stool. Well, why didn't he enlist, like a +gentleman? Frank dared say he would some time, but he wanted to stand by +himself a bit first and see the world.</p> + +<p>"Let's see the letter again," said Jack at last. "Where is it?"</p> + +<p>Frank reflected.</p> + +<p>"I think it's in that tobacco-jar just behind your head," he said. "No, +it isn't; it's in the pouch on the floor. I know I associated it somehow +with smoking. And, by the way, give me a cigarette."</p> + +<p>Jack tossed him his case, opened the pouch, took out the letter, and +read it slowly through again.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i25">"Merefield Court,<br /></span> +<span class="i27">"near Harrogate.<br /></span> +<span class="i27">"May 28th, <i>Thursday</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I am ashamed of you, sir. When you first told me of your +intention, I warned you what would happen if you persisted, and +I repeat it now. Since you have deliberately chosen, in spite +of all that I have said, to go your own way, and to become a +Papist, I will have no more to do with you. From this moment +you cease to be my son. You shall not, while I live, darken my +doors again, or sleep under my roof. I say nothing of what you +have had from me in the past—your education and all the rest. +And, since I do not wish to be unduly hard upon you, you can +keep the remainder of your allowance up to July and the +furniture of your rooms. But, after that, not one penny shall +you have from me. You can go to your priests and get them to +support you.</p> + +<p>"I am only thankful that your poor mother has been spared this +blow.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i32">"T."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Jack made a small murmurous sound as he finished. Frank chuckled aloud.</p> + +<p>"Pitches it in all right, doesn't he?" he observed dispassionately.</p> + +<p>"If it had been my governor—" began Jack slowly.</p> + +<p>"My dear man, it isn't your governor; it's mine. And I'm dashed if +there's another man in the world who'd write such a letter as that +nowadays. It's—it's too early-Victorian. They'd hardly stand it at the +Adelphi! I could have put it so much better myself.... Poor old +governor!"</p> + +<p>"Have you answered it?"</p> + +<p>"I ... I forget. I know I meant to.... No, I haven't. I remember now. +And I shan't till I'm just off."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall," remarked Jack.</p> + +<p>Frank turned a swift face upon him.</p> + +<p>"If you do," he said, with sudden fierce gravity, "I'll never speak to +you again. I mean it. It's my affair, and I shall run it my own way."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"I mean it. Now! give me your word of honor—"</p> + +<p>"I—"</p> + +<p>"Your word of honor, this instant, or get out of my room!"</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then:</p> + +<p>"All right," said Jack.</p> + +<p>Then there fell a silence once more.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>The news began to be rumored about, soon after the auction that Frank +held of his effects a couple of days later. He carried out the scene +admirably, entirely unassisted, even by Jack.</p> + +<p>First, there appeared suddenly all over Cambridge, the evening before +the sale, just as the crowds of undergraduates and female relations +began to circulate about after tea and iced strawberries, a quantity of +sandwich-men, bearing the following announcement, back and front:</p> + + +<p class="center">TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. + +The Hon. Frank Guiseley<br /> +has pleasure in announcing that on<br /> +June 7th (Saturday)<br /> +at half-past ten a.m. precisely<br /> +in Rooms 1, Letter J, Great Court, Trinity College,<br /> +he will positively offer for<br /> + +SALE BY AUCTION</p> + +<p><i>The household effects, furniture, books, etc., of the Hon. Frank Guiseley, including</i>—<br /></p> + + +<p>A piano by Broadwood (slightly out of tune); a magnificent suite of +drawing-room furniture, upholstered in damask, the sofa only slightly +stained with tea; one oak table and another; a bed; a chest of drawers +(imitation walnut, and not a very good imitation); a mahogany +glass-fronted bookcase, containing a set of suggestive-looking volumes +bound in faint colors, with white labels; four oriental mats; a portrait +of a gentleman (warranted a perfectly respectable ancestor); dining-room +suite (odd chairs); numerous engravings of places of interest and +noblemen's seats; a +<i>Silver Cigarette-box and fifteen Cigarettes in it (Melachrino and Mixed +American</i>); a cuckoo-clock (without cuckoo); five walking-sticks; +numerous suits of clothes (one lot suitable for Charitable Purposes); +some books—all <span class="smcap">very curious</span> indeed—comprising the works of an +Eminent Cambridge Professor, and other scholastic luminaries, as well as +many other articles.</p> + + +<p class="center">At Half-past Ten a.m. Precisely<br /> +All friends, and strangers, cordially invited.<br /> +No Reserve Price.</p> + + +<p>It served its purpose admirably, for by soon after ten o'clock quite a +considerable crowd had begun to assemble; and it was only after a very +serious conversation with the Dean that the sale was allowed to proceed. +But it proceeded, with the distinct understanding that a college porter +be present; that no riotous behavior should be allowed; that the sale +was a genuine one, and that Mr. Guiseley would call upon the Dean with +further explanations before leaving Cambridge.</p> + +<p>The scene itself was most impressive.</p> + +<p>Frank, in a structure resembling an auctioneer's box, erected on the +hearth-rug, presided, with extraordinary gravity, hammer in hand, robed +in a bachelor's gown and hood. Beneath him the room seethed with the +company, male and female, all in an excellent humor, and quite tolerable +prices were obtained. No public explanations were given of the need for +the sale, and Jack, in the deepest dismay, looked in again that +afternoon, about lunch-time, to find the room completely stripped, and +Frank, very cheerful, still in his hood and gown, smoking a cigarette in +the window-seat.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he said. "And kindly ask me to lunch. The last porter's just +gone."</p> + +<p>Jack looked at him.</p> + +<p>He seemed amazingly genial and natural, though just a little flushed, +and such an air of drama as there was about him was obviously +deliberate.</p> + +<p>"Very well; come to lunch," said Jack. "Where are you going to dine and +sleep?"</p> + +<p>"I'm dining in hall, and I'm sleeping in a hammock. Go and look at my +bedroom."</p> + +<p>Jack went across the bare floor and looked in. A hammock was slung +across from a couple of pegs, and there lay a small carpet-bag beneath +it. A basin on an upturned box and a bath completed the furniture.</p> + +<p>"You mad ass!" said Jack. "And is that all you have left?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. I'm going to leave the clothes I've got on to you, and you +can fetch the hammock when I've gone."</p> + +<p>"When do you start?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Guiseley will have his last interview and obtain his <i>exeat</i> from +the Dean at half-past six this evening. He proposes to leave Cambridge +in the early hours of to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean that!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly I do."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to wear?"</p> + +<p>Frank extended two flanneled legs, ending in solid boots.</p> + +<p>"These—a flannel shirt, no tie, a cap, a gray jacket."</p> + +<p>Jack stood again in silence, looking at him.</p> + +<p>"How much money did your sale make?"</p> + +<p>"That's immaterial. Besides, I forget. The important fact is that when +I've paid all my bills I shall have thirteen pounds eleven shillings and +eightpence."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Thirteen pounds eleven shillings and eightpence."</p> + +<p>Jack burst into a mirthless laugh.</p> + +<p>"Well, come along to lunch," he said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It seemed to Jack that he moved in a dreary kind of dream that afternoon +as he went about with Frank from shop to shop, paying bills. Frank's +trouser-pockets bulged and jingled a good deal as they started—he had +drawn all his remaining money in gold from the bank—and they bulged +and jingled considerably less as the two returned to tea in Jesus Lane. +There, on the table, he spread out the coins. He had bought some +tobacco, and two or three other things that afternoon, and the total +amounted now but to twelve pounds nineteen shillings and fourpence.</p> + +<p>"Call it thirteen pounds," said Frank. "There's many a poor man—"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a damned fool!" said Jack.</p> + +<p>"I'm being simply prudent," said Frank. "A contented heart—"</p> + +<p>Jack thrust a cup of tea and the buttered buns before him.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>These two were as nearly brothers as possible, in everything but blood. +Their homes lay within ten miles of one another. They had gone to a +private school together, to Eton, and to Trinity. They had ridden +together in the holidays, shot, dawdled, bathed, skated, and all the +rest. They were considerably more brothers to one another than were +Frank and Archie, his actual elder brother, known to the world as +Viscount Merefield. Jack did not particularly approve of Archie; he +thought him a pompous ass, and occasionally said so.</p> + +<p>For Frank he had quite an extraordinary affection, though he would not +have expressed it so, to himself, for all the world, and a very real +admiration of a quite indefinable kind. It was impossible to say why he +admired him. Frank did nothing very well, but everything rather well; he +played Rugby football just not well enough to represent his college; he +had been in the Lower Boats at Eton, and the Lent Boat of his first year +at Cambridge; then he had given up rowing and played lawn-tennis in the +summer and fives in the Lent Term just well enough to make a brisk and +interesting game. He was not at all learned; he had reached the First +Hundred at Eton, and had read Law at Cambridge—that convenient branch +of study which for the most part fills the vacuum for intelligent +persons who have no particular bent and are heartily sick of classics; +and he had taken a Third Class and his degree a day or two before. He +was remarkably averaged, therefore; and yet, somehow or another, there +was that in him which compelled Jack's admiration. I suppose it was that +which is conveniently labeled "character." Certainly, nearly everybody +who came into contact with him felt the same in some degree.</p> + +<p>His becoming a Catholic had been an amazing shock to Jack, who had +always supposed that Frank, like himself, took the ordinary sensible +English view of religion. To be a professed unbeliever was bad form—it +was like being a Little Englander or a Radical; to be pious was equally +bad form—it resembled a violent devotion to the Union Jack. No; +religion to Jack (and he had always hitherto supposed, to Frank) was a +department of life in which one did not express any particular views: +one did not say one's prayers; one attended chapel at the proper times; +if one was musical, one occasionally went to King's on Sunday afternoon; +in the country one went to church on Sunday morning as one went to the +stables in the afternoon, and that was about all.</p> + +<p>Frank had been, too, so extremely secretive about the whole thing. He +had marched into Jack's rooms in Jesus Lane one morning nearly a +fortnight ago.</p> + +<p>"Come to mass at the Catholic Church," he said.</p> + +<p>"Why, the—" began Jack.</p> + +<p>"I've got to go. I'm a Catholic."</p> + +<p>"<i>What!</i>"</p> + +<p>"I became one last week."</p> + +<p>Jack had stared at him, suddenly convinced that someone was mad. When he +had verified that it was really a fact; that Frank had placed himself +under instruction three months before, and had made his confession—(his +confession!)—on Friday, and had been conditionally baptized; when he +had certified himself of all these things, and had begun to find +coherent language once more, he had demanded why Frank had done this.</p> + +<p>"Because it's the true religion," said Frank. "Are you coming to mass or +are you not?"</p> + +<p>Jack had gone then, and had come away more bewildered than ever as to +what it was all about. He had attempted to make a few inquiries, but +Frank had waved his hands at him, and repeated that obviously the +Catholic religion was the true one, and that he couldn't be bothered. +And now here they were at tea in Jesus Lane for the last time.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Of course, there was a little suppressed excitement about Frank. He +drank three cups of tea and took the last (and the under) piece of +buttered bun without apologies, and he talked a good deal, rather fast. +It seemed that he had really no particular plans as to what he was going +to do after he had walked out of Cambridge with his carpet-bag early +next morning. He just meant, he said, to go along and see what happened. +He had had a belt made, which pleased him exceedingly, into which his +money could be put (it lay on the table between them during tea), and he +proposed, naturally, to spend as little of that money as possible.... +No; he would not take one penny piece from Jack; it would be simply +scandalous if he—a public-school boy and an University man—couldn't +keep body and soul together by his own labor. There would be hay-making +presently, he supposed, and fruit-picking, and small jobs on farms. He +would just go along and see what happened. Besides there were always +casual wards, weren't there? if the worst came to the worst; and he'd +meet other men, he supposed, who'd put him in the way of things. Oh! +he'd get on all right.</p> + +<p>Would he ever come to Barham? Well, if it came in the day's work he +would. Yes: certainly he'd be most obliged if his letters might be sent +there, and he could write for them when he wanted, or even call for +them, if, as he said, it came in the day's work.</p> + +<p>What was he going to do in the winter? He hadn't the slightest idea. He +supposed, what other people did in the winter. Perhaps he'd have got a +place by then—gamekeeper, perhaps—he'd like to be a gamekeeper.</p> + +<p>At this Jack, mentally, threw up the sponge.</p> + +<p>"You really mean to go on at this rotten idea of yours?"</p> + +<p>Frank opened his eyes wide.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. Good Lord! did you think I was bluffing?"</p> + +<p>"But ... but it's perfectly mad. Why on earth don't you get a proper +situation somewhere—land-agent or something?"</p> + +<p>"My dear man," said Frank, "if you will have it, it's because I want to +do exactly what I'm going to do. No—I'm being perfectly serious. I've +thought for ages that we're all wrong somehow. We're all so beastly +artificial. I don't want to preach, but I want to test things for +myself. My religion tells me—" He broke off. "No; this is fooling. I'm +going to do it because I'm going to do it. And I'm really going to do +it. I'm not going to be an amateur—like slumming. I'm going to find out +things for myself."</p> + +<p>"But on the roads—" expostulated Jack.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. That's the very point. Back to the land."</p> + +<p>Jack sat up.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" he said. "Why, I never thought of it."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"It's your old grandmother coming out."</p> + +<p>Frank stared.</p> + +<p>"Grandmother?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—old Mrs. Kelly."</p> + +<p>Frank laughed suddenly and loudly.</p> + +<p>"By George!" he said, "I daresay it is. Old Grandmamma Kelly! She was a +gipsy—so she was. I believe you've hit it, Jack. Let's see: she was my +grandfather's second wife, wasn't she?"</p> + +<p>Jack nodded.</p> + +<p>"And he picked her up off the roads on his own estate. Wasn't she +trespassing, or something?"</p> + +<p>Jack nodded again.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "and he was a magistrate and ought to have committed +her: And he married her instead. She was a girl, traveling with her +parents."</p> + +<p>Frank sat smiling genially.</p> + +<p>"That's it," he said. "Then I'm bound to make a success of it."</p> + +<p>And he took another cigarette.</p> + +<p>Then one more thought came to Jack: he had determined already to make +use of it if necessary, and somehow this seemed to be the moment.</p> + +<p>"And Jenny Launton," he said "I suppose you've thought of her?"</p> + +<p>A curious look came into Frank's eyes—a look of great gravity and +tenderness—and the humor died out. He said nothing for an instant. Then +he drew out of his breast-pocket a letter in an envelope, and tossed it +gently over to Jack.</p> + +<p>"I'm telling her in that," he said. "I'm going to post it to-night, +after I've seen the Dean."</p> + +<p>Jack glanced down at it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<span class="smcap">Miss Launton</span>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The Rectory,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">"Merefield, Yorks."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>ran the inscription. He turned it over; it was fastened and sealed.</p> + +<p>"I've told her we must wait a bit," said Frank, "and that I'll write +again in a few weeks."</p> + +<p>Jack was silent.</p> + +<p>"And you think it's fair on her?" he asked deliberately.</p> + +<p>Frank's face broke up into humor.</p> + +<p>"That's for her to say," he observed. "And, to tell the truth, I'm not +at all afraid."</p> + +<p>"But a gamekeeper's wife! And you a Catholic!"</p> + +<p>"Ah! you don't know Jenny," smiled Frank. "Jenny and I quite understand +one another, thank you very much."</p> + +<p>"But is it quite fair?"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" shouted Frank, suddenly roused. "Fair! What the devil does +it matter? Don't you know that all's fair—under certain circumstances? +I do bar that rotten conventionalism. We're all rotten—rotten, I tell +you; and I'm going to start fresh. So's Jenny. Kindly don't talk of what +you don't understand."</p> + +<p>He stood up, stretching. Then he threw the end of his cigarette away.</p> + +<p>"I must go to the Dean," he said. "It's close on the half-hour."</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>The Reverend James Mackintosh was an excellent official of his college, +and performed his duties with care and punctilium. He rose about +half-past seven o'clock every morning, drank a cup of tea and went to +chapel. After chapel he breakfasted, on Tuesdays and Thursdays with two +undergraduates in their first year, selected in alphabetical order, +seated at his table; on the other days of the week in solitude. At ten +o'clock he lectured, usually on one of St. Paul's Epistles, on which +subjects he possessed note-books filled with every conceivable piece of +information that could be gathered together—grammatical, philological, +topographical, industrial, social, biographical—with a few remarks on +the fauna, flora, imports, characteristics and geological features of +those countries to which those epistles were written, and in which they +were composed. These notes, guaranteed to guide any student who really +mastered them to success, and even distinction, in his examinations, +were the result of a lifetime of loving labor, and some day, no doubt, +will be issued in the neat blue covers of the "Cambridge Bible for +Schools." From eleven to twelve he lectured on Church history of the +first five centuries—after which period, it will be remembered by all +historical students, Church history practically ceased. At one he +lunched; from two to four he walked rapidly (sometimes again in company +with a serious theological student), along the course known as the +Grantchester Grind, or to Coton and back. At four he had tea; at five he +settled down to administer discipline to the college, by summoning and +remonstrating with such undergraduates as had failed to comply with the +various regulations; at half-past seven he dined in hall—a meek figure, +clean shaven and spectacled, seated between an infidel philosopher and a +socialist: he drank a single glass of wine afterwards in the Combination +Room, smoked one cigarette, and retired again to his rooms to write +letters to parents (if necessary), and to run over his notes for next +day.</p> + +<p>And he did this, with the usual mild variations of a University life, +every weekday, for two-thirds of the year. Of the other third, he spent +part in Switzerland, dressed in a neat gray Norfolk suit with +knickerbockers, and the rest with clerical friends of the scholastic +type. It was a very solemn thought to him how great were his +responsibilities, and what a privilege it was to live in the whirl and +stir of one of the intellectual centers of England!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank Guiseley was to Mr. Mackintosh a very great puzzle. He had +certainly been insubordinate in his first year (Mr. Mackintosh gravely +suspected him of the Bread-and-Butter affair, which had so annoyed his +colleague), but he certainly had been very steady and even deferential +ever since. (He always took off his hat, for example, to Mr. Mackintosh, +with great politeness.) Certainly he was not very regular at chapel, and +he did not dine in hall nearly so often as Mr. Mackintosh would have +wished (for was it not part of the University idea that men of all +grades of society should meet as equals under the college roof?). But, +then, he had never been summoned for any very grave or disgraceful +breach of the rules, and was never insolent or offensive to any of the +Fellows. Finally, he came of a very distinguished family; and Mr. +Mackintosh had the keenest remembrance still of his own single +interview, three years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what he would have to say to Mr. +Guiseley, and what Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him. He thought, +if the young man were really going down for good, as he had understood +this morning, it was only his plain duty to say a few tactful words +about responsibility and steadiness. That ridiculous auction would serve +as his text.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always did, before saying "Come +in!" to the knock on the door (I think he thought it helped to create a +little impression of importance). Then he said it; and Frank walked in.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Mr. Guiseley.... Yes; please sit down. I understood from +you this morning that you wished for your <i>exeat</i>."</p> + +<p>"Please," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Just so," said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the <i>exeat</i> book—resembling the +butt of a check-book—towards him. "And you are going down to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Going home?" murmured the Dean, inscribing Frank's name in his neat +little handwriting.</p> + +<p>"No," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Not?... To London, perhaps?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not exactly," said Frank; "at least, not just yet."</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and extracted the <i>exeat</i>. +He pushed it gently towards Frank.</p> + +<p>"About that auction!" he said, smiling indulgently; "I did want to have +a word with you about that. It was very unusual; and I wondered.... But +I am happy to think that there was no disturbance.... But can you tell +me exactly why you chose that form of ... of ..."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to make as much money as ever I could," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!... Yes.... And ... and you were successful?"</p> + +<p>"I cleared all my debts, anyhow," said Frank serenely. "I thought that +very important."</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh smiled again. Certainly this young man was very well +behaved and deferential.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's satisfactory. And you are going to read at the Bar now? If +you will let me say so, Mr. Guiseley, even at this late hour, I must say +that I think that a Third Class might have been bettered. But no doubt +your tutor has said all that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, a little more application and energy now may perhaps make +up for lost time. I suppose you will go to the Temple in October?"</p> + +<p>Frank looked at him pensively a moment.</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Mackintosh," he said suddenly; "I'm going on the roads. I mean +it, quite seriously. My father's disowned me. I'm starting out to-morrow +to make my own living."</p> + +<p>There was dead silence for an instant. The Dean's face was stricken, as +though by horror. Yet Frank saw he had not in the least taken it in.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that's really so," he said. "Please don't argue with me about it. +I'm perfectly determined."</p> + +<p>"Your father ... Lord Talgarth ... the roads ... your own living ... the +college authorities ... responsibility!"</p> + +<p>Words of this sort burst from Mr. Mackintosh's mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... it's because I've become a Catholic! I expect you've heard +that, sir."</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh threw himself back (if so fierce a word may be used of so +mild a manner)—threw himself back in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Guiseley, kindly tell me all about it. I had not heard one +word—not one word."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank made a great effort, and told the story, quite fairly and quite +politely. He described his convictions as well as he could, the various +steps he had taken, and the climax of the letter from his father. Then +he braced himself, to hear what would be said; or, rather, he retired +within himself, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled down the +blinds.</p> + +<p>It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. Mr. Mackintosh touched +upon a loving father's impatience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the +shock to an ancient family, the responsibilities of membership in that +family, the dangers of rash decisions, and, finally, the obvious errors +of the Church of Rome. He began several sentences with the phrase: "No +thinking man at the present day ..."</p> + +<p>In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had recovered from the first +shock, extraordinarily sensible and reasonable. He said all the proper +things, all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense things, and he +said them, not offensively or contemptuously, but tactfully and +persuasively. And he put into it the whole of his personality, such as +it was. He even quoted St. Paul.</p> + +<p>He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: so he took off his +glasses and wiped them, looking, still with a smile, through kind, +short-sighted eyes, at this young man who sat so still. For Frank was so +quiet that the Dean thought him already half persuaded. Then once more +he summed up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran through his +arguments lightly and efficiently, and ended by a quiet little +assumption that Frank was going to be reasonable, to write to his father +once more, and to wait at least a week. He even called him "my dear +boy!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. Come and talk to me +again. I've given you your <i>exeat</i>, but you needn't use it. Come in +to-morrow evening after hall."</p> + +<p>Frank stood up.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll ... I'll certainly remember +what you've said." He took up his <i>exeat</i> as if mechanically.</p> + +<p>"Then you can leave that for the present," smiled the Dean, pointing at +it. "I can write you another, you know."</p> + +<p>Frank put it down quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley.... I ... I can't tell you how glad I am +that you confided in me. Young men are a little unwise and impetuous +sometimes, you know. Good-night ... good-night. I shall expect you +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>When Frank reached the court below he stood waiting a moment. Then a +large smile broke out on his face, and he hurried across to a passage +opposite, found a friend's door open, and rushed in. The room was empty. +He flew across to the window and crouched down, peeping over the sill at +the opening on the other side of the court leading to Mr. Mackintosh's +staircase.</p> + +<p>He was rewarded almost instantly. Even as he settled himself on the +window seat a black figure, with gown ballooning behind, hurried out and +whisked through the archway leading towards the street. He gave him +twenty seconds, and then ran out himself, and went in pursuit. Half-way +up the lane he sighted him once more, and, following cautiously on +tiptoe, with a handkerchief up to his face, was in time to behold Mr. +Mackintosh disappear into the little telegraph office on the left of +Trinity Street.</p> + +<p>"That settles it, then," observed Frank, almost aloud. "Poor Jack—I'm +afraid I shan't be able to breakfast with him after all!"</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>It was a little after four o'clock on the following morning that a +policeman, pacing with slow, flat feet along the little lane that leads +from Trinity Hall to Trinity College, yawning as he went, and entirely +unconscious of the divine morning air, bright as wine and clear as +water, beheld a remarkable spectacle.</p> + +<p>There first appeared, suddenly tossed on to the spikes that top the gate +that guards the hostel, a species of pad that hung over on both sides of +the formidable array of points. Upon this, more cautiously, was placed +by invisible hands a very old saddle without any stirrups.</p> + +<p>The policeman stepped back a little, and flattened +himself—comparatively speaking—against the outer wall of the hostel +itself. There followed a silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without any warning, a heavy body, discernible a moment later +as a small carpet-bag, filled to bursting, fell abruptly on to the +pavement; and, again, a moment later, two capable-looking hands made +their appearance, grasping with extreme care the central rod on which +the spikes were supposed to revolve, on either side of the saddle.</p> + +<p>Still the policeman did not make any sign; he only sidled a step or two +nearer and stood waiting.</p> + +<p>When he looked up again, a young gentleman, in flannel trousers, gray +jacket, boots, and an old deerstalker, was seated astride of the saddle, +with his back to the observer. There was a pause while the rider looked +to this side and that; and then, with a sudden movement, he had dropped +clear of the wall, and come down on feet and hands to the pavement.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, officer!" said the young gentleman, rising and dusting +his hands, "it's all right. Like to see my <i>exeat</i>? Or perhaps half a +crown—"</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>About six o'clock in the morning, Jack Kirkby awoke suddenly in his +bedroom in Jesus Lane.</p> + +<p>This was very unusual, and he wondered what it was all about. He thought +of Frank almost instantly, with a jerk, and after looking at his watch, +very properly turned over and tried to go to sleep again. But the +attempt was useless; there were far too many things to think about; and +he framed so many speeches to be delivered with convincing force at +breakfast to his misguided friend, that by seven o'clock he made up his +mind that he would get up, go and take Frank to bathe, and have +breakfast with him at half-past eight instead of nine. He would have +longer time, too, for his speeches. He got out of bed and pulled up his +blind, and the sight of the towers of Sidney Sussex College, gilded with +sunshine, determined him finally.</p> + +<p>When you go to bathe before breakfast at Cambridge you naturally put on +as few clothes as possible and do not—even if you do so at other +times—say your prayers. So Jack put on a sweater, trousers, socks, +canvas shoes, and a blazer, and went immediately down the +oilcloth-covered stairs. As he undid the door he noticed a white thing +lying beneath it, and took it up. It was a note addressed to himself in +Frank's handwriting; and there, standing on the steps, he read it +through; and his heart turned suddenly sick.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There is all the difference in the world between knowing that a +catastrophe is going to happen, and knowing that it has happened. Jack +knew—at least, with all his reasonable part—that Frank was going to +leave Cambridge in the preposterous manner described, after breakfast +with himself; and it was partly because of this very knowledge that he +had got up earlier in order to have an extra hour with Frank before the +final severance came. Yet there was something in him—the same thing +that had urged him to rehearse little speeches in bed just now—that +told him that until it had actually happened, it had not happened, and, +just conceivably, might not happen after all. And he had had no idea how +strong this hopeful strain had been in him—nor, for that matter, how +very deeply and almost romantically he was attached to Frank—until he +felt his throat hammering and his head becoming stupid, as he read the +terse little note in the fresh morning air of Jesus Lane.</p> + +<p>It ran as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Jack</span>,</p> + +<p>"It's no good, and I'm off early! That ass Mackintosh went and +wired to my people directly I left him. I tracked him down. And +there'll be the devil to pay unless I clear out. So I can't +come to breakfast. Sorry.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i24">"Yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i24">"F.G.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"P.S.—By the way, you might as well go round to the little man +and try to keep him quiet. Tell him it'll make a scandal for +Trinity College, Cambridge, if he makes a fuss. That'll stop +him, perhaps. And you might try to rescue my saddle from the +porter. He's probably got it by now."</p></div> + +<p>Three minutes later a figure in a sweater, gray trousers, canvas shoes, +Third Trinity blazer and no cap, stood, very inarticulate with +breathlessness, at the door of the Senior Dean's rooms, demanding of a +scandalized bed-maker to see the official in question.</p> + +<p>"'E's in his barth, sir!" expostulated the old woman.</p> + +<p>"Then he must come out of it!" panted Jack.</p> + +<p>"—That is, if 'e's out o' bed."</p> + +<p>"Then he can stop in it, if he isn't.... I tell you—"</p> + +<p>Jack gave up arguing. He took the old lady firmly by the shoulders, and +placed her in the doorway of the audience-room; then he was up the inner +stairs in three strides, through the sitting-room, and was tapping at +the door of the bedroom. A faint sound of splashing ceased.</p> + +<p>"Who's there? Don't—"</p> + +<p>"It's me, sir—Kirkby! I'm sorry to disturb you, but—"</p> + +<p>"Don't come in!" cried an agitated voice, with a renewed sound of water, +as if someone had hastily scrambled out of the bath.</p> + +<p>Jack cautiously turned the handle and opened the door a crack. A cry of +dismay answered his move, followed by a tremendous commotion and +swishing of linen.</p> + +<p>"I'm coming in, sir," said Jack, struggling between agitation and +laughter. It was obvious from the sounds that the clergyman had got into +bed again, wet, and as God made him. There was no answer, and Jack +pushed the door wider and went in.</p> + +<p>It was as he had thought. His unwilling host had climbed back into bed +as hastily as possible, and the bed-clothes, wildly disordered, were +gathered round his person. A face, with wet hair, looking very odd and +childlike without his glasses, regarded him with the look of one who +sees sacrilege done. A long flannel nightgown lay on the ground between +the steaming bath and the bed, and a quantity of water lay about on the +floor, in footprints and otherwise.</p> + +<p>"May I ask what is the meaning of this disgraceful—"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, sir," said Jack briefly, "but Frank Guiseley's bolted. I've +just found this note." It did not occur to him, as he handed the note to +a bare arm, coyly protruded from the tangled bed-clothes, that this very +officer of the college was referred to in it as "that ass" and "the +little man." ... All his attention, not occupied with Frank, was fixed +on the surprising new discovery that deans had bodies and used real +baths like other people. Somehow that had never occurred to him he had +never imagined them except in smooth, black clothes and white linen. His +discovery seemed to make Mr. Mackintosh more human, somehow.</p> + +<p>The Dean read the note through as modestly as possible, holding it very +close to his nose, as his glasses were unattainable, with an arm of +which not more than the wrist appeared. He swallowed in his throat once +or twice, and seemed to taste something with his lips, as his manner +was.</p> + +<p>"This is terrible!" said the Dean. "Had you any idea—"</p> + +<p>"I knew he was going some time to-day," said Jack, "and understood that +you knew too."</p> + +<p>"But I had no idea—"</p> + +<p>"You did telegraph, didn't you, sir?"</p> + +<p>"I certainly telegraphed. Yes; to Lord Talgarth. It was my duty. But—"</p> + +<p>"Well; he spotted it. That's all. And now he's gone. What's to be done?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackintosh considered a moment or two. Jack made an impatient +movement.</p> + +<p>"I must telegraph again," said the Dean, with the air of one who has +exhausted the resources of civilization.</p> + +<p>"But, good Lord! sir—"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I must telegraph again. As soon as I'm dressed. Or perhaps you +would—"</p> + +<p>"Office doesn't open till eight. That's no good. He'll be miles away by +then."</p> + +<p>"It's the only thing to be done," said the Dean with sudden energy. "I +forbid you to take any other steps, Mr. Kirkby. I am responsible—"</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"We must not make a scandal.... What else did you propose?"</p> + +<p>"Why—fifty things. Motor-cars; police—"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. We must make no scandal as he ... as he very properly +says." (The Dean swallowed in his throat again. Jack thought afterwards +that it must have been the memory of certain other phrases in the +letter.) "So if you will be good enough to leave me instantly, Mr. +Kirkby, I will finish my dressing and deal with the matter."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jack wheeled and went out of the room.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a miserable breakfast to which he sat down half an hour +later—still in flannels, and without his bath. Frank's place was laid, +in accordance with the instructions he had given his landlady last +night, and he had not the heart to push the things aside. There were +soles for two, and four boiled eggs; there was coffee and marmalade and +toast and rolls and fruit; and the comfortable appearance of the table +simply mocked him.</p> + +<p>He had had very confused ideas just now as to what was possible with +regard to the pursuit of Frank; a general vision of twenty motor-cars, +each with a keen-eyed chauffeur and an observant policeman, was all +that had presented itself to his imagination; but he had begun to +realize by now that you cannot, after all, abduct a young man who has +committed no crime, and carry him back unwillingly, even to Cambridge! +Neither the Dean of Trinity nor a father possesses quite unlimited power +over the freedom of a pupil and a son. And, after all, Frank had only +taken his father at his word!</p> + +<p>These reflections, however, did not improve the situation. He felt quite +certain, in theory, that something more could be done than feebly to +send another telegram or two; the only difficulty was to identify that +something. He had vague ideas, himself, of hiring a motor-car by the +day, and proceeding to scour the country round Cambridge. But even this +did not stand scrutiny. If he had failed to persuade Frank to remain in +Cambridge, it was improbable that he could succeed in persuading him to +return—even if he found him. About eight important roads run out of +Cambridge, and he had not a glimmer of an idea as to which of these he +had taken. It was possible, even, that he had not taken any of them, and +was walking across country. That would be quite characteristic of Frank.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He finished breakfast dismally, and blew through an empty pipe, staring +lackadaisically out of the window at the wall of Sidney Sussex for two +or three minutes before lighting up. Cambridge seemed an extraordinary +flat and stupid place now that Frank was no longer within it. Really +there was nothing particular to do. It had become almost a regular +engagement for him to step round to the Great Court about eleven, and +see what was to be done. Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis—sometimes a +canoe on the Backs—at any rate, they would either lunch or dine +together. And if they didn't—well, at any rate, Frank was there!</p> + +<p>He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a +sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a +little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade. But it seemed +an amazing waste of company that the figure should always be alone. Why +hadn't he proposed to go with him himself? He didn't know; except, that +it certainly would not have been accepted. And yet they could have had +quite a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after a couple of +months, surely Frank would have had enough of it!</p> + +<p>But, again—would he?... Frank seemed really in earnest about making his +living permanently; and when Frank said that he was going do a thing, he +usually did it! And Jack Kirkby did not see himself leaving his own +mother and sisters indefinitely until Frank had learned not to be a +fool.</p> + +<p>He lit his pipe at last; and then remembered the commission with regard +to the saddle—whatever that might mean. He would stroll round presently +and talk to the porter about it ... Yes, he would go at once; and he +would just look in at Frank's rooms again. There was the hammock to +fetch, too.</p> + +<p>But it was a dreary little visit. He went round as he was, his hands +deep in his pockets, trying to whistle between his teeth and smoke +simultaneously; and he had to hold his pipe in his hand out of respect +for rules, as he conversed with the stately Mr. Hoppett in Trinity +gateway. Mr. Hoppett knew nothing about any saddle—at least, not for +public communication—but his air of deep and diplomatic suspiciousness +belied his words.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said Jack pleasantly, "I had nothing to do with the +elopement. The Dean knows all about it."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about that, sir," said Mr. Hoppett judicially.</p> + +<p>"Then you've not got the saddle?"</p> + +<p>"I have not, sir."</p> + +<p>Frank's outer door was open as Jack came to the familiar staircase, and +his heart leaped in spite of himself, as he peered in and heard +footsteps in the bedroom beyond. But it was the bed-maker with a mop, +and a disapproving countenance, who looked out presently.</p> + +<p>"He's gone, Mrs. Jillings," said Jack.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jillings sniffed. She had heard tales of the auction and thought it +a very improper thing for so pleasant a young gentleman to do.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"There isn't a saddle here, is there?"</p> + +<p>"Saddle, sir? No, sir. What should there be a saddle here for?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," said Jack vaguely. "I've come to fetch away the hammock, +anyhow."</p> + +<p>Certainly the rooms looked desolate. Even the carpets were gone, and the +unstained boards in the middle seemed suggestive of peculiar dreariness. +It was really very difficult to believe that these were the rooms where +he and Frank had had such pleasant times—little friendly +bridge-parties, and dinners, and absurd theatricals, in which Frank had +sustained, with extreme rapidity, with the aid of hardly any properties +except a rouge-pot, a burnt cork and three or four wisps of hair of +various shades, the part of almost any eminent authority in the +University of Cambridge that you cared to name. There were long +histories, invented by Frank himself, of the darker sides of the lives +of the more respectable members of the Senate—histories that grew, like +legends, term by term—in which the most desperate deeds were done. The +Master of Trinity, for example, in these Sagas, would pass through +extraordinary love adventures, or discover the North Pole, or give a +lecture, with practical examples, of the art of flying; the Provost of +King's would conspire with the President of Queen's College, to murder +the Vice-Chancellor and usurp his dignities. And these histories would +be enacted with astonishing realism, chiefly by Frank himself, with the +help of a zealous friend or two who were content to obey.</p> + +<p>And these were all over now; and that was the very door through which +the Vice-Chancellor was accustomed to escape from his assassins!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jack sighed again; passed through, picked up the parcel of clothes that +lay in the window-seat, unhitched the hammock in which Frank had slept +last night (he noticed the ends of three cigarettes placed on the cover +of a convenient biscuit-tin), and went off resembling a <i>retiarius</i>. +Mrs. Jillings sniffed again as she looked after him up the court. She +didn't understand those young gentlemen at all; and frequently said so.</p> + + +<h3>(VI)</h3> + +<p>At half-past six o'clock that morning—about the time that Jack awoke in +Cambridge—John Harris, laborer, emerged, very sleepy and frowsy—for he +had sat up late last night at the "Spotted Dog"—from the door of a +small cottage on the Ely road, in the middle of Grunty Fen. He looked +this way and that, wondering whether it were as late as his +kitchen-clock informed him, and observing the sun, that hung now +lamentably high up in that enormous dome of summer sky that sat on the +fenland like a dish-cover on a dish. And as he turned southwards he +became aware of a young gentleman carrying a carpet-bag in one hand, and +a gray jacket over his other arm, coming up to him, not twenty yards +away. As he came nearer, Mr. Harris noticed that his face was badly +bruised as by a blow.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said the young gentleman. "Hot work."</p> + +<p>John Harris made some observation.</p> + +<p>"I want some work to do," said the young gentleman, disregarding the +observation. "I'm willing and capable. Do you know of any? I mean, work +that I shall be paid for. Or perhaps some breakfast would do as a +beginning."</p> + +<p>John Harris regarded the young gentleman in silence.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIa" id="CHAPTER_IIa"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Merefield Court, as every tourist knows may be viewed from ten to five +on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when the family are not in residence, and on +Tuesdays only, from two to four, when they are. It is unnecessary, +therefore, to describe it very closely.</p> + +<p>It stands very nearly on the top of a hill, protected by woods from the +north winds of Yorkshire; and its towers and pinnacles can be seen from +ten miles away down the valley. It is built, architecturally considered, +in the form of an irregular triangular court—quite unique—with the old +barbican at the lower end; the chapel wing directly opposite; the ruins +of the old castle on the left, keep and all, and the new house that is +actually lived in on the right. It is of every conceivable date (the +housekeeper will supply details) from the British mound on which the +keep stands, to the Georgian smoking-room built by the grandfather of +the present earl; but the main body of the house, with which we are +principally concerned—the long gray pile facing south down to the +lake, and northwards into the court—is Jacobean down to the smallest +detail, and extremely good at that. It was on the end of this that the +thirteenth earl the fifteenth baron and the fourteenth viscount (one +man, not three) thought it proper to build on a Palladian kind of +smoking-room of red sandstone, brought at enormous cost from half across +England. Fortunately, however, ivy has since covered the greater part of +its exterior.</p> + +<p>It was in this room—also used as a billiard-room—that Archie Guiseley +(Viscount Merefield), and Dick Guiseley, his first cousin, first heard +the news of Frank's intentions.</p> + +<p>They were both dressed for dinner, and were knocking the balls about for +ten minutes, waiting for the gong, and they were talking in that +incoherent way characteristic of billiard-players.</p> + +<p>"The governor's not very well again," observed Archie, "and the doctor +won't let him go up to town. That's why we're here."</p> + +<p>Dick missed a difficult cannon (he had only arrived from town himself by +the 6.17), and began to chalk his cue very carefully.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing whatever to do," continued Archie, "so I warn you."</p> + +<p>Dick opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, pursing it up +precisely as once more he addressed himself to the balls, and this time +brought off a really brilliant stroke.</p> + +<p>"And he's in a terrible way about Frank," continued the other. "You've +heard all about that?"</p> + +<p>Dick nodded.</p> + +<p>"And he swears he won't have him home again, and that he can go to the +devil."</p> + +<p>Dick arched his eyebrows interrogatively.</p> + +<p>"Of course, he doesn't mean it.... But the gout, you know, and all +that.... I think Frank had better keep out of the way, though, for a +bit. Oh! by the way, the Rector and Jenny are coming to dinner."</p> + +<p>"What does Jenny say to it all?" asked Dick gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Jenny laughs."</p> + +<p>These two young men—for Archie was only twenty-five, and Dick a year or +two older—were quite remarkably like one another in manner and general +bearing. Each, though their faces were entirely different, wore that +same particular form of mask that is fashionable just now. Each had a +look in his eyes as if the blinds were down—rather insolent and yet +rather pleasant. Each moved in the same kind of way, slow and +deliberate; each spoke quietly on rather a low note, and used as few +words as possible. Each, just now, wore a short braided dinner-jacket of +precisely the same cut.</p> + +<p>For the rest, they were quite unlike. Archie was clean-shaven, of a +medium sort of complexion, with a big chin and rather loosely built; +Dick wore a small, pointed brown beard, and was neat and alert. Neither +of them did anything particular in the world. Archie was more or less +tied to his father, except in the autumn—for Archie drew the line at +Homburg, and went about for short visits, returning continually to look +after the estate; Dick lived in a flat in town on six hundred a year, +allowed him by his mother, and was supposed to be a sort of solicitor. +They saw a good deal of one another, off and on, and got on together +rather better than most brothers; certainly better than did Archie and +Frank. It was thought a pity by a good many people that they were only +cousins.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then, as they gossiped gently, the door suddenly opened and a girl came +in.</p> + +<p>She was a very striking girl indeed, and her beauty was increased just +now by obvious excitement held well in check. She was tall and very +fair, and carried herself superbly, looking taller than she really was. +Her eyes, particularly bright just now, were of a vivid blue, wide-open +and well set in her face; her mouth was strong and sensible; and there +was a glorious air of breeziness and health about her altogether. She +was in evening dress, and wore a light cloak over her white shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said—"Oh! good evening, Mr. Dick!—but +there's something wrong. Clarkson ran out to tell us that Lord +Talgarth—it's a telegram or something. Father sent me to tell you."</p> + +<p>Archie looked at her a second; then he was gone, swiftly, but not +hurriedly. The girl turned to Dick.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's something about Frank," she said. "I heard Clarkson +mention his name to father. Is there any more news?"</p> + +<p>Dick laid down his cue across the table.</p> + +<p>"I only came an hour ago," he said. "Archie was telling me just now."</p> + +<p>Jenny went across to the deep chair on the hearth, threw off her cloak +and sat down.</p> + +<p>"Lord Talgarth's—well—if he was my father I should say he was in a +passion. I heard his voice." She smiled a little.</p> + +<p>Dick leaned against the table, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"Poor Frank!" he said.</p> + +<p>She smiled again, more freely.</p> + +<p>"Yes ... poor, dear Frank! He's always in hot water, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's serious this time," observed Dick. "What did he want to +become a Catholic for?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frank's always unexpected!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know; but this happens to be just the one very thing—"</p> + +<p>She looked at him humorously.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, I'd no notion that Lord Talgarth was so deeply religious +until Frank became a Catholic."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Dick. "But it is just his one obsession. Frank must +have known that."</p> + +<p>"And I've not the slightest doubt," said Jenny, "that that was an +additional reason for his doing it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what'll happen?"</p> + +<p>She jerked her head a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh! it'll pass off. You'll see. Frank'll find out, and then we shall +all be happy ever afterwards."</p> + +<p>"But meantime?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Frank'll go and stay with friends a month or two. I daresay he'll +come to the Kirkbys', and I can go and see him."</p> + +<p>"Suppose he does something violent? He's quite capable of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I shall talk to him. It'll be all right. I'm very sensible indeed, +you know. All my friends tell me that."</p> + +<p>Dick was silent.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Think what?"</p> + +<p>"That I'm very sensible."</p> + +<p>Dick made a little movement with his head.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I suppose so. Yes, I daresay.... And suppose my uncle cuts him off +with a shilling? He's quite capable of it. He's a very heavy father, you +know."</p> + +<p>"He won't. I shall talk to him too."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but suppose he does?"</p> + +<p>She threw him a swift glance.</p> + +<p>"Frank'll put the shilling on his watch-chain, after it's been shown +with all the other wedding-presents. What are you going to give me, Mr. +Dick?"</p> + +<p>"I shall design a piece of emblematic jewelry," said Dick very gravely. +"When's the wedding to be?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we hadn't settled. Lord Talgarth wouldn't make up his mind. I +suppose next summer some time."</p> + +<p>"Miss Jenny—"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Tell me—quite seriously—what you'd do if there was a real row—a +permanent one, I mean—between Frank and my uncle?"</p> + +<p>"Dear Mr. Dick—don't talk so absurdly. I tell you there's not going to +be a row. I'm going to see to that myself."</p> + +<p>"But suppose there was?"</p> + +<p>Jenny stood up abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I'm a very sensible person, and I'm not going to imagine +absurdities. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to strike an +attitude and talk about love in a cottage?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that would be one answer."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then. That'll do, won't it? You can take it as said.... I'm +going to see what's happening."</p> + +<p>But as she went to the door there came footsteps and voices outside; and +the next moment the door opened suddenly, and Lord Talgarth, followed by +his son and the Rector, burst into the room.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>I am very sorry to have to say it, but the thirteenth Earl of Talgarth +was exactly like a man in a book—and not a very good book. His +character was, so to speak, cut out of cardboard—stiff cardboard, and +highly colored, with gilt edges showing here and there. He also, as has +been said, resembled a nobleman on the stage of the Adelphi. He had a +handsome inflamed face, with an aquiline nose and white eyebrows that +moved up and down, and all the other things; he was stout and tall, +suffered from the gout, and carried with him in the house a black stick +with an india-rubber pad on the end. There were no shades about him at +all. Construct a conventionally theatrical heavy father, of noble +family, and you have Lord Talgarth to the life. There really are people +like this in the world—of whom, too, one can prophesy, with tolerable +certainty, how they will behave in any given situation.</p> + +<p>Certainly, Lord Talgarth was behaving in character now. He had received +meek Mr. Mackintosh's deferential telegram, occupying several sheets, +informing him that his son had held an auction of all his belongings, +and had proposed to take to the roads; asking, also, for instructions as +to how to deal with him. And the hint of defiant obstinacy on the part +of Frank—the fact, indeed, that he had taken his father at his +word—had thrown that father into a yet more violent fit of passion. +Jenny had heard him spluttering and exclamatory with anger as she came +into the hall (the telegram had but that instant been put into his +hands), and even now the footmen, still a little pale, were exchanging +winks in the hall outside; while Clarkson, his valet, and the butler +stood in high and subdued conference a little way off.</p> + +<p>What Lord Talgarth would really have wished was that Frank should have +written to him a submissive—even though a disobedient—letter, telling +him that he could not forego his convictions, and preparing to assume +the <i>rôle</i> of a Christian martyr. For he could have sneered at this, and +after suitable discipline forgiven its writer more or less. Of course, +he had never intended for one instant that his threats should really be +carried out; but the situation—to one of Lord Talgarth's +temperament—demanded that the threats should be made, and that Frank +should pretend to be crushed by them. That the boy should have behaved +like this brought a reality of passion into the affair—disconcerting +and infuriating—as if an actor should find his enemy on the stage was +armed with a real sword. There was but one possibility left—which Lord +Talgarth instinctively rather than consciously grasped at—namely, that +an increased fury on his part should once more bring realities back +again to a melodramatic level, and leave himself, as father, master both +of the situation and of his most disconcerting son. Frank had behaved +like this in minor matters once or twice before, and Lord Talgarth had +always come off victor. After all, he commanded all the accessories.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When the speeches had been made—Frank cut off with a shilling, driven +to the Colonies, brought back again, and finally starved to death at his +father's gates—Lord Talgarth found himself in a chair, with Jenny +seated opposite, and the rest of the company gone to dinner. He did not +quite realize how it had all been brought about, nor by whose +arrangement it was that a plate of soup and some fish were to come +presently, and Jenny and he to dine together.</p> + +<p>He pulled himself together a little, however, and began to use phrases +again about his "graceless son," and "the young villain," and "not a +penny of his." (He was, of course, genuinely angry; that must be +understood.)</p> + +<p>Then Jenny began to talk.</p> + +<p>"I think, you know," she said quietly, "that you aren't going the right +way to work. (It's very impertinent of me, isn't it?—but you did say +just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sensible girl, my dear. I've +always said that. But as for this young—"</p> + +<p>"Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you. +Is that right, Lord Talgarth?)." She waited till the man was gone again +and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she took up her own. "Well, +I think what you've done is exactly the thing to make Frank more +obstinate than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, if you'd only +laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and +told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character, +who wants looking after—"</p> + +<p>Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still breathing rather heavily, and +was making something of a noise over his soup.</p> + +<p>"But how can I say that, when I think—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too late. No; that would +never do. You must keep it up—only you mustn't be really angry. Why not +try a little cold severity?"</p> + +<p>She looked so charming and humorous that the old man began to melt a +little. He glanced up at her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind of gruffness, "when you +find you've got to marry a pauper?"</p> + +<p>"I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. "That wouldn't do +either."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you're counting on that eight hundred a year still, are you?"</p> + +<p>Jenny allowed a little coldness to appear on her face. Rude banter was +all very well, but it mustn't go too far. (Secretly she allowed to +herself sometimes that this old man had elements of the cad in his +character.)</p> + +<p>"That's entirely my own affair," she said, "and Frank's."</p> + +<p>Lord Talgarth blazed up a little.</p> + +<p>"And the eight hundred a year is mine," he said.</p> + +<p>Jenny laid down her spoon as the servant reappeared with the fish and +the menu-card. He came very opportunely. And while her host was +considering what he would eat next, she was pondering her next move.</p> + +<p>Jenny, as has been said, was an exceedingly sensible girl. She had grown +up in the Rectory, down at the park gates; and since her mother's death, +three years previously, had managed her father's house, including her +father, with great success. She had begun to extend her influence, for +the last year or two, even over the formidable lord of the manor +himself, and, as has been seen, was engaged to his son. Her judgment was +usually very sound and very sane, and the two men, with the Rector, had +been perfectly right just now in leaving the old man to her care for an +hour or so. If anything could quiet him it would be this girl. She was +quite fearless, quite dignified, and quite able to hold her own. And her +father perceived that she rather enjoyed it.</p> + +<p>When the man had gone out again, she resumed:</p> + +<p>"Well, let's leave it," she said, "for a day or two. There's no hurry, +and—"</p> + +<p>"But I must answer this—this telegram," he growled. "What am I to say +to the feller?"</p> + +<p>"Tell him to follow his discretion, and that you have complete +confidence—"</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know you haven't, really. But it'll do no harm, and it'll make +him feel important."</p> + +<p>"And what if the boy does take to the roads?"</p> + +<p>"Let him," said Jenny coolly. "It won't kill him."</p> + +<p>He looked up at her again in silence.</p> + +<p>Jenny herself was very far from comfortable, though she was conscious of +real pleasure, too, in the situation. She had seen this old man in a +passion pretty often, but she had never seen him in a passion with any +real excuse. No one ever thwarted him. He even decided where his doctor +should send him for his cure, and in what month, and for how long. And +she was not, therefore, quite certain what would happen, for she knew +Frank well enough to be quite sure that he meant what he said. However, +she reflected, the main thing at present was to smooth things down all +round as far as possible. Then she could judge.</p> + +<p>"Can't make out why you ever consented to marry such a chap at all!" he +growled presently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well—" said Jenny.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>It was a delicious evening, and the three men, after dinner, strolled +out on to the broad terrace that ran, looking over the lake, straight up +and down the long side of the house. They had not had the advantage, +since the servants were in the room, of talking over the situation as +they wished, and there was no knowing when Lord Talgarth and Jenny might +emerge. So they sat down at a little stone table at the end furthest +from the smoking-room, and Archie and Dick lit their cigarettes.</p> + +<p>There is not a great deal to say about the Rector. The most effective +fact about him was that he was the father of Jenny. It was a case, here, +of "Averill following Averill": his father and grandfather, both second +sons, as was the Rector himself, had held the living before him, and had +performed the duties of it in the traditional and perfectly respectable +way. This one was a quiet middle-aged man, clean-shaven except for two +small whiskers. He wore a white tie, and a small gold stud was visible +in the long slit of his white shirt-front. He was on very easy terms in +this house, in an unintimate manner, and dined here once a fortnight or +so, without saying or hearing anything of particular interest. He had +been secretly delighted at his daughter's engagement, and had given his +consent with gentle and reserved cordiality. He was a Tory, not exactly +by choice, but simply—for the same reason as he was Church of +England—because he was unable, in the fiber of him, to imagine anything +else. Of course, Lord Talgarth was the principal personage in his world, +simply because he was Lord Talgarth and owned practically the whole +parish and two-thirds of the next. He regarded his daughter with the +greatest respect, and left in her hands everything that he decently +could. And, to do her justice, Jenny was a very benevolent, as well as +capable, despot. In short, the Rector plays no great part in this drama +beyond that of a discreet, and mostly silent, Greek chorus of +unimpeachable character. He disapproved deeply, of course, of Frank's +change of religion—but he disapproved with that same part of him that +appreciated Lord Talgarth. It seemed to him that Catholicism, in his +daughter's future husband, was a defect of the same kind as would be a +wooden leg or an unpleasant habit of sniffing—a drawback, yet not +insuperable. He would be considerably relieved if it could be cured.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The three men sat there for some while without interruption from the +smoking-room, while the evening breeze died, the rosy sky paled, and the +stars came out one by one, like diamonds in the clear blue. They said, +of course, all the proper things, and Dick heard a little more than he +had previously known.</p> + +<p>Dick was always conscious of a faint, almost impersonal, resentment +against destiny when he stayed at Merefield. It was obvious to him that +the position of heir there was one which would exactly have suited his +tastes and temperament. He was extremely pleased to belong to the +family—and it was, indeed, a very exceptional family as regards +history: it had been represented in nearly every catastrophe since the +Norman Conquest, and always on the winning side, except once—but it was +difficult to enjoy the distinction as it deserved, living, as he did, in +a flat in London all by himself. When his name was mentioned to a +well-informed stranger, it was always greeted by the question as to +whether he was one of the Guiseleys of Merefield, and it seemed to him +singularly annoying that he could only answer "First cousin." Archie, of +course, was a satisfactory heir; there was no question of that—he was +completely of Dick's own school of manner—but it seemed a kind of +outrage that Frank, with his violent convictions and his escapades, +should be Archie's only brother. There was little of that repose about +him that a Guiseley needed.</p> + +<p>It would be about half-past nine that the sound of an opening door, and +voices, from the further end of the terrace, told them that the +smoking-room conference was over, and they stood up as Jenny, very +upright and pale in the twilight, with her host at her side, came up +towards them. Dick noticed that the cigar his uncle carried was smoked +down almost to the butt, and augured well from that detail. The old +man's arm was in the girl's, and he supported himself on the other side, +limping a little, on his black stick.</p> + +<p>He sat down with a grunt and laid his stick across the table.</p> + +<p>"Well, boys, we've settled it," he said. "Jenny's to write the +telegram."</p> + +<p>"No one need be anxious any more," announced Jenny imperturbably. "Lord +Talgarth's extremely angry still, as he has every right to be, and +Frank's going to be allowed to go on the tramp if he wants to."</p> + +<p>The Rector waited, in deferential silence, for corroboration.</p> + +<p>"Jenny's a very sensible girl," observed Lord Talgarth. "And what she +says is quite right."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to say—" began Archie.</p> + +<p>The old man frowned round at him.</p> + +<p>"All that I've said holds good," he said.</p> + +<p>"Frank's made his bed and he must lie on it. I warned him. And Jenny +sees that, too."</p> + +<p>Archie glanced at the girl, and Dick looked hard at her, straight into +her face. But there was absolutely no sign there of any perturbation. +Certainly she looked white in the falling dusk, but her eyes were merry +and steadfast, and her voice perfectly natural.</p> + +<p>"That's how we've settled it," she said. "And if I'm satisfied, I +imagine everyone else ought to be. And I'm going to write Frank a good +long letter all by myself. Come along, father, we must be going. Lord +Talgarth isn't well, and we mustn't keep him up."</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>When the last game of billiards had been played, and whisky had been +drunk, and Archie had taken up his candle, Dick stood still, with his +own in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you coming?" said Archie.</p> + +<p>Dick paused.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll smoke one more cigarette on the terrace," he said. "It's a +heavenly night, and I want to get the taste of the train out of my +mouth."</p> + +<p>"All right, then. Lock up, will you, when you come in? I'm off."</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, a heavenly night. Behind him as he sat at the table +where they had had coffee the great house shimmered pale in the summer +twilight, broken here by a line or two of yellow light behind shuttered +windows, here with the big oriel window of the hall, blazing with coats, +fully illuminated. (He must remember, he thought, to put out the lights +there as he went to bed.)</p> + +<p>And about him was the great soft, sweet-smelling darkness, roofed in by +the far-off sky alight with stars; and beneath him in the valley he +could catch the glimmer of the big lake and the blotted masses of pine +and cypress black against it.</p> + +<p>It was here, then, under these circumstances, that Dick confessed to +himself, frankly and openly for the first time, that he was in love with +Jenny Launton.</p> + +<p>He had known her for years, off and on, and had thought of her as a +pretty girl and a pleasant companion. He had skated with her, ridden +with her, danced with her, and had only understood, with a sense of mild +shock, at the time of her engagement to Frank six months before, that +she was of an age to become a wife to someone.</p> + +<p>That had been the beginning of a process which culminated to-night, as +he now understood perfectly. Its next step had been a vague wonder why +Archie hadn't fallen in love with her himself; and he had explained it +by saying that Archie had too great a sense of his own importance to +permit himself to marry a rector's daughter with only a couple of +hundred a year of her own. (And in this explanation I think he was quite +correct.) Then he had begun to think of her himself a good +deal—dramatically, rather than realistically—wondering what it would +feel like to be engaged to her. If a younger son could marry her, surely +a first cousin could—even of the Guiseleys. So it had gone on, little +by little. He had danced with her here at Christmas—just after the +engagement—and had stayed on a week longer than he had intended. He had +come up again at Easter, and again at Whitsuntide, though he always +protested to his friends that there was nothing to do at Merefield in +the summer. And now here he was again, and the thing had happened.</p> + +<p>At first, as he sat here, he tried to analyze his attitude to Frank.</p> + +<p>He had never approved of Frank altogether; he didn't quite like the +queer kinds of things that Frank did; for Frank's reputation at +Merefield was very much what it was at Cambridge. He did ridiculous and +undignified things. As a small boy, he had fought at least three pitched +battles in the village, and that was not a proper thing for a Guiseley +to do. He liked to go out with the keepers after poachers, and Dick, +very properly, asked himself what keepers were for except to do that +kind of thing for you? There had been a bad row here, too, scarcely +eighteen months ago; it had been something to do with a horse that was +ill-treated, and Frank had cut a very absurd and ridiculous figure, +getting hot and angry, and finally thrashing a groom, or somebody, with +his own hands, and there had been uncomfortable talk about police-courts +and actions for assault. Finally, he had fallen in love with, proposed +to, and become engaged to, Jenny Launton. That was an improper thing for +a younger son to do, anyhow, at his age, and Dick now perceived that the +fact that Jenny was Jenny aggravated the offense a hundredfold. And, +last of all, he had become a Catholic—an act of enthusiasm which seemed +to Dick really vulgar.</p> + +<p>Altogether, then, Frank was not a satisfactory person, and it would do +him no harm to have a little real discipline at last....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was the striking of midnight from the stable clock that woke Dick up +from his deep reverie, and was the occasion of his perceiving that he +had come to no conclusion about anything, except that Frank was an ass, +that Jenny was—well—Jenny, and that he, Dick, was an ill-used person.</p> + +<p>I do not like to set down here, even if I could, all the considerations +that had passed through Dick's mind since a quarter-past eleven, simply +because the very statement of them would give a false impression. Dick +was not a knave, and he did not deceive himself about himself more than +most of us do. Yet he had considered a number of points that, strictly +speaking, he ought not to have considered. He had wondered whether Frank +would die; he had wondered whether, if he did not, Lord Talgarth would +really be as good as his word; and, if so, what effect that would have +on Jenny. Finally, he had wondered, with a good deal of intellectual +application, what exactly Jenny had meant when she had announced all +that about the telegram she was going to send in Lord Talgarth's name, +and the letter she was going to send in her own. (He had asked Archie +just now in the smoking-room, and he, too, had confessed himself beaten. +Only, he had been quite sure that jenny would get her way and obtain +Frank's forgiveness.)</p> + +<p>Also, in the course of his three-quarters of an hour he had considered, +for perhaps the hundredth time since he had come to the age of +discretion, what exactly three lives between a man and a title stood +for. Lord Talgarth was old and gouty; Archie was not married, and showed +no signs of it; and Frank—well, Frank was always adventurous and +always in trouble.</p> + +<p>Well, I have set down the points, after all. But it must not be thought +that the gentleman with the pointed brown beard and thoughtful eyes, who +at five minutes past twelve went up the two steps into the smoking-room, +locked the doors, as he had been directed, took up his candle and went +to bed, went with an uneasy conscience, or, in fact, was a villain in +any way whatever.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIa" id="CHAPTER_IIIa"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>The first spot in Frank's pilgrimage which I have been able to visit and +identify in such a way that I am able to form to myself a picture of his +adventure more or less complete in all its parts, lies about ten miles +north-west of Doncaster, in a little valley, where curiously enough +another pilgrim named Richard lived for a little while nearly six +hundred years ago.</p> + +<p>Up to the time of Frank's coming there, in the season of hay-making, +numberless little incidents of his experience stand out, vivid, indeed, +but fragmentary, yet they do not form to my mind a coherent whole. I +think I understand to some extent the process by which he became +accustomed to ordinary physical hard living, into which the initiation +began with his series of almost wholly sleepless nights and heavy +sleep-burdened days. Night was too strange—in barns, beneath hay-ricks, +in little oppressive rooms, in stable-lofts—for him to sleep easily at +first; and between his tramps, or in the dinner-hour, when he managed to +get work, he would drop off in the hot sunshine down into depths of +that kind of rest that is like the sea itself—glimmering gulfs, lit by +glimpses of consciousness of the grass beneath his cheek, the bubble of +bird-song in the copses, stretching down into profound and utter +darkness.</p> + +<p>Of how the little happenings of every day wore themselves into a +coherent whole, and modified, not indeed himself, but his manner of life +and his experience and knowledge, I can make no real picture at all. The +first of these took place within ten miles of Cambridge on his first +morning, and resulted in the bruised face which Mr. Harris noticed; it +concerned a piece of brutality to a dog in which Frank interfered.... +(He was extraordinarily tender to animals.) Then there was the learning +as to how work was obtained, and, even more considerable, the doing of +the work. The amateur, as Frank pointed out later, began too vigorously +and became exhausted; the professional set out with the same +deliberation with which he ended. One must not run at one's spade, or +hoe, or whatever it was; one must exercise a wearisome self-control ... +survey the work to be done, turn slowly, spit on one's hands, and after +a pause begin, remembering that the same activity must show itself, if +the work was to be renewed next day, up to the moment of leaving off.</p> + +<p>Then there was the need of becoming accustomed to an entirely different +kind of food, eaten in an entirely different way, and under entirely +different circumstances. There was experience to be gained as to washing +clothes—I can almost see Frank now by a certain kind of stream, +stripped to the waist, waiting while his shirt dried, smoking an +ill-rolled cigarette, yet alert for the gamekeeper. Above all, there was +an immense volume of learning—or, rather, a training of instinct—to be +gained respecting human nature: a knowledge of the kind of man who would +give work, the kind of man who meant what he said, and the kind of man +who did not; the kind of woman who would threaten the police if milk or +bread were asked for—Frank learned to beg very quickly—the kind of +woman who would add twopence and tell him to be off, and the kind of +woman who, after a pause and a slow scrutiny, would deliberately refuse +to supply a glass of water. Then there was the atmosphere of the little +towns to be learned—the intolerable weariness of pavements, and the +patient persistence of policemen who would not allow you to sit down. He +discovered, also, during his wanderings, the universal fact that +policemen are usually good-hearted, but with absolutely no sense of +humor whatever; he learned this through various attempts to feign that +the policeman was in fancy-dress costume and had no real authority. He +learned, too, that all crimes pale before "resisting the police in the +execution of their duty"; then, he had to learn, to, the way in which +other tramps must be approached—the silences necessary, the sort of +questions which were useless, the jokes that must be laughed at and the +jokes that must be resented.</p> + +<p>All this is beyond me altogether; it was beyond even Frank's own powers +of description. A boy, coming home for the holidays for the first time, +cannot make clear to his mother, or even to himself, what it is that has +so utterly changed his point of view, and his relations towards familiar +things.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So with Frank.</p> + +<p>He could draw countless little vignettes of his experiences and +emotions—the particular sensation elicited, for example, by seeing +through iron gates happy people on a lawn at tea—the white china, the +silver, the dresses, the flannels, the lawn-tennis net—as he went past, +with string tied below his knees to keep off the drag of the trousers, +and a sore heel; the emotion of being passed by a boy and a girl on +horseback; the flood of indescribable associations roused by walking for +half a day past the split-oak paling of a great park, with lodge-gates +here and there, the cooing of wood-pigeons, and the big house, among +its lawns and cedars and geranium-beds, seen now and then, far off in +the midst. But what he could not describe, or understand, was the inner +alchemy by which this new relation to things modified his own soul, and +gave him a point of view utterly new and bewildering. Curiously enough, +however (as it seems to me), he never seriously considered the +possibility of abandoning this way of life, and capitulating to his +father. A number of things, I suppose—inconceivable to +myself—contributed to his purpose; his gipsy blood, his extraordinary +passion for romance, the attraction of a thing simply because it was +daring and unusual, and finally, a very exceptionally strong will that, +for myself, I should call obstinacy.</p> + +<p>The silence—as regards his old world—was absolute and unbroken. He +knew perfectly well that by now letters and telegrams must be waiting +for him at Jack's home, including at least one from Jenny, and probably +a dozen; but as to Jenny, he knew she would understand, and as to the +rest, he honestly did not care at all. He sent her a picture postcard +once or twice—from Ely, Peterborough, Sleaford and Newark—towns where +he stayed for a Sunday (I have seen in Sleaford the little room where he +treated himself to a bed for two nights)—and was content. He made no +particular plans for the future; he supposed something would turn up; +and he settled with himself, by the help of that same will which I have +mentioned before, that he would precipitate no conclusions till he +reached Barham later on in the early autumn.</p> + +<p>His faith and morals during these weeks are a little difficult to +describe. As regards his morals, at least in one particular point, he +had formulated the doctrine that, when he was very hungry, game might +not be touched, but that rabbits and birds were permissible if they +could be snared in the hedges of the high-road. He became an expert at +this kind of thing, and Jack has described to me, as taught by Frank, a +few devices of which I was entirely ignorant. Frank tramped for a couple +of days with a gamekeeper out of work, and learned these things from +him, as well as one or two simple methods of out-of-door cookery. As +regards his religion, I think I had better not say much just now; very +curious influences were at work upon him: I can only say that Frank +himself has described more than once, when he could be induced to talk, +the extraordinary, and indeed indescribable, thrill with which he saw, +now and again, in town or country, a priest in his vestments go to the +altar—for he heard mass when he could....</p> + +<p>So much, then, is all that I can say of the small, detached experiences +that he passed through, up to the point when he came out one evening at +sunset from one of the fields of Hampole where he had made hay all day, +when his job was finished, and where he met, for the first time, the +Major and Gertie Trustcott.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>They were standing with the sunset light behind them, as a glory—two +disreputable figures, such as one sees in countless thousands along all +the high-roads of England in the summer. The Major himself was a lean +man, with a red mustache turning gray, deep-set, narrow, blood-shot +eyes, a chin and very square jaw shaved about two days previously. He +had an old cricketing cap on his head, trousers tied up with string, +like Frank's, and one of those long, square-tailed, yellowish coats with +broad side-pockets such as a gamekeeper might have worn twenty years +ago. One of his boots was badly burst, and he, seemed to rest his weight +by preference on the other foot. He was not prepossessing; but Frank +saw, with his newly-gained experience, that he was different from other +tramps. He glanced at the girl and saw that she too was not quite of the +regular type, though less peculiar than her companion; and he noticed +with an odd touch at his heart that she had certain characteristics in +common with Jenny. She was not so tall, but she had the same colored +hair under a filthy white sun-bonnet and the same kind of blue eyes: but +her oval face again was weak and rather miserable. They were both deeply +sunburned.</p> + +<p>Frank had learned the discretion of the roads by now, and did no more +than jerk his head almost imperceptibly as he went past. (He proposed to +go back to the farm to get his dwindled belongings, as the job was over, +and to move on a few miles northward before sleeping.)</p> + +<p>As he went, however, he knew that the man had turned and was looking +after him: but he made no sign. He had no particular desire for company. +He also knew by instinct, practically for certain, that these two were +neither husband and wife, nor father and daughter. The type was obvious.</p> + +<p>"I say, sir!"</p> + +<p>Frank turned as bucolically as he could.</p> + +<p>"I say, sir—can you direct this lady and myself to a lodging?"</p> + +<p>Frank had tried to cultivate a low and characterless kind of voice, as +of a servant or a groom out of work. He knew he could never learn the +proper accent.</p> + +<p>"Depends on what kind of lodging you want, sir."</p> + +<p>"What'd suit you 'ud suit us," said the Major genially, dropping the +"sir."</p> + +<p>"I'm going further, sir," said Frank. "I've done my job here."</p> + +<p>The Major turned to the girl, and Frank caught the words, "What d'you +say, Gertie?" There was a murmur of talk; and then the man turned to him +again:</p> + +<p>"If you've no objection, sir, we'll come with you. My good lady here is +good for a mile or two more, she says, and we'd like some company."</p> + +<p>Frank hesitated. He did not in the least wish for company himself. He +glanced at the girl again.</p> + +<p>"Very good, sir," he said. "Then if you'll wait here I'll be back in +five minutes—I've got to get my belongings."</p> + +<p>He nodded to the low farm buildings in the valley just below the +village.</p> + +<p>"We will await you here, sir," said the Major magnificently, stroking +his mustache.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As Frank came back up the little hill a few minutes later, he had made +up his mind as to what to say and do. It was his first experience of a +gentleman-tramp, and it was obvious that under the circumstances he +could not pretend to be anything else himself. But he was perfectly +determined not to tell his name. None of his belongings had anything +more than his initials upon them, and he decided to use the name he had +already given more than once. Probably they would not go far together; +but it was worth while to be on the safe side.</p> + +<p>He came straight up to the two as they sat side by side with their feet +in the ditch.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready, sir," he said. "Yes; you've spotted me all right."</p> + +<p>"University man and public school boy," said the Major without moving.</p> + +<p>"Eton and Cambridge," said Frank.</p> + +<p>The Major sprang up.</p> + +<p>"Harrow and the Army," he said. "Shake hands."</p> + +<p>This was done.</p> + +<p>"Name?" said the Major.</p> + +<p>Frank grinned.</p> + +<p>"I haven't my card with me," he said. "But Frank Gregory will do."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said the Major. "And 'The Major' will do for me. It has +the advantage of being true. And this lady?—well, we'll call her my +wife."</p> + +<p>Frank bowed. He felt he was acting in some ridiculous dream; but his +sense of humor saved him. The girl gave a little awkward bow in +response, and dropped her eyes. Certainly she was very like Jenny, and +very unlike.</p> + +<p>"And a name?" asked Frank. "We may as well have one in case of +difficulties."</p> + +<p>The Major considered.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to Trustcott?" he asked. "Will that do?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly," said Frank. "Major and Mrs. Trustcott.... Well, shall we be +going?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank had no particular views as to lodgings, or even to roads, so long +as the direction was more or less northward. He was aiming, generally +speaking, at Selby and York; and it seemed that this would suit the +Major as well as anything else. There is, I believe, some kind of +routine amongst the roadsters; and about that time of the year most of +them are as far afield as at any time from their winter quarters. The +Major and Mrs. Trustcott, he soon learned, were Southerners; but they +would not turn homewards for another three months yet, at least. For +himself, he had no ideas beyond a general intention to reach Barham some +time in the autumn, before Jack went back to Cambridge for his fourth +year.</p> + +<p>"The country is not prepossessing about here," observed the Major +presently; "Hampole is an exception."</p> + +<p>Frank glanced back at the valley they were leaving. It had, indeed, an +extraordinarily retired and rural air; it was a fertile little tract of +ground, very limited and circumscribed, and the rail that ran through it +was the only sign of the century. But the bright air was a little dimmed +with smoke; and already from the point they had reached tall chimneys +began to prick against the horizon.</p> + +<p>"You have been here before?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes; and about this time last year, wasn't it, Gertie? I +understand a hermit lived here once."</p> + +<p>"A hermit might almost live here to-day," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"You are right, sir," said the Major.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank began to wonder, as he walked, as to why this man was on the +roads. Curiously enough, he believed his statement that he had been in +the army. The air of him seemed the right thing. A militia captain would +have swaggered more; a complete impostor would have given more details. +Frank began to fish for information.</p> + +<p>"You have been long on the roads?" he said.</p> + +<p>The Major did not appear to hear him.</p> + +<p>"You have been long on the roads?" persisted Frank.</p> + +<p>The other glanced at him furtively and rather insolently. "The younger +man first, please."</p> + +<p>Frank smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly!" he said. "Well, I have left Cambridge at the end of +June only."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Anything disgraceful?"</p> + +<p>"You won't believe me, I suppose, if I say 'No'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I daresay I shall."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, 'No.'"</p> + +<p>"Then may I ask—?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! I was kicked out by my father—I needn't go into details. I +sold up my things and came out. That's all!"</p> + +<p>"And you mean to stick to it?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly—at least for a year or two."</p> + +<p>"That's all right. Well, then—Major—what did we say? Trustcott? Ah, +yes, Trustcott. Well, then, I think we might add 'Eleventh Hussars'; +that's near enough. The final catastrophe was, I think, cards. Not that +I cheated, you understand. I will allow no man to say that of me. But +that was what was said. A gentleman of spirit, you understand, could not +remain in a regiment when such things could be said. Then we tumbled +downhill; and I've been at this for four years. And, you know, sir, it +might be worse!"</p> + +<p>Frank nodded.</p> + +<p>Naturally he did not believe as necessarily true this terse little +story, and he was absolutely certain that if cards were mixed up in it +at all, obviously the Major had cheated. So he just took the story and +put it away, so to speak. It was to form, he perceived, the +understanding on which they consorted together. Then he began to wonder +about the girl. The Major soon supplied a further form.</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Trustcott, here? Well, she joined me, let us say, rather more +than eighteen months ago. We had been acquainted before that, however. +That was when I was consenting to serve as groom to some—er—some +Jewish bounder in town. Mrs. Trustcott's parents live in town."</p> + +<p>The girl, who had been trudging patiently a foot or two behind them, +just glanced up at Frank and down again. He wondered exactly what her +own attitude was to all this. But she made no comment.</p> + +<p>"And now we know one another," finished the Major in a tone of genial +finality. "So where are you taking us—er—Mr. Gregory?"</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>They were fortunate that night.</p> + +<p>The part of Yorkshire where they were traveling consists chiefly of an +innumerable quantity of little cottages, gathered for the most part +round collieries. One has the impression—at any rate, from a +motor—that there is nothing but villages. But that is not a fact. There +are stretches of road, quite solitary at certain hours; and in one of +these they noticed presently a little house, not twenty yards from the +road, once obviously forming part of a row of colliers' cottages, of +which the rest were demolished.</p> + +<p>It was not far off from ruin itself, and was very plainly uninhabited. +Across the front door were nailed deal props, originally, perhaps, for +the purpose of keeping it barred, and useful for holding it in its +place. The Major and Gertie kept watch on the road while Frank pushed +open the crazy little gate and went round to the back. A minute later he +called to them softly.</p> + +<p>He had wrenched open the back door, and within in the darkness they +could make out a little kitchen, stripped of everything—table, +furniture, and even the range itself. The Major kicked something +presently in the gloom, swore softly, and announced he had found a +kettle. They decided that all this would do very well.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Tramps do not demand very much, and these were completely contented when +they had made a small fire, damped down with a turf to prevent it +smoking, had boiled a little water, stewed some tea, and eaten what they +had. Even this was not luxurious. The Major produced the heel of a +cheese and two crushed-looking bananas, and Frank a half-eaten tin of +sardines and a small, stale loaf. The Major announced presently that he +would make a savory; and, indeed, with cheese melted on to the bread, +and sardines on the top, he did very well. Gertie moved silently about; +and Frank, in the intervals of rather abrupt conversation with the +Major, found his eyes following her as she spread out their small +possessions, vanished up the stairs and reappeared. Certainly she was +very like Jenny, even in odd little details—the line of her eyebrows, +the angle of her chin and so forth—perhaps more in these details than +in anything else. He began to wonder a little about her—to imagine her +past, to forecast her future. It seemed all rather sordid. She +disappeared finally without a word: he heard her steps overhead, and +then silence.</p> + +<p>Then he had to attend to the Major a little more.</p> + +<p>"It was easy enough to tell you," said that gentleman.</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, if nothing else, your clothes."</p> + +<p>"Aren't they shabby enough?"</p> + +<p>The Major eyed him with half-closed lids, by the light of the single +candle-end, stuck in its own wax on the mantelshelf.</p> + +<p>"They're shabby enough, but they're the wrong sort. There's the cut, +first—though that doesn't settle it. But these are gray flannel +trousers, for one thing, and then the coat's not stout enough."</p> + +<p>"They might have been given me," said Frank, smiling.</p> + +<p>"They fit you too well for that."</p> + +<p>"I'll change them when I get a chance," observed Frank.</p> + +<p>"It would be as well," assented the Major.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Somehow or another the sense of sordidness, which presently began to +affect Frank so profoundly, descended on him for the first time that +night. He had managed, by his very solitariness hitherto, to escape it +so far. It had been possible to keep up a kind of pose so far; to +imagine the adventure in the light of a very much prolonged and very +realistic picnic. But with this other man the thing became impossible. +It was tolerable to wash one's own socks; it was not so tolerable to see +another man's socks hung up on the peeling mantelpiece a foot away from +his own head, and to see two dirty ankles, not his own, emerging from +crazy boots.</p> + +<p>The Major, too, presently, when he grew a trifle maudlin over his own +sorrows, began to call him "Frankie," and "my boy," and somehow it +mattered, from a man with the Major's obvious record. Frank pulled +himself up only just in time to prevent a retort when it first happened, +but it was not the slightest use to be resentful. The thing had to be +borne. And it became easier when it occurred to him to regard the Major +as a study; it was even interesting to hear him give himself away, yet +all with a pompous appearance of self-respect, and to recount his first +meeting with Gertie, now asleep upstairs.</p> + +<p>The man was, in fact, exactly what Frank, in his prosperous days, would +have labeled "Bounder." He had a number of meaningless little +mannerisms—a way of passing his hand over his mustache, a trick of +bringing a look of veiled insolence into his eyes; there were subjects +he could not keep away from—among them Harrow School, the Universities +(which he called 'Varsity), the regiment he had belonged to, and a +certain type of adventure connected with women and champagne. And +underneath the whole crust of what the Major took to be breeding, there +was a piteous revelation of a feeble, vindictive, and rather nasty +character. It became more and more evident that the cheating +incident—or, rather, the accusation, as he persisted in calling +it—was merely the last straw in his fall, and that the whole thing had +been the result of a crumbly unprincipled kind of will underneath, +rather than of any particular strain of vice. He appeared, even now, to +think that his traveling about with a woman who was not his wife was a +sort of remnant of fallen splendor—as a man might keep a couple of +silver spoons out of the ruin of his house.</p> + +<p>"I recommend you to pick up with one," remarked the Major. "There are +plenty to be had, if you go about it the right way."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Frank, "but it's not my line."</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>The morning, too, was a little trying.</p> + +<p>Frank had passed a tolerable night. The Major had retired upstairs about +ten o'clock, taking his socks with him, presumably to sleep in them, and +Frank had heard him creaking about upstairs for a minute or two; there +had followed two clumps as the boots were thrown off; a board suddenly +spoke loudly; there was a little talking—obviously the Major had +awakened Gertie in order to make a remark or two—and then silence.</p> + +<p>Frank had not slept for half an hour; he was thinking, with some +depression, of the dreary affair into which he had been initiated, of +the Major, and of Gertie, for whom he was beginning to be sorry. He did +not suppose that the man actually bullied her; probably he had done this +sufficiently for the present—she was certainly very quiet and +subdued—or perhaps she really admired him, and thought it rather +magnificent to travel about with an ex-officer. Anyhow, it was rather +deplorable....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When he awoke next morning, the depression was on him still; and it was +not lifted by the apparition of Gertie on which he opened his eyes from +his corner, in an amazingly dirty petticoat, bare-armed, with her hair +in a thick untidy pig-tail, trying to blow the fire into warmth again.</p> + +<p>Frank jumped up—he was in his trousers and shirt.</p> + +<p>"Let me do that," he said.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," said Gertie passionlessly.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Major came down ten minutes later, considerably the worse for his +night's rest. Yesterday he had had a day's beard on him; to-day he had +two, and there was a silvery sort of growth in the stubble that made it +look wet. His eyes, too, were red and sunken, and he began almost +instantly to talk about a drink. Frank stood it for a few minutes, then +he understood and capitulated.</p> + +<p>"I'll stand you one," he said, "if you'll get me two packets of +Cinderellas."</p> + +<p>"What's the good of that?" said the Major. "Pubs aren't open yet. It's +only just gone five."</p> + +<p>"You'll have to wait, then," said Frank shortly.</p> + +<p>Presently the Major did begin to bully Gertie. He asked her what the +devil was the good of her if she couldn't make a fire burn better than +that. He elbowed her out of the way and set to work at it himself. She +said nothing at all. Yet there was not the faintest use in Frank's +interfering, and, indeed, there was nothing to interfere in.</p> + +<p>Food, too, this morning, seemed disgusting; and again Frank learned the +difference between a kind of game played by oneself and a reality in +which two others joined. There had been something almost pleasing about +unrolling the food wrapped up at supper on the previous night, and +eating it, with or without cooking, all alone; but there was something +astonishingly unpleasant in observing sardines that were now common +property lying in greasy newspaper, a lump of bread from which their +hands tore pieces, and a tin bowl of warmish cocoa from which all must +drink. This last detail was a contribution on the part of Major and Mrs. +Trustcott, and it would have been ungracious to refuse. The Major, too, +was sullen and resentful this morning, and growled at Gertie more than +once.</p> + +<p>Even the weather seemed unpropitious as they set out together again soon +after six. Rain had fallen in the night, yet not all the rain that there +was overhead. There were still clouds hanging, mixed with the smoke from +the chimneys; the hedges seemed dulled and black in spite of their +green; the cinder path they walked on was depressing, the rain-fed road +even more so. They passed a dozen men on their way to the pits, who made +remarks on the three, and retaliation was out of the question.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was very disconcerting to Frank to find the difference that his new +circumstances made; and yet he did not seriously consider changing them. +It seemed to him, somehow or other, in that strange fashion in which +such feelings come, that the whole matter was pre-arranged, and that the +company in which he found himself was as inevitably his—at least for +the present—as the family to a child born into it. And there was, of +course, too, a certain element of relief in feeling himself no longer +completely alone; and there was also, as Frank said later, a curious +sense of attraction towards, and pity for, Gertie that held him there.</p> + +<p>At the first public-house that was open the Major stopped.</p> + +<p>"I'll get your Cinderellas now, if you like," he said.</p> + +<p>This had not been Frank's idea, but he hardly hesitated.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said. "Here's fourpence."</p> + +<p>The Major vanished through the swing-doors as a miner came out, and a +gush of sweet and sickly scent—beer, spirits, tobacco—poured upon the +fresh air. And there was a vision of a sawdusted floor and spittoons +within.</p> + +<p>Frank looked at Gertie, who had stopped like a patient donkey, and, like +a prudent one, had let her bundle instantly down beside the Major's.</p> + +<p>"Like one, too?" he said.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Not for me." ... And no more.</p> + +<p>In a couple of minutes the Major was out again.</p> + +<p>"Only had one packet left," he said, and with an air of extreme +punctiliousness and magnanimity replaced one penny in Frank's hand. He +had the air of one who is insistent on the little honesties of life. +There was also a faintly spirituous atmosphere about him, and his eyes +looked a little less sunken.</p> + +<p>Then he handed over the cigarettes.</p> + +<p>"Shouldn't mind one myself," he said genially.</p> + +<p>Frank gave him one before lighting his own.</p> + +<p>"You're a good sort," said the Major, "and I wish I could give you one +of my old cigars I used to give my friends."</p> + +<p>"Ah! well, when your ship comes home," observed Frank, throwing away his +match.</p> + +<p>The Major nodded his head as with an air of fallen grandeur.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "<i>vorwärts</i>. That means 'forward,' my dear," he +explained to Gertie.</p> + +<p>Gertie said nothing. They took up their bundles and went on.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>It was not till a week later that Gertie did that which was to effect so +much in Frank—she confided in him.</p> + +<p>The week had consisted of the kind of thing that might be +expected—small negligible adventures; work now and then—the Major and +Frank working side by side—a digging job on one day, the carrying of +rather dingy smoke-stained hay on another, the scraping of garden-paths +that ran round the small pink house of a retired tradesman, who observed +them magnificently though a plate-glass window all the while, with a +cigar in his teeth, and ultimately gave them ninepence between them. +They slept here and there—once, on a rainy night, in real lodgings, +once below a haystack. Frank said hardly a word to Gertie, and did +little more than listen to the Major, who was already beginning to +repeat himself; but he was aware that the girl was watching him.</p> + +<p>The crisis came about under circumstances that might be expected—on a +rather sentimental kind of Sunday evening, in a village whose name I +forget (perhaps it was Escrick) between Selby and York. Frank had made a +small excursion by himself in the morning and had managed to hear mass; +they had dined well off cold bacon and beans, and had walked on in the +afternoon some miles further; and they came to the village a little +after six o'clock. The Major had a blister, which he had exhibited at +least four times to the company, and had refused to go further; and as +they came to the outskirts of the village, volunteered to go and look +for shelter, if the two would wait for him at a stile that led across +fields to the old church.</p> + +<p>The scene was rather like the setting of the last act in a melodrama of +a theater on the Surrey side of the Thames—the act in which the injured +heroine, with her child, sinks down fainting as the folk are going to +church in the old village on a June evening among the trees—leading up +to moonlight effects and reunion. There was no organ to play "off," but +the bells were an excellent substitute, and it was these that presently +melted the heart of Gertie.</p> + +<p>When the Major had disappeared, limping, the two climbed over the stile +and sat down with their bundles under the hedge, but they presently +found that they had chosen something of a thoroughfare. Voices came +along presently, grew louder, and stopped as the speakers climbed the +stile. The first pair was of a boy and girl, who instantly clasped again +mutual waists, and went off up the path across the field to the +churchyard without noticing the two tramps; their heads were very near +together.</p> + +<p>Then other couples came along, old and young, and twice a trio—one, two +young men in black, who skirmished on either side of a very sedate girl +in white; one, two girls who shoved one another, and giggled, walking in +step three yards behind another young man with his hat on one side, who +gloried in being talked at and pretended to be rapt in abstraction. Then +some children came; then a family—papa walking severely apart in a silk +hat, and mamma, stout and scarlet-faced, in the midst of the throng. +Finally there came along a very old Darby and Joan, who with many +Yorkshire ejaculations helped one another over the stile, and moved on +with bent heads, scolding one another affectionately. It was as this +last couple reached the spot where the path ran into the corn that the +peal of four bells broke out, and Gertie broke down.</p> + +<p>Frank had not been noticing her particularly. He was gloomy himself; the +novelty of the whole affair had gone; the Major was becoming +intolerable, and Frank's religion was beginning to ebb from his +emotions. Mass this morning had not been a success from an emotional +point of view; he had had an uncomfortable seat on a pitch-pine bench in +a tin church with an American organ; the very young priest had been +tiresome and antipathetic.... Frank had done his best, but he was tired +and bored; the little church had been very hot, and it was no longer any +fun to be stared at superciliously by a stout tradesman as he came out +into the hot sunshine afterwards.</p> + +<p>Just now he had been watching the figures make their appearance from the +stile, re-form groups and dwindle slowly down to the corn, and their +heads and shoulders bob along above it—all with a kind of resentment. +These people had found their life; he was still looking for his. He was +watching, too, the strangely unreal appearance of the sunlit fields, the +long shadows, the golden smoky light, and the church tower, set among +cypresses half a mile away—yet without any conscious sentiment. He had +not said a word to Gertie, nor she to him, and he was totally taken by +surprise when, after the first soft crash of bells for evening service, +she had suddenly thrown herself round face forward among the grasses and +burst out sobbing.</p> + +<p>"My dear girl!" said Frank, "whatever's the matter?" Then he stopped.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Fortunately, the procession of worshipers had run dry, and the two were +quite alone. He sat upright, utterly ignorant of what to say. He thought +perhaps she was in pain ... should he run for the Major or a doctor?... +Then, as after a minute or two of violent sobbing she began a few +incoherent words, he understood.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm a wicked girl ... a wicked girl ... it's all so beautiful ... +the church bells ... my mother!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He understood, then, what had precipitated this crisis and broken down +the girl's reserve. It was, in fact, exactly that same appeal which +holds a gallery breathless and tearful in the last act of a Surrey-side +melodrama—the combination of Sunday quiet, a sunset, church bells, +associations and human relationships; and Gertie's little suburban soul +responded to it as a bell to a bell-rope. It was this kind of thing that +stood to her for holiness and peace and purity, and it had gone clean +through her heart. And he understood, too, that it was his presence +that had allowed her to break down. The Major's atmosphere had held her +taut so far. Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat as he +stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sunday fields and then down +at the shaking shoulders and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of +Gertie.... He did not know what to do ... he hoped the Major would not +be back just yet. Then he understood he must say something.</p> + +<p>"Don't cry," he said. "The Major—"</p> + +<p>She sat up on the instant in sudden consternation, her pretty, weak, +sunburned face disfigured with tears, but braced for the moment by fear.</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Frank; "he isn't coming yet; but—"</p> + +<p>Then she was down again, moaning and talking. "Oh!... Oh!... I'm a +wicked girl.... My mother!... and I never thought I should come to +this!"</p> + +<p>"Well, why don't you chuck it?" said Frank practically.</p> + +<p>"I can't!... I can't! I ... I love him!"</p> + +<p>That had not occurred to this young man as a conceivable possibility, +and he sat silenced. The church-bells pealed on; the sun sank a little +lower; Gertie sobbed more and more gently; and Frank's mind worked like +a mill, revolving developments. Finally, she grew quiet, lay still, and, +as the bells gave place to one of their number, sat up. She dabbed at +her eyes with a handful of wet grass, passed her sleeve across them once +or twice, and began to talk.</p> + +<p>"I ... I'm very silly, Frankie," she said, "but I can't help it. I'm +better now. Don't tell George."</p> + +<p>"Of course I shan't!" said Frank indignantly.</p> + +<p>"You're a gentleman too," said Gertie. (Frank winced a little, +interiorly, at the "too.") "I can see that you're polite to a lady. And +I don't know however I came to tell you. But there it is, and no harm's +done."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you leave him?" said Frank courageously. A little wave of +feeling went over her face.</p> + +<p>"He's a gentleman," she said.... "No, I can't leave him. But it does +come over you sometimes; doesn't it?" (Her face wavered again.) "It was +them bells, and the people and all."</p> + +<p>"Where's your home?"</p> + +<p>She jerked her head in a vague direction.</p> + +<p>"Down Londonwards," she said. "But that's all done with. I've made my +bed, and—"</p> + +<p>"Tell me plainly: does he bully you?"</p> + +<p>"Not to say bully," she said. "He struck me once, but never again."</p> + +<p>"Tell me if he does it again."</p> + +<p>A small, sly, admirative look came into her eyes. "We'll see," she said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank was conscious of a considerable sense of disappointment. The thing +had been almost touching just now, as the reserve first broke up, but it +was a very poor little soul, it seemed to him, that had at last made its +appearance. (He did not yet see that that made it all the more +touching.) He did not quite see what to do next. He was Christian enough +to resent the whole affair; but he was aristocratic enough in his +fastidiousness to think at this moment that perhaps it did not matter +much for people of this sort. Perhaps it was the highest ideal that +persons resembling the Major and Gertie could conceive. But her next +remark helped to break up his complacency.</p> + +<p>"You're a Catholic," she said. "People say that you Catholics don't mind +this kind of thing—me and the Major, I mean."</p> + +<p>There was a dreadful sort of sly suggestiveness about this remark that +stung him. He exploded: and his wounded pride gave him bitterness.</p> + +<p>"My good girl," he said, "Catholics simply loathe it. And even, +personally, I think it's beastly."</p> + +<p>"Well—I ..."</p> + +<p>"I think it's beastly," said Frank didactically. "A good girl like you, +well-brought-up, good parents, nice home, religious—instead of which +"—he ended in a burst of ironical reminiscence—"you go traveling about +with a—" he checked himself—"a man who isn't your husband. Why don't +you marry him?"</p> + +<p>"I can't!" wailed Gertie, suddenly stricken again with remorse; "his +wife's alive."</p> + +<p>Frank jumped. Somehow that had never occurred to him. And yet how +amazingly characteristic of the Major!</p> + +<p>"Well—leave him, then!"</p> + +<p>"I can't!" cried poor Gertie. "I can't!... I can't!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVa" id="CHAPTER_IVa"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Frank awoke with a start and opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>But it was still dark and he could see nothing. So he turned over on the +other side and tried to go to sleep.</p> + +<p>The three of them had come to this little town last night after two or +three days' regular employment; they had sufficient money between them; +they had found a quite tolerable lodging; they had their programme, such +as it was, for the next day or so; and—by the standard to which he had +learned to adjust himself—there was no sort of palpable cause for the +horror that presently fell on him. I can only conjecture that the origin +lay within, not without, his personality.</p> + +<p>The trouble began with the consciousness that on the one side he was +really tired, and on the other that he could not sleep and, to clinch +it, the knowledge that a twenty-mile walk lay before him. He began to +tell himself that sleep was merely a question of will—of will +deliberately relaxing attention. He rearranged his position a little; +shifted his feet, fitted himself a little more closely into the +outlines of the bed, thrust one hand under the pillow and bade himself +let go.</p> + +<p>Then the procession of thoughts began as orderly as if by signal.</p> + +<p>He found himself presently, after enumerating all the minor physical +points of discomfort—the soreness of his feet, the knobbiness of the +bed, the stuffiness of the room in which the three were sleeping, the +sound of the Major's slow snoring—beginning to consider the wisdom of +the whole affair. This was a point that he had not consciously yet +considered, from the day on which he had left Cambridge. The impetus of +his first impulse and the extreme strength of his purpose had, up to the +present—helped along by novelty—kept him going. Of course, the moment +had to come sooner or later; but it seems a little hard that he was +obliged to face it in that peculiarly dreary clarity of mind that falls +upon the sleepless an hour or two before the dawn.</p> + +<p>For, as he looked at it all now, he saw it as an outsider would see it, +no longer from the point of view of his own personality. He perceived a +young man, of excellent abilities and prospects, sacrificing these +things for an idea that fell to pieces the instant it was touched. He +touched it now with a critical finger, and it did so fall to pieces; +there was, obviously, nothing in it at all. It was an impulse of silly +pride, of obstinacy, of the sort of romance that effects nothing. There +was Merefield waiting for him—for he knew perfectly well that terms +could be arranged; there was all that leisureliness and comfort and +distinction in which he had been brought up and which he knew well how +to use; there was Jenny; there was his dog, his horse ... there was, in +fact, everything for which Merefield stood. He saw it all now, +visualized and clear in the dark; and he had exchanged all +this—well—for this room, and the Major's company, and back-breaking +toil.... And for no reason.</p> + +<p>So he regarded all this for a good long while; with his eyes closed, +with the darkness round him, with every detail visible and insistent, +seen as in the cold light of morning before colors reassert themselves +and reconcile all into a reasonable whole....</p> + +<p>"... I must really go to sleep!" said Frank to himself, and screwed up +his eyes tight.</p> + +<p>There came, of course, a reaction presently, and he turned to his +religion. He groped for his rosary under his pillow, placed before him +(according to the instructions given in the little books) the "Mystery +of the Annunciation to Mary," and began the "Our Father." ... Half-way +through it he began all over again to think about Cambridge, and +Merefield and Jack Kirkby, and the auction in his own rooms, and his +last dinner-party and the design on the menu-cards, and what a fool he +was; and when he became conscious of the rosary again he found that he +held in his fingers the last bead but three in the fifth decade. He had +repeated four and a half decades without even the faintest semblance of +attention. He finished them hopelessly, and then savagely thrust the +string of beads under his pillow again; turned over once more, +rearranged his feet, wished the Major would learn how to sleep like a +gentleman; and began to think about his religion in itself.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After all, he began to say to himself, what proof was there—real +scientific proof—that the thing was true at all? Certainly there was a +great deal of it that was, very convincing—there was the curious ring +of assertion and confidence in it, there was its whole character, +composed (like personality) of countless touches too small to be +definable; there was the definite evidence adduced from history and +philosophy and all the rest. But underneath all that—was there, after +all, any human evidence in the world sufficient to establish the +astounding dogmas that lay at the root? Was it conceivable that any such +evidence could be forthcoming?</p> + +<p>He proceeded to consider the series of ancient dilemmas which, I +suppose, have presented themselves at some time or another to every +reasonable being—Free-will and Predestination; Love and Pain; +Foreknowledge and Sin; and their companions. And it appeared to him, in +this cold, emotionless mood, when the personality shivers, naked, in the +presence of monstrous and unsympathetic forces, that his own religion, +as much as every other, was entirely powerless before them.</p> + +<p>He advanced yet further: he began to reflect upon the innumerable little +concrete devotions that he had recently learned—the repetition of +certain words, the performance of certain actions—the rosary for +instance; and he began to ask himself how it was credible that they +could possibly make any difference to eternal issues.</p> + +<p>These things had not yet surrounded themselves with the atmosphere of +experience and association, and they had lost the romance of novelty; +they lay before him detached, so to say, and unconvincing.</p> + +<p>I do not mean to say that during this hour he consciously disbelieved; +he honestly attempted to answer these questions; he threw himself back +upon authority and attempted to reassure himself by reflecting that +human brains a great deal more acute than his own found in the dilemmas +no final obstacles to faith; he placed himself under the shelter of the +Church and tried to say blindly that he believed what she believed. But, +in a sense, he was powerless: the blade of his adversary was quicker +than his own; his will was very nearly dormant; his heart was entirely +lethargic, and his intellect was clear up to a certain point and +extraordinarily swift....</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he was in a pitiable state; and had begun even to +question Jenny's loyalty. He had turned to the thought of her as a last +resort for soothing and reassurance, and now, in the chilly dawn, even +she seemed unsubstantial.</p> + +<p>He began by remembering that Jenny would not live for ever; in fact, she +might die at any moment; or he might; and he ended by wondering, +firstly, whether human love was worth anything at all, and, secondly, +whether he possessed Jenny's. He understood now, with absolute +certitude, that there was nothing in him whatever which could possibly +be loved by anyone; the whole thing had been a mistake, not so much on +his part as on Jenny's. She had thought him to be something he was not. +She was probably regretting already the engagement; she would certainly +not fulfill it. And could she possibly care for anyone who had been such +an indescribable fool as to give up Merefield, and his prospects and his +past and his abilities, and set out on this absurd and childish +adventure? So once more he came round in a circle and his misery was +complete.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He sat up in bed with a sudden movement as the train of thought clicked +back into its own beginning, clasped his hands round his knees and +stared round the room.</p> + +<p>The window showed a faint oblong of gray now, beyond where the Major +breathed, and certain objects were dingily and coldly visible. He +perceived the broken-backed chair on which his clothes were heaped—with +the exception of his flannel shirt, which he still wore; he caught a +glimmer of white where Gertie's blouse hung up for an airing.</p> + +<p>He half expected that things would appear more hopeful if he sat up in +bed. Yet they did not. The sight of the room, such as it was, brought +the concrete and material even more forcibly upon him—the gross things +that are called Facts. And it seemed to him that there were no facts +beyond them. These were the bones of the Universe—a stuffy bedroom, a +rasping flannel suit, a cold dawn, a snoring in the gloom, and three +bodies, heavy with weariness.... There once had been other facts: +Merefield and Cambridge and Eton had once existed; Jenny had once been a +living person who loved him; once there had been a thing called +Religion. But they existed no longer. He had touched reality at last.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank drew a long, dismal sigh; he lay down; he knew the worst now; and +in five minutes he was asleep.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>Of course, the thing wore away by midday, and matters had readjusted +themselves. But the effect remained as a kind of bruise below the +surface. He was conscious that it had once been possible for him to +doubt the value of everything; he was aware that there was a certain +mood in which nothing seemed worth while.</p> + +<p>It was practically his first experience of the kind, and he did not +understand it. But it did its work; and I date from that day a certain +increased sort of obstinacy that showed itself even more plainly in his +character. One thing or the other must be the effect of such a mood in +which—even though only for an hour or two—all things other than +physical take on themselves an appearance of illusiveness: either the +standard is lowered and these things are treated as slightly doubtful; +or the will sets its teeth and determines to live by them, whether they +are doubtful or not. And the latter I take to be the most utter form of +faith.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About midday the twine round Frank's bundle broke abruptly, and every +several article fell on to the road. He repressed a violent feeling of +irritation, and turned round to pick them up. The Major and Gertie +instinctively made for a gate in the hedge, rested down their bundles +and leaned against it.</p> + +<p>Frank gathered the articles—a shirt, a pair of softer shoes, a razor +and brush, a tin of potted meat, a rosary, a small round cracked +looking-glass and a piece of lead piping—and packed them once more +carefully together on the bank. He tested his string, knotted it, drew +it tight, and it broke again. The tin of potted meat—like some small +intelligent animal—ran hastily off the path and dived into a small +drain.</p> + +<p>A short cry of mirth broke from the Major, and Gertie smiled.</p> + +<p>Frank said nothing at all. He lay down on the road, plunged his arm into +the drain and drew up the potted meat; it had some disagreeable-looking +moist substance adhering to it, which he wiped off on to his sleeve, and +then regretted having done so. Again he packed his things; again he drew +the string tight, and again it snapped.</p> + +<p>"Lord! man, don't be so hard on it."</p> + +<p>Frank looked up with a kind of patient fury. His instinct was to kick +every single object that lay before him on the path as hard as possible +in every direction.</p> + +<p>"Have you any more string?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No. Stick the things in your pocket and come on."</p> + +<p>Frank made no answer. He went to the hedge and drew out a long supple +twig of hazel, stripped it of its leaves, and once more tried, with it, +to tie up his parcel. But the angle was too acute, and just as the twig +tightened satisfactorily it snapped, and this time the razor slid out +sideways into a single minute puddle that lay on the path.</p> + +<p>The Major snorted in mirthful impatience.</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Kindly let me alone," said Frank icily. "The thing's got to go like +this, or not at all."</p> + +<p>He drew out the razor from the puddle, opened it and dried the blade on +his sleeve. During the process Gertie moved suddenly, and he looked up. +When he looked down again be perceived that he had slit a neat slice +into the cloth of his jacket.</p> + +<p>He remained quite still for one moment. Then he sat down on the bank, +and examined the twine once more.</p> + +<p>The Major began to make slightly offensive comments. Then Frank looked +up.</p> + +<p>"You can go to hell!" he said quite softly, "or anywhere else you like. +But I'm going to do up the bundle in my way and not yours."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now that is a sort of parable. It really happened, for it was reported +to a witness by Frank himself exactly as I have told it, and it seems to +me a very good little symbol of his state of mind. It is quite +indefensible, of course—and especially his regrettable language that +closed the interview; but it gives a pleasant little glimpse, I think, +of Frank's character just now, in section. The things had to go in a +certain way: he saw no adequate reason to change that way, and +ultimately, of course, the twine held. It must have been a great +satisfaction to him.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>It seems that Frank must have been allowed just now to sample several +different kinds of moods, for he had a very different kind of awakening +a day or two later.</p> + +<p>They had come to some piece of open country that I am unable to +identify, and for some reason or other determined to spend the night out +of doors. There was a copse a hundred yards away from the road, and in +the copse a couple of small shelters built, probably, for wood-pigeon +shooting. The Major and Gertie took possession of one, and Frank of the +other, after they had supped in the dark under the beeches.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank slept deeply and well, half waking once, however, at that strange +moment of the night when the earth turns and sighs in her sleep, when +every cow gets up and lies down again. He was conscious of a shrill +crowing, thin as a bugle, from some farm-yard out of sight; then he +turned over and slept again.</p> + +<p>When he awoke it was daylight. He lay on his back looking at the network +of twigs overhead, the beech leaves beyond, and the sky visible only in +glimpses—feeling extremely awake and extremely content. Certainly he +was a little stiff when he moved, but there was a kind of interior +contentment that caused that not to matter.</p> + +<p>After a minute or two he sat up, felt about for his shoes and slipped +them on. Then he unwound the wrapping about his neck, and crept out of +the shelter.</p> + +<p>It was that strange pause before the dawn when the light has broadened +so far as to extinguish the stars, and to bring out all the colors of +earth into a cold deliberate kind of tint. Everything was absolutely +motionless about him as he went under the trees and came out above the +wide park-land of which the copse was a sort of barrier. The dew lay +soaking and thick on the grass slopes, but there was not yet such light +as to bring out its sparkle; and everywhere, dotted on the green before +him, sat hundreds of rabbits, the nearest not twenty yards away.</p> + +<p>The silence and the solemnity of the whole seemed to him extraordinary. +There was not a leaf that stirred—each hung as if cut of steel; there +was not a bird which chirped nor a distant cock that crew; the rabbits +eyed him unafraid in this hour of truce.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him like some vast stage on to which he had wandered +unexpectedly. The performance of the day before had been played to an +end, the night scene-shifting was finished, and the players of the new +eternal drama were not yet come. An hour hence they would be all about: +the sounds would begin again; men would cross the field-paths, birds +would be busy; the wind would awake and the ceaseless whisper of leaves +answer its talking. But at present the stage was clear-swept, washed, +clean and silent.</p> + +<p>It was the solemnity then that impressed him most—solemnity and an air +of expectation. Yet it was not mere expectation. There was a suggestion +of the fundamental and the normal, as if perhaps movement and sound +were, after all, no better than interruptions; as if this fixed poise of +nature were something complete in itself; as if these trees hung out +their leaves to listen to something that they could actually hear, as if +these motionless creatures of the woodland were looking upon something +that they could actually see; as if there were some great secret +actually present and displayed in dead silence and invisibility before +those only who possessed the senses necessary to perceive it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was odd to regard life from this standpoint—to look back upon the +days and their incidents that were past, forward upon the days and +incidents to come. Again it was possible for Frank to look upon these +things as an outsider and a deliberate critic—as he had done in the +stuffy room of the lodging-house in the town. Yet now, though he was +again an outsider, though he was again out of the whirl of actual +living, he seemed to be looking at things—staring out, as he was, +almost unseeingly at the grass slopes before him—from exactly the +opposite side. Then, they had seemed to him the only realities, these +tangible physical things, and all else illusion: now it was the physical +things that were illusive, and something else that was real. Once again +the two elements of life lay detached—matter and spirit; but it was as +obviously now spirit that was the reality as it had been matter a day or +two before. It was obviously absurd to regard these outward things on +which he looked as anything but a frame of something completely +different. They were too silent, too still, too little self-sufficient +to be complete in themselves. Something solid lay embraced within +them....</p> + +<p>So, then, he stared and ruminated, scarcely perceiving that he thought, +so intensely conscious was he of that of which he thought. It was not +that he understood anything of that on which he looked; he was but aware +that there was something to be understood. And the trees hung rigid +above him, and the clear blue sky still a hard stone beyond them, not +yet flushed with dawn; and the grass lay before him, contracted, it +seemed, with cold, and every blade soaked in wet; and the silence was +profound....</p> + +<p>Then a cock crew, a mile away, a thin, brazen cry; a rabbit sat up, then +crouched and bolted, and the spell faded like a mist.</p> + +<p>Frank turned and walked back under the trees, to see if the Major was +awake.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Va" id="CHAPTER_Va"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>We are arrived now at one of those few deplorable incidents in Frank's +career, against which there is no defense. And the painful thing about +it is that Frank never seemed to think that it required any defense. He +shows no penitence for it in his diary: and yet moralists are united in +telling us that we must never do evil that good may come. It is only, +paralleled by his rash action in leaving Cambridge in defiance of all +advice and good sense; so far, that is to say, as a legally permissible +act, however foolish, can be paralleled by one of actual crime. +Moralists, probably, would tell us, in fact, that the first led +inevitably to the second.</p> + +<p>It fell out in this way.</p> + +<p>Once or twice in his travels with the Major he had been haunted by an +uncomfortable suspicion that this or that contribution that the warrior +made to their common table had not been come by honestly. When a +gentleman, known to possess no more than tenpence, and with a +predilection to drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse; let us say, +at seven o'clock, and reappears, rather breathless, forty minutes later +with a newly-plucked fowl—or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and +still warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, issues out +again later in the evening and returns with a strong smell of spirits +and a watery eye—it seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been +scrupulously honest. In cases of this kind Frank persevered in making +some excuse for not joining in the festivity: he put it to himself as +being a matter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was simply +that in a young man who made no scruple of begging in cases of +necessity. However, there it was, and even the Major, who began by +protesting, ended by acquiescing.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They were somewhere in the neighborhood of Market Weighton when the +thing happened—I cannot identify the exact spot. The situation was as +follows:</p> + +<p>They had secured an excellent barn for their night's lodging—facing on +the road on the outskirts of a village. Behind them were, the farm +buildings, and the farmer's household gone to bed. The sun had set and +it was dark. They had supped sparingly, of necessity, and had finished +every morsel of food. (Frank had even found himself mechanically +gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) They had had a bad week of it; +the corn was not yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work +anywhere for honest men. The Major's gloom had become terrible; he had +even made remarks upon a choice between a workhouse and a razor. He had +got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets inside out to +secure the last possible grains of tobacco, and had smoked about a +quarter of a pipeful gathered in this way without uttering one word. He +had then uttered a short string of them, had seized his cap and +disappeared.</p> + +<p>Frank, too, was even more heavy and depressed than usual. The last +shreds of romance were gone from his adventure long ago, and yet his +obstinacy held firm. But he found he could not talk much. He watched +Gertie listlessly as she, listless too, began to spread out nondescript +garments to make a bed in the corner. He hardly spoke to her, nor she to +him.</p> + +<p>He was beginning to feel sleepy, when he heard rather hurried steps, as +of one trying to run on tiptoe, coming up the lane, and an instant later +in popped the Major.</p> + +<p>"Put out that damned light!" he whispered sharply.</p> + +<p>The candle end went out with the swiftness of thought.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" Frank roused himself to ask. There had been a strenuous +look about the face seen an instant before that interested him.</p> + +<p>There was dead silence. Gertie seemed frozen into motionlessness in her +corner, almost as if she had had experience of this kind of thing +before. Frank listened with all his ears; it was useless to stare into +the dark: here in this barn the blackness was complete.</p> + +<p>At first there was no sound at all, except a very soft occasional scrape +of a boot-nail that betokened that the Major was seeking cover +somewhere. Then, so suddenly that he started all over, Frank felt a hand +on his arm and smelt a tobacco-laden breath. (Alas! there had been no +drink to-night.)</p> + +<p>"See here, Frankie, my boy.... I ... I've got the thing on me.... What +shall I do with it?... It's no good chucking it away: they'd find it."</p> + +<p>"Got what?" whispered Frank.</p> + +<p>"There was a kid coming along ... she had a tin of something ... I don't +even know what it is.... And ... and she screamed out and someone ran +out. But they couldn't spot me; it was too dark."</p> + +<p>"Hush!" whispered Frank sharply, and the hand tightened on his arm. But +it was only a rat somewhere in the roof.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Frankie ... I suppose you wouldn't take it from me ... and ... and be +off somewhere. We could meet again later.... I ... I'm afraid someone +may have spotted us coming through the village earlier. They'll ... +they'll search, I expect."</p> + +<p>"You can do your own dirty work," whispered Frank earnestly through the +darkness.</p> + +<p>"Frankie, my boy ... don't be hard on a poor devil.... I ... I can't +leave Gertie."</p> + +<p>"Well, hide it somewhere."</p> + +<p>"No good—they'd ... Good God—!"</p> + +<p>The voice was stricken into silence once more, as a light, hardly seen +before it was gone again, shone through a crack in the side of the barn. +Then there was unmistakable low talking somewhere.</p> + +<p>Frank felt the man, crouched at his side, suddenly stand up noiselessly, +and in that instant his own mind was made up.</p> + +<p>"Give it here, you fool," he said. "Here!"</p> + +<p>He felt a smooth flat and circular thing thrust suddenly into his hands +with a whisper that he could not catch, and simultaneously he heard a +rush of footsteps outside. He had just time to stuff the thing inside +his coat and roll over as if asleep when the door flew open, and three +or four men, with a policeman at their head, burst into the barn.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>It would be charitable, I think, to suppress the name of the small +market-town where the trial was held. The excellent magistrates who +conducted it certainly did their best under very difficult +circumstances; for what are you to do if a man accused of theft +cordially pleads guilty? and yet, certainly it would distress them to +hear of a very obvious miscarriage of justice executed at their hands.</p> + +<p>On Friday morning at ten o'clock the vehicles began to arrive—the motor +of the country gentleman, the dog-cart of the neighboring rector, and +the brougham of the retired general. It was the General who presided.</p> + +<p>The court-room was not more dismal than court-rooms usually are. When I +visited it on my little pilgrimage, undertaken a few months ago, it had +been repainted and the woodwork grained to represent oak. Even so, it +was not cheering.</p> + +<p>At the upper end, under one of the windows, were ranged five seats on a +daïs, with a long baize-covered table before them. Then, on a lower +level, stood the clerk's and solicitors' table, fenced by a rail from +the vulgar crowd who pressed in, hot and excited, to see the criminals +and hear justice done. There was a case arising from an ancient family +feud, exploded at last into crime; one lady had thrown a clog at another +as the last repartee in a little dialogue held at street doors; the clog +had been well aimed, and the victim appeared now with a very large white +bandage under her bonnet, to give her testimony. This swelled the crowd +beyond its usual proportions, as both ladies were well known in society.</p> + +<p>The General was a kindly-looking old man (Frank recognized his name as +soon as he heard it that morning, though he had never met him before) +and conversed cheerily with his brother magistrates as they took their +seats. The Rector was—well, like other rectors, and the Squire like +other squires.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a quarter to twelve before the ladies' claims were adjusted. They +were both admonished in a paternal kind of way, and sent about their +business, since there was disputed evidence as to whether or not the +lady with the bandage had provoked the attack, not only by her language, +but by throwing a banana-skin at the lady without the bandage. They were +well talked to, their husbands were bidden to keep them in order, and +they departed, both a little crestfallen, to discuss the whole matter +over a pint of beer.</p> + +<p>There was a little shifting about in court; a policeman, looking +curiously human without his helmet, pushed forward from the door and +took his place by the little barrier. The magistrates and the clerk and +the inspector all conferred a little together, and after an order or +two, the door near the back of the court leading from the police-cells +opened, and Frank stepped forward into the dock, followed by another +policeman who clicked the barrier behind the prisoner and stood, +waiting, like Rhadamanthus. Through the hedge of the front row of the +crowd peered the faces of Gertie and the Major.</p> + +<p>We need not bother with the preliminaries—in fact, I forget how they +ran—Frank gave his name of Frank Gregory, his age as twenty-two years, +his occupation as casual laborer, and his domicile as no fixed abode.</p> + +<p>The charge was read to him. It was to the effect that he, on the night +of Tuesday, the twenty-third instant, had in the village (whose name I +choose to forget, if I ever knew it), seized from Maggie Cooper, aged +nine years, a tin of preserved salmon, with intent to steal. The +question put to the prisoner was: Did he or did he not plead guilty?</p> + +<p>"I plead guilty, sir," said Frank, without a tremor.</p> + +<p>He had been two full days in the cells by now, and it had not improved +his appearance. He was still deeply sunburned, but he was a little pale +under the eyes, and he was unshaven. He had also deliberately rumpled +his hair and pulled his clothes to make them look as untidy as possible. +He answered in a low voice, so as to attract as little attention as +possible. He had given one quick look at the magistrates as he came in, +to make sure he had never met them out shooting or at dinner-parties, +and he had been deeply relieved to find them total strangers.</p> + +<p>"You plead guilty, eh?" said the General.</p> + +<p>Frank nodded.</p> + +<p>"Well, well! let's hear the whole story. Where is the complainant?"</p> + +<p>A rather pale and awe-stricken child appeared somewhere in a little box +opposite Frank, with a virtuous mother in black silk behind her. It +appeared that this child was on her way to her aunt—her father was a +grocer—with a tin of salmon that had been promised and forgotten (that +was how she came to be out so late). As she reached the corner by +Barker's Lane a man had jumped at her and seized the tin. (No; he had +not used any other violence.) She had screamed at the top of her voice, +and Mrs. Jennings' door had opened. Then the man had run away.</p> + +<p>"Had she seen the man clearly?" No, she hadn't seen him at all; she had +just seen that he was a man. ("Called himself one," put in a voice.) The +witness here cast an indignant—almost vindictive—look at Frank.</p> + +<p>Then a few corroborations were issued. Mrs. Jennings, a widow lady, +keeping house for her brother who was a foreman in Marks' yard, ratified +the statement about the door being opened. She was going to shut up for +the night when she heard the child scream. Her brother, a severe-looking +man, with a black beard, finished her story. He had heard his sister +call out, as he was taking off his boots at the foot of the stairs; he +had run out with his laces dangling, in time to see the man run past the +public-house fifty yards up the street. No ... he, too, had not seen the +man clearly, but he had seen him before, in company with another; the +two had come to his yard that afternoon to ask for work and been +refused, as they wanted no more hands.</p> + +<p>"Well, what had happened then?"</p> + +<p>He had hammered at two or three doors as he ran past, among them that of +the police-constable, and himself had run on, in time to hear the +prisoner's footsteps run up the lane leading to the barn. He had stopped +then as he was out of breath, and as he thought they would have the man +now, since there was no exit from the lane except through Mr. Patten's +farm-yard, and if he'd gone that way they'd have heard the dogs.</p> + +<p>Finally the police-constable corroborated the entire story, and added +that he, in company with the foreman and two other men, had "proceeded" +to the barn immediately, and there had found the prisoner, who was +pretending to be asleep, with the tin of salmon (produced and laid on +the table) hidden inside his jacket. He had then taken him into custody.</p> + +<p>"Was there any one else in the barn?"</p> + +<p>Yes—two persons, who gave the names of George and Gertie Trustcott. +These were prepared to give evidence as to the prisoner's identity, and +as to his leaving and returning to the barn on the evening in question, +if the magistrate wished.... Yes; they were present in court.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The General began to turn a little testy as the constable finished. He +seemed a magistrate who liked to be paternal, and he appeared to grow +impatient under the extraordinarily correct language of the policeman.</p> + +<p>He turned to Frank—seeming to forget all about the two witnesses not +yet called—and spoke rather sharply:</p> + +<p>"You don't deny all that? You plead guilty, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Frank, gazing at the very pink salmon emblazoned on +the tin.</p> + +<p>"Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>"I was hungry, sir."</p> + +<p>"Hungry, eh? An able-bodied lad like you? Can't you work, then?"</p> + +<p>"When I can get it, sir," said Frank</p> + +<p>"Eh?... eh? Well, that's true enough. You couldn't get it that day, +anyhow. Mr. What's-his-name's told us that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>Then the Rector leaned forward swiftly—to Frank's horror.</p> + +<p>"You speak like an educated man."</p> + +<p>"Do I, sir? I'm very pleased to hear it."</p> + +<p>There was a faint snigger in court.</p> + +<p>"Where were you educated?" persisted the Rector.</p> + +<p>"Am I bound to incriminate myself, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Incriminate?" said the General suddenly interested. "Eh? you mean, +after a good education. I see. No, of course you're not, my lad."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"And you plead guilty? And you'd like the case dealt with now?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir."</p> + +<p>The clerk rose swiftly in his place and began to whisper to the +magistrates behind his hand. Frank understood perfectly what was +happening; he understood that it was doubtful whether or no his case +could be dealt with in this court. He exploded within himself a violent +adjuration to the Supreme Authorities, and the next instant the General +sat back.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! nonsense! It isn't highway robbery at all within the meaning +of the term. We'll deal with it now—eh, gentlemen?"</p> + +<p>There was a little more whispering, and finally the General settled +himself and took up a quill pen.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll deal with it now, my lad, as you wish. I'm sorry to see a +fellow like you in this position—particularly if you've had a good +education, as you seem to have had. Cowardly thing, you know, to attack +a child like that, isn't it? even if you were hungry. You ought to be +more hardy than that, you know—a great fellow like you—than to mind a +bit of hunger. Boys like you ought to enlist; that'd make a man of you +in no time. But no.... I know you; you won't.... You'd sooner loaf about +and pick up what you can—sooner than serve His Majesty. Well, well, +there's no compulsion—not yet; but you should think over it. Come and +see me, if you like, when you've done your time, and we'll see what can +be done. That'd be better than loafing about and picking up tins of +salmon, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've no more to say. But you just think over it. And we'll give +you fourteen days."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then as Frank went out he saw the three magistrates lean back in +conversation.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>I find it very hard to explain, even to myself, the extraordinary +depression that fell upon Frank during his fourteen days. He could +hardly bear even to speak of it afterwards, and I find in his diary no +more than a line or two, and those as bald as possible. Apparently it +was no kind of satisfaction to him to know that the whole thing was +entirely his own doing, or that it was the thought of Gertie that had +made him, in the first instance, take the tin from the Major. Yet it was +not that there was any sense of guilt, or even of mistake. One would +have thought that from everybody's point of view, and particularly +Gertie's, it would be an excellent thing for the Major to go to prison +for a bit. It would certainly do him no harm, and it would be a real +opportunity to separate the girl from his company. As for any wrong in +his pleading guilty, he defended it (I must say, with some adroitness) +by saying that it was universally acknowledged that the plea of "Not +Guilty" is merely formal, and in no way commits one to its intrinsic +truth (and he is right there, at least according to Moral Theology as +well as common sense) and, therefore, that the alternative plea is also +merely formal.</p> + +<p>And yet he was depressed by his fourteen days to the verge of +melancholia.</p> + +<p>There are several contributory causes that may be alleged.</p> + +<p>First, there is the extreme ignominy of all the circumstances, beginning +with the paternal scolding in court, in the presence of grocers and +persons who threw clogs, continuing with the dreary journey by rail, in +handcuffs, and the little crowds that gathered to laugh or stare, and +culminating with the details of the prison life. It is not pleasant for +a cleanly man to be suspected of dirt, to be bathed and examined all +over by a man suffering himself apparently from some species of eczema; +it is not pleasant to be ordered about peremptorily by uniformed men, +who, three months before, would have touched their hats to you, and to +have to do things instantly and promptly for the single reason that one +is told to do them.</p> + +<p>Secondly, there was the abrupt change of life—of diet, air and +exercise....</p> + +<p>Thirdly, there was the consideration, the more terrible because the more +completely unverifiable, as to what difference all this would make, not +only to the regard of his friends for him, but to his own regard for +himself. Innocence of a fault does not entirely do away with the +distress and stigma of its punishment. He imagined himself telling +Jenny; he tried to see her laughing, and somehow he could not. It was +wholly uncharacteristic of all that he knew of her, and yet somehow, +night after night, as the hours dragged by, he seemed to see her looking +at him a little contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"At any rate," he almost heard her say, "if you didn't do it, you made a +friend of a man who did. And you were in prison."</p> + +<p>Oh! there are countless excellent explanations of his really terrible +depression; and yet somehow it does not seem to me at all in line with +what I know of Frank, to think that they explain it in the least. I +prefer to believe, with a certain priest who will appear by and by, that +the thing was just one stage of a process that had to be accomplished, +and that if it had not come about in this way, it must have come about +in another. As for his religion, all emotional grasp of that fled, it +seemed finally, at the touch of real ignominy. He retained the +intellectual reasons for which he had become a Catholic, but the thing +seemed as apart from him as his knowledge of law—such as it +was—acquired at Cambridge, or his proficiency in lawn-tennis. Certainly +it was no kind of consolation to him to reflect on the sufferings of +Christian martyrs!</p> + +<p>It was a Friday evening when he came out and went quickly round the +corner of the jail, in order to get away from any possibility of being +identified with it.</p> + +<p>He had had a short interview with the Governor—a very conscientious and +religious man, who made a point of delivering what he called "a few +earnest words" to every prisoner before his release. But, naturally +enough, they were extraordinarily off the point. It was not helpful to +Frank to have it urged upon him to set about an honest livelihood—it +was what he had tried to do every day since June—and not to go about +robbing innocent children of things like tins of salmon—it was the very +last thing he had ever dreamed of doing.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He had also had more than one interview with the chaplain of the +Established Church, in consequence of his resolute refusal to +acknowledge any religious body at all (he had determined to scotch this +possible clue to his identification); and those interviews had not been +more helpful than any other. It is not of much use to be entreated to +turn over a new leaf when you see no kind of reason for doing so; and +little books left tactfully in your cell, directed to the same point, +are equally useless. Frank read them drearily through. He did not +actually kick them from side to side of his cell when he had finished; +that would have been offensive to the excellent intentions of the +reverend gentleman....</p> + +<p>Altogether I do not quite like to picture Frank as he was when he came +out of jail, and hurried away. It is such a very startling contrast with +the gayety with which he had begun his pilgrimage.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He had had plenty of time to think over his plans during the last +fortnight, and he went, first, straight to the post-office. The Governor +had given him half-a-crown to start life with, and he proposed to +squander fourpence of it at once in two stamps, two sheets of paper and +two envelopes.</p> + +<p>His first letter was to be to Jack; the second to Major Trustcott, who +had thoughtfully given him the address where he might be found about +that date.</p> + +<p>But there were to be one or two additional difficulties first.</p> + +<p>He arrived at the post-office, went up the steps and through the swing +doors. The place had been newly decorated, with a mahogany counter and +light brass lattice rails, behind which two young ladies of an +inexpressibly aristocratic demeanor and appearance were engaged in +conversation: their names, as he learned from a few sentences he +listened to before daring to interrupt so high a colloquy, were Miss +Mills and Miss Jamieson.</p> + +<p>After a decent and respectful pause Frank ventured on his request.</p> + +<p>"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please ... miss." +(He did manage that!)</p> + +<p>Miss Mills continued her conversation:</p> + +<p>"So I said to her that that would never do, that Harold would be sure to +get hold of it, and that then—"</p> + +<p>Frank shuffled his feet a little. Miss Mills cast him a high glance.</p> + +<p>"—There'd be trouble, I said, Miss Jamieson."</p> + +<p>"You did quite right, dear."</p> + +<p>"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss." He +clicked four pence together on the counter. Miss Mills rose slowly from +her place, went a yard or two, and took down a large book. Frank watched +her gratefully. Then she took a pen and began to make entries in it.</p> + +<p>"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please."</p> + +<p>Frank's voice shook a little with anger. He had not learned his lesson +yet.</p> + +<p>Miss Mills finished her entry; looked at Frank with extreme disdain, +and finally drew out a sheet of stamps.</p> + +<p>"Pennies?" she inquired sharply.</p> + +<p>"Please."</p> + +<p>Two penny stamps were pushed across and two pennies taken up.</p> + +<p>"And now two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss," went on +Frank, encouraged. He thought himself foolish to be angry. Miss Jamieson +uttered a short laugh and glanced at Miss Mills. Miss Mills pursed her +lips together and took up her pen once more.</p> + +<p>"Will you be good enough to give me what I ask for, at once, please?"</p> + +<p>The whole of Frank blazed in this small sentence: but Miss Mills was +equal to it.</p> + +<p>"You ought to know better," she said, "than to come asking for such +things here! Taking up a lot of time like that."</p> + +<p>"You don't keep them?"</p> + +<p>Miss Mills uttered a small sound. Miss Jamieson tittered.</p> + +<p>"Shops are the proper places for writing-paper. This is a post-office."</p> + +<p>Words cannot picture the superb high breeding shown in this utterance. +Frank should have understood that he had been guilty of gross +impertinence in asking such things of Miss Mills; it was treating her +almost as a shop-girl. But he was extremely angry by now.</p> + +<p>"Then why couldn't you have the civility to tell me so at once?"</p> + +<p>Miss Jamieson laid aside a little sewing she was engaged on.</p> + +<p>"Look here, young man, you don't come bullying and threatening here. +I'll have to call the policeman if you do.... I was at the railway +station last Friday week, you know."</p> + +<p>Frank stood still for one furious instant. Then his heart sank and he +went out without a word.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The letters got written at last, late that evening, in the back room of +a small lodging-house where he had secured a bed. I have the one he +wrote to Jack before me as I write, and I copy it as it stands. It was +without address or date.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Jack</span>,</p> + +<p>"I want you to do, something for me. I want you to go to +Merefield and see, first, Jenny, and then my father; and tell +them quite plainly and simply that I've been in prison for a +fortnight. I want Jenny to know first, so that she can think of +what to say to my father. The thing I was sent to prison for +was that I pleaded guilty to stealing a tin of salmon from a +child called Mary Cooper. You can see the account of the case +in the County Gazette for last Saturday week, the +twenty-seventh. The thing I really did was to take the tin from +somebody else I was traveling with. He asked me to.</p> + +<p>"Next, I want you to send on any letters that may have come for +me to the address I enclose on a separate piece of paper. +Please destroy the address at once; but you can show this +letter to Jenny and give her my love. You are not to come and +see me. If you don't, I'll come and see you soon.</p> + +<p>"Things are pretty bad just now, but I'm going to go through +with it.</p> + +<p>"Yours,</p> + +<p>"F.</p> + +<p>"P.S.—By the way, please address me as Mr. F. Gregory when you +write."</p></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He was perfectly obstinate, you understand, still.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank's troubles as regards prison were by no means exhausted by his +distressing conversation with the young ladies in the post office, and +the next one fell on him as he was leaving the little town early on the +Saturday morning.</p> + +<p>He had just turned out of the main street and was going up a quiet side +lane that looked as if it would lead to the York Road, when he noticed +a disagreeable little scene proceeding up a narrow <i>cul-de-sac</i> across +whose mouth he was passing.</p> + +<p>A tall, loose-limbed young man, in his working-clothes, obviously +slightly excited with drink, had hold of a miserable old man by the +scruff of the neck with one hand, and was cuffing him with the other.</p> + +<p>Now I do not wish to represent Frank as a sort of knight-errant, but the +fact is that if anyone with respectable and humane ideas goes on the +tramp (I have this from the mouth of experienced persons) he has to make +up his mind fairly soon either to be a redresser of wrongs or to be +conveniently short-sighted. Frank was not yet sufficiently experienced +to have learned the wisdom of the second alternative.</p> + +<p>He went straight up the <i>cul-de-sac</i> and without any words at all hit +the young man as hard as possible under the ear nearest to him.</p> + +<p>There seems to have been a moment of amazed silence; the young man +dropped the old one, who fled out into the lane, and struck back at +Frank, who parried. Simultaneously a woman screamed somewhere; and faces +began to appear at windows and doors.</p> + +<p>It is curious how the customs of the Middle Ages, as well as some of +their oaths, seem to have descended to the ranks of the British +working-man. In the old days—as also in prize-fights to-day—it was +quite usual to assail your adversary with insults as well as with blows. +This was done now. The young man, with a torrent of imprecations, +demanded who Frank thought he was, asked where he was coming to, +required of society in general an explanation of a stranger's +interfering between a son and a qualified father. There was a murmur of +applause and dissent, and Frank answered, with a few harmless expletives +such as he had now learned to employ as a sort of verbal disguise, that +he did not care how many sons or fathers were in question, that he did +not propose to see a certain kind of bully abuse an old man, and that he +would be happy to take the old man's place....</p> + +<p>Then the battle was set.</p> + +<p>Frank had learned to box in a certain small saloon in Market Street, +Cambridge, and knew perfectly well how to take care of himself. He +received about half the force of one extremely hard blow just on his +left cheek-bone before he got warmed to his work; but after that he did +the giving and the loose-limbed young man the receiving, Frank was even +scientific; he boxed in the American manner, crouching, with both arms +half extended (and this seems to have entirely bewildered his adversary) +and he made no effort to reach the face. He just thumped away steadily +below the spot where the ribs part, and where—a doctor informs me—a +nerve-center, known as the <i>solar plexus</i>, is situated. He revolved, +too, with considerable agility, round his opponent, and gradually drew +the battle nearer and nearer to the side lane outside. He knew enough of +slum-chivalry by now to be aware that if a sympathizer, or sycophant, of +the young man happened to be present, he himself would quite possibly +(if the friend happened to possess sufficient courage) suddenly collapse +from a disabling blow on the back of the neck. Also, he was not sure +whether there was any wife in the question; and in this case it would be +a poker, or a broken bottle, held dagger-wise, that he would have to +meet. And he wished therefore to have more room round him than the +<i>cul-de-sac</i> afforded.</p> + +<p>But there was no need for precaution.</p> + +<p>The young man had begun to look rather sickly under the eyes and to +hiccup three or four times in distressed manner; when suddenly the +clamor round the fight ceased. Frank was aware of a shrill old voice +calling out something behind him; and the next instant, simultaneously +with the dropping of his adversary's hands, he himself was seized from +behind by the arms, and, writhing, discerned is blue sleeve and a gloved +hand holding him.</p> + +<p>"Now, what's all this?" said a voice in his ear.</p> + +<p>There was a chorus of explanation, declaring that "'Alb" had been set +upon without provocation. There was a particularly voluble woman with +red arms and an exceedingly persuasive manner, who advanced from a +doorway and described the incident from her own point of view. She had +been hanging out the children's things, she began, and so forth; and +Frank was declared the aggressor and "'Alb" the innocent victim.</p> + +<p>Then the chorus broke out again, and "'Alb," after another fit of +hiccupping, corroborated the witnesses in a broken and pathetically +indignant voice.</p> + +<p>Frank tore himself from one embracing arm and faced round, still held by +the other.</p> + +<p>"All right; I shan't run away.... Look here; that's a black lie. He was +hitting that old man. Where is he? Come on, uncle, and tell us all about +it."</p> + +<p>The old man advanced, his toothless face contorted with inexplicable +emotion, and corroborated the red-armed woman, and the chorus generally, +with astonishing volubility and emphasis.</p> + +<p>"You old fool!" said Frank curtly. "What are you afraid of? Let's have +the truth, now. Wasn't he hitting you?"</p> + +<p>"He, he, he!" giggled the old man, torn by the desire of +self-preservation on one side and, let us hope, by a wish for justice on +the other. "He warn't hittin' of me. He's my son, he is.... 'Alb is.... +We were just having—"</p> + +<p>"There! get out of this," said the policeman, releasing Frank with a +shove. "We don't want your sort here. Coming and making trouble.... Yes; +my lad. You needn't look at me like that. I know you."</p> + +<p>"Who the deuce are you talking to?" snapped Frank.</p> + +<p>"I know who I'm talking to, well enough," pronounced the policeman +judicially. "F. Gregory, ain't it? Now you be off out of this, or you'll +be in trouble again."</p> + +<p>There was something vaguely kindly about the man's manner, and Frank +understood that he knew very tolerably where the truth lay, but wished +to prevent further disturbance. He gulped down his fury. It was no good +saying anything; but the dense of the injustice of the universe was very +bitter. He turned away—</p> + +<p>A murmur of indignation broke out from the crowd, bidding the policeman +do his duty.</p> + +<p>And as Frank went up the lane, he heard that zealous officer addressing +the court with considerable vigor. But it was very little comfort to +him. He walked out of the town with his anger and resentment still hot +in his heart at the indignity of the whole affair.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>By the Sunday afternoon Frank was well on his way to York.</p> + +<p>It was a heavy, hot day, sunny, but with brooding clouds on the low +horizons; and he was dispirited and tired as he came at last into a +small, prim village street rather after two o'clock (its name, once +more, I suppress).</p> + +<p>His possessions by now were greatly reduced. His money had gone, little +by little, all through his journey with the Major, and he had kept of +other things only one extra flannel shirt, a pair of thick socks and a +small saucepan he had bought one day. The half-crown that the Governor +had given him was gone, all but fourpence, and he wanted, if possible, +to arrive at York, where he was to meet the Major, at least with that +sum in his possession. Twopence would pay for a bed and twopence more +for supper.</p> + +<p>Half-way up the street he stopped suddenly. Opposite him stood a small +brick church, retired by a few yards of turf, crossed by a path, from +the iron railings that abutted on the pavement: and a notice-board +proclaimed that in this, church of the Sacred Heart mass was said on +Sundays at eleven, on holidays of obligation at nine, and on weekdays at +eight-thirty <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> Confessions were heard on Saturday evenings +and on Thursday evenings before the first Friday, from eight to nine +<span class="smcap">p.m.</span> Catechism was at three <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> on Sundays; and +rosary, sermon and benediction at seven <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> A fat cat, looking +as if it were dead, lay relaxed on the grass beneath this board.</p> + +<p>The door was open and Frank considered an instant. But he thought that +could wait for a few minutes as he glanced at the next house. This was +obviously the presbytery.</p> + +<p>Frank had never begged from a priest before, and he hesitated a little +now. Then he went across the street into the shadow on the other side, +leaned against the wall and looked. The street was perfectly empty and +perfectly quiet, and the hot summer air and sunshine lay on all like a +charm. There was another cat, he noticed, on a doorstep a few yards +away, and he wondered how any living creature in this heat could +possibly lie like that, face coiled round to the feet, and the tail laid +neatly across the nose. A dreaming cock crooned heart-brokenly somewhere +out of sight, and a little hot breeze scooped up a feather of dust in +the middle of the road and dropped again.</p> + +<p>Even the presbytery looked inviting on a day like this. He had walked a +good twenty-five miles to-day, and the suggestion of a dark, cool room +was delicious. It was a little pinched-looking house, of brick, like the +church, squeezed between the church and a large grocery with a +flamboyant inscription over its closed shutters. All the windows were +open, hung inside with cheap lace curtains, and protected with +dust-screens. He pictured the cold food probably laid out within, and +his imagination struck into being a tall glass jug of something like +claret-cup, still half-full. Frank had not dined to-day.</p> + +<p>Then he limped boldly across the street, rapped with the cast-iron +knocker, and waited.</p> + +<p>Nothing at all happened.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Presently the cat from the notice-board appeared round the corner, eyed +Frank suspiciously, decided that he was not dangerous, came on, walking +delicately, stepped up on to the further end of the brick stair, and +began to arch itself about and rub its back against the warm angle of +the doorpost. Frank rapped again, interrupting the cat for an instant, +and then stooped down to scratch it under the ear. The cat crooned +delightedly. Steps sounded inside the house; the cat stopped writhing, +and as the door opened, darted in noiselessly with tail erect past the +woman who held the door uninvitingly half open.</p> + +<p>She had a thin, lined face and quick black eyes.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" she asked sharply, looking up and down Frank's +figure with suspicion. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the bruise on his +cheek-bone.</p> + +<p>"I want to see the priest, please," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"You can't see him."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," said Frank, "but I must see him."</p> + +<p>"Coming here begging!" exclaimed the woman bitterly. "I'd be ashamed! Be +off with you!"</p> + +<p>Frank's dignity asserted itself a little.</p> + +<p>"Don't speak to me in that tone, please. I am a Catholic, and I wish to +see the priest."</p> + +<p>The woman snorted; but before she could speak there came the sound of an +opening door and a quick step on the linoleum of the little dark +passage.</p> + +<p>"What's all this?" said a voice, as the woman stepped back.</p> + +<p>He was a big, florid young man, with yellow hair, flushed as if with +sleep; his eyes were bright and tired-looking, and his collar was +plainly unbuttoned at the back. Also, his cassock was unfastened at the +throat and he bore a large red handkerchief in his hand. Obviously this +had just been over his face.</p> + +<p>Now, I do not blame this priest in the slightest. He had sung a late +mass—which never agreed with him—and in his extreme hunger he had +eaten two platefuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and drunk a +glass and a half of solid beer. And he had just fallen into a deep sleep +before giving Catechism, when the footsteps and voices had awakened him. +Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this road paid him a +call, and he had not yet met with one genuine case of want. When he had +first come here he had helped beggars freely and generously, and he +lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, out of which he paid his +housekeeper fifteen.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" he said.</p> + +<p>"May I speak to you, father?" said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Certainly. Say what you've got to say."</p> + +<p>"Will you help me with sixpence, father?"</p> + +<p>The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely.</p> + +<p>"Are you a Catholic?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father."</p> + +<p>"I didn't see you at mass this morning."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't here this morning. I was walking on the roads."</p> + +<p>"Where did you hear mass?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear it at all, father. I was on the roads."</p> + +<p>"What's your work?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't any."</p> + +<p>"Why's that?"</p> + +<p>Frank shrugged his shoulders a little.</p> + +<p>"I do it when I can get it," he said.</p> + +<p>"You speak like an educated man."</p> + +<p>"I am pretty well educated."</p> + +<p>The priest laughed shortly.</p> + +<p>"What's that bruise on your cheek?"</p> + +<p>"I was in a street fight, yesterday, father."</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is ridiculous!" he said. "Where did you come from last?"</p> + +<p>Frank paused a moment. He was very hot and very tired.... Then he spoke.</p> + +<p>"I was in prison till Friday," he said. "I was given fourteen days on +the charge of robbing a child, on the twenty-sixth. I pleaded guilty. +Will you help me, father?"</p> + +<p>If the priest had not been still half stupid with sleep and indigestion, +and standing in the full blaze of this hot sun, he might have been +rather struck by this last sentence. But he did have those +disadvantages, and he saw in it nothing but insolence.</p> + +<p>He laughed again, shortly and angrily.</p> + +<p>"I'm amazed at your cheek," he said. "No, certainly not! And you'd +better learn manners before you beg again."</p> + +<p>Then he banged the door.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About ten minutes later he woke up from a doze, very wide awake indeed, +and looked round. There lay on the table by him a Dutch cheese, a large +crusty piece of bread and some very soft salt butter in a saucer. There +was also a good glass of beer left—not claret-cup—in a glass jug, very +much as Frank had pictured it.</p> + +<p>He got up and went out to the street door, shading his eyes against the +sun. But the street lay hot and dusty in the afternoon light, empty from +end to end, except for a cat, nose in tail, coiled on the grocery +door-step.</p> + +<p>Then he saw two children, in white frocks, appear round a corner, and he +remembered that it was close on time for Catechism.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIa" id="CHAPTER_VIa"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>About the time that Frank was coming into the village where the priest +lived, Jenny had just finished lunch with her father. She took a book, +two cigarettes, a small silver matchbox and a Japanese fan, and went out +into the garden. She had no duties this afternoon; she had played the +organ admirably at the morning service, and would play it equally +admirably at the evening service. The afternoon devotions in the little +hot Sunday school—she had decided, in company with her father a year or +two ago—and the management of the children, were far better left in the +professional hands of the schoolmistress.</p> + +<p>She went straight out of the drawing-room windows, set wide and shaded +by awnings, and across the lawn to the seat below the ancient yews. +There she disposed herself, with her feet up, lit a cigarette, buried +the match and began to read.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She had not heard from Frank for nearly three weeks; his last +communication had been a picture postcard of Selby Abbey, with the +initial "F" neatly printed at the back. But she was not very greatly +upset. She had written her letter as she had promised, and had heard +from Jack Kirkby, to whose care she sent it, that he had no idea of +Frank's whereabouts, and that he would send on the letter as soon as he +knew more. She supposed that Frank would communicate with her again as +soon as he thought proper.</p> + +<p>Other circumstances to be noted were that Dick had gone back to town +some while ago, but would return almost immediately now for the +grouse-shooting; that Archie and Lord Talgarth were both up at the +house—indeed, she had caught sight of them in the red-curtained +chancel-pew this morning, and had exchanged five words with them both +after the service—and that in all other respects other things were as +they had been a month ago.</p> + +<p>The Dean of Trinity had telegraphed in great dismay on the morning +following his first communication that Frank had gone, and that no one +had the slightest idea of his destination; he had asked whether he +should put detectives on the track, and had been bidden, in return, +politely but quite firmly, to mind his own business and leave Lord +Talgarth's younger son to Lord Talgarth.</p> + +<p>It was a sleepy afternoon, even up here among the hills, and Jenny had +not read many pages before she became aware of it. The Rectory garden +was an almost perfect place for a small doze; the yews about her made a +grateful shade, and the limes behind them even further cooled the air, +and, when the breeze awoke, as one talking in his sleep, the sound about +her was as of gentle rain. The air was bright and dusty with insects; +from the limes overhead, the geranium beds, and the orchard fifty yards +away, came the steady murmur of bees and flies.</p> + +<p>Jenny woke up twenty minutes later with a sudden start, and saw someone +standing almost over her. She threw her feet down, still bewildered by +the sudden change and the glare on which she opened her eyes, and +perceived that it was Jack Kirkby, looking very dusty and hot.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry," said Jack apologetically, "but I was told you were out +here."</p> + +<p>She did not know Jack very well, though she had known him a long time. +She looked upon him as a pleasant sort of boy whom she occasionally met +at lawn-tennis parties and flower shows, and things like that, and she +knew perfectly how to talk to young men.</p> + +<p>"How nice of you to came over," she said. "Did you bicycle? Have +something to drink?"</p> + +<p>She made room for him on the seat and held out her second cigarette.</p> + +<p>"It's your last," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"I've lots more in the house."</p> + +<p>She watched him as he lit it, and as the last shreds of sleep rolled +away, put the obvious question.</p> + +<p>"You've news of Frank?"</p> + +<p>Jack threw away the match and drew two or three draughts of smoke before +answering.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"He gave an address at York, though he wasn't there when he wrote. I +sent your letter on there yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Oh I did he give any account of himself?"</p> + +<p>Jack looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Well, he did. I've come about that. It's not very pleasant."</p> + +<p>"Is he ill?" asked Jenny sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; not at all; at least, he didn't say so."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, then?"</p> + +<p>Jack fumbled in his breast-pocket and drew out a letter, which he held a +moment before unfolding.</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better read what he says, Miss Launton. It isn't +pleasant, but it's all over now. I thought I'd better tell you that +first."</p> + +<p>She held out her hand without speaking.</p> + +<p>Jack gave it her, and addressed himself carefully to his cigarette. He +didn't like this kind of thing at all, he wished Frank wouldn't give him +unpleasant commissions. But, of course, it had to be done. He looked out +at the lawn and the sleepy house, but was aware of nothing except the +girl beside him in her white dress and the letter in her hands. When she +had finished it, she turned back and read it again. Then she remained +perfectly still, with the letter held on her knee.</p> + +<p>"Poor, dear old boy!" she said suddenly and quietly.</p> + +<p>An enormous wave of relief rolled up and enveloped Jack. He had been +exceedingly uncomfortable this morning, ever since the letter had come. +His first impulse had been to ride over instantly after breakfast; then +he had postponed it till lunch; then he had eaten some cold beef about +half-past twelve and come straight away. He told himself he must give +her plenty of time to write by the late Sunday night post.</p> + +<p>He had not exactly distrusted Jenny; Frank's confidence was too +overwhelming and too infectious. But he had reflected that it was not a +wholly pleasant errand to have to inform a girl that her lover had been +in prison for a fortnight. But the tone in which she had just said those +four words was so serene and so compassionate that he was completely +reassured. This really was a fine creature, he said to himself.</p> + +<p>"I'm extraordinarily glad you take it like that," he said.</p> + +<p>Jenny looked at him out of her clear, direct eyes.</p> + +<p>"You didn't suppose I should abuse him, did you?... How exactly like +Frank! I suppose he did it to save some blackguard or other."</p> + +<p>"I expect that was it," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Poor, dear old boy!" she said again.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence. Then Jack began again:</p> + +<p>"You see, I've got to go and tell Lord Talgarth. Miss Launton, I wish +you'd come with me. Then we can both write by to-night's post."</p> + +<p>Jenny said nothing for an instant. Then:</p> + +<p>"I suppose that would be best," she said. "Shall we go up pretty soon? I +expect we shall find him in the garden."</p> + +<p>Jack winced a little. Jenny smiled at him openly.</p> + +<p>"Best to get it over, Mr. Jack. I know it's like going to the dentist. +But it can't be as bad as you think. It never is. Besides, you'll have +somebody to hold your hand, so to speak."</p> + +<p>"I hope I shan't scream out loud," observed Jack. "Yes, we'd better +go—if you don't mind."</p> + +<p>He stood up and waited. Jenny rose at once.</p> + +<p>"I'll go and get a hat. Wait for me here, will you? I needn't tell +father till this evening."</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>The park looked delicious as they walked slowly up the grass under the +shade of the trees by the side of the drive. The great beeches and elms +rose in towering masses, in clump after clump, into the distance, and +beneath the nearest stood a great stag with half a dozen hinds about +him, eyeing the walkers. The air was very still; only from over the hill +came the sound of a single church bell, where some infatuated clergyman +hoped to gather the lambs of his flock together for instruction in the +Christian religion.</p> + +<p>"That's a beauty," said Jack, waving a languid hand towards the stag. +"Did you ever hear of the row Frank and I got into when we were boys?"</p> + +<p>Jenny smiled. She had been quite silent since leaving the Rectory.</p> + +<p>"I heard of a good many," she said. "Which was this?"</p> + +<p>Jack recounted a story of Red Indians and ambuscades and a bow and +arrows, ending in the flight of a frantic stag over the palings and +among the garden beds; it was on a Sunday afternoon, too.</p> + +<p>"Frank was caned by the butler, I remember; by Lord Talgarth's express +orders. Certainly he richly deserved it. I was a guest, and got off +clear."</p> + +<p>"How old were you?"</p> + +<p>"We were both about eleven, I think."</p> + +<p>"Frank doesn't strike me as more than about twelve now," observed Jenny.</p> + +<p>"There's something in that," admitted Jack.... "Oh! Lord! how hot it +is!" He fanned himself with his hat.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was no sign of life as they passed into the court and up to the +pillared portico; and at last, when the butler appeared, the irregular +state of his coat-collar showed plainly that he but that moment had put +his coat on.</p> + +<p>(This would be about the time that Frank left the village after his +interview with the priest.)</p> + +<p>Yes; it seemed that Lord Talgarth was probably in the garden; and, if +so, almost certainly in the little square among the yews along the upper +terrace. His lordship usually went there on hot days. Would Miss Launton +and Mr. Kirkby kindly step this way?</p> + +<p>No; he was not to trouble. They would find their own way. On the upper +terrace?</p> + +<p>"On the upper terrace, miss."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The upper terrace was the one part of the old Elizabethan garden left +entirely unaltered. On either side rose up a giant wall of yew, shaped +like a castle bastion, at least ten feet thick; and between the two ran +a broad gravel path up to the sun-dial, bordered on either side by huge +herbaceous beds, blazing with the color of late summer. In two or three +places grass paths crossed these, leading by a few yards of turf to +windows cut in the hedge to give a view of the long, dazzling lake +below, and there was one gravel path, parallel to these, that led to the +little yew-framed square built out on the slope of the hill.</p> + +<p>Two very silent persons now came out from the house by the garden door +on the south side, turned along the path, went up a dozen broad steps, +passed up the yew walk and finally turned again down the short gravel +way and stood abashed.</p> + +<p>His lordship was indeed here!</p> + +<p>A long wicker chair was set in one angle, facing them, in such a +position that the movement of the sun would not affect the delightful +shade in which the chair stood. A small table stood beside it, with the +<i>Times</i> newspaper tumbled on to it, a box of cigars, a spirit-bottle of +iridescent glass, a syphon, and a tall tumbler in which a little ice lay +crumbled at the bottom. And in the wicker chair, with his mouth wide +open, slept Lord Talgarth.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!" whispered Jenny.</p> + +<p>There was a silence, and then like far-off thunder a slow meditative +snore. It was not an object of beauty or dignity that they looked upon.</p> + +<p>"In one second I shall laugh," asserted Jenny, still in a cautious +whisper.</p> + +<p>"I think we'd better—" began Jack; and stopped petrified, to see one +vindictive-looking eye opened and regarding him, it seemed, with an +expression of extraordinary malignity. Then the other eye opened, the +mouth abruptly closed and Lord Talgarth sat up.</p> + +<p>"God bless my soul!"</p> + +<p>He rolled his eyes about a moment while intelligence came back.</p> + +<p>"You needn't be ashamed of it," said Jenny. "Mr. Jack Kirkby caught me +at it, too, half an hour ago."</p> + +<p>His lordship's senses had not even now quite returned. He still stared +at them innocently like a child, cleared his throat once or twice, and +finally stood up.</p> + +<p>"Jack Kirkby, so it is! How do, Jack? And Jenny?</p> + +<p>"That's who we are," said Jenny. "Are you sure you're quite recovered?"</p> + +<p>"Recovered! Eh—!" (He emitted a short laugh.) "Sit down. There's chairs +somewhere."</p> + +<p>Jack hooked out a couple that were leaning folded against the low wall +of yew beneath the window and set them down.</p> + +<p>"Have a cigar, Jack?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks."</p> + +<p>They were on good terms—these two. Jack shot really well, and was smart +and deferential. Lord Talgarth asked no more than this from a young man.</p> + +<p>"Well—what's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Jack left it thoughtfully for Jenny to open the campaign. She did so +very adroitly.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Jack came over to see me," she said, "and I thought I couldn't +entertain him better than by bringing him up to see you. You haven't +such a thing as a cigarette, Lord Talgarth?"</p> + +<p>He felt about in his pockets, drew out a case and pushed it across the +table.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Jenny; and then, without the faintest change of tone: +"We've some news of Frank at last."</p> + +<p>"Frank, eh? Have you? And what's the young cub at, now?"</p> + +<p>"He's in trouble, as usual, poor boy!" remarked Jenny, genially. "He's +very well, thank you, and sends you his love."</p> + +<p>Lord Talgarth cast her a pregnant glance.</p> + +<p>"Well, if he didn't, I'm sure he meant to," went on Jenny; "but I +expect he forgot. You see, he's been in prison."</p> + +<p>The old man jerked such a face at her, that even her nerve failed for an +instant. Jack saw her put her cigarette up to her mouth with a hand that +shook ever so slightly. And yet before the other could say one word she +recovered herself.</p> + +<p>"Please let me say it right out to the end first," she said. "No; please +don't interrupt! Mr. Jack, give me the letter ... oh! I've got it." (She +drew it out and began to unfold it, talking all the while with +astonishing smoothness and self-command.) "And I'll read you all the +important part. It's written to Mr. Kirkby. He got it this morning and +very kindly brought it straight over here at once."</p> + +<p>Jack was watching like a terrier. On the one side he saw emotions so +furious and so conflicting that they could find no expression, and on +the other a restraint and a personality so complete and so compelling +that they simply held the field and permitted no outburst. Her voice was +cool and high and natural. Then he noticed her flick a glance at +himself, sideways, and yet perfectly intelligible. He stood up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, do just take a stroll, Mr. Kirkby.... Come back in ten minutes."</p> + +<p>And as he passed out again through the thick archway on to the terrace +he heard, in an incredibly matter-of-fact voice, the letter begin.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Jack</span>...."</p></div> + +<p>Then he began to wonder what, as a matter of interest, Lord Talgarth's +first utterance would be. But he felt he could trust Jenny to manage +him. She was an astonishingly sane and sensible girl.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>He was at the further end of the terrace, close beneath the stable wall, +when the stable clock struck the quarter for the second time. That would +make, he calculated, about seventeen minutes, and he turned reluctantly +to keep his appointment. But he was still thirty yards away from the +opening when a white figure in a huge white hat came quickly out. She +beckoned to him with her head, and he followed her down the steps. She +gave him one glance as if to reassure him as he caught her up, but said +not a word, good or bad, till they had passed through the house again, +and were well on their way down the drive.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Jack.</p> + +<p>Jenny hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>"I suppose anyone else would have called him violent," she said. "Poor +old dear! But it seems to me he behaved rather well on the +whole—considering all things."</p> + +<p>"What's he going to do?"</p> + +<p>"If one took anything he said as containing any truth at all, it would +mean that he was going to flog Frank with his own hands, kick him first +up the steps of the house then down again, and finally drown him in the +lake with a stone round his neck. I think that was the sort of +programme."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! we needn't be frightened," said Jenny. "But if you ask me what he +will do, I haven't the faintest idea."</p> + +<p>"Did you suggest anything?"</p> + +<p>"He knows what my views are," said jenny.</p> + +<p>"And those?"</p> + +<p>"Well—make him a decent allowance and let him alone."</p> + +<p>"He won't do that!" said Jack. "That's far too sensible."</p> + +<p>"You think so?"</p> + +<p>"That would solve the whole problem, of course," went on Jack, "marriage +and everything. I suppose it would have to be about eight hundred a +year. And Talgarth must have at least thirty thousand."</p> + +<p>"Oh! he's more than that," said Jenny. "He gives Mr. Dick twelve +hundred."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Jack did not know what to think. He was only quite +certain that the thing would have been far worse if he had attempted to +manage it himself.</p> + +<p>"Well, what shall I say to Frank?" he asked. Jenny paused again.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me the best thing for you to do is not to write. I'll write +myself this evening, if you'll give me his address, and explain—"</p> + +<p>"I can't do that," said Jack. "I'm awfully sorry, but—"</p> + +<p>"You can't give me his address?"</p> + +<p>"No, I'm afraid I mustn't. You see, Frank's very particular in his +letter...."</p> + +<p>"Then how can I write to him? Mr. Kirkby, you're really rather—"</p> + +<p>"By George! I've got it!" cried Jack. "If you don't mind my waiting at +the Rectory. Why shouldn't you write to him now, and let me take the +letter away and post it? It'll go all the quicker, too, from Barham."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her, wondering whether she were displeased. Her answer +reassured him.</p> + +<p>"That'll do perfectly," she said, "if you're sure you don't mind +waiting."</p> + +<p>The Rectory garden seemed more than ever a harbor from storm as they +turned into it. The sun was a little lower now, and the whole lawn lay +in shadow. As they came to the door she stopped.</p> + +<p>"I think I'd better go and get it over," she said. "I can tell father +all about it after you've gone. Will you go now and wait there?" She +nodded towards the seat where they had sat together earlier.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But it was nearly an hour before she came out again, and a neat maid, in +apron and cap, had come discreetly out with the tea-things, set them +down and retired.</p> + +<p>Jack had been thinking of a hundred things, which all centered round +one—Frank. He had had a real shock this morning. It had been +intolerable to think of Frank in prison, for even Jack could guess +something of what that meant to him; and the tone of the letter had been +so utterly unlike what he had been accustomed to from his friend. He +would have expected a bubbling torrent of remarks—wise and +foolish—full of personal descriptions and unkind little sketches. And, +indeed, there had come this sober narration of facts and requests....</p> + +<p>But in all this there was one deep relief—that it should be a girl like +Jenny who was the heart of the situation. If she had been in the least +little bit disturbed, who could tell what it would mean to Frank? For +Frank, as he knew perfectly well, had a very deep heart indeed, and had +enshrined Jenny in the middle of it. Any wavering or hesitation on her +part would have meant misery to his friend. But now all was perfectly +right, he reflected; and really, after all, it did not matter very much +what Lord Talgarth said or did. Frank was a free agent; he was very +capable and very lovable; it couldn't possibly be long before something +turned up, and then, with Jenny's own money the two could manage very +well. And Lord Talgarth could not live for ever; and Archie would do the +right thing, even if his father didn't.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was after half-past four before he looked up at a glint of white and +saw Jenny standing at the drawing-room window. She stood there an +instant with a letter in her hand; then she stepped over the low sill +and came towards him across the grass, serene and dignified and +graceful. Her head was bare again, and the great coils of her hair +flashed suddenly as they caught a long horizontal ray from the west.</p> + +<p>"Here it is," she said. "Will you direct it? I've told him everything."</p> + +<p>Jack nodded.</p> + +<p>"That's excellent!" he said. "It shall go to-night."</p> + +<p>He glanced up at her and saw her looking at him with just the faintest +wistfulness. He understood perfectly, he said to himself: she was still +a little unhappy at not being allowed to send the letter herself. What a +good girl she was!</p> + +<p>"Have some tea before you go?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Thanks. I'd better not. They'll be wondering what's happened to me."</p> + +<p>As he shook hands he tried to put something of his sympathy into his +look. He knew exactly how she was feeling, and he thought her splendidly +brave. But she hardly met his eyes, and again he felt he knew why.</p> + +<p>As he opened the garden gate beyond the house he turned once more to +wave. But she was busy with the tea-things, and a black figure was +advancing briskly upon her from the direction of the study end of the +house.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIa" id="CHAPTER_VIIa"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Life had been a little difficult for the Major for the last fortnight or +so. Not only was Frank's material and moral support lacking to him, but +the calls upon him, owing to Gertie's extreme unreasonableness, had +considerably increased. He had explained to her, over and over again, +with a rising intensity each time, how unselfishly he had acted +throughout, how his sole thought had been for her in his recent course +of action. It would never have done, he explained pacifically, for a +young man like Frank to have the responsibility of a young girl like +Gertie on his hands, while he (the Major) was spending a fortnight +elsewhere. And, in fact, even on the most economical grounds he had +acted for the best, since it had been himself who had been charged in +the matter of the tin of salmon, it would not have been a fortnight, but +more like two months, during which the little community would have been +deprived of his labor. He reminded her that Frank had had a clean record +up to that time with the police....</p> + +<p>But explanation had been fruitless. Gertie had even threatened a +revelation of the facts of the case at the nearest police-station, and +the Major had been forced to more manly tactics with her. He had not +used a stick; his hands had served him very well, and in the course of +his argument he had made a few insincere remarks on the mutual relations +of Frank and Gertie that the girl remembered.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He had obtained a frugal little lodging in one of the small streets of +York, down by the river—indeed looking straight on to it; and, for a +wonder, five days' regular work at the unloading of a string of barges. +The five days expired on the Saturday before Frank was expected, but he +had several shillings in hand on the Sunday morning when Frank's letter +arrived, announcing that he hoped to be with them again on Sunday night +or Monday morning. Two letters, also, had arrived for his friend on the +Sunday morning—one in a feminine handwriting and re-directed, with an +old postmark of June, as well as one of the day before—he had held it +up to the light and crackled it between his fingers, of course, upon +receiving it—and the other an obvious bill—one postmark was Cambridge +and the other Barham. He decided to keep them both intact. Besides, +Gertie had been present at their delivery.</p> + +<p>The Major spent, on the whole, an enjoyable Sunday. He lay in bed till +a little after twelve o'clock, with a second-hand copy of the Sporting +Times, and a tin of tobacco beside him. They dined at about one o'clock, +and he managed to get a little spirit to drink with his meal. He had +walked out—not very far—with Gertie in the afternoon, and had managed +by representing himself as having walked seven miles—he was determined +not to risk anything by foolishly cutting it too fine—to obtain a +little more. They had tea about six, and ate, each of them, a kippered +herring and some watercress. Then about seven o'clock Frank suddenly +walked in and sat down.</p> + +<p>"Give me something to eat and drink," he said.</p> + +<p>He looked, indeed, extraordinarily strained and tired, and sat back on +the upturned box by the fireplace as if in exhaustion. He explained +presently when Gertie had cooked another herring, and he had drunk a +slop-basinful of tea, that he had walked fasting since breakfast, but he +said nothing about the priest. The Major with an air of great +preciseness measured out half a finger of whisky and insisted, with the +air of a paternal doctor, upon his drinking it immediately.</p> + +<p>"And now a cigarette, for God's sake," said Frank. "By the way, I've got +some work for to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"That's first-rate, my boy," said the Major. "I've been working myself +this week."</p> + +<p>Frank produced his fourpence and laid it on the corner of the table.</p> + +<p>"That's for supper and bed to-night," he said.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my boy; put it back in your pocket."</p> + +<p>"Kindly take that fourpence," remarked Frank. "You can add some +breakfast to-morrow, if you like."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He related his adventures presently—always excepting the priest—and +described how he had met a man at the gate of a builder's yard this +evening as he came through York, who had promised him a day's job, and +if things were satisfactory, more to follow.</p> + +<p>"He seemed a decent chap," said Frank.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Major and Gertie had not much to relate. They had left the +market-town immediately after Frank's little matter in the magistrates' +court, and had done pretty well, arriving in York ten days ago. They +hardly referred to Frank's detention, though he saw Gertie looking at +him once or twice in a curiously shy kind of way, and understood what +was in her mind. But for very decency's sake the Major had finally to +say something.</p> + +<p>"By the way, my boy, I won't forget what you did for me and for my +little woman here. I'm not a man of many words, but—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! that's all right," said Frank sleepily. "You'll do as much for me +one day."</p> + +<p>The Major assented with fervor and moist eyes. It was not till Frank +stood up to go to bed that anyone remembered the letters.</p> + +<p>"By the way, there are two letters come for you," said the Major, +hunting in the drawer of the table. Frank's bearing changed. He whisked +round in an instant.</p> + +<p>"Where are they?"</p> + +<p>They were put into his hand. He looked at them carefully, trying to make +out the postmark—turned them upside down and round, but he made no +motion to open them.</p> + +<p>"Where am I to sleep?" he said suddenly. "And can you spare a bit of +candle?"</p> + +<p>(And as he went upstairs, it must have been just about the time that the +letter-box at Barham was cleared for the late Sunday post.)</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>Frank lay a long time awake in the dark that night, holding tight in his +hand Jenny's letter, written to him in June. The bill he had not even +troubled to open.</p> + +<p>For the letter said exactly and perfectly just all those things which +he most wished to hear, in the manner in which he wished to hear them. +It laughed at him gently and kindly; it called him an extraordinarily +silly boy; it said that his leaving Cambridge, and, above all, his +manner of leaving it—Frank had added a postscript describing his +adventure with the saddle and the policeman—were precisely what the +writer would have expected of him; it made delightful and humorous +reflections upon the need of Frank's turning over a new leaf—there was +quite a page of good advice; and finally it gave him a charming +description—just not over the line of due respect—of his father's +manner of receiving the news, with extracts from some of the choicest +remarks made upon that notable occasion. It occupied four +closely-written pages, and if there were, running underneath it all, +just the faintest taint of strain and anxiety, loyally +concealed—well—that made the letter no less pleasant.</p> + +<p>I have not said a great deal about what Jenny meant to Frank, just +because he said so very little about her himself. She was, in fact, +almost the only element in his variegated life upon which he had not +been in the habit of pouring out torrential comments and reflections. +His father and Archie were not at all spared in his conversation with +his most intimate friends; in fact, he had been known, more than once, +in a very select circle at Cambridge, to have conducted imaginary +dialogues between those two on himself as their subject, and he could +imitate with remarkable fidelity his Cousin Dick over a billiard-table. +But he practically never mentioned Jenny; he had not even a photograph +of her on his mantelpiece. And it very soon became known among his +friends, when the news of his engagement leaked out through Jack, that +it was not to be spoken of in his presence. He had preserved the same +reticence, it may be remembered, about his religion.</p> + +<p>And so Frank at last fell asleep on a little iron bedstead, just +remembering that it was quite possible he might have another letter from +her to-morrow, if Jack had performed his commission immediately. But he +hardly expected to hear till Tuesday.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Gertie was up soon after five next morning to get breakfast for her men, +since the Major had announced that he would go with Frank to see whether +possibly there might not be a job for him too; and as soon as they had +gone, very properly went to sleep again on the bed in the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>Gertie had a strenuous time of it, in spite of the Major's frequently +expressed opinion that women had no idea what work was. For, first, +there was the almost unending labor of providing food and cooking it as +well as possible; there was almost a standing engagement of mending and +washing clothes; there were numerous arguments to be conducted, on terms +of comparative equality, if possible, with landladies or farmers' +wives—Gertie always wore a brass wedding-ring and showed it sometimes a +little ostentatiously; and, finally, when the company was on the march, +it was only fair that she should carry the heavier half of the luggage, +in order to compensate for her life of luxury and ease at other times. +Gertie, then, was usually dog-tired, and slept whenever she could get a +chance.</p> + +<p>It was nearly eight o'clock before she was awakened again by sharp +knocking on her door; and on opening it, found the landlady' standing +there, examining a letter with great attention. (It had already been +held up to the light against the kitchen window.)</p> + +<p>"For one of your folks, isn't it, Mrs.—er—" Gertie took it. It was +written on excellent paper, and directed in a man's handwriting to Mr. +Gregory:</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mrs.—er—" said Gertie.</p> + +<p>Then she went back into her room, put the letter carefully away in the +drawer of the table and set about her household business.</p> + +<p>About eleven o'clock she stepped out for a little refreshment. She had, +of course, a small private exchequer of her own, amounting usually to +only a few pence, of which the Major knew nothing. This did not strike +her as at all unfair; she only wondered gently sometimes at masculine +innocence in not recognizing that such an arrangement was perfectly +certain. She got into conversation with some elder ladies, who also had +stepped out for refreshment, and had occasion, at a certain point, to +lay her wedding-ring on the bar-counter for exhibition. So it was not +until a little after twelve that she remembered the time and fled. She +was not expecting her men home to dinner; in fact, she had wrapped up +provisions for them in fragments of the Major's <i>Sporting Times</i> before +they had left; but it was safer to be at home. One never knew.</p> + +<p>As she came into the room, for an instant her heart leaped into her +mouth, but it was only Frank.</p> + +<p>"Whatever's the matter?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Turned off," said Frank shortly. He was sitting gloomily at the table +with his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Turned off?"</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>"What's up?"</p> + +<p>"'Tecs," said Frank.</p> + +<p>Gertie's mouth opened a little.</p> + +<p>"One of them saw me going in and wired for instructions. He had seen the +case in the police-news and thought I answered to the description. Then +he came back at eleven and told the governor."</p> + +<p>"And—"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"And George?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! he's all right," said Frank a little bitterly. "There's nothing +against him. Got any dinner, Gertie? I can't pay for it ... oh, yes, I +can; here's half a day." (He chucked ninepence upon the table; the +sixpence rolled off again, but he made no movement to pick it up.)</p> + +<p>Gertie looked at him a moment.</p> + +<p>"Well—" she began emphatically, then she stooped to pick up the +sixpence.</p> + +<p>Frank sighed.</p> + +<p>"Oh! don't begin all that—there's a good girl. I've said it all +myself—quite adequately, I assure you."</p> + +<p>Gertie's mouth opened again. She laid the sixpence on the table.</p> + +<p>"I mean, there's nothing to be said," explained Frank. "The point +is—what's to be done?"</p> + +<p>Gertie had no suggestions. She began to scrape out the frying-pan in +which the herrings had been cooked last night.</p> + +<p>"There's a letter for you," she said suddenly.</p> + +<p>Frank sat up.</p> + +<p>"Where?"</p> + +<p>"In the drawer there—by your hand. Frankie...."</p> + +<p>Frank tore at the handle and it came off. He uttered a short +exclamation. Then, with infinite craft he fitted the handle in again, +wrapped in yet one more scrap of the <i>Sporting Times</i>, and drew out the +drawer. His face fell abruptly as he saw the handwriting.</p> + +<p>"That can wait," he muttered, and chucked the letter face downwards on +to the table.</p> + +<p>"Frankie," said the girl again, still intent on her frying-pan.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"It's all my fault," she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Your fault! How do you make that out?"</p> + +<p>"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have taken the tin from George, +and...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord!" said Frank, "if we once begin on that!... And if it hadn't +been for George, he wouldn't have taken the tin; and if it hadn't been +for Maggie Cooper, there wouldn't have been the tin; and if it hadn't +been for Maggie's father's sister, she wouldn't have gone out with it. +It's all Maggie's father's sister's fault, my dear! It's nothing to do +with you."</p> + +<p>The words were brisk enough, but the manner was very heavy. It was like +repeating a lesson learned in childhood.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," began Gertie again, "but—"</p> + +<p>"My dear girl, I shall be annoyed if you go back to all that. Why can't +you let it alone? The point is, What's to happen? I can't go on sponging +on you and the Major."</p> + +<p>Gertie flushed under her tan.</p> + +<p>"If you ever leave us," she said, "I'll—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I'll ... I'll never leave George."</p> + +<p>Frank was puzzled for a moment. It seemed a <i>non sequitur</i>.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean—"</p> + +<p>"I've got me eyes," said Gertie emphatically, "and I know what you're +thinking, though you don't say much. And I've been thinking, too."</p> + +<p>Frank felt a faint warmth rise in his own heart. "You mean you've been +thinking over what I said the other day?"</p> + +<p>Gertie bent lower over her frying-pan and scraped harder than ever.</p> + +<p>"Do stop that confounded row one second!" shouted Frank.</p> + +<p>The noise stopped abruptly. Gertie glanced up and down again. Then she +began again, more gently.</p> + +<p>"That's better," said Frank.... "Well, I hope you have," he went on +paternally. "You're a good girl, Gertie, and you know better. Go on +thinking about it, and tell me when you've made up your mind. When'll +dinner be ready?"</p> + +<p>"Half an hour," said Gertie.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll go out for a bit and look round."</p> + +<p>He took up the letter carelessly and went out.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>As he passed the window Gertie glanced towards it with the corner of her +eye. Then, frying-pan still in hand, she crept up to the angle and +watched him go down the quay.</p> + +<p>A very convenient barrel was set on the extreme edge of the embankment +above the water, with another beside it, and Frank made for this +immediately. She saw him sit on one of the barrels and put the letter, +still unopened, on the top of the other. Then he fumbled in his pockets +a little, and presently a small blue cloud of smoke went upwards like +incense. Gertie watched him for an instant, but he did not move again. +Then she went back to her frying-pan.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later dinner was almost ready.</p> + +<p>Gertie had spread upon the table, with great care, one of the Major's +white pocket-handkerchiefs. He insisted upon those being, not only +retained, but washed occasionally, and Gertie understood something of +his reasons, since in the corner of each was embroidered a monogram, of +which the letters were not "G.T." But she never could make out what they +were.</p> + +<p>Upon this tablecloth she had placed on one side a black-handled fork +with two prongs, and a knife of the same pattern (this was for Frank) +and on the other a small pewter tea-spoon and a knife, of which the only +handle was a small iron spike from which the wood had fallen away. (This +was for herself.) Then there was a tooth-glass for Frank, and a +teacup—without a handle, but with a gold flower in the middle of it, to +make up—for herself. In the center of the pocket-handkerchief stood a +crockery jug, with a mauve design of York Minster, with a thundercloud +behind it and a lady and gentleman with a child bowling a hoop in front +of it. This was the landlady's property, and was half full of beer. +Besides all this, there were two plates, one of a cold blue color, with +a portrait of the Prince Consort, whiskers and hat complete, in a small +medallion in the center, and the other white, with a representation of +the Falls of Lodore. There was no possibility of mistaking any of the +subjects treated upon these various pieces of table-ware, since the +title of each was neatly printed, in various styles, just below the +picture.</p> + +<p>Gertie regarded this array with her head on one side. It was not often +that they dined in such luxury. She wished she had a flower to put in +the center. Then she stirred the contents of the frying-pan with an iron +spoon, and went again to the window.</p> + +<p>The figure on the barrel had not moved; but even as she looked she saw +him put out his hand to the letter. She watched him. She saw him run a +finger inside the envelope, and toss the envelope over the edge of the +quay. Then she saw him unfold the paper inside and become absorbed.</p> + +<p>This would never do. Gertie's idea of a letter was that it occupied at +least several minutes to read through; so she went out quickly to the +street door to call him in.</p> + +<p>She called him, and he did not turn his head, nor even answer.</p> + +<p>She called him again.</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>The letter that Frank read lies, too, with a few other papers, before me +as I write.</p> + +<p>It runs as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Frank</span>,</p> + +<p>"I know you won't like what I have to say, but it has to be +said. Believe me, it costs me as much to write as you to +read—perhaps more.</p> + +<p>"It is this: Our engagement must be at an end.</p> + +<p>"You have a perfect right to ask me for reasons, so I will give +them at once, as I don't want to open the subject again. It +would do no kind of good. My mind is absolutely made up.</p> + +<p>"My main reason is this: When I became engaged to you I did not +know you properly. I thought you were quite different from what +you are. I thought that underneath all your nice wildness, and +so on, there was a very solid person. And I hinted that, you +will remember, in my first letter, which I suppose you have +received just before this. And now I simply can't think that +any longer.</p> + +<p>"I don't in the least blame you for being what you are: that's +not my business. But I must just say this—that a man who can +do what you've done, not only for a week or two, as I thought +at first, as a sort of game, but for nearly three months, and +during that time could leave me with only three or four +postcards and no news; above all, a man who could get into +such disgrace and trouble, and actually go to prison, and yet +not seem to mind much—well, it isn't what I had thought of +you.</p> + +<p>"You see, there are a whole lot of things together. It isn't +just this or that, but the whole thing.</p> + +<p>"First you became a Catholic, without telling me anything until +just before. I didn't like that, naturally, but I didn't say +anything. It isn't nice for a husband and wife to be of +different religions. Then you ran away from Cambridge; then you +got mixed up with this man you speak of in your letter to Jack; +and you must have been rather fond of him, you know, to go to +prison for him, as I suppose you did. And yet, after all that, +I expect you've gone to meet him again in York. And then +there's the undeniable fact of prison.</p> + +<p>"You see, it's all these things together—one after another. I +have defended you to your father again and again; I haven't +allowed anybody to abuse you without standing up for you; but +it really has gone too far. You know I did half warn you in +that other letter. I know you couldn't have got it till just +now, but that wasn't my fault; and the letter shows what I was +thinking, even three months ago.</p> + +<p>"Don't be too angry with me, Frank. I'm very fond of you still, +and I shall always stand up for you when I can. And please +don't answer this in any way. Jack Kirkby isn't answering just +yet. I asked him not, though he doesn't know why.</p> + +<p>"Your father is going to send the news that the engagement is +broken off to the newspapers.</p></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i22">"Yours sincerely,<br /></span> +<span class="i25">"<span class="smcap">Jenny Launton</span>."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h2> + + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Ib" id="CHAPTER_Ib"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Barham, as all Yorkshire knows, lies at the foot of a long valley, where +it emerges into the flatter district round Harrogate. It has a railway +all to itself, which goes no further, for Barham is shut in on the north +by tall hills and moors, and lies on the way to nowhere. It is almost +wholly an agricultural town, and has a curious humped bridge, right in +the middle of the town, where men stand about on market days and discuss +the price of bullocks. It has two churches—one, disused, on a +precipitous spur above the town, surrounded by an amazingly irregular +sort of churchyard, full, literally, to bursting (the Kirkbys lie there, +generation after generation of them, beneath pompous tombs), and the +other church a hideous rectangular building, with flat walls and +shallow, sham Gothic windows. It was thought extremely beautiful when it +was built forty years ago. The town itself is an irregular and rather +picturesque place, with a twisting steep High Street, looking as if a +number of houses had been shot at random into this nook among the hills +and left to find their own levels.</p> + +<p>The big house where the Kirkbys have lived since the middle of the +seventeenth century is close to the town, as the squire's house ought to +be, and its park gates open right upon the northern end of the old +bridge. There's nothing of great interest in the house (I believe there +is an old doorway in the cellar, mentioned in guide-books), since it was +rebuilt about the same time as the new church first rose. It is just a +big, comfortable, warm, cool, shady sort of house, with a large hall and +a fine oak staircase, surrounded by lawns and shrubberies, that adjoin +on the west the lower slopes, first of the park and then of the moors +that stretch away over the horizon.</p> + +<p>There is a pleasant feudal air about the whole place—feudal, in a small +and neighborly kind of way. Jack's father died just a year before his +only son came of age; and Jack himself, surrounded by sisters and an +excellent and beneficently-minded mother, has succeeded to all the +immemorial rights and powers, written and unwritten, of the Squire of +Barham. He entertained me delightfully for three or four days a few +months ago, when I was traveling about after Frank's footsteps, and I +noticed with pleasure as we drove through the town that there was +hardly a living creature in the town whom he did not salute; and who did +not salute him.</p> + +<p>He took me first to the bridge and pulled up in the middle of it, to +point out a small recess in it, over the central pier, intended, no +doubt, to give shelter to foot-passengers before the bridge was widened, +in case a large vehicle came through.</p> + +<p>"There," he said. "That's the place I first saw Frank when he came."</p> + +<p>We drove on up through the town, and at the foot of the almost +precipitous hill leading up to the ruined church we got out, leaving the +dog-cart in charge of the groom. We climbed the hill slowly, for it was +a hot day, Jack uttering reminiscences at intervals (many of which are +recorded in these pages) and turned in at the churchyard gate.</p> + +<p>"And this was the place," said Jack, "where I said good-by to him."</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>It was on the twenty-fifth of September, a Monday, that Jack sat in the +smoking-room, in Norfolk jacket and gaiters, drinking tea as fast as he +possibly could. He had been out on the moors all day, and was as thirsty +as the moors could make him, and he had been sensual enough to smoke a +cigarette deliberately before beginning tea, in order to bring his +thirst to an acute point.</p> + +<p>Then, the instant he had finished he snatched for his case again, for +this was to be the best cigarette of the whole day, and discovered that +his sensuality had overreached itself for once, and that there were none +left. He clutched at the silver box with a sinking heart, +half-remembering that he had filled his case with the last of them this +morning. It was a fact, and he knew that there were no others in the +house.</p> + +<p>This would never do, and he reflected that if he sent a man for some +more, he would not get them for at least twenty minutes. (Jack never +could understand why an able-bodied footman always occupied twenty +minutes in a journey that ought to take eight.) So he put on his cap +again, stepped out of the low window and set off down the drive.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was getting a little dark as he passed out of the lodge-gates. The +sun, of course, had set at least an hour before behind the great hill to +the west, but the twilight proper was only just beginning. He was nearly +at the place now, and as he breasted the steep ascent of the bridge, +peered over it, at least with his mind's eye, at the tobacconist's +shop—first on the left—where a store of "Mr. Jack's cigarettes" was +always on hand.</p> + +<p>He noticed in the little recess I have just spoken of a man leaning +with his elbows on the parapet, and staring out up the long reach of the +stream to the purple evening moors against the sky and the luminous +glory itself; and as he came opposite him, wondered vaguely who it was +and whether he knew him. Then, as he got just opposite him, he stopped, +uneasy at heart.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Naturally Frank was never very far away from Jack's thoughts just +now—ever since, indeed, he had heard the news in a very discreet letter +from the Reverend James Launton a week or two ago. (I need not say he +had answered this letter, not to the father, but to the daughter, but +had received no reply.)</p> + +<p>He had written a frantic letter to Frank himself then, but it had been +returned, marked: "Unknown at this address." And ever since he had eyed +all tramps on the road with an earnestness that elicited occasionally a +salute, and occasionally an impolite remark.</p> + +<p>The figure whose back he saw now certainly was not much like Frank; but +then—again—it was rather like him. It was dressed in a jacket and +trousers so stained with dust and wet as to have no color of their own +at all, and a cloth cap of the same appearance. A bundle tied up in a +red handkerchief, and a heavy stick, rested propped against an angle of +the recess.</p> + +<p>Jack cleared his throat rather loud and stood still, prepared to be +admiring the view, in case of necessity; the figure turned an eye over +its shoulder, then faced completely round; and it was Frank Guiseley.</p> + +<p>Jack for the first instant said nothing at all, but stood transfixed, +with his mouth a little open and his eyes staring. Frank's face was +sunburned almost beyond recognition, his hair seemed cut shorter than +usual, and the light was behind him.</p> + +<p>Then Jack recovered.</p> + +<p>"My dear man," he said, "why the—"</p> + +<p>He seized him by the hands and held him, staring at him.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it's me all right," said Frank. "I was just wondering—"</p> + +<p>"Come along, instantly.... Damn! I've got to go to a tobacconist's; it's +only just here. There isn't a cigarette in the house. Come with me?"</p> + +<p>"I'll wait here," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Will you? I shan't be a second."</p> + +<p>It was, as a matter of fact, scarcely one minute before Jack was back; +he had darted in, snatched a box from the shelf and vanished, crying out +to "put it down to him." He found Frank had faced round again and was +staring at the water and sky and high moors. He snatched up his friend's +bundle and stick.</p> + +<p>"Come along," he said, "we shall have an hour or two before dinner."</p> + +<p>Frank, in silence, took the bundle and stick from him again, firmly and +irresistibly, and they did not speak again till they were out of +ear-shot of the lodge. Then Jack began, taking Frank's arm—a custom for +which he had often been rebuked.</p> + +<p>"My dear old man!" he said. "I ... I can't say what I feel. I know the +whole thing, of course, and I've expressed my mind plainly to Miss +Jenny."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"And to your father. Neither have answered, and naturally I haven't been +over again.... Dick's been there, by the way."</p> + +<p>Frank made no comment.</p> + +<p>"You look simply awful, old chap," pursued Jack cheerily. "Where on +earth have you been for the last month? I wrote to York and got the +letter returned."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I've been up and down," said Frank impassively.</p> + +<p>"With the people you were with before—the man, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"No. I've left them for the present. But I shall probably join them +again later."</p> + +<p>"Join...!" began the other aghast.</p> + +<p>"Certainly! This thing's only just begun," said Frank, with that same +odd impassivity. "We've seen the worst of it, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"But you don't mean you're going back! Why, it's ridiculous!"</p> + +<p>Frank stopped. They were within sight of the house now and the lights +shone pleasantly out.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Jack, I quite forgot. You will kindly give me your promise +to make no sort of effort to detain me when I want to go again, or I +shan't come any further."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear chap—"</p> + +<p>"Kindly promise at once, please."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well! I promise, but—"</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Frank, and moved on.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"I say," said Jack, as they came up to the hall door. "Will you talk now +or will you change, or what?"</p> + +<p>"I should like a hot bath first. By the way, have you anyone staying in +the house?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul; and only two sisters at home. And my mother, of course."</p> + +<p>"What about clothes?"</p> + +<p>"I'll see about that. Come on round to the smoking-room window. Then +I'll get in Jackson and explain to him. I suppose you don't mind your +name being known? He'll probably recognize you, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, so long as no one interferes."</p> + +<p>Jack rang the bell as soon as they came into the smoking-room, and Frank +sat down in a deep chair. Then the butler came. He cast one long look at +the astonishing figure in the chair.</p> + +<p>"Oh!—er—Jackson, this is Mr. Frank Guiseley. He's going to stay here. +He'll want some clothes and things. I rather think there are some suits +of mine that might do. I wish you'd look them out."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir?</p> + +<p>"This is Mr. Frank Guiseley—of Merefield.... It is, really! But we +don't want more people talking than are necessary. You understand? +Please don't say anything about it, except that he's come on a +walking-tour. And please tell the housekeeper to get the Blue Room +ready, and let somebody turn on the hot water in the bath-room until +further notice. That's all, Jackson ... and the clothes. You +understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"And get the <i>eau de lubin</i> from my dressing-room and put it in the +bath-room. Oh, yes; and the wooden bowl of soap."</p> + +<p>"These clothes of mine are not to be thrown away, please, Jackson," +said Frank gravely from the chair. "I shall want them again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's all, then," said Jack.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jackson turned stiffly and left the room.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said Jack. "You remember old Jackson. He won't say a +word. Lucky no one saw us as we came up."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter much, does it?" said Frank.</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I say, Frank, when will you tell me—"</p> + +<p>"I'll answer any questions after dinner to-night. I simply can't talk +now."</p> + +<p>Dinner was a little difficult that night.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kirkby had been subjected to a long lecture from her son during the +half hour in which she ought to have been dressing, in order to have it +firmly implanted in her mind that Frank—whom she had known from a +boy—was simply and solely in the middle of a walking-tour all by +himself. She understood the situation perfectly in a minute and a +half—(she was a very shrewd woman who did not say much)—but Jack was +not content. He hovered about her room, fingering photographs and +silver-handled brushes, explaining over and over again how important it +was that Frank should be made to feel at his case, and that Fanny and +Jill—(who were just old enough to come to dinner in white high-necked +frocks that came down to their very slender ankles, and thick pig-tails +down their backs)—must not be allowed to bother him. Mrs. Kirkby said, +"Yes, I understand," about a hundred and thirty times, and glanced at +the clock. She stood with one finger on the electric button for at least +five minutes before venturing to ring for her maid, and it was only that +lady's discreet tap at one minute before eight that finally got Jack out +of the room. He looked in on Frank in the middle of his dressing, found +to his relief that an oldish suit of dress-clothes fitted him quite +decently, and then went to put on his own. He came down to the +drawing-room seven minutes after the gong with his ears very red and his +hair in a plume, to find Frank talking to his mother, and eyed by his +sisters who were pretending to look at photographs, with all the ease in +the world.</p> + +<p>But dinner itself was difficult. It was the obvious thing to talk about +Frank's "walking-tour"; and yet this was exactly what Jack dared not do. +The state of the moors, and the deplorable ravages made among the young +grouse by the early rains, occupied them all to the end of fish; to the +grouse succeeded the bullocks: to the bullocks, the sheep, and, by an +obvious connection—obvious to all who knew that gentleman—from the +sheep to the new curate.</p> + +<p>But just before the chocolate <i>soufflée</i> there came a pause, and Jill, +the younger of the two sisters, hastened to fill the gap.</p> + +<p>"Did you have a nice walking-tour, Mr. Guiseley?"</p> + +<p>Frank turned to her politely.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very nice, considering," he said.</p> + +<p>"Have you been alone all the time?" pursued Jill, conscious of a social +success.</p> + +<p>"Well, no," said Frank. "I was traveling with a ... well, with a man who +was an officer in the army. He was a major."</p> + +<p>"And did you—"</p> + +<p>"That's enough, Jill," said her mother decidedly. "Don't bother Mr. +Guiseley. He's tired with his walk."</p> + +<p>The two young men sat quiet for a minute or two after the ladies had +left the room. Then Jack spoke.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said.</p> + +<p>Frank looked up. There was an odd, patient kind of look in his eyes that +touched Jack a good deal. Frank had not been distinguished for +submissiveness hitherto.</p> + +<p>"Oh! a bit later, if you don't mind," he said. "We can talk in the +smoking-room."</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you the whole thing as far as I understand it," began +Frank, as the door closed behind Jackson, who had brought whisky and +candles. "And then I'll answer any questions you want."</p> + +<p>He settled himself back in his chair, stretching out his legs and +clasping his hands behind his head. Jack had a good view of him and +could take notice of his own impressions, though he found them hard to +put into words afterwards. The words he finally chose were "subdued" and +"patient" again, and there are hardly two words that would have been +less applicable to Frank three months before. At the same time his +virility was more noticeable than ever; he had about him, Jack said, +something of the air of a very good groom—a hard-featured and sharp, +yet not at all unkindly look, very capable and, at the same time, very +much restrained. There was no sentimental nonsense about him at all—his +sorrow had not taken that form.</p> + +<p>"Well, I needn't talk much about Jenny's last letter and what happened +after that. I was entirely unprepared, of course. I hadn't the faintest +idea—Well, she was the one person about whom I had no doubts at all! I +actually left the letter unread for a few minutes (the envelope was in +your handwriting, you know)—because I had to think over what I had to +do next. The police had got me turned away from a builder's yard—"</p> + +<p>Jack emitted a small sound. He was staring at Frank with all his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that's their way," said Frank. "Well, when I read it, I simply +couldn't think any more at all for a time. The girl we were traveling +with—she had picked up with the man I had got into trouble over, you +know—the girl was calling me to dinner, she told me afterwards. I +didn't hear a sound. She came and touched me at last, and I woke up. But +I couldn't say anything. They don't even now know what's the matter. I +came away that afternoon. I couldn't even wait for the Major—"</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"The Major.... Oh! that's what the chap calls himself. I don't think +he's lying, either. I simply couldn't stand him another minute just +then. But I sent them a postcard that night—I forget where from; +and—There aren't any letters for me, are there?</p> + +<p>"One or two bills."</p> + +<p>"Oh! well, I shall hear soon, I expect. I must join them again in a day +or two. They're somewhere in this direction, I know."</p> + +<p>"And what did you do?"</p> + +<p>Frank considered.</p> + +<p>"I'm not quite sure. I know I walked a great deal. People were awfully +good to me. One woman stopped her motor—and I hadn't begged, either—"</p> + +<p>"You! Begged!"</p> + +<p>"Lord, yes; lots of times.... Well, she gave me a quid, and I didn't +even thank her. And that lasted me very well, and I did a little work +too, here and there."</p> + +<p>"But, good Lord! what did you do?"</p> + +<p>"I walked. I couldn't bear towns or people or anything. I got somewhere +outside of Ripon at last, and went out on to the moors. I found an old +shepherd's hut for about a week or ten days—"</p> + +<p>"And you—"</p> + +<p>"Lived there? Yes. I mended the hut thoroughly before I came away. And +then I thought I'd come on here."</p> + +<p>"What were you doing on the bridge?"</p> + +<p>"Waiting till dark. I was going to ask at the lodge then whether you +were at home."</p> + +<p>"And if I hadn't been?"</p> + +<p>"Gone on somewhere else, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Jack tried to help himself to a whisky and soda, but the soda flew out +all over his shirt-front like a fountain, and he was forced to make a +small remark. Then he made another.</p> + +<p>"What about prison?"</p> + +<p>Frank smiled.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I've almost forgotten that. It was beastly at the time, though."</p> + +<p>"And ... and the Major and the work! Lord! Frank, you do tell a story +badly."</p> + +<p>He smiled again much more completely.</p> + +<p>"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, +somehow."</p> + +<p>"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?"</p> + +<p>Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture.</p> + +<p>"Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily +interested as to what's going to happen next—inside, I mean. At least, +sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang."</p> + +<p>Jack looked bewildered, and said so tersely. Frank leaned forward a +little.</p> + +<p>"It's like this, you see. Something or other has taken me in hand: I'm +blessed if I know what. All these things don't happen one on the top of +the other just by a fluke. There's something going on, and I want to +know what it is. And I suppose something's going to happen soon."</p> + +<p>"For God's sake do say what you mean!"</p> + +<p>"I can't more than that. I tell you I don't know. I only wish somebody +could tell me."</p> + +<p>"But what does it all amount to? What are you going to do next?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know that all right. I'm going to join the Major and Gertie +again."</p> + +<p>"Frank!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?... No, not a word, please. You promised you wouldn't. I'm going to +join those two again and see what happens."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"That's my job. I know that much. I've got to get that girl back to her +people again. She's not his wife, you know."</p> + +<p>"But what the devil—"</p> + +<p>"It seems to me to matter a good deal. Oh! she's a thoroughly stupid +girl, and he's a proper cad; but that doesn't matter. It's got to be +done; or, rather, I've got to try to do it. I daresay I shan't succeed, +but that, again, doesn't matter. I've got to do my job, and then we'll +see."</p> + +<p>Jack threw up his hands.</p> + +<p>"You're cracked!" he said.</p> + +<p>"I daresay," said Frank solemnly.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. It seemed to Jack that the whole thing must be a +dream. This simply wasn't Frank at all. The wild idea came to him that +the man who sat before him with Frank's features was some kind of +changeling. Mentally he shook himself.</p> + +<p>"And what about Jenny?" he said.</p> + +<p>Frank sat perfectly silent and still for an instant. Then he spoke +without heat.</p> + +<p>"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Sometimes I'd like to ... well, to make +her a little speech about what she's done, and sometimes I'd like to +crawl to her and kiss her feet—but both those things are when I'm +feeling bad. On the whole, I think—though I'm not sure—that is not my +business any more; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. It's part of the +whole campaign and out of my hands. It's no good talking about that any +more. So please don't, Jack."</p> + +<p>"One question?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Have you written to her or sent her a message?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"And I want to say one other thing. I don't think it's against the +bargain."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Will you take five hundred pounds and go out to the colonies?"</p> + +<p>Frank looked up with an amused smile.</p> + +<p>"No, I won't—thanks very much.... Am I in such disgrace as all that, +then?"</p> + +<p>"You know I don't mean that," said Jack quietly.</p> + +<p>"No, old chap. I oughtn't to have said that. I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>Jack waved a hand.</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps you'd loathe England, and would like—And you don't +seem absolutely bursting with pride, you know."</p> + +<p>"Honestly, I don't think I am," said Frank. "But England suits me very +well—and there are the other two, you know. But I'll tell you one thing +you could do for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Pay those extra bills. I don't think they're much."</p> + +<p>"That's all right," said Jack. "And you really mean to go on with it +all?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes."</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>The moors had been pretty well shot over already since the twelfth of +August, but the two had a very pleasant day, for all that, a couple of +days later. They went but with a keeper and half a dozen beaters—Frank +in an old homespun suit of Jack's, and his own powerful boots, and made +a very tolerable bag. There was one dramatic moment, Jack told me, when +they found that luncheon had been laid at a high point on the hills from +which the great gray mass of Merefield and the shimmer of the lake in +front of the house were plainly visible only eight miles away. The flag +was flying, too, from the flagstaff on the old keep, showing, according +to ancient custom, that Lord Talgarth was at home. Frank looked at it a +minute or two with genial interest, and Jack wondered whether he had +noticed, as he himself had, that even the Rectory roof could be made +out, just by the church tower at the foot of the hill.</p> + +<p>Neither said anything, but as the keeper came up to ask for orders as +they finished lunch, he tactfully observed that there was a wonderful +fine view of Merefield.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Frank, "you could almost make out people with a telescope."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The two were walking together alone as they dropped down, an hour before +sunset, on to the upper end of Barham. They were both glowing with the +splendid air and exercise, and were just in that state of weariness that +is almost unmixed physical pleasure to an imaginative thinker who +contemplates a hot bath, a quantity of tea, and a long evening in a +deep chair. Frank still preserved his impassive kind of attitude towards +things in general, but Jack noticed with gentle delight that he seemed +more off his guard, and that he even walked with something more of an +alert swing than he had on that first evening when they trudged up the +drive together.</p> + +<p>Their road led them past the gate of the old churchyard, and as they +approached it, dropping their feet faster and faster down the steep +slope, Jack noticed two figures sitting on the road-side, with their +feet in the ditch—a man and a girl. He was going past them, just +observing that the man had rather an unpleasant face, with a ragged +mustache, and that the girl was sunburned, fair-haired and rather +pretty, when he became aware that Frank had slipped behind him. The next +instant he saw that Frank was speaking to them, and his heart dropped to +zero.</p> + +<p>"All right," he heard Frank say, "I was expecting you. This evening, +then.... I say, Jack!"</p> + +<p>Jack turned.</p> + +<p>"Jack, this is Major and Mrs. Trustcott, I told you of. This is my +friend, Mr.—er—Mr. Jack."</p> + +<p>Jack bowed vaguely, overwhelmed with disgust.</p> + +<p>"Very happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said the Major, +straightening himself in a military manner. "My good lady and I were +resting here. Very pleasant neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you like it," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Then, this evening," said Frank again. "Can you wait an hour or two?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my boy," said the Major. "Time's no consideration with us, +as you know."</p> + +<p>(Jack perceived that this was being said at him, to show the familiarity +this man enjoyed with his friend.)</p> + +<p>"Would nine o'clock be too late?"</p> + +<p>"Nine o'clock it shall be," said the Major.</p> + +<p>"And here?"</p> + +<p>"Here."</p> + +<p>"So long, then," said Frank. "Oh, by the way—" He moved a little closer +to this appalling pair, and Jack stood off, to hear the sound of a +sentence or two, and then the chink of money.</p> + +<p>"So long, then," said Frank again. "Come along, Jack; we must make +haste."</p> + +<p>"Good-evening, sir," cried the Major, but Jack made no answer.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Frank, you don't mean to tell me that those are the people?"</p> + +<p>"That's the Major and Gertie—yes."</p> + +<p>"And what was all that about this evening?"</p> + +<p>"I must go, Jack. I'm sorry; but I told you it couldn't be more than a +few days at the outside."</p> + +<p>Jack was silent, but it was a hard struggle.</p> + +<p>"By the way, how shall we arrange?" went on the other. "I can't take +these clothes, you know; and I can't very well be seen leaving the house +in my own."</p> + +<p>"Do as you like," snapped Jack.</p> + +<p>"Look here, old man, don't be stuffy. How would it do if I took a bag +and changed up in that churchyard? It's locked up after dark, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You've got a key, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, that's it. And I'll leave the bag and the key in the hedge +somewhere."</p> + +<p>Jack was silent.</p> + +<p>Jack held himself loyally in hand that evening, but he could not talk +much. He consented to explain to his mother that Frank had to be off +after dinner that night, and he also visited the housekeeper's room, and +caused a small bundle, not much larger than a leg of mutton, including +two small bottles which jingled together, to be wrapped up in brown +paper—in which he inserted also a five-pound note (he knew Frank would +not take more)—and the whole placed in the bag in which Frank's old +clothes were already concealed. For the rest of the evening he sat, +mostly silent, in one chair, trying not to watch Frank in another; +pretending to read, but endeavoring to picture to his imagination what +he himself would feel like if he were about to join the Major and Gertie +in the churchyard at nine o'clock.... Frank sat quite quiet all the +evening, reading old volumes of <i>Punch</i>.</p> + +<p>They dined at half-past seven, by request—Frank still in his homespun +suit. Fanny and Jill were rather difficult. It seemed to them both a +most romantic thing that this black-eyed, sunburned young man, with whom +they had played garden-golf the day before, should really be continuing +his amazing walking-tour, in company with two friends, at nine o'clock +that very night. They wondered innocently why the two friends had not +been asked to join them at dinner. It was exciting, too, and unusual, +that this young man should dine in an old homespun suit. They asked a +quantity of questions. Where was Mr. Guiseley going first? Frank didn't +quite know; Where would he sleep that night? Frank didn't quite know; he +would have to see. When was the walking-tour going to end? Frank didn't +quite know. Did he really like it? Oh, well, Frank thought it was a good +thing to go on a walking tour, even if you were rather uncomfortable +sometimes.</p> + +<p>The leave-taking was unemotional. Jack had announced suddenly and +loudly in the smoking-room before dinner that he was going to see the +last of Frank, as far as the churchyard; Frank had protested, but had +yielded. The rest had all said good-by to him in the hall, and at a +quarter to nine the two young men went out into the darkness.</p> + + +<h3>(VI)</h3> + +<p>It was a clear autumn night—a "wonderful night of stars"—and the skies +blazed softly overhead down to the great blotted masses of the high +moors that stood round Barham. It was perfectly still, too—the wind had +dropped, and the only sound as the two walked down the park was the low +talking of the stream over the stones beyond the belt of trees fifty +yards away from the road.</p> + +<p>Jack was sick at heart; but even so, he tells me, he was conscious that +Frank's silence was of a peculiar sort. He felt somehow as if his friend +were setting out to some great sacrifice in which he was to suffer, and +was only partly conscious of it—or, at least, so buoyed by some kind of +exaltation or fanaticism as not to realize what he was doing. (He +reminded me of a certain kind of dream that most people have now and +then, of accompanying some friend to death: the friend goes forward, +silent and exultant, and we cannot explain nor hold him back.</p> + +<p>"That was the sort of feeling," said Jack lamely.)</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jack had the grim satisfaction of carrying the bag in which, so to +speak, the knife and fillet were hidden. He changed his mood half a +dozen times even in that quarter of an hour's walk through the town. Now +the thing seemed horrible, like a nightmare; now absurdly preposterous; +now rather beautiful; now perfectly ordinary and commonplace. After all, +Jack argued with himself, there are such people as tramps, and they +survive. Why should not Frank? He had gipsy blood in him, too. What in +the world was he—Jack—frightened of?</p> + +<p>"Do you remember our talking about your grandmother?" he said suddenly, +as they neared the lodge.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Only I've just thought of something else. Wasn't one of your people +executed under Elizabeth?"</p> + +<p>"By gad, yes; so he was. I'd quite forgotten. It was being on the wrong +side for once."</p> + +<p>"How—the wrong side?"</p> + +<p>There was amusement in Frank's voice as he answered.</p> + +<p>"It was for religion," he said. "He was a Papist. All the rest of them +conformed promptly. They were a most accommodating lot. They changed +each time without making any difficulty. I remember my governor telling +us about it once. He thought them very sensible. And so they were, by +George! from one point of view."</p> + +<p>"Has your religion anything to do with all this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose so," said Frank, with an indifferent air.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There were a good many doors open in the High Street as they went up it, +and Jack saluted half a dozen people mechanically as they touched their +hats to him as he passed in the light from the houses.</p> + +<p>"What does it feel like being squire?" asked Frank.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Rather good fun, I should think," said Frank.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They were nearing the steep part of the ascent presently, and the church +clock struck nine.</p> + +<p>"Bit late," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"When will you come again?" asked the other suddenly. "I'm here another +fortnight, you know, and then at Christmas again. Come for Christmas if +you can."</p> + +<p>"Ah! I don't know where I shall be. Give my love to Cambridge, though."</p> + +<p>"Frank!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Mayn't I say what I think?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ah! there was the roof of the old church standing out against the stars, +and there could be no more talking. They might come upon the other two +at any moment now. They went five steps further, and there, in the +shadow of the gate, burned a dull red spot of fire, that kindled up as +they looked, and showed for an instant the heavy eyes of the Major with +a pipe in his mouth.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Good-evening, sir," came the military voice, and the girl rose to her +feet beside him. "You're just in time."</p> + +<p>"Good-evening," said Jack dully.</p> + +<p>"We've had a pleasant evening of it up here, Mr. Kirkby, after we'd +stepped down and had a bit of supper at the 'Crown.'"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you heard my name there," said Jack.</p> + +<p>"Quite right, sir."</p> + +<p>"Give us the key," said Frank abruptly.</p> + +<p>He unlocked the door and pushed it back over the grass-grown gravel.</p> + +<p>"Wait for me here, will you?" he said to Jack.</p> + +<p>"I'm coming in. I'll show you where to change."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Twenty yards of an irregular twisted path, over which they stumbled two +or three times, led them down to the little ruined doorway at the west +end of the old church. Jack's father had restored the place admirably, +so far as restoration was possible, and there stood now, strong as ever, +the old tower, roofed and floored throughout, abutting on the four +roofless walls, within which ran the double row of column bases.</p> + +<p>Jack struck a light, kindled a bicycle lamp he had brought with him, and +led the way.</p> + +<p>"Come in here," he said.</p> + +<p>Frank followed him into the room at the base of the tower and looked +round.</p> + +<p>"This looks all right," he said. "It was a Catholic church once, I +suppose?</p> + +<p>"Yes; the parson says this was the old sacristy. They've found things +here, I think—cupboards in the wall, and so on."</p> + +<p>"This'll do excellently," said Frank. "I shan't be five minutes."</p> + +<p>Jack went out again without a word. He felt it was a little too much to +expect him to see the change actually being made, and the garments of +sacrifice put on. (It struck him with an unpleasant shock, considering +the form of his previous metaphor, that he should have taken Frank into +the old sacristy.)</p> + +<p>He sat down on the low wall, built to hold the churchyard from slipping +altogether down the hill-side, and looked out over the little town +below.</p> + +<p>The sky was more noticeable here; one was more conscious of the enormous +silent vault, crowded with the steady stars, cool and aloof; and, +beneath, of the feverish little town with sparks of red light dotted +here and there, where men wrangled and planned and bargained, and +carried on the little affairs of their little life with such astonishing +zest. Jack was far from philosophical as a rule, but it is a fact that +meditations of this nature did engross him for a minute or two while he +sat and waited for Frank, and heard the low voices talking in the lane +outside. It even occurred to him for an instant that it was just +possible that what Frank had said in the smoking-room before dinner was +true, and that Something really did have him in hand, and really, did +intend a definite plan and result to emerge from this deplorable and +quixotic nonsense. (I suppose the contrast of stars and human lights may +have helped to suggest this sort of thing to him.)</p> + +<p>Then he gave himself up again to dismal considerations of a more +particular kind.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He heard Frank come out, and turned to see him in the dim light, bag in +hand, dressed again as he had been three days ago. On his head once more +was the indescribable cap; on his body the indescribable clothes. He +wore on his feet the boots in which he had tramped the moors that day. +(How far away seemed that afternoon now, and the cheerful lunch in the +sunshine on the hill-top!)</p> + +<p>"Here I am, Jack."</p> + +<p>Then every promise went to the winds. Jack stood up and took a step +towards him.</p> + +<p>"Frank, I do implore you to give up this folly. I asked you not to do it +at Cambridge, and I ask you again now. I don't care a damn what I +promised. It's simple madness, and—"</p> + +<p>Frank had wheeled without a word, and was half-way to the gate. Jack +stumbled after him, calling under his breath; but the other had already +passed through the gate and joined the Major and Gertie before Jack +could reach him.</p> + +<p>"And so you think up here is the right direction?" Frank was saying.</p> + +<p>"I got some tips at the 'Crown,'" said the Major. "There are some farms +up there, where—"</p> + +<p>"Frank, may I speak to you a minute?"</p> + +<p>"No.... All right, Major; I'm ready at once if you are."</p> + +<p>He turned towards Jack.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said, "what's in this parcel?"</p> + +<p>"Something to eat and drink," murmured Jack.</p> + +<p>"Oh ... I shan't want that, thanks very much. Here's the bag with the +clothes in it. I'm awfully grateful, old man, for all your kindness. +Awfully sorry to have bothered you."</p> + +<p>"By the way, Frankie," put in the hateful voice at his side, "I'll take +charge of that parcel, if you don't want it."</p> + +<p>"Catch hold, then," said Frank. "You're welcome to it, if you'll carry +it. You all right, Gertie?"</p> + +<p>The girl murmured something inaudible. As at their first meeting, she +had said nothing at all. The Major lifted a bundle out of the depths of +the hedge, slung it on his stick, and stood waiting, his face again +illuminated with the glow of his pipe. He had handed the new parcel to +Gertie without a word.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-by again, old man," said Frank, holding out his hand. He, +too, Jack saw, had his small bundle wrapped up in the red handkerchief, +as on the bridge when they had first met. Jack took his hand and shook +it. He could say nothing.</p> + +<p>Then the three turned and set their faces up the slope. He could see +them, all silent together, pass up, more and more dim in the darkness of +the hedge, the two men walking together, the girl a yard behind them. +Then they turned the corner and were gone. But Jack still stood where +Frank had left him, listening, until long after the sound of their +footfalls had died away.</p> + + +<h3>(VII)</h3> + +<p>Jack had a horrid dream that night.</p> + +<p>He was wandering, he thought, gun in hand after grouse, alone on the +high moors. It was one of those heavy days, so common in dreams, when +the light is so dim that very little can be seen. He was aware of +countless hill-tops round him, and valleys that ran down into profound +darkness, where only the lights of far-off houses could be discerned. +His sport was of that kind peculiar to sleep-imaginings. Enormous birds, +larger than ostriches, rose occasionally by ones or twos with incredible +swiftness, and soared like balloons against the heavy, glimmering sky. +He fired at these and feathers sprang from them, but not a bird fell. +Once he inflicted an indescribable wound ... and the bird sped across +the sky, blotting out half of it, screaming. Then as the screaming died +he became aware that there was a human note in it, and that Frank was +crying to him, somewhere across the confines of the wold, and the horror +that had been deepening with each shot he fired rose to an intolerable +climax. Then began one of the regular nightmare chases: he set off to +run; the screaming grew fainter each instant; he could not see his way +in the gloom; he clambered over bowlders; he sank in bogs, and dragged +his feet from them with infinite pains; his gun became an unbearable +burden, yet he dared not throw it from him; he knew that he should need +it presently.... The screaming had ceased now, yet he dared not stop +running; Frank was in some urgent peril, and he knew it was not yet too +late, if he could but find him soon. He ran and ran; the ground was +knee-deep now in the feathers that had fallen from the wounded birds; it +was darker than ever, yet he toiled on hopelessly, following, as he +thought, the direction from which the cries had come. Then as at last he +topped the rise of a hill, the screaming broke out again, shrill and +frightful, close at hand, and the next instant he saw beneath him in the +valley a hundred yards away that for which he had run so far. Running up +the slope below, at right angles to his own path came Frank, in the +dress-clothes he had borrowed, with pumps upon his feet; his hands were +outstretched, his face white as ashes, and he screamed as he ran. +Behind him ran a pack of persons whose faces he could not see; they ran +like hounds, murmuring as they came in a terrible whining voice. Then +Jack understood that he could save Frank; he brought his gun to the +shoulder, aimed it at the brown of the pack and drew the trigger. A snap +followed, and he discovered that he was unloaded; he groped in his +cartridge-belt and found it empty.... He tore at his pockets, and found +at last one cartridge; and as he dashed it into the open breach, his gun +broke in half. Simultaneously the quarry vanished over an edge of hill, +and the pack followed, the leaders now not ten yards behind the flying +figure in front.</p> + +<p>Jack stood there, helpless and maddened. Then he flung the broken pieces +of his gun at the disappearing runners; sank down in the gloom, and +broke out into that heart-shattering nightmare sobbing which shows that +the limit has been reached.</p> + +<p>He awoke, still sobbing—certain that Frank was in deadly peril, if not +already dead, and it was a few minutes before he dared to go to sleep +once more.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIb" id="CHAPTER_IIb"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>The Rectory garden at Merefield was, obviously, this summer, the proper +place to spend most of the day. Certainly the house was cool—it was one +of those long, low, creeper-covered places that somehow suggest William +IV. and crinolines (if it is a fact that those two institutions +flourished together, as I think), with large, darkish rooms and wide, +low staircases and tranquil-looking windows through which roses peep; +but the shadow of the limes and the yews was cooler still. A table stood +almost permanently through those long, hot summer days in the place +where Dick had sat with Jenny, and here the Rector and his daughter +breakfasted, lunched and dined, day after day, for a really +extraordinarily long period.</p> + +<p>Jenny herself lived in the garden even more than her father; she got +through the household business as quickly as possible after breakfast, +and came out to do any small businesses that she could during the rest +of the morning. She wrote a few letters, read a few books, sewed a +little, and, on the whole, presented a very domestic and amiable +picture. She visited poor people for an hour or so two or three days a +week, and occasionally, when Lord Talgarth was well enough, rode out +with him and her father after tea, through the woods, and sometimes with +Lord Talgarth alone.</p> + +<p>She suffered practically no pangs of conscience at all on the subject of +Frank. Her letter had been perfectly sincere, and she believed herself +to have been exceedingly sensible. (It is, perhaps, one may observe, one +of the most dangerous things in the world to think oneself sensible; it +is even more dangerous than to be told so.) For the worst of it all was +that she was quite right. It was quite plain that she and Frank were not +suited to one another; that she had looked upon that particular quality +in him which burst out in the bread-and-butter incident, the leaving of +Cambridge, the going to prison, and so forth, as accidental to his +character, whereas it was essential. It was also quite certain that it +was the apotheosis of common-sense for her to recognize that, to say so, +and to break off the engagement.</p> + +<p>Of course, she had moments of what I should call "grace," and she would +call insanity, when she wondered for a little while whether to be +sensible was the highest thing in life; but her general attitude to +these was as it would be towards temptation of any other kind. To be +sensible, she would say, was to be successful and effective; to be +otherwise was to fail and to be ineffective.</p> + +<p>Very well, then.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At the beginning of September Dick Guiseley came to Merefield to shoot +grouse. The grouse, as I think I have already remarked, were backward +this year, and, after a kind of ceremonial opening, to give warning as +it were, on the twelfth of August, they were left in peace. Business was +to begin on the third, and on the evening of the second Dick arrived.</p> + +<p>He opened upon the subject that chiefly occupied his thoughts just now +with Archie that night when Lord Talgarth had gone to bed. They were +sitting in the smoking-room, with the outer door well open to admit the +warm evening air. They had discussed the prospects of grouse next day +with all proper solemnity, and Archie had enumerated the people who were +to form their party. The Rector was coming to shoot, and Jenny was to +ride out and join them at lunch.</p> + +<p>Then Archie yawned largely, finished his drink, and took up his candle.</p> + +<p>"Oh! she's coming, is she?" said Dick meditatively.</p> + +<p>Archie struck a match.</p> + +<p>"How's Frank?" went on Dick.</p> + +<p>"Haven't heard from him."</p> + +<p>"Where is the poor devil?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't an idea."</p> + +<p>Dick emitted a monosyllabic laugh.</p> + +<p>"And how's she behaving?"</p> + +<p>"Jenny? Oh! just as usual. She's a sensible girl and knows her mind."</p> + +<p>Dick pondered this an instant.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to bed," said Archie. "Got to have a straight eye to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Oh! sit down a second.... I want to talk."</p> + +<p>Archie, as a compromise, propped himself against the back of a chair.</p> + +<p>"She doesn't regret it, then?" pursued Dick.</p> + +<p>"Not she," said Archie. "It would never have done."</p> + +<p>"I know," agreed Dick warmly. (It was a real pleasure to him that head +and heart went together in this matter.) "But sometimes, you know, women +regret that sort of thing. Wish they hadn't been quite so sensible, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Jenny doesn't," said Archie.</p> + +<p>Dick took up his glass which he had filled with his third +whisky-and-soda, hardly five minutes before, and drank half of it. He +sucked his mustache, and in that instant confidentialism rose in his +heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to have a shot myself," he said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have a shot. She can but say 'No.'"</p> + +<p>Archie's extreme repose of manner vanished for a second. His jaw dropped +a little.</p> + +<p>"But, good Lord! I hadn't the faintest—"</p> + +<p>"I know you hadn't. But I've had it for a long time.... What d'you +think, Archie?"</p> + +<p>"My good chap—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know; leave all that out. We'll take that as read. What comes +next?"</p> + +<p>Archie looked at him a moment.</p> + +<p>"How d'you mean? Do you mean, do I approve?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't mean that," admitted Dick. "I meant, how'd I better set +about it?"</p> + +<p>Archie's face froze ever so slightly. (It will be remembered that Jack +Kirkby considered him pompous.)</p> + +<p>"You must do it your own way," he said.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, old man," said Dick. "Didn't mean to be rude."</p> + +<p>Archie straightened himself from the chair-back.</p> + +<p>"It's all rather surprising," he said. "It never entered my head. I +must think about it. Good-night. Put the lights out when you come."</p> + +<p>"Archie, old man, are you annoyed?"</p> + +<p>"No, no; that's all right," said Archie.</p> + +<p>And really and truly that was all that passed between these two that +night on the subject of Jenny—so reposeful were they.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>There was a glorious breeze blowing over the hills as Jenny rode slowly +up about noon next day. The country is a curious mixture—miles of moor, +as desolate and simple and beautiful as moors can be, and by glimpses, +now and then in the valleys between, of entirely civilized villages, +with even a town or two here and there, prick-up spires and roofs; and, +even more ominous, in this direction and that, lie patches of smoke +about the great chimneys.</p> + +<p>Jenny was meditative as she rode up alone. It is very difficult to be +otherwise when one has passed through one considerable crisis, and +foresees a number of others that must be met, especially if one has not +made up one's mind as to the proper line of action. It is all very well +to be sensible, but a difficulty occasionally arises as to which of two +or three courses is the more in accordance with that character. To be +impulsive certainly leads to trouble sometimes, but also, sometimes it +saves it.</p> + +<p>Jenny looked charming in repose. She was in a delightful green habit; +she wore a plumy kind of hat; she rode an almost perfect little mare +belonging to Lord Talgarth, and her big blue, steady eyes roved slowly +round her as she went, seeing nothing. It was, in fact, the almost +perfect little mare who first gave warning of the approach to the +sportsmen, by starting violently all over at the sound of a shot, fired +about half a mile away. Jenny steadied her, pulled her up, and watched +between the cocked and twitching ears.</p> + +<p>Below her, converging slowly upwards, away from herself, moved a line of +dots, each precisely like its neighbor in color (Lord Talgarth was very +particular, indeed, about the uniform of his beaters), and by each moved +a red spot, which Jenny understood to be a flag. The point towards which +they were directed culminated in a low, rounded hill, and beneath the +crown of this, in a half circle, were visible a series of low defenses, +like fortifications, to command the face of the slope and the dips on +either side. This was always the last beat—in this moor—before lunch; +and lunch itself, she knew, would be waiting on the other side of the +hill. Occasionally as she watched, she saw a slight movement behind +this or that butt—no more—and the only evidence of human beings, +beside the beaters, lay in the faint wreath of all but invisible smoke +that followed the reports, coming now quicker and quicker, as the grouse +took alarm. Once with a noise like a badly ignited rocket, there burst +over the curve before her a flying brown thing, that, screaming with +terrified exultation, whirred within twenty yards of her head and +vanished into silence. (One cocked ear of the mare bent back to see if +the rocket were returning or not.)</p> + +<p>Jenny's meditations became more philosophical than ever as she looked. +She found herself wondering how much free choice the grouse—if they +were capable themselves of philosophizing—would imagine themselves to +possess in the face of this noisy but insidious death. She reminded +herself that every shred of instinct and experience that each furious +little head contained bade the owner of it to fly as fast and straight +as possible, in squawking company with as many friends as possible, away +from those horrible personages in green and silver with the agitating +red flags, and up that quiet slope which, at the worst, only emitted +sudden noises. A reflective grouse would perhaps (and two out of three +did) consider that he could fly faster and be sooner hidden from the +green men with red flags, if he slid crosswise down the valleys on +either side. But—Jenny observed—that was already calculated by these +human enemies, and butts (like angels' swords) commanded even these +approaches too.</p> + +<p>It was obvious, then, that however great might be the illusion of free +choice, in reality there was none: they were betrayed hopelessly by the +very instincts intended to safeguard them; practical common-sense, in +this case, at least, led them straight into the jaws of death. A little +originality and impulsiveness would render them immortal so far as guns +were concerned....</p> + +<p>Yes; but there was one who had been original, who had actually preferred +to fly straight past a monster in green on a gray mare rather than to +face the peaceful but deathly slopes; and he had escaped. But obviously +he was an exception. Originality in grouse—</p> + +<p>At this point the mare breathed slowly and contemptuously and advanced a +delicate, impatient foot, having quite satisfied herself that danger was +no longer imminent; and Jenny became aware she was thinking nonsense.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There were a number of unimportant but well-dressed persons at lunch, +with most of whom Jenny was acquainted. These extended themselves on the +ground and said the right things one after another; and all began with +long drinks, and all ended with heavy meals. There were two other women +whom she knew slightly, who had driven up half an hour before. +Everything was quite perfect—down even to hot grilled grouse that +emerged from emblazoned silver boxes, and hot black coffee poured from +"Thermos" flasks. Jenny asked intelligent questions and made herself +agreeable.</p> + +<p>At the close of lunch she found herself somehow sitting on a small rock +beside Dick. Lord Talgarth was twenty yards away, his gaitered legs very +wide apart, surveying the country and talking to the keeper. Her father +was looking down the barrels of his rather ineffective gun, and Archie, +with three or four other men and two women, a wife and a sister, was +smoking with his back against a rock.</p> + +<p>"Shall you be in to-morrow?" asked Dick casually.</p> + +<p>Jenny paused an instant.</p> + +<p>"I should think so!" she said. "I've got one or two things to do."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I may look in? I want to talk to you about something if I may."</p> + +<p>"Shan't you be shooting again?"</p> + +<p>"No; I'm not very fit and shall take a rest."</p> + +<p>Jenny was silent.</p> + +<p>"About what time?" pursued Dick.</p> + +<p>Jenny roused herself with a little start. She had been staring out over +the hills and wondering if that was the church above Barham that she +could almost see against the horizon.</p> + +<p>"Oh! any time up to lunch," she said vaguely.</p> + +<p>Dick stood up slowly with a satisfied air and stretched himself. He +looked very complete and trim, thought Jenny, from his flat cap to his +beautifully-spatted shooting-boots. (It was twelve hundred a year, at +least, wasn't it?)</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose we shall be moving directly," he said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>A beater came up bringing the mare just before the start was made.</p> + +<p>"All right, you can leave her," said Jenny. "I won't mount yet. Just +hitch the bridle on to something."</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant and picturesque sight to see the beaters, like a file +of medieval huntsmen, dwindle down the hill in their green and silver in +one direction, and, five minutes later, the sportsmen in another. It +looked like some mysterious military maneuver on a small scale; and +again Jenny considered the illusion of free choice enjoyed by the +grouse, who, perhaps, two miles away, crouched in hollows among the +heather. And yet, practically speaking, there was hardly any choice at +all....</p> + +<p>Lady Richard, the wife of one of the men, interrupted her in a drawl.</p> + +<p>"Looks jolly, doesn't it?" she said.</p> + +<p>Jenny assented cordially.</p> + +<p>(She hated this woman, somehow, without knowing why. She said to herself +it was the drawl and the insolent cold eyes and the astonishing +complacency; and she only half acknowledged that it was the beautiful +lines of the dress and the figure and the assured social position.)</p> + +<p>"We're driving," went on the tall girl. "You rode, didn't you?</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Lord Talgarth's mare, isn't it? I thought I recognized her."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I haven't got a horse of my own, you know," said Jenny +deliberately.</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Jenny suddenly felt her hatred rise almost to passion.</p> + +<p>"I must be going," she said. "I've got to visit an old woman who's +dying. A rector's daughter, you know—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes."</p> + +<p>Then Jenny mounted from a rock (Lady Richard held the mare's head and +settled the habit), and rode slowly away downhill.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>Dick approached the Rectory next day a little before twelve o'clock with +as much excitement in his heart as he ever permitted to himself.</p> + +<p>Dick is a good fellow—I haven't a word to say against him, except +perhaps that he used to think that to be a Guiseley, and to have +altogether sixteen hundred a year and to live in a flat in St. James's, +and to possess a pointed brown beard and melancholy brown eyes and a +reposeful manner, relieved him from all further effort. I have wronged +him, however; he had made immense efforts to be proficient at billiards, +and had really succeeded; and, since his ultimate change of fortune, has +embraced even further responsibilities in a conscientious manner.</p> + +<p>Of course, he had been in love before in a sort of way; but this was +truly different. He wished to marry Jenny very much indeed.... That she +was remarkably sensible, really beautiful and eminently presentable, of +course, paved the way; but, if I understand the matter rightly, these +were not the only elements in the case. It was the genuine thing. He did +not quite know how he would face the future if she refused him; and he +was sufficiently humble to be in doubt.</p> + +<p>The neat maid told him at the door that Miss Launton had given +directions that he was to be shown into the garden if he came.... No; +Miss Launton was in the morning-room, but she should be told at once. So +Dick strolled across the lawn and sat down by the garden table.</p> + +<p>He looked at the solemn, dreaming house in the late summer sunshine; he +observed a robin issue out from a lime tree and inspect him sideways; +and then another robin issue from another lime tree and drive the first +one away. Then he noticed a smear of dust on his own left boot, and +flicked it off with a handkerchief. Then, as he put his handkerchief +away again, he saw Jenny coming out from the drawing-room window.</p> + +<p>She looked really extraordinarily beautiful as she came slowly across +towards him and he stood to meet her. She was bare-headed, but her face +was shadowed by the great coils of hair. She was in a perfectly plain +pink dress, perfectly cut, and she carried herself superbly. She looked +just a trifle paler than yesterday, he thought, and there was a very +reserved, steady kind of question in her eyes. (I am sorry to be obliged +to go on saying this sort of thing about Jenny every time she comes upon +the scene; but it is the sort of thing that everyone is obliged to go on +thinking whenever she makes her appearance.)</p> + +<p>"I've got a good deal to say," said Dick, after they had sat a moment +or two. "May I say it right out to the end?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly," said Jenny.</p> + +<p>Dick leaned back and crossed one knee over the other. His manner was +exactly right—at any rate, it was exactly what he wished it to be, and +all through his little speech he preserved it. It was quite restrained, +extremely civilized, and not at all artificial. It was his method of +presenting a fact—the fact that he really was in love with this +girl—and was in his best manner. There was a lightness of touch about +this method of his, but it was only on the surface.</p> + +<p>"I daresay it's rather bad form my coming and saying all this so soon, +but I can't help that. I know you must have gone through an awful lot in +the last month or two—perhaps even longer—but I don't know about that. +And I want to begin by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn't. The +fact is that—well, that I daren't risk waiting."</p> + +<p>He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the robin that had gone and +come again since Jenny had appeared), but he was aware that at his first +sentence she had suddenly settled down into complete motionlessness. He +wondered whether that was a good omen or not.</p> + +<p>"Well, now," he said, "let me give a little account of myself first. I'm +just thirty-one; I've got four hundred a year of my own, and Lord +Talgarth allows me twelve hundred a year more. Then I've got other +expectations, as they say. My uncle gives me to understand that my +allowance is secured to me in his will; and I'm the heir of my aunt, +Lady Simon, whom you've probably met. I just mention that to show I'm +not a pauper—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Guiseley—" began Jenny.</p> + +<p>"Please wait. I've not done yet. Do you mind? ... I'm a decent living +man. I'm not spotless, but I'll answer any questions you like to put—to +your father. I've not got any profession, though I'm supposed to be a +solicitor; but I'm perfectly willing to work if ... if it's wished, or +to stand for Parliament, or anything like that—there hasn't, so far, +seemed any real, particular reason why I should work. That's all. And I +think you know the sort of person I am, all round.</p> + +<p>"And now we come to the point." (Dick hesitated a fraction of a second. +He was genuinely moved.) "The point is that I'm in love with you, and I +have been for some time past. I ... I can't put it more plainly ... (One +moment, please, I've nearly done.) ... I can't think of anything else; +and I haven't been able to for the last two or three months. I ... I ... +I'm fearfully sorry for poor old Frank; I'm very fond of him, you know, +but I couldn't help finding it an extraordinary relief when I heard the +news. And now I've come to ask you, perfectly straight, whether you'll +consent to be my wife."</p> + +<p>Dick looked at her for the first time since he had begun his little +speech.</p> + +<p>She still sat absolutely quiet (she had not even moved at the two words +she had uttered), but she had gone paler still. Her mouth was in repose, +without quiver or movement, and her beautiful eyes looked steadily on to +the lawn before her. She said nothing.</p> + +<p>"If you can't give me an answer quite at once," began Dick again +presently, "I'm perfectly willing to—"</p> + +<p>She turned and looked him courageously in the face.</p> + +<p>"I can't say 'Yes,'" she said. "That would be absurd.... You have been +quite straightforward with me, and I must be straightforward with you. +That is what you wish, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Dick inclined his head. His heart was thumping furiously with +exultation—in spite of her words.</p> + +<p>"Then what I say is this: You must wait a long time. If you had insisted +on an answer now, I should have said 'No.' I hate to keep you waiting, +particularly when I do really think it will be 'No' in the long run; but +as I'm not quite sure, and as you've been perfectly honest and +courteous, if you really wish it I won't say 'No' at once. Will that +do?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever you say," said Dick.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't forget I was engaged to Frank till quite lately. Don't you +see how that obscures one's judgment? I simply can't judge now, and I +know I can't.... You're willing to wait, then?—even though I tell you +now that I think it will be 'No'?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever you say," said Dick again; "and may I say thank you for not +saying 'No' at once?"</p> + +<p>A very slight look of pain came into the girl's eyes.</p> + +<p>"I would sooner you didn't," she said. "I'm sorry you said that...."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said poor Dick.</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"One other thing," said Jenny. "Would you mind not saying anything to my +father? I don't want him to be upset any more. Have you told anybody +else you were—?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Dick bravely, "I told Archie."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry you did that. Will you then just tell him exactly what I +said—exactly, you know. That I thought it would be 'No'; but that I +only didn't say so at once because you wished it."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Dick.</p> + +<p>It was a minute or so before either spoke again. Jenny had that +delightful and soothing gift which prevents silence from being empty. It +is the same gift, in another form, as that which enables its possessor +to put people at their ease. (It is, I suppose, one of the elements of +tact.) Dick had a sense that they were still talking gently and +reasonably, though he could not quite understand all that Jenny was +meaning.</p> + +<p>She interrupted it by a sudden sentence.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it's fair," she said. "You know I'm all but certain. I only +don't say so because—"</p> + +<p>"Let it be at that," said Dick. "It's my risk, isn't it?"</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>When he had left her at last, she sat on perfectly still in the same +place. The robin had given it up in despair: this human creature was not +going to scratch garden-paths as she sometimes did, and disclose rich +worms and small fat maggots. But a cat had come out instead and was now +pacing with stiff forelegs, lowered head and trailing tail, across the +sunny grass, endeavoring to give an impression that he was bent on some +completely remote business of his own.</p> + +<p>He paused at the edge of the shadow and eyed the girl malignantly.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said the cat.</p> + +<p>There was no response.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said the cat.</p> + +<p>Jenny roused herself.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said Jenny meditatively.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said the cat, walking on.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said Jenny.</p> + +<p>Again there was a long silence.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said Jenny indignantly.</p> + +<p>The cat turned a slow head sideways as he began to cross the path, but +said nothing. He waited for another entreaty, but Jenny paid no more +attention. As he entered the yews he turned once more.</p> + +<p>"Wow!" said the cat, almost below his breath.</p> + +<p>But Jenny made no answer. The cat cast one venomous look and +disappeared.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then there came out a dog—a small brown and black animal, very sturdy +on his legs, and earnest and independent in air and manner. He was the +illegitimate offspring of a fox-terrier. He trotted briskly across from +the direction of the orchard, diagonally past Jenny. As he crossed the +trail of the cat he paused, smelt, and followed it up for a yard or two, +till he identified for certain that it proceeded from an acquaintance; +then he turned to resume his journey. The movement attracted the girl's +attention.</p> + +<p>"Lama!" called Jenny imperiously. "Come here this instant!"</p> + +<p>Lama put his head on one side, nodded and smiled at her indulgently, and +trotted on.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Oh, dear me!" said Jenny, sighing out loud.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIb" id="CHAPTER_IIIb"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>There lived (and still lives, I believe) in the small Yorkshire village +of Tarfield a retired doctor, entirely alone except for his servants, in +a large house. It is a very delightful house, only—when I stayed there +not long ago—it seemed to me that the doctor did not know how to use +it. It stands in its own grounds of two or three acres, on the +right-hand side of the road to a traveler going north, separated by a +row of pollarded limes from the village street, and approached—or, +rather, supposed to be approached—by a Charles II. gate of iron-scroll +work. I say "supposed to be approached" because the gate is invariably +kept locked, and access can only be gained to the house through the side +gate from the stable-yard. The grounds were abominably neglected when I +saw them; grass was growing on every path, and as fine a crop of weeds +surged up amongst the old autumn flowers as ever I have seen. The house, +too, was a sad sight. There here two big rooms, one on either side of +the little entrance-hall—one a dining-room, the other a sort of +drawing-room—and both were dreary and neglected-looking places. In the +one the doctor occasionally ate, in the other he never sat except when a +rare visitor came to see him, and the little room supposed to be a study +at the foot of the stairs in the inner hall that led through the kitchen +was hardly any better. I was there, I say, last autumn, and the +condition of the place must have been very much the same as that in +which it was when Frank came to Tarfield in October.</p> + +<p>For the fact was that the doctor—who was possessed of decent private +means—devoted the whole of his fortune, the whole of his attention, and +the whole of his life—such as it was—to the study of toxins upstairs.</p> + +<p>Toxins, I understand, have something to do with germs. Their study +involves, at any rate at present, a large stock of small animals, such +as mice and frogs and snakes and guinea-pigs and rabbits, who are given +various diseases and then studied with loving attention. I saw the +doctor's menagerie when I went to see him about Frank; they were chiefly +housed in a large room over the kitchen, communicating with the doctor's +own room by a little old powder-closet with two doors, and the smell was +indescribable. Ranks of cages and boxes rose almost to the ceiling, and +in the middle of the room was a large business-like looking wooden +kitchen-table with various appliances on it. I saw the doctor's room +also—terribly shabby, but undoubtedly a place of activity. There were +piles of books and unbound magazines standing about in corners, with +more on the table, as well as a heap of note-books. An array of glass +tubes and vary-colored bottles stood below the window, with a +microscope, and small wooden boxes on one side. And there was, besides, +something which I think he called an "incubator"—a metal affair, +standing on four slender legs; a number of glass tubes emerged from +this, each carefully stoppered with cotton wool, and a thermometer +thrust itself up in one corner.</p> + +<p>A really high degree of proficiency in any particular subject invariably +leads to atrophy in other directions. A man who eats and breathes and +dreams Toxins, for instance, who lives so much in Toxins that he +corresponds almost daily with learned and unintelligible Germans; who +knows so much about Toxins that when he enters, with shabby trousers and +a small hand-bag, into the room of a polished specialist in Harley +Street, he sees as in a dream the specialist rise and bow before +him—who, when he can be persuaded to contribute a short and highly +technical article to a medical magazine, receives a check for +twenty-five guineas by return of post—a man of this kind is peculiarly +open to the danger of thinking that anything which cannot be expressed +in terms of Toxin is negligible nonsense. It is the characteristic +danger of every specialist in every branch of knowledge; even +theologians are not wholly immune.</p> + +<p>It was so in the case of Dr. Whitty (I forget all the initials that +should follow his name). He had never been married, he never took any +exercise; occasionally, when a frog's temperature approached a crisis, +he slept in his clothes, and forgot to change them in the morning. And +he was the despair of the zealous vicar. He was perfectly convinced +that, since the force that underlay the production of Toxins could +accomplish so much, it could surely accomplish everything. He could +reduce his roses, his own complexion, the grass on his garden-paths, the +condition of his snakes', and frogs' skins, and the texture of his +kitchen-table—if you gave him time—to terms of Toxin; therefore, +argued Dr. Whitty, you could, if you had more time, reduce everything +else to the same terms. There wasn't such a thing as a soul, of +course—it was a manifestation of a combination of Toxins (or +anti-Toxins, I forget which); there was no God—the idea of God was the +result of another combination of Toxins, akin to a belief in the former +illusion. Roughly speaking, I think his general position was that as +Toxins are a secretion of microbes (I am certain of that phrase, +anyhow), so thought and spiritual experiences and so forth are a +secretion of the brain. I know it sounded all very brilliant and +unanswerable and analogous to other things. He hardly ever took the +trouble to say all this; he was far too much interested in what he +already knew, or was just on the point of finding out, to treat of these +extravagant and complicated ramifications of his subject. When he really +got to know his mice and bats, as they deserved to be known, it might be +possible to turn his attention to other things. Meanwhile, it was +foolish and uneconomical. So here he lived, with a man-of-all-work and +his man's wife, and daily went from strength to strength in the +knowledge of Toxins.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was to this household that there approached, in the month of October, +a small and dismal procession of three.</p> + +<p>The doctor was first roused to a sense of what was happening as he +shuffled swiftly through his little powder-closet one morning soon after +breakfast, bearing in his hand the corpse of a mouse which had at last, +and most disappointingly, succumbed to a severe attack of some hybrid of +leprosy. As he flew through to his microscope he became aware of an +altercation in the stable-yard beneath.</p> + +<p>"I tell you he ain't a proper doctor," he heard his man explaining; "he +knows nothing about them things."</p> + +<p>"My good fellow," began a high, superior voice out of sight; but Dr. +Whitty swept on, and was presently deep in indescribable disgustingness +of the highest possible value to the human race, especially in the South +Seas. Time meant nothing at all to him, when this kind of work was in +hand; and it was after what might be an hour or two hours, or ten +minutes, that he heard a tap on his door.</p> + +<p>He uttered a sound without moving his eye, and the door opened.</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, sir," said his man, "but there's a party in the yard as +won't—"</p> + +<p>The doctor held up his hand for silence, gazed a few moments longer, +poked some dreadful little object two or three times, sighed and sat +back.</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"There's a party in the yard, sir, wants a doctor."</p> + +<p>(This sort of thing had happened before.)</p> + +<p>"Tell them to be off," he said sharply. He was not an unkindly man, but +this sort of thing was impossible. "Tell them to go to Dr. Foster."</p> + +<p>"I 'ave, sir," said the man.</p> + +<p>"Tell them again," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I 'ave, sir. 'Arf a dozen times."</p> + +<p>The doctor sighed—he was paying practically no attention at all, of +course. The leprous mouse had been discouraging; that was all.</p> + +<p>"If you'd step down, sir, an instant—"</p> + +<p>The doctor returned from soaring through a Toxined universe.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," he said sharply. "Tell them I'm not practicing. What do they +want?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, it's a young man as 'as poisoned 'is foot, 'e says. 'E +looks very bad, and—"</p> + +<p>"Eh? Poison?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>The doctor appeared to reflect a moment (that mouse, you know—); then +he recovered.</p> + +<p>"I'll be down directly," he said almost mechanically. "Take 'em all into +the study."</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>Dr. Whitty could hardly explain to me, even when he tried, exactly why +he had made an exception in this particular instance. Of course, I +understand perfectly myself why he did; but, for himself, all he could +say was that he supposed the word Poison happened to meet his mood. He +had honestly done with the mouse just now; he had no other very critical +case, and he thought he might as well look at the poisoned young man +for an instant, before finally despatching him to Dr. Foster, six miles +further on.</p> + +<p>When he came into the study ten minutes later he found the party ranged +to meet him. A girl was sitting on a box in the corner by the window, +and stood up to receive him; a young man was sitting back in a Windsor +chair, with one boot off, jerking spasmodically; his eyes stared +unmeaningly before him. A tallish, lean man of a particularly +unprepossessing appearance was leaning over him with an air of immense +solicitude. They were all three evidently of the tramp-class.</p> + +<p>What they saw—with the exception of Frank, I expect, who was too far +gone to notice anything—was a benignant-looking old man, very shabby, +in an alpaca jacket, with a rusty velvet cap on his head, and very +bright short-sighted eyes behind round spectacles. This figure appeared +in the doorway, stood looking at them a moment, as if bewildered as to +why he or they were there at all; and then, with a hasty shuffling +movement, darted across the floor and down on his knees.</p> + +<p>The following colloquy was held as soon as the last roll of defiled +bandage had dropped to the floor, and Frank's foot was disclosed.</p> + +<p>"How long's this been going on?" asked the doctor sharply, holding the +discolored thing carefully in his two hands.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," said the Major reflectively, "he began to limp about—let's +see—four days ago. We were coming through—"</p> + +<p>The doctor, watching Frank's face curiously (the spasm was over for the +present), cut the Major short by a question to the patient.</p> + +<p>"Now, my boy, how d'you feel now?"</p> + +<p>Frank's lips moved; he seemed to be trying to lick them; but he said +nothing, and his eyes closed, and he grinned once or twice, as if +sardonically.</p> + +<p>"When did these spasms begin?" went on the doctor, abruptly turning to +the Major again.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir—if you mean that jerking—Frankie began to jerk about half +an hour ago when we were sitting down a bit; but he's seemed queer since +breakfast. And he didn't seem to be able to eat properly."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean? D'you mean he couldn't open his mouth?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, it was something like that."</p> + +<p>The doctor began to make comments in a rapid undertone, as if talking to +himself; he pressed his hand once or twice against Frank's stomach; he +took up the filthy bandage and examined it. Then he looked at the boot.</p> + +<p>"Where's the sock?" he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>Gertie produced it from a bundle. He looked at it closely, and began to +mumble again. Then he rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with him, doctor?" asked the Major, trying to look +perturbed.</p> + +<p>"We call it tetanus," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"Who are you, my man?" he said. "Any relation?"</p> + +<p>The Major looked at him loftily.</p> + +<p>"No, sir.... I am his friend."</p> + +<p>"Ha! Then you must leave your friend in my charge. He shall be well in a +week at the latest."</p> + +<p>The Major was silent.</p> + +<p>"Well?" snapped the doctor.</p> + +<p>"I understood from your servant, sir—"</p> + +<p>"You speak like an educated man."</p> + +<p>"I am an educated man."</p> + +<p>"Ha—well—no business of mine. What were you about to say?"</p> + +<p>"I understood from your servant, sir, that this was not quite in your +line; and since—"</p> + +<p>The specialist smiled grimly. He snatched up a book from a pile on the +table, thrust open the title-page and held it out.</p> + +<p>"Read that, sir.... As it happens, it's my hobby. Go and ask Dr. +Foster, if you like.... No, sir; I must have your friend; it's a good +sound case."</p> + +<p>The Major read the title-page in a superior manner. It purported to be +by a James Whitty, and the name was followed by a series of distinctions +and of the initials, which I have forgotten. F.R.S. were the first.</p> + +<p>"My name," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>The Major handed the book back with a bow.</p> + +<p>"I am proud to make your acquaintance, Dr. Whitty. I have heard of you. +May I present Mrs. Trustcott?"</p> + +<p>Gertie looked confused. The doctor made a stiff obeisance. Then his face +became animated again.</p> + +<p>"We must move your friend upstairs," he said. "If you will help, Mr. +Trustcott, I will call my servant."</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>It was about half-past nine that night that the doctor, having rung the +bell in the spare bedroom, met his man at the threshold.</p> + +<p>"I'll sleep in this room to-night," he said; "you can go to bed. Bring +in a mattress, will you?"</p> + +<p>The man looked at his master's face. (He looked queer-like, reported +Thomas later to his wife.)</p> + +<p>"Hope the young man's doing well, sir?"</p> + +<p>A spasm went over the doctor's face.</p> + +<p>"Most extraordinary young man in the world," he said.... Then he broke +off. "Bring the mattress at once, Thomas. Then you can go to bed."</p> + +<p>He went back and closed the door.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thomas had seldom seen his master so perturbed over a human being +before. He wondered what on earth was the matter. During the few minutes +that he was in the room he looked at the patient curiously, and he +noticed that the doctor was continually looking at him too. Thomas +described to me Frank's appearance. He was very much flushed, he said, +with very bright eyes, and he was talking incessantly. And it was +evidently this delirious talking that had upset the doctor. I tried to +get out of Doctor Whitty what it was that Frank had actually said, but +the doctor shut up his face tight and would say nothing. Thomas was more +communicative, though far from adequate.</p> + +<p>It was about religion, he said, that Frank was talking—about +religion.... And that was really about all that he could say of that +incident.</p> + +<p>Thomas awoke about one o'clock that night, and, still with the +uneasiness that he had had earlier in the evening, climbed out of bed +without disturbing his wife, put on his slippers and great-coat and made +his way down the attic stairs. The October moon was up, and, shining +through the staircase window, showed him the door of the spare bedroom +with a line of light beneath it. From beyond that door came the steady +murmur of a voice....</p> + +<p>Now Thomas's nerves were strong: he was a little lean kind of man, very +wiry and active, nearly fifty years old, and he had lived with his +master, and the mice and the snakes, and disagreeable objects in +bottles, for more than sixteen years. He had been a male nurse in an +asylum before that. Yet there was something—he told me later—that +gripped him suddenly as he was half-way down the stairs and held him in +a kind of agony which he could in no way describe. It was connected with +the room behind that lighted door. It was not that he feared for his +master, nor for Frank. It was something else altogether. (What a pity it +is that our system of education teaches neither self-analysis nor the +art of narration!)</p> + +<p>He stood there—he told me—he should think for the better part of ten +minutes, unable to move either way, listening, always listening, to the +voice that rose and sank and lapsed now and then into silences that +were worse than all, and telling himself vigorously that he was not at +all frightened.</p> + +<p>It was a creak somewhere in the old house that disturbed him and snapped +the thin, rigid little thread that seemed to paralyze his soul; and +still in a sort of terror, though no longer in the same stiff agony, he +made his way down the three or four further steps of the flight, laid +hold of the handle, turned it and peered in.</p> + +<p>Frank was lying quiet so far as he could see. A night-light burned by +the bottles and syringes on the table at the foot of the bed, and, +although shaded from the young man's face, still diffused enough light +to shoes the servant the figure lying there, and his master, seated +beyond the bed, very close to it, still in his day-clothes—still, even, +in his velvet cap—his chin propped in his hand, staring down at his +patient, utterly absorbed and attentive.</p> + +<p>There was nothing particularly alarming in all that, and yet there was +that in the room which once more seized the man at his heart and held +him there, rigid again, terrified, and, above all, inexpressibly awed. +(At least, that is how I should interpret his description.) He said that +it wasn't like the spare bedroom at all, as he ordinarily knew it (and, +indeed, it was a mean sort of room when I saw it, without a fireplace, +though of tolerable size). It was like another room altogether, said +Thomas.</p> + +<p>He tried to listen to what Frank was saying, and I imagine he heard it +all quite intelligently; yet, once more, all he could say afterwards was +that it was about religion ... about religion....</p> + +<p>So he stood, till he suddenly perceived that the doctor was looking at +him with a frown and contorted features of eloquence. He understood that +he was to go. He closed the door noiselessly; and, after another pause, +sped upstairs without a sound in his red cloth slippers.</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>When Frank awoke to normal consciousness again, he lay still, wondering +what it was all about. He saw a table at the foot of his bed and noticed +on it a small leather case, two green bottles stoppered with +india-rubber, and a small covered bowl looking as if it contained +beef-tea. He extended his explorations still further, and discovered an +Hanoverian wardrobe against the left wall, a glare of light (which he +presently discerned to be a window), a dingy wall-paper, and finally a +door. As he reached this point the door opened and an old man with a +velvet skull-cap, spectacles, and a kind, furrowed face, came in and +stood over him.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said the old man.</p> + +<p>"I am a bit stiff," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Are you hungry?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so."</p> + +<p>"Well, you're doing very well, if that's any satisfaction to you," +observed the doctor, frowning on him doubtfully.</p> + +<p>Frank said nothing.</p> + +<p>The doctor sat down on a chair by the bed that Frank suddenly noticed +for the first time.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the doctor, "I suppose you want to know the facts. Here +they are. My name is Whitty; I'm a doctor; you're in my house. This is +Wednesday afternoon; your friends brought you here yesterday morning. +I've given them some work in the garden. You were ill yesterday, but +you're all right now."</p> + +<p>"What was the matter?"</p> + +<p>"We won't bother about names," said the doctor with a kind sharpness. +"You had a blister; it broke and became a sore; then you wore one of +those nasty cheap socks and it poisoned it. That's all."</p> + +<p>"That's in those bottles?" asked Frank languidly. (He felt amazingly +weak and stupid.)</p> + +<p>"Well, it's an anti-toxin," said the doctor. "That doesn't tell you +much, does it?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Frank.... "By the way, who's going to pay you, doctor? I +can't."</p> + +<p>The doctor's face rumpled up into wrinkles. (Frank wished he wouldn't +sit with his back to the window.)</p> + +<p>"Don't you bother about that, my boy. You're a case—that's what you +are."</p> + +<p>Frank attempted a smile out of politeness.</p> + +<p>"Now, how about some more beef-tea, and then going to sleep again?"</p> + +<p>Frank assented.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was not until the Thursday morning that things began to run really +clear again in Frank's mind. He felt for his rosary under his pillow and +it wasn't there. Then he thumped on the floor with a short stick which +had been placed by him, remembering that in some previous existence he +had been told to do this.</p> + +<p>A small, lean man appeared at the door, it seemed, with the quickness of +thought.</p> + +<p>"My rosary, please," said Frank. "It's a string of beads. I expect it's +in my trouser-pocket."</p> + +<p>The man looked at him with extraordinary earnestness and vanished.</p> + +<p>Then the doctor appeared holding the rosary.</p> + +<p>"Is this what you want?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"That's it! Thanks very much."</p> + +<p>"You're a Catholic?" went on the other, giving it him.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The doctor sat down again.</p> + +<p>"I thought so," he said.</p> + +<p>Frank wondered why. Then a thought crossed his mind.</p> + +<p>"Have I been talking?" he said. "I suppose I was delirious?"</p> + +<p>The doctor made no answer for a moment; he was looking at him fixedly. +Then he roused himself.</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, you have," he said.</p> + +<p>Frank felt rather uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"Hope I haven't said anything I shouldn't."</p> + +<p>The old man laughed shortly and grimly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," he said. "Far from it. At least, your friends wouldn't think +so."</p> + +<p>"What was it about?"</p> + +<p>"We'll talk about that later, if you like," said the doctor. "Now I want +you to get up a bit after you've had some food."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was with a very strange sensation that Frank found himself out in the +garden next day, in a sheltered corner, seated in a wicker chair in +which, by the help of bamboo poles, he had been carried downstairs by +Thomas and the Major, with the doctor leading the way and giving +directions as to how to turn the corners. The chair was brought out +through an irregularly-shaped little court at the back of the house and +set down in the warm autumn noon, against an old wall, with a big +kitchen garden, terribly neglected, spread before him. The smoke of +burning went up in the middle distance, denoting the heap of weeds +pulled by the Major and Gertie during the last three days. He saw Gertie +in the distance once or twice, in a clean sun-bonnet, going about her +business, but she made no sign. The smell of the burning weeds gave a +pleasant, wholesome and acrid taste to his mouth.</p> + +<p>"Now then," said the doctor, "we can have our little talk." And he sat +down beside him on another chair.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank felt a little nervous, he scarcely knew why. It seemed to him that +it would be far better not to refer to the past at all. And it appeared +to him a little unusual that a doctor should be so anxious about it. +Twice or three times since yesterday this old man had begun to ask him a +question and had checked himself. There was a very curious eagerness +about him now.</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully grateful and all that," said Frank. "Is there anything +special you want to know? I suppose I've been talking about my people?"</p> + +<p>The doctor waved a wrinkled hand.</p> + +<p>"No, no," he said, "not a word. You talked about a girl a little, of +course—everybody does; but not much. No, it isn't that."</p> + +<p>Frank felt relieved. He wasn't anxious about anything else.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. By the way, may I smoke?"</p> + +<p>The doctor produced a leather case of cigarettes and held it out.</p> + +<p>"Take one of these," he said.</p> + +<p>"Because," continued Frank, "I'm afraid I mustn't talk about my people. +The name I've got now is Gregory, you know." He lit his cigarette, +noticing how his fingers still shook, and dropped the match.</p> + +<p>"No, it's not about that," said the doctor; "it's not about that."</p> + +<p>Frank glanced at him, astonished by his manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, then—?" he began.</p> + +<p>"I want to know first," said the doctor slowly, "where you've got all +your ideas from. I've never heard such a jumble in my life. I know you +were delirious; but ... but it hung together somehow; and it seemed much +more real to you than anything else."</p> + +<p>"What did?" asked Frank uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>The doctor made no answer for a moment. He looked out across the untidy +garden with its rich, faded finery of wild flowers and autumn leaves, +and the yellowing foliage beyond the wall, and the moors behind—all +transfigured in October sunshine. The smoke of the burning weeds drew +heavenly lines and folds of ethereal lace-work across the dull splendors +beyond.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said at last, "everything. You know I've heard hundreds and +hundreds of folks ..." he broke off again, "... and I know what people +call religion about here—and such a pack of nonsense ..." (He turned on +Frank again suddenly.) "Where d'you get your ideas from?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean the Catholic religion?" said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Bah! don't call it that. I know what that is—" Frank interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's my religion," he said. "I haven't got any other."</p> + +<p>"But ... but the way you hold it," cried the other; "the grip ... the +grip it has of you. That's the point. D'you mean to tell me—"</p> + +<p>"I mean that I don't care for anything else in the whole world," said +Frank, stung with sudden enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"But ... but you're not mad! You're a very sensible, fellow. You don't +mean to tell me you really believe all that—all that about pain and so +on? We doctors know perfectly what all that is. It's a reaction of +Nature ... a warning to look out ... it's often simply the effects of +building up; and we're beginning to think—ah! that won't interest you! +Listen to me! I'm what they call a specialist—an investigator. I can +tell you, without conceit, that I probably know all that is to be known +on a certain subject. Well, I can tell you as an authority—"</p> + +<p>Frank lifted his head a little. He was keenly interested by the fire +with which this other enthusiast spoke.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you can," said Frank. "And I daresay it's all perfectly true; +but what in the world has all that got to do with it—with the use made +of it—the meaning of it? Now I—"</p> + +<p>"Hush! hush!" said the doctor. "We mustn't get excited. That's no good."</p> + +<p>He stopped and stared mournfully out again.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could really tell me," he said more slowly. "But that's just +what you can't. I know that. It's a personal thing."</p> + +<p>"But my dear doctor—" said Frank.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," said the other. "I was an old fool to think it +possible—"</p> + +<p>Frank interrupted again in his turn. (He was conscious of that +extraordinary mental clearness that comes sometimes to convalescents, +and he suddenly perceived there was something behind all this which had +not yet made its appearance.)</p> + +<p>"You've some reason for asking all this," he said. "I wish you'd tell me +exactly what's in your mind."</p> + +<p>The old man turned and looked at him with a kind of doubtful fixedness.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say that, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"People like you," said Frank smiling, "don't get excited over people +like me, unless there's something.... I was at Cambridge, you know. I +know the dons there, and—"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor, drawing a long breath. "I hadn't +meant to. I know it's mere nonsense; but—" He stopped an instant and +called aloud: "Thomas! Thomas!"</p> + +<p>Thomas's lean head, like a bird's, popped out from a window in the +kitchen court behind.</p> + +<p>"Come here a minute."</p> + +<p>Thomas came and stood before them with a piece of wash-leather in one +hand and a plated table-spoon in the other.</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell this young gentleman," said the doctor +deliberately, "what you told me on Wednesday morning."</p> + +<p>Thomas looked doubtfully from one to the other.</p> + +<p>"It was my fancy, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Never mind about that. Tell us both."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I didn't like it. Seemed to me when I looked in—"</p> + +<p>("He looked in on us in the middle of the night," explained the doctor. +"Yes, go on, Thomas.")</p> + +<p>"Seemed to me there was something queer."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said the doctor encouragingly.</p> + +<p>"Something queer," repeated Thomas musingly.... "And now if you'll +excuse me, sir, I'll have to get back—"</p> + +<p>The doctor waved his hands despairingly as Thomas scuttled back without +another word.</p> + +<p>"It's no good," he said, "no good. And yet he told me quite +intelligibly—"</p> + +<p>Frank was laughing quietly to himself.</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me one word—"</p> + +<p>"Don't laugh," said the old man simply. "Look here, my boy, it's no +laughing matter. I tell you I can't think of anything else. It's +bothering me."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>The doctor waved his hands.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "I can say it no better. It was the whole thing. The +way you looked, the way you spoke. It was most unusual. But it affected +me—it affected me in the same way; and I thought that perhaps you could +explain."</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>It was not until the Monday afternoon that Frank persuaded the doctor to +let him go. Dr. Whitty said everything possible, in his emphatic way, as +to the risk of traveling again too soon; and there was one scene, +actually conducted in the menagerie—the only occasion on which the +doctor mentioned Frank's relations—during which he besought the young +man to be sensible, and to allow him to communicate with his family. +Frank flatly refused, without giving reasons.</p> + +<p>The doctor seemed strangely shy of referring again to the conversation +in the garden; and, for his part, Frank shut up like a box. They seem +both to have been extraordinarily puzzled at one another—as such people +occasionally are. They were as two persons, both intelligent and +interested, entirely divided by the absence of any common language, or +even of symbols. Words that each used meant different things to the +other. (It strikes me sometimes that the curse of Babel was a deeper +thing than appears on the surface.)</p> + +<p>The Major and Gertie, all this while, were in clover. The doctor had no +conception of what six hours' manual work could or could not do, and, in +return for these hours, he made over to the two a small disused +gardener's cottage at the end of his grounds, some bedding, their meals, +and a shilling the day. It was wonderful how solicitous the Major was as +to Frank's not traveling again until it was certain he was capable of +it; but Frank had acquired a somewhat short and decisive way with his +friend, and announced that Monday night must see them all cleared out.</p> + +<p>The leave-taking—so far as I have been able to gather—was rather +surprisingly emotional. The doctor took Frank apart into the study where +he had first seen him, and had a short conversation, during which one +sovereign finally passed from the doctor to the patient.</p> + +<p>I have often tried to represent to myself exactly what elements there +were in Frank that had such an effect upon this wise and positive old +man. He had been a very upsetting visitor in many ways. He had +distracted his benefactor from a very important mouse that had died of +leprosy; he had interfered sadly with working hours; he had turned the +house, comparatively speaking, upside down. Worse than all, he had—I +will not say modified the doctor's theories—that would be far too +strong a phrase; but he had, quite unconsciously, run full tilt against +them; and finally, worst of all, he had done this right in the middle of +the doctor's own private preserve. There was absolutely every element +necessary to explain Frank's remarks during his delirium; he was a +religiously-minded boy, poisoned by a toxin and treated by the +anti-toxin. What in the world could be expected but that he should rave +in the most fantastic way, and utter every mad conception and idea that +his subjective self contained. As for that absurd fancy of the doctor +himself, as well as of his servant that there was "something queer" in +the room—the more he thought of it, the less he valued it. Obviously it +was the result of a peculiar combination of psychological conditions, +just as psychological conditions were themselves the result of an +obscure combination of toxin—or anti-toxin—forces.</p> + +<p>Yet for all that, argue as one may, the fact remained that this dry and +rather misanthropic scientist was affected in an astonishing manner by +Frank's personality. (It will appear later on in Frank's history that +the effect was more or less permanent.)</p> + +<p>Still more remarkable to my mind was the very strong affection that +Frank conceived for the doctor. (There is no mystery coming: the doctor +will not ultimately turn out to be Frank's father in disguise; Lord +Talgarth still retains that distinction.) But it is plainly revealed by +Frank's diary that he was drawn to this elderly man by very much the +same kind of feelings as a son might have. And yet it is hardly possible +to conceive two characters with less in common. The doctor was a +dogmatic materialist—and remains so still—Frank was a Catholic. The +doctor was scientific to his finger-tips—Frank romantic to the same +extremities; the doctor was old and a confirmed stay-at-home—Frank was +young, and an incorrigible gipsy. Yet so the matter was. I have certain +ideas of my own, but there is no use in stating them, beyond saying +perhaps that each recognized in the other—sub-consciously only, since +each professed himself utterly unable to sympathize in the smallest +degree with the views of the other—a certain fixity of devotion that +was the driving-force in each life. Certainly, on the surface, there are +not two theories less unlike than the one which finds the solution of +all things in Toxin, and the other which finds it in God. But perhaps +there is a reconciliation somewhere.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Major and Gertie were waiting in the stable-yard when the two other +men emerged. The Major had a large bag of apples—given him by Thomas at +the doctor's orders—which he was proceeding to add to Gertie's load at +the very moment when the two others came out. Frank took them, without a +word, and slung them over his own back.</p> + +<p>The doctor stood blinking a moment in the strong sunshine.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-by, my boy," he said. "Good luck! Remember that if ever you +come this way again—"</p> + +<p>"Good-by, sir," said Frank.</p> + +<p>He held out his disengaged hand.</p> + +<p>Then an astonishing thing happened. The doctor took the hand, then +dropped it; threw his arms round the boy's neck, kissed him on both +cheeks, and hurried back through the garden gate, slamming it behind +him. And I imagine he ran upstairs at once to see how the mice were.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Well, that is the whole of the incident. The two haven't met since, that +I am aware. And I scarcely know why I have included it in this book. But +I was able to put it together from various witnesses, documentary and +personal, and it seemed a pity to leave it out.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVb" id="CHAPTER_IVb"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>An enormous physical weariness settled down on Frank, as he trudged +silently with the Major, towards evening, a week later.</p> + +<p>He had worked all the previous day in a farm-yard—carting manure, and +the like; and though he was perfectly well again, some of the spring had +ebbed from his muscles during his week's rest. This day, too, the first +of November, had been exhausting. They had walked since daybreak, after +a wretched night in a barn, plodding almost in silence, mile after mile, +against a wet south-west wind, over a discouraging kind of high-road +that dipped and rose and dipped again, and never seemed to arrive +anywhere.</p> + +<p>It is true that Frank was no longer intensely depressed; quite another +process had been at work upon him for the last two or three months, as +will be seen presently; but his limbs seemed leaden, and the actual +stiffness in his shoulders and loins made walking a little difficult.</p> + +<p>They were all tired together. They did not say much to one another. +They had, in fact, said all that there was to be said months ago; and +they were reduced—as men always are reduced when a certain pitch is +reached—to speak simply of the most elementary bodily things—food, +tobacco and sleep. The Major droned on now and then—recalling luxuries +of past days—actual roofs over the head, actual hot meat to put in the +mouth, actual cigars—and Frank answered him. Gertie said nothing.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She made up for it, soon after dark had fallen, by quite suddenly +collapsing into a hedge, and announcing that she would die if she didn't +rest. The Major made the usual remarks, and she made no answer.</p> + +<p>Frank interposed suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Shut up," he said. "We can't stop here. I'll go on a bit and see what +can be done."</p> + +<p>And, as he went off into the darkness, leaving his bundle, he heard the +scolding voice begin again, but it was on a lower key and he knew it +would presently subside into a grumble, soothed by tobacco.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He had no idea as to the character of the road that lay before him. They +had passed through a few villages that afternoon, whose names meant +nothing to him, and he scarcely knew why, even, they were going along +this particular road. They were moving southwards towards London—so +much had been agreed—and they proposed to arrive there in another month +or so. But the country was unfamiliar to him, and the people seemed +grudging and uncouth. They had twice been refused the use of an outhouse +for the night, that afternoon.</p> + +<p>It seemed an extraordinarily deserted road. There were no lights from +houses, so far as he could make out, and the four miles that had been +declared at their last stopping-place to separate them from the next +village appeared already more like five or six. Certainly the three of +them had between two and three shillings, all told; there was no actual +need of a workhouse just yet, but naturally it was wished to spend as +little as possible.</p> + +<p>Then on a sudden he caught a glimpse of a light burning somewhere, that +appeared and vanished again as he moved, and fifty yards more brought +him to a wide sweep, a pair of gate-posts with the gate fastened back, +and a lodge on the left-hand side. So much he could make out dimly +through the November darkness; and as he stood there hesitating, he +thought he could see somewhere below him a few other lights burning +through the masses of leafless trees through which the drive went +downhill.</p> + +<p>He knew very well by experience that lodge-keepers were, taken +altogether, perhaps the most unsympathetic class in the community. (They +live, you see, right on the high road, and see human nature at its +hottest and crossest as well as its most dishonest.) Servants at back +doors were, as a rule, infinitely more obliging; and, as obviously this +was the entrance to some big country house, the right thing to do would +be to steal past the lodge on tiptoe and seek his fortune amongst the +trees. Yet he hesitated; the house might be half a mile away, for all he +knew; and, certainly there was a hospitable look about the fastened-back +gate.</p> + +<p>There came a gust of wind over the hills behind him, laden with wet.... +He turned, went up to the lodge door and knocked.</p> + +<p>He could hear someone moving about inside, and just as he was beginning +to wonder whether his double tap had been audible, the door opened and +disclosed a woman in an apron.</p> + +<p>"Can you very kindly direct me—" began Frank politely.</p> + +<p>The woman jerked her head sharply in the direction of the house.</p> + +<p>"Straight down the hill," she said. "Them's the orders."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>It was no good; the door was shut again in his face, and he stood alone +in the dark.</p> + +<p>This was all very unusual. Lodge-keepers did not usually receive +"orders" to send tramps, without credentials, on to the house which the +lodge was supposed to guard.... That open gate, then, must have been +intentional. Plainly, however, he must take her at her word; and as he +tramped down the drive, he began to form theories. It must be a fanatic +of some kind who lived here, and he inclined to consider the owner as +probably an eccentric old lady with a fad, and a large number of +lap-dogs.</p> + +<p>As he came nearer, through the trees, he became still more astonished, +for as the branches thinned, he became aware of lights burning at such +enormous distances apart that the building seemed more like a village +than a house.</p> + +<p>Straight before him shone a row of lighted squares, high up, as if hung +in air, receding in perspective, till blocked out by a black mass which +seemed a roof of some kind; far on the left shone some kind of +illuminated gateway, and to his right another window or two glimmered +almost beneath his feet.</p> + +<p>Another fifty yards down the winding drive disclosed a sight that made +him seriously wonder whether the whole experience were real, for now +only a few steps further on, and still lower than the level at which he +was, stood, apparently, a porter's lodge, as of a great college. There +was a Tudor archway, with rooms above it and rooms on either side; a +lamp hung from the roof illuminated the dry stone pavement within, and +huge barred gates at the further end, shut off all other view. It looked +like the entrance to some vast feudal castle, and he thought again that +if an eccentric old lady lived here, she must be very eccentric indeed. +He began to wonder whether a seneschal in a belt hung with keys would +presently make his appearance: he considered whether or not he could +wind a horn, if there were no other way of summoning the retainers.</p> + +<p>When at last he tapped at a small interior door, also studded and barred +with iron, and the door opened, the figure he did see was hardly less of +a shock to him than a seneschal would have been.</p> + +<p>For there stood, as if straight out of a Christmas number, the figure of +a monk, tall, lean, with gray hair, clean-shaven, with a pair of merry +eyes and a brisk manner. He wore a broad leather band round his black +frock, and carried his spare hand thrust deep into it.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>The monk sighed humorously.</p> + +<p>"Another of them," he said. "Well, my man?"</p> + +<p>"Please, father—"</p> + +<p>The monk closed his eyes as in resignation.</p> + +<p>"You needn't try that on," he said. "Besides, I'm not a father. I'm a +brother. Can you remember that?"</p> + +<p>Frank smiled back.</p> + +<p>"Very well, brother. I'm a Catholic myself."</p> + +<p>"Ah! yes," sighed the monk briskly. "That's what they all say. Can you +say the 'Divine Praises'? Do you know what they are?... However, that +makes no difference, as—"</p> + +<p>"But I can, brother. 'Blessed be God. Blessed be His—"</p> + +<p>"But you're not Irish?"</p> + +<p>"I know I'm not. But—"</p> + +<p>"Are you an educated man? However, that's not my affair. What can I do +for you, sir?"</p> + +<p>The monk seemed to take a little more interest in him, and Frank took +courage.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I'm an educated man. My name's Frank Gregory. I've got +two friends out on the road up there—a man and a woman. Their name's +Trustcott—and the woman—"</p> + +<p>"No good; no good," said the monk. "No women."</p> + +<p>"But, brother, she really can't go any further. I'm very sorry, but we +simply must have shelter. We've got two or three shillings, if +necessary—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have, have you?" said the monk keenly. "That's quite new. And +when did you touch food last? Yesterday morning? (Don't say 'S'elp me!' +It's not necessary.)"</p> + +<p>"We last touched food about twelve o'clock to-day. We had beans and cold +bacon," said Frank deliberately. "We're perfectly willing to pay for +shelter and food, if we're obliged. But, of course, we don't want to."</p> + +<p>The monk eyed him very keenly indeed a minute or two without speaking. +This seemed a new type.</p> + +<p>"Come in and sit down a minute," he said. "I'll fetch the guest-master."</p> + +<p>It was a very plain little room in which Frank sat, and seemed designed, +on purpose, to furnish no temptation to pilferers. There was a table, +two chairs, a painted plaster statue of a gray-bearded man in black +standing on a small bracket with a crook in his hand; a pious book, much +thumb-marked, lay face downwards on the table beside the oil lamp. There +was another door through which the monk had disappeared, and that was +absolutely all. There was no carpet and no curtains, but a bright little +coal fire burned on the hearth, and two windows looked, one up the drive +down which Frank had come, and the other into some sort of courtyard on +the opposite side.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes passed away without anything at all happening. Frank +heard more than one gust of rain-laden wind dash against the little +barred window to the south, and he wondered how his friends were getting +on. The Major, at any rate, he knew, would manage to keep himself +tolerably dry. Then he began to think about this place, and was +surprised that he was not surprised at running into it like this in the +dark. He knew nothing at all about monasteries—he hardly knew that +there were such things in England (one must remember that he had only +been a Catholic for about five months), and yet somehow, now that he had +come here, it all seemed inevitable. (I cannot put it better than that: +it is what he himself says in his diary.)</p> + +<p>Then, as he meditated, the door opened, and there came in a thin, +eager-looking elderly man, dressed like the brother who followed him, +except that over his frock he wore a broad strip of black stuff, +something like a long loose apron, hanging from his throat to his feet, +and his head was enveloped in a black hood.</p> + +<p>Frank stood up and bowed with some difficulty. He was beginning to feel +stiff.</p> + +<p>"Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright gray eyes, puckered at +the corners, running over and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from +close-cut hair to earthy boots. "Brother James tells me you wish to see +me."</p> + +<p>"It was Brother James who said so, father," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"What is it you want?"</p> + +<p>"I've got two friends on the road who want shelter—man and woman. We'll +pay, if necessary, but—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind about that," interrupted the priest sharply. "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"The name I go by is Frank Gregory."</p> + +<p>"The name you go by, eh?... Where were you educated?"</p> + +<p>"Eton and Cambridge."</p> + +<p>"How do you come to be on the roads?"</p> + +<p>"That's a long story, father."</p> + +<p>"Did you do anything you shouldn't?"</p> + +<p>"No. But I've been in prison since."</p> + +<p>"And your name's Frank Gregory.... F.G., eh?"</p> + +<p>Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that he was known.</p> + +<p>"Well—good-night, father—"</p> + +<p>The priest turned with upraised hand.</p> + +<p>"Brother James, just step outside."</p> + +<p>Then he continued as the door closed.</p> + +<p>"You needn't go, Mr.—er—Gregory. Your name shall not be mentioned to a +living being without your leave."</p> + +<p>"You know about me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I do.... Now be sensible, my dear fellow; go and fetch your +friends. We'll manage somehow." (He raised his voice and rapped on the +table.) "Brother James ... go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge. +Make arrangements to put the woman up somewhere, either there or in a +gardener's cottage. Then bring the man down here.... His name?"</p> + +<p>"Trustcott," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"And when you come back, I shall be waiting for you here."</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary sense of familiarity +descended on him as, half an hour later, the door of a cell closed +behind Dom Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room with a +bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waiting for him, a can of hot +water, a sponging tin and a small iron bed.</p> + +<p>I think I understand what he means. Somehow or other a well-ordered +monastery represents the Least Common Multiple of nearly all pleasant +houses. It has the largeness and amplitude of a castle, and the +plainness of decent poverty. It has none of that theatricality which it +is supposed to have, none of the dreaminess or the sentimentality with +which Protestants endow it. He had passed just now through, first, a +network of small stairways, archways, vestibules and passages, and then +along two immense corridors with windows on one side and closed doors on +the other. Everywhere there was the same quiet warmth and decency and +plainness—stained deal, uncarpeted boards, a few oil pictures in the +lower corridor, an image or two at the turn and head of the stairs; it +was lighted clearly and unaffectedly by incandescent gas, and the only +figures he had seen were of two or three monks, with hooded heads (they +had raised these hoods slightly in salutation as he passed), each going +about his business briskly and silently. There was even a cheerful smell +of cooking at the end of one of the corridors, and he had caught a +glimpse of two or three aproned lay brothers, busy in the firelight and +glow of a huge kitchen, over great copper pans.</p> + +<p>The sense of familiarity, then, is perfectly intelligible: a visitor to +a monastery steps, indeed, into a busy and well-ordered life, but there +is enough room and air and silence for him to preserve his individuality +too.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As soon as he was washed and dressed, he sat down in a chair before the +fire; but almost immediately there came a tap on his door, and the +somewhat inflamed face of the Major looked in.</p> + +<p>"Frankie?" he whispered, and, reassured, came in and closed the door +behind. (He looked very curiously small and unimportant, thought Frank. +Perhaps it was the black suit that had been lent him.)</p> + +<p>"By gad, Frankie ... we're in clover," he whispered, still apparently +under the impression that somehow he was in church. "There are some +other chaps, you know, off the roads too, but they're down by the lodge +somewhere." (He broke off and then continued.) "I've got such a queer +Johnnie in my room—ah! you've got one, too."</p> + +<p>He went up to examine a small plaster statue of a saint above the +prie-dieu.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, isn't it?" said Frank sleepily.</p> + +<p>"And there's another Johnnie's name on the door. The Rev. S. Augustine, +or something."</p> + +<p>He tip-toed back to the fire, lifted his tails, and stood warming +himself with a complacent but nervous smile.</p> + +<p>(Frank regarded him with wonder.)</p> + +<p>"What do all the Johnnies do here?" asked the Major presently. "Have a +rare old time, I expect. I bet they've got cellars under here all right. +Just like those chaps in comic pictures, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>(Frank decided it was no use to try to explain.)</p> + +<p>The Major babbled on a minute or two longer, requiring no answer, and +every now and then having his roving eye caught by some new marvel. He +fingered a sprig of yew that was twisted into a crucifix hung over the +bed. ("Expect it's one of those old relics," he said, "some lie or +other.") He humorously dressed up the statue of the saint in a +pocket-handkerchief, and said: "Let us pray," in a loud whisper, with +one eye on the door. And all the while there still lay on him apparently +the impression that if he talked loud or made any perceptible sound he +would be turned out again.</p> + +<p>He was just beginning a few steps of a noiseless high-kicking dance when +there was a tap at the door, and he collapsed into an attitude of +weak-kneed humility. Dom Hildebrand came in.</p> + +<p>"If you're ready," he said, "we might go down to supper."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank relates in his diary that of all else in the monastery, apart from +the church, the refectory and its manners impressed him most. (How easy +it is to picture it when one has once seen the ceremonies!)</p> + +<p>He sat at a center table, with the Major opposite (looking smaller than +ever), before a cloth laid with knife, spoon and forks. All round the +walls on a low daïs, with their backs against them, sat a row of perhaps +forty monks, of every age, kind and condition. The tables were bare +wood, laid simply with utensils and no cloths, with a napkin in each +place. At the end opposite the door there sat at a table all alone a +big, portly, kindly-faced man, of a startlingly fatherly appearance, +clean-shaven, gray-haired, and with fine features. This was the Abbot. +Above him hung a crucifix, with the single word "<i>Sitio</i>" beneath it on +a small black label.</p> + +<p>The meal began, however, with the ceremony of singing grace. The rows of +monks stood out, with one in the middle, facing the Abbot, each with his +hood forward and his hands hidden in his scapular. It was sung to a +grave tone, with sudden intonations, by the united voices in +unison—blessing, response, collect, psalm and the rest. (Frank could +not resist one glance at the Major, whose face of consternation +resembled that of a bird in the company of sedate cats.)</p> + +<p>Then each went to his place, and, noiselessly, the orderly meal began +and continued to the reading first of the gospel, and then of a history, +from a pulpit built high in the wall. All were served by lay brothers, +girded with aprons; almost every movement, though entirely natural, +seemed ordered by routine and custom, and was distinguished by a serious +sort of courtesy that made the taking of food appear, for once, as a +really beautiful, august, and almost sacramental ceremony. The great +hall, too, with its pointed roof, its tiled floor, its white-wood +scrubbed tables, and its tall emblazoned windows, seemed exactly the +proper background—a kind of secular sanctuary. The food was plain and +plentiful: soup, meat, cheese and fruit; and each of the two guests had +a small decanter of red wine, a tiny loaf of bread, and a napkin. The +monks drank beer or water.</p> + +<p>Then once more followed grace, with the same ceremonial.</p> + +<p>When this was ended, Frank turned to see where Father Hildebrand was, +supposing that all would go to their rooms; but as he turned he saw the +Abbot coming down alone. He moved on, this great man, with that same +large, fatherly air, but as he passed the two guests, he inclined +slightly towards them, and Frank, with a glance to warn the Major, +understanding that they were to follow, came out of his place and passed +down between the lines of the monks, still in silence.</p> + +<p>The Abbot went on, turned to the right, and as he moved along the +cloister, loud sonorous chanting began behind. So they went, on and on, +up the long lighted corridor, past door after door, as in some church +procession. Yet all was obviously natural and familiar.</p> + +<p>They turned in at last beneath an archway to the left, went through a +vestibule, past a great stone of a crowned Woman with a Child in her +arms, and as they entered the church, the Abbot dipped his finger into a +stoop and presented it to Frank. Frank touched the drop of water, made +the sign of the cross, and presented again his damp finger to the Major, +who looked at him with a startled eye.</p> + +<p>The Abbot indicated the front row of the seats in the nave, and Frank +went into it, to watch the procession behind go past, flow up the steps, +and disappear into the double rows of great stalls that lined the choir.</p> + +<p>There was still silence—and longer silence, till Frank understood....</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom little by little, and he began to +be able to make out the magnificence of the place he was in. Behind him +stretched the immense nave, its roof and columns lost in darkness, its +sides faintly illuminated by the glimmer of single oil-lamps, each in a +small screened-off chapel. But in front of him was the greater splendor.</p> + +<p>From side to side across the entrance to the choir ran the rood-screen, +a vast erection of brown oak and black iron, surmounted by a high loft, +from which glimmered down sheaves of silvered organ pipes, and, higher +yet, in deep shadow, he could make out three gigantic figures, of which +the center one was nailed to a cross. Beyond this began the stalls—dark +and majestic, broken by carving—jutting heads of kings and priests +leaning forward as if to breathe in the magnetism of that immense living +silence generated by forty men at their prayers. At the further end +there shone out faintly the glory of the High Altar, almost luminous, it +seemed, in the light of the single red spark that hung before it. Frank +could discern presently the gilded figures that stood among the +candlesticks behind, the throne and crucifix, the mysterious veiling +curtains of the Tabernacle.... Finally, in the midst of the choir, +stood a tall erection which he could not understand.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An extraordinary peace seemed to descend and envelop him as he looked—a +kind of crown and climax of various interior experiences that were +falling on him now—for the last few weeks. (It is useless trying to put +it into words. I shall hope to do my best presently by quoting Frank +himself.) There was a sense of home-coming; there was a sense of +astonishing sanity; there was a sense of an enormous objective peace, +meeting and ratifying that interior peace which was beginning to be his. +It appeared to him, somehow, as if for the first time he experienced +without him that which up to now he had chiefly found within. Certainly +there had been moments of this before—not merely emotional, you +understand—when heart and head lay still from their striving, and the +will reposed in Another Will. But this was the climax: it summed up all +that he had learned in the last few months; it soothed the last scars +away, it explained and answered—and, above all, correlated—his +experiences. No doubt it was the physical, as well as the spiritual, +atmosphere of this place, the quiet corridors, the warmth and the +plainness and the solidity, even the august grace of the refectory—all +these helped and had part in the sensation. Yet, if it is possible for +you to believe it, these were no more than the vessels from which the +heavenly fluid streamed; vessels, rather, that contained a little of +that abundance that surged up here as in a fountain....</p> + +<p>Frank started a little at a voice in his ear.</p> + +<p>"When's it going to begin?" whispered the Major in a hoarse, +apprehensive voice.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>A figure detached itself presently from the dark mass of the stalls and +came down to where they were sitting. Frank perceived it was Father +Hildebrand.</p> + +<p>"We're singing Mattins of the Dead, presently," he said in a low voice. +"It's All Souls' Eve. Will you stay, or shall I take you to your room?"</p> + +<p>The Major stood up with alacrity.</p> + +<p>"I'll stay, if I may," said Frank.</p> + +<p>"Very well. Then I'll take Mr. Trustcott upstairs."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Half an hour later the ceremony began.</p> + +<p>Here, I simply despair of description. I know something of what Frank +witnessed and perceived, for I have been present myself at this affair +in a religious house; but I do not pretend to be able to write it down.</p> + +<p>First, however, there was the external, visible, audible service: the +catafalque, a bier-like erection, all black and yellow, guarded by +yellow flames on yellow candles—the grave movements, the almost +monstrous figures, the rhythm of the ceremonies, and the wail of, the +music of forty voices singing as one—all that is understood....</p> + +<p>But the inner side of these things—the reverse of which these things +are but a coarse lining, the substance of which this is a shadow—that +is what passes words and transcends impressions.</p> + +<p>It seemed to Frank that one section, at any rate, of that enormous truth +at which he had clutched almost blindly when he had first made his +submission to the Church—one chamber in that House of Life—was now +flung open before him, and he saw in it men as trees walking.... He was +tired and excited, of course; he was intensely imaginative; but there +are some experiences that a rise of temperature cannot explain and that +an imagination cannot originate....</p> + +<p>For it seemed to him that here he was aware of an immeasurable need to +which those ministrations were addressed, and this whole was countless +in its units and clamant in its silence. It was as a man might see the +wall of his room roll away, beyond which he had thought only the night +to lie, and discern a thronging mass of faces crying for help, pressing +upon him, urging, yet all without sound or word. He attempts in his +diary to use phrases for all this—he speaks of a pit in which is no +water, of shadows and forms that writhe and plead, of a light of glass +mingled with fire; and yet of an inevitability, of a Justice which there +is no questioning and a Force that there is no resisting. And, on the +other side, there was this help given by men of flesh and blood like +himself—using ceremonies and gestures and strange resonant words.... +The whole was as some enormous orchestra—there was the wail on this +side, the answer on that—the throb of beating hearts—there were +climaxes, catastrophes, soft passages, and yet the result was one vast +and harmonious whole.</p> + +<p>It was the catafalque that seemed to him the veiled door to that other +world that so manifested itself—seen as he saw it in the light of the +yellow candles—it was as the awful portal of death itself; beneath that +heavy mantle lay not so much a Body of Humanity still in death, as a +Soul of Humanity alive beyond death, quick and yet motionless with pain. +And those figures that moved about it, with censor and aspersorium, were +as angels for tenderness and dignity and undoubted power. They were men +like himself, yet they were far more; and they, too, one day, like +himself, would pass beneath that pall and need the help of others that +should follow them....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Something of this is but a hint of what Frank experienced; it came and +went, no doubt, in gusts, yet all through he seems to have felt that +sense that here was a door into that great watching world beyond—that +here, in what is supposed by the world to be the narrow constraint of +religion, was a liberty and an outlook into realities such as the open +road and nature can but seldom give. But for my part, I can no more +follow him further than I can write down the passion of the lover and +the ecstasy of the musician. If these things could be said in words, +they would have been said long ago. But at least it was along this path +of perception that Frank went—a path that but continued the way along +which he had come with such sure swiftness ever since the moment he had +taken his sorrows and changed them from bitter to sweet. Some sentences +that he has written mean nothing to me at all....</p> + +<p>Only this I see clearly, both from my talks with Father Hildebrand and +from the diary which Frank amplified at his bidding—that Frank had +reached the end of a second stage in his journey, and that a third was +to begin.</p> + +<p>It is significant also, I think, in view of what is to follow, that the +last initiation of this stage should have taken place on such an +occasion as this.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Vb" id="CHAPTER_Vb"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>There are certain moods into which minds, very much tired or very much +concentrated, occasionally fall, in which the most trifling things take +on them an appearance of great significance. A man in great anxiety, for +example, will regard as omens or warnings such things as the ringing of +a bell or the flight of a bird. I have heard this process deliberately +defended by people who should know better. I have heard it said that +those moods of intense concentration are, as a matter of fact states of +soul in which the intuitive or mystical faculties work with great +facility, and that at such times connections and correlations are +perceived which at other times pass unnoticed. The events of the world +then are, by such people, regarded as forming links in a chain of +purpose—events even which are obviously to the practical man merely the +effects of chance and accident. It is utterly impossible, says the +practical man, that the ringing of a bell, or the grouping of +tea-leaves, or the particular moment at which a picture falls from a +wall, can be anything but fortuitous: and it is the sign of a weak and +superstitious mind to regard them as anything else. There can be no +purpose or sequence except in matters where we can perceive purpose or +sequence.</p> + +<p>Of course the practical man must be right; we imply that he is right, +since we call him practical, and I have to deplore, therefore, the fact +that Frank on several occasions fell into a superstitious way of looking +at things. The proof is only too plain from his own diary—not that he +interprets the little events which he records, but that he takes such +extreme pains to write them down—events, too, that are, to all +sensibly-minded people, almost glaringly unimportant and insignificant.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I have two such incidents to record between the the travelers' leaving +the Benedictine monastery and their arriving in London in December. The +Major and Gertie have probably long since forgotten the one which they +themselves witnessed, and, indeed, there is no particular reason why +they should remember it. Of the other Frank seems to have said nothing +to his friends. Both of them, however, are perfectly insignificant—they +concern, respectively, only a few invisible singers and a couple of +quite ordinary human beings. They are described with a wholly +unnecessary wealth of detail in Frank's diary, though without comment, +and I write them down here for that reason, and that reason only.</p> + +<p>The first was as follows:</p> + +<p>They were approaching a certain cathedral town, not a hundred miles from +London, and as the evening was clear and dry, though frosty, and money +was low, they determined to pass the night in a convenient brick-yard +about half a mile out of the town.</p> + +<p>There was a handy shed where various implements were kept; the Major, by +the help of a little twisted wire, easily unfastened the door. They +supped, cooking a little porridge over a small fire which they were able +to make without risk, and lay down to sleep after a pipe or two.</p> + +<p>Tramps go to sleep early when they mean business, and it could not have +been more than about eleven o'clock at night when Frank awoke with the +sense that he had slept long and deeply. He seems to have lain there, +content and quiet enough, watching the last ember dying in the brazier +where they had made their fire.... There was presently a stir from the +further corner of the shed, a match was struck, and Frank, from his +improvised pillow, beheld the Major's face suddenly illuminated by the +light with which he was kindling his pipe once more. He watched the face +with a sort of artistic interest for a few seconds—the drooping +shadows, the apparently cavernous eyes, the deep-shaded bar of the +mustache across the face. In the wavering light cast from below it +resembled the face of a vindictive beast. Then the Major whispered, +between his puffs:</p> + +<p>"Frankie?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Oh! you're awake too, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A minute later, though they had spoken only in whispers, Gertie drew a +long sighing breath from her corner of the shed and they could hear that +she, too, sat up and cleared her throat.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is a pretty job," said the Major jovially to the company +generally. "What's the matter with us?"</p> + +<p>Frank said nothing. He lay still, with a sense of extraordinary content +and comfort, and heard Gertie presently lie down again. The Major smoked +steadily.</p> + +<p>Then the singing began.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was a perfectly still night, frost-bound and motionless. It was late +enough for the sounds of the town to have died away (cathedral towns go +to bed early and rise late), and, indeed, almost the only sounds they +had heard, even three or four hours before, had been the occasional +deliberate chime of bells, like a meditative man suddenly uttering a +word or two aloud. Now, however, everything was dead silent. Probably +the hour had struck immediately before they awoke, since Frank remarks +that it seemed a long time before four notes tolled out the quarter.</p> + +<p>The singing came first as a sensation rather than as a sound, so far +away was it. It was not at once that Frank formulated the sense of +pleasure that he experienced by telling himself that someone was +singing.</p> + +<p>At first it was a single voice that made itself heard—a tenor of +extraordinary clarity. The air was unknown to him, but it had the +character of antiquity; there was a certain pleasant melancholy about +it; it contained little trills and grace-notes, such as—before harmony +developed in the modern sense—probably supplied the absence of chords. +There was no wind on which the sound could rise or fall, and it grew +from a thread out of the distance into clear singing not a quarter of a +mile away....</p> + +<p>The Major presently grunted over his pipe some expression of surprise; +but Frank could say nothing. He was almost holding his breath, so great +was his pleasure.</p> + +<p>The air, almost regretfully, ran downhill like a brook approaching, an +inevitable full close; and then, as the last note was reached, a chord +of voices broke in with some kind of chorus.</p> + +<p>The voices were of a quartette of men, and rang together like struck +notes, not loud or harsh, but, on the contrary, with a restrained +softness that must, I suppose, have been the result of very careful +training. It was the same air that they were repeating, but the +grace-notes were absent, and the four voices, in chord after chord, +supplied their place by harmony. It was impossible to tell what was the +subject of the song or even whether it were sacred or secular, for it +was of that period—at least, so I conjecture—when the two worlds were +one, and when men courted their love and adored their God after the same +fashion. Only there ran through all that air of sweet and austere +melancholy, as if earthly music could do no more than hint at what the +heart wished to express.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Frank listened in a sort of ecstasy. The music was nearer now, coming +from the direction from which the three travelers had themselves come +this afternoon. Presently, from the apparent diminuendo, it was plain +that the singers were past, and were going on towards the town. There +was no sound of footsteps; the Major remarked on that, when he could +get Frank to attend a few minutes later, when all was over; but there +were field paths running in every direction, as well as broad stretches +of grass beside the road, so the singers may very well have been walking +on soft ground. (These points are dispassionately noted down in the +diary.)</p> + +<p>The chorus was growing fainter now; once more the last slopes of the +melody were in sight—those downhill gradations of the air that told of +the silence to come. Then once more, for an instant, there was silence, +till again, perhaps nearly a quarter of a mile away, the single tenor +voice began <i>da capo</i>. And the last that Frank heard, at the moment +before the quarter struck and, soft and mellow though it was, jarred the +air and left the ear unable to focus itself again on the tiny woven +thread of sound, was, once more the untiring quartette taking up the +melody, far off in the silent darkness.</p> + +<p>It seems to me a curious little incident—this passing of four singers +in the night; it might have seemed as if our travelers, by a kind of +chance, were allowed to overhear the affairs of a world other than their +own—and the more curious because Frank seems to have been so much +absorbed by it. Of course, from a practical point of view, it is almost +painfully obvious what is the explanation. It must have been a quartette +from the cathedral choir, returning from some festivity in the suburbs; +and it must have happened that they followed the same route, though +walking on the grass, along which Frank himself had come that evening.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>The second incident is even more ordinary, and once again I must declare +that nothing would have induced me to incorporate it into this story had +it not appeared, described very minutely in the sort of log-book into +which Frank's diary occasionally degenerates.</p> + +<p>They were within a very few miles of the outskirts of London, and +December had succeeded November. They had had a day or two of work upon +some farm or other. (I have not been able to identify the place), and +had run into, and, indeed, exchanged remarks with two or three groups of +tramps also London bound.</p> + +<p>They were given temporary lodgings in a loft over a stable, by the +farmer for whom they worked, and this stable was situated in a court at +the end of the village street, with gates that stood open all day, since +the yard was overlooked by the windows of the farmer's +living-house—and, besides, there was really nothing to steal.</p> + +<p>They had finished their work in the fields (I think it had to do with +the sheep and mangel-wurzels, or something of the kind); they had +returned to their lodgings, received their pay, packed up their +belongings, and had already reached the further end of the village on +their way to London, when Frank discovered that he had left a pair of +socks behind. This would never do: socks cost money, and their absence +meant sore feet and weariness; so he told the Major and Gertie to walk +on slowly while he went back. He would catch them up, he said, before +they had gone half a mile. He hid his bundle under a hedge—every pound +of weight made a difference at the end of a day's work—and set off.</p> + +<p>It was just at that moment between day and night—between four and five +o'clock—as he came back into the yard. He went straight through the +open gates, glancing about, to explain matters to the farmer if +necessary, but, not seeing him, went up the rickety stairs, groped his +way across to the window, took down his socks from the nail an which he +had hung them last night, and came down again.</p> + +<p>As he came into the yard, he thought he heard something stirring within +the open door of the stable on his right, and thinking it to be the +farmer, and that an explanation would be advisable, looked in.</p> + +<p>At first he saw nothing, though he could hear a horse moving about in +the loose-box in the corner. Then he saw a light shine beneath the crack +of the second door, beside the loose-box, that led into the farm-yard +proper; and the next instant the door opened, a man came in with a +lantern obviously just lighted, as the flame was not yet burned up, and +stopped with a half-frightened look on seeing Frank. But he said +nothing.</p> + +<p>Frank himself was just on the point of giving an explanation when he, +too, stopped dead and stared. It seemed to him that he had been here +before, under exactly the same circumstances; he tried to remember what +happened next, but he could not....</p> + +<p>For this was what he saw as the flame burned up more brightly.</p> + +<p>The man who held the lantern and looked at him in silence with a +half-deprecating air was a middle-aged man, bearded and bare-headed. He +had thrown over his shoulders a piece of sacking, that hung from him +almost like a robe. The light that he carried threw heavy wavering +shadows about the stable, and Frank noticed the great head of a +cart-horse in the loose-box peering through the bars, as if to inquire +what the company wanted. Then, still without speaking, Frank let his +eyes rove round, and they stopped suddenly at the sight of yet one more +living being in the stable. Next to the loose-box was a stall, empty +except for one occupant; for there, sitting on a box with her back to +the manger and one arm flung along it to support her weight, was the +figure of a girl. Her head, wrapped in an old shawl, leaned back against +her arm, and a very white and weary face, absolutely motionless, looked +at him. She had great eyes, with shadows beneath, and her lips were half +opened. By her side lay a regular tramp's bundle.</p> + +<p>Frank looked at her steadily a moment, then he looked back at the man, +who still had not moved or spoken. The draught from the door behind blew +in and shook the flame of his lantern, and the horse sighed long and +loud in the shadows behind. Once more Frank glanced at the girl; she had +lowered her arm from the manger and now sat looking at him, it seemed, +with a curious intentness and expectancy.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to be said. Frank bowed a little, almost +apologetically, and went out.</p> + +<p>Now that was absolutely all that happened. Frank says so expressly in +his diary. He did not speak to them, nor they to him; nor was any +explanation given on either side. He went out across the yard in +silence, seeing nothing of the farmer, but hearing a piano begin to play +beyond the brightly lighted windows, of which he could catch a glimpse +over the low wall separating the yard from the garden. He walked quickly +up the village street and caught up his companions, as he had said, less +than half a mile further on. He said nothing to them of his +experience—indeed, what was there to say?—but he must have written it +down that same night when they reached their next lodging, and written +it down, too, with that minuteness of detail which surprised me so much +when I first read it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For the explanation of the whole thing is as foolishly obvious as was +that of the singing that the three had heard in the suburbs of +Peterborough. Obviously a couple of tramps had turned into this stable +for shelter. Perhaps the girl was the man's daughter; perhaps his wife; +perhaps neither. Plainly they had no right there—and that would explain +the embarrassed silence of the two: they knew they were trespassing, and +feared to be turned away. Perhaps already they had been turned away from +the village inn. But the girl was obviously tired out, and the man had +determined to risk it.</p> + +<p>That, then, was the whole affair—commonplace, and even a little sordid. +And yet Frank thought that it was worth writing down!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIb" id="CHAPTER_VIb"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<p><i>An extract, taken by permission, from a few pages of Frank Guiseley's +diary. These pages were written with the encouragement of Dom Hildebrand +Maple, O.S.B., and were sent to him later at his own request.</i></p> + +<p>"... He told me a great many things that surprised me. For instance, he +seemed to know all about certain ideas that I had had, before I told him +of them, and said that I was not responsible, and he picked out one or +two other things that I had said, and told me that these were much more +serious....</p> + +<p>"I went to confession to him on Friday morning, in the church. He did +not say a great deal then, but he asked if I would care to talk to him +afterwards. I said I would, and went to him in the parlor after dinner. +The first thing that happened was that he asked me to tell him as +plainly as I could anything that had happened to me—in my soul, I +mean—since I had left Cambridge. So I tried to describe it.</p> + +<p>"I said that at first things went pretty well in my soul, and that it +was only bodily things that troubled me—getting fearfully tired and +stiff, being uncomfortable, the food, the sleeping, and so on. Then, as +soon as this wore off I met the Major and Gertie. I was rather afraid of +saying all that I felt about these; but he made me, and I told him how +extraordinarily I seemed to hate them sometimes, how I felt almost sick +now and then when the Major talked to me and told me stories.... The +thing that seemed to torment me most during this time was the contrast +between Cambridge and Merefield and the people there, and the company of +this pair; and the only relief was that I knew I <i>could</i>, as a matter of +fact, chuck them whenever I wanted and go home again. But this relief +was taken away from me as soon as I understood that I had to keep with +them, and do my best somehow to separate them. Of course, I must get +Gertie back to her people some time, and till that's done it's no good +thinking about anything else.</p> + +<p>"After a while, however—I think it was just before I got into trouble +with the police—I began to see that I was a conceited ass for hating +the Major so much. It was absurd for me, I said, to put on airs, when +the difference between him and me was just that he had been brought up +in one way and I in another. I hated the things he did and said, not +because they were wrong, but because they were what I called 'bad form.' +That was really the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it made me +feel miserable. I used to think that it was rather good of me to be kind +to animals and children, but I began to see that it was simply the way I +was made: it wasn't any effort to me. I simply 'saw red' when I came +across cruelty. And I saw that that was no good.</p> + +<p>"Then I began to see that I had done absolutely nothing of any good +whatever—that nothing had <i>really</i> cost me anything; and that the +things I was proud of were simply self-will—my leaving Cambridge, and +all the rest. They were theatrical, or romantic, or egotistical; there +was no real sacrifice. I should have minded much more not doing them. I +began to feel extraordinarily small.</p> + +<p>"Then the whole series of things began that simply smashed me up.</p> + +<p>"First there was the prison business. That came about in this way:</p> + +<p>"I had just begun to see that I was all wrong with the Major—that by +giving way to my feelings about him (I don't mean that I ever showed it, +but that was only because I thought it more dignified not to!), I was +getting all wrong with regard to both him and myself, and that I must do +something that my whole soul hated if it was to be of any use. Then +there came that minute in the barn, when I heard the police were after +us, and that there was really no hope of escape. The particular thing +that settled me was Gertie. I knew, somehow, that I couldn't let the +Major go to prison while she was about. And then I saw that this was +just the very thing to do, and that I couldn't be proud of it ever, +because the whole thing was so mean and second-rate. Well, I did it, and +it did me a lot of good somehow. I felt really rolled in the dirt, and +that little thing in the post-office afterwards rubbed it in. I saw how +chock-full I must be of conceit really to mind that, as I did, and to +show off, and talk like a gentleman.</p> + +<p>"Then there came the priest who refused to help me. That made me for a +time perfectly furious, because I had always said to myself that +Catholics, and especially priests, would always understand. But before I +got to York I saw what an ass I had made of myself. Of course, the +priest was perfectly right (I saw that before I got ten yards away, +though I wouldn't acknowledge it for another five miles). I was a dirty +tramp, and I talked like a brazen fool. (I remember thinking my +'openness' to him rather fine and manly!) Well, that made me smaller +still.</p> + +<p>"Then a sort of despair came on me when the police got me turned out of +my work in York. I know it was only a little thing (though I still +think it unfair), but it was like a pebble in your boot when you're +already going lame from something else.</p> + +<p>"And then came Jenny's letter. (I want to write about that rather +carefully.)</p> + +<p>"I said just now that I was getting to feel smaller and smaller. That's +perfectly true, but there was still a little hard lump in the middle +that would not break. Things might have gone crumbling away at me for +ever, and I might have got smaller still, but they wouldn't have smashed +me.</p> + +<p>"Now there were two things that I held on to all this time—my religion +and Jenny. I gave them turns, so to speak, though Jenny was never +absent. When everything religious tasted flat and dull and empty, I +thought about Jenny: when things were better—when I had those two or +three times I told Father Hildebrand about (...)—I still thought of +Jenny, and imagined how splendid it would be when we were both Catholics +together and married. But I never dreamed that Jenny would ever be angry +or disappointed. I wouldn't talk about her to anybody ever, because I +was so absolutely certain of her. I knew, I thought, that the whole +world might crumble away, but that Jenny would always understand, down +at the bottom, and that she and I would remain....</p> + +<p>"Well, then came her letter.</p> + +<p>"Honestly, I don't quite know what I was doing inside for the next week +or so. Simply everything was altered. I never had any sort of doubt that +she meant what she said, and it was as if there wasn't any sun or moon +or sky. It was like being ill. Things happened round me: I ate and drank +and walked, but the only thing I wanted was to get away, and get down +somewhere into myself and hide. Religion, of course, seemed no good at +all. I don't understand quite what people mean by 'consolations' of +religion. Religion doesn't seem to me a thing like Art or Music, in +which you can take refuge. It either covers everything, or it isn't +religion. Religion never has seemed to me (I don't know if I'm wrong) +one thing, like other things, so that you can change about and back +again.... It's either the background and foreground all in one, or it's +a kind of game. It's either true, or it's a pretense.</p> + +<p>"Well, all this, in a way, taught me it was absolutely true. Things +wouldn't have held together at all unless it was true. But it was no +sort of satisfaction. It seemed to me for a while that it was horrible +that it was true; that it was frightful to think that God could be like +that—since this Jenny-business had really happened. But I didn't feel +all this exactly consciously at the time. I seemed as if I was ill, and +could only lie still and watch and be in hell. One thing, however, +Father Hildebrand thought very important (he asked me about it +particularly) was that I honestly did not feel any resentment whatever +against either God or Jenny. It was frightful, but it was true, and I +just had to lie still inside and look at it. He tells me that this shows +that the first part of the 'process,' as he called it, was finished (he +called it the 'Purgative Way'). And I must say that what happened next +seems to fit in rather well.</p> + +<p>"The new 'process' began quite suddenly when I awoke in the shepherd's +hut one morning at Ripon. The instant I awoke I knew it. It was very +early in the morning, just before sunrise, but there was a little wood +behind me, and the birds were beginning to chirp.</p> + +<p>"It's very hard to describe it in words, but the first thing to say is +that I was not exactly happy just then, but absolutely content. I think +I should say that it was like this: I saw suddenly that what had been +wrong in me was that I had made myself the center of things, and God a +kind of circumference. When He did or allowed things, I said, 'Why does +He?'—<i>from my point of view</i>. That is to say, I set up my ideas of +justice and love and so forth, and then compared His with mine, not mine +with His. And I suddenly saw—or, rather, I knew already when I +awoke—that this was simply stupid. Even now I cannot imagine why I +didn't see it before: I had heard people say it, of course—in sermons +and books—but I suppose it had meant nothing to me. (Father Hildebrand +tells me that I had seen it intellectually, but had never embraced it +with my will.) Because when one once really sees that, there's no longer +any puzzle about anything. One can simply never say 'Why?' again. The +thing's finished.</p> + +<p>"Now this 'process' (as Father H. calls it) has gone on in a most +extraordinary manner ever since. That beginning near Ripon was like +opening a door into another country, and I've been walking ever since +and seeing new things. All sorts of things that I had believed as a +Catholic—things, I mean, which I assented to simply because the Church +said so, have, so to speak, come up and turned themselves inside out. I +couldn't write them down, because you can't write these things down, or +even put them intelligibly to yourself. You just <i>see that they are so</i>. +For instance, one morning at mass—quite suddenly—I saw how the +substance of the bread was changed, and how our Lord is united with the +soul at Communion—of course it's a mystery (that's what I mean by +saying that it can't be written down)—but I saw it, in a flash, and I +can see it still in a sort of way. Then another day when the Major was +talking about something or other (I think it was about the club he used +to belong to in Piccadilly), I understood about our Lady and how she is +just everything from one point of view. And so on. I had that kind of +thing at Doctor Whitty's a good deal, particularly when I was getting +better. I could talk to him all the time, too, or count the knobs on the +wardrobe, or listen to the Major and Gertie in the garden—and yet go on +all the time seeing things. I knew it wasn't any good talking to Doctor +Whitty himself much, though I can't imagine why a man like that doesn't +see it all for himself....</p> + +<p>"It seems to me most extraordinary now that I ever could have had those +other thoughts I told Father H. about—I mean about sins, and about +wondering whether, after all, the Church was actually true. In a sort of +way, of course, they come back to me still, and I know perfectly well I +must be on my guard; but somehow it's different.</p> + +<p>"Well, all this is what Father H. calls the 'Illuminative Way,' and I +think I understand what he means. It came to a sort of point on All +Souls' Eve at the monastery. I saw the whole thing then for a moment or +two, and not only Purgatory. But I will write that down later. And +Father H. tells me that I must begin to look forward to a new +'process'—what he calls the 'Way of Union.' I don't understand much +what he means by that; I don't see that more could happen to me. I am +absolutely and entirely happy; though I must say that there has seemed a +sort of lull for the last day or two—ever since All Souls' Day, in +fact. Perhaps something is going to happen. It's all right, anyhow. It +seems very odd to me that all this kind of thing is perfectly well known +to priests. I thought I was the first person who had ever felt quite +like this.</p> + +<p>"I must add one thing. Father H. asked me whether I didn't feel I had a +vocation to the Religious Life; he told me that from everything he could +see, I had, and that my coming to the monastery was simply providential.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't agree, and I have told him so. I haven't the least idea +what is going to happen next; but I know, absolutely for certain, that I +have got to go on with the Major and Gertie to East London. Gertie will +have to be got away from the Major somehow, and until that is done I +mustn't do anything else.</p> + +<p>"I have written all this down as plainly as I can, because I promised +Father H. I would."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Ic" id="CHAPTER_Ic"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + + +<p>Mrs. Partington was standing at the door of her house towards sunset, +waiting for the children to come back from school.</p> + +<p>Her house is situated in perhaps the least agreeable street—Turner +Road—in perhaps the least agreeable district of East London—Hackney +Wick. It is a disagreeable district because it isn't anything in +particular. It has neither the tragic gayety of Whitechapel nor the +comparative refinement of Clapton. It is a large, triangular piece of +land, containing perhaps a square mile altogether, or rather more, +approached from the south by the archway of the Great Eastern Railway, +defined on one side by the line, and along its other two sides, partly +by the river Lea—a grimy, depressed-looking stream—and partly by the +Hackney Marshes—flat, dreary wastes of grass-grown land, useless as +building ground and of value only for Saturday afternoon recreations of +rabbit coursing and football. The dismalness of the place is beyond +description at all times of the year. In winter it is bleak and chilly; +in summer it is hot, fly-infested, and hideously and ironically +reminiscent of real fields and real grass. The population is calculated +to change completely about every three years, and I'm sure I am not +surprised. It possesses two important blocks of buildings besides the +schools—a large jam factory and the church and clergy-house of the Eton +Mission.</p> + +<p>Turner Road is perhaps the most hopeless of all the dozen and a half of +streets. (It is marked black, by the way, in Mr. Booth's instructive +map.) It is about a quarter of a mile long and perfectly straight. It is +intersected at one point by another street, and is composed of tall dark +houses, with flat fronts, perhaps six or seven stories in height. It is +generally fairly silent and empty, and is inhabited by the most +characteristic members of the Hackney Wick community—quiet, white-faced +men, lean women, draggled and sharp-tongued, and countless +over-intelligent children—all of the class that seldom remain long +anywhere—all of the material out of which the real criminal is +developed. No booths or stalls ever stand here; only, on Saturday +nights, there is echoed here, as in a stone-lined pit, the cries and the +wheel-noises from the busy thoroughfare a hundred yards away round the +corner. The road, as a whole, bears an aspect of desperate and fierce +dignity; there is never here the glimpse of a garden or of flowers, as +in Mortimer Road, a stone's throw away. There is nothing whatever except +the tall, flat houses, the pavements, the lampposts, the grimy +thoroughfare and the silence. The sensation of the visitor is that +anything might happen here, and that no one would be the wiser. There is +an air of horrible discretion about these houses.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mrs. Partington was—indeed is (for I went to see her not two months +ago)—of a perfectly defined type. She must have been a handsome factory +girl—dark, slender, and perfectly able to take care of herself, with +thin, muscular arms, generally visible up to the elbow, hard hands, a +quantity of rather untidy hair—with the tongue of a venomous orator and +any amount of very inferior sentiment, patriotic and domestic. She has +become a lean, middle-aged woman, very upright and very strong, without +any sentiment at all, but with a great deal of very practical human +experience to take its place. She has no illusions about either this +world or the next; she has borne nine children, of which three survive; +and her husband is almost uninterruptedly out of work. However, they are +prosperous (for Turner Road), and have managed, so far, to keep their +home together.</p> + +<p>The sunset was framed in a glow of smoky glory at the end of the street +down which Mrs. Partington was staring, resembling a rather angry +search-light turned on from the gates of heaven. The street was still +quiet; but already from the direction of the Board-school came thin and +shrill cries as the swarm of children exploded in all directions. Mrs. +Partington (she would have said) was waiting for her children—Jimmy, +Maggie and 'Erb—and there were lying within upon the bare table three +thick slices of bread and black jam; as a matter of fact, she was +looking out for her lodgers, who should have arrived by midday.</p> + +<p>Then she became aware that they were coming, even as she looked, +advancing down the empty street <i>en échelon</i>. Two of them she knew well +enough—they had lodged with her before; but the third was to be a +stranger, and she was already interested in him—the Major had hinted at +wonderful mysteries....</p> + +<p>So she shaded her eyes against the cold glare and watched them +carefully, with that same firm, resolute face with which she always +looked out upon the world; and even as, presently, she exchanged that +quick, silent nod of recognition with the Major and Gertie, still she +watched the brown-faced, shabby young man who came last, carrying his +bundle and walking a little lame.</p> + +<p>"You're after your time," she said abruptly.</p> + +<p>The Major began his explanations, but she cut them short and led the way +into the house.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>I find it very difficult to record accurately the impression that Frank +made upon Mrs. Partington; but that the impression was deep and definite +became perfectly clear to me from her conversation. He hardly spoke at +all, she said, and before he got work at the jam factory he went out for +long, lonely walks across the marshes. He and the Major slept together, +it seemed, in one room, and Gertie, temporarily with the children and +Mrs. Partington in another. (Mr. Partington, at this time, happened to +be away on one of his long absences.) At meals Frank was always quiet +and well-behaved, yet not ostentatiously. Mrs. Partington found no fault +with him in that way. He would talk to the children a little before they +went to school, and would meet them sometimes on their way back from +school; and all three of them conceived for him an immense and +indescribable adoration. All this, however, would be too long to set +down in detail.</p> + +<p>It seems to have been a certain air of pathos which Mrs. Partington +herself cast around him, which affected her the most, and I imagine her +feeling to have been largely motherly. There was, however, another +element very obviously visible, which, in anyone but Mrs. Partington, I +should call reverence.... She told me that she could not imagine why he +was traveling with the Major and Gertie, so she at least understood +something of the gulf between them.</p> + +<p>So the first week crept by, bringing us up to the middle of December.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was on the Friday night that Frank came back with the announcement +that he was to go to work at the jam factory on Monday. There was a +great pressure, of course, owing to the approach of Christmas, and Frank +was to be given joint charge of a van. The work would last, it seemed, +at any rate, for a week or two.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to mind your language," said the Major jocosely. (He was +sitting in the room where the cooking was done and where, by the way, +the entire party, with the exception of the two men, slept; and, at this +moment, had his feet on the low mantelshelf between the saucepan and +Jimmy's cap.)</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Frank.</p> + +<p>"No language allowed there," said the Major. "They're damn particular."</p> + +<p>Frank put his cap down and took his seat on the bed.</p> + +<p>"Where's Gertie?" he asked. ("Yes, come on, Jimmie.")</p> + +<p>Jimmie crept up beside him, looking at him with big black, reverential +eyes. Then he leaned against him with a quick smile and closed his eyes +ecstatically. Frank put an arm round the boy to support him.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Gertie's gone to see a friend," said the Major. "Did you want her?"</p> + +<p>Frank said nothing, and Mrs. Partington looked from one to the other +swiftly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Partington had gathered a little food for thought during the last +few days. It had become perfectly evident to her that the girl was very +much in love with this young man, and that while this young man either +was, or affected to be, ignorant of it, the Major was not. Gertie had +odd silences when Frank came into the room, or yet more odd +volubilities, and Mrs. Partington was not quite sure of the Major's +attitude. This officer and her husband had had dealings together in the +past of a nature which I could not quite determine (indeed, the figure +of Mr. Partington is still a complete mystery to me, and rather a +formidable mystery); and I gather that Mrs. Partington had learned from +her husband that the Major was not simply negligible. She knew him for a +blackguard, but she seems to have been uncertain of what kind was this +black-guardism—whether of the strong or the weak variety. She was just +a little uncomfortable, therefore, as to the significance of Gertie; and +had already wondered more than once whether or no she should say a +motherly word to the young man.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There came a sound of footsteps up the street as Mrs. Partington ironed +a collar of Jimmie's on the dining-room table, and laid down the iron as +a tap fell on the door. The Major took out his pipe and began to fill it +as she went out to see who was knocking.</p> + +<p>"Oh! good evening, Mrs. Partington," sounded in a clear, high-bred voice +from the street door. "May I come in for a minute or two? I heard you +had lodgers, and I thought perhaps—"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, we're rather upside-down just now—and—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I won't disturb you more than a minute," came the other voice +again. There were footsteps in the passage, and the next instant, past +the unwilling hostess, there came a young, fresh-colored clergyman, +carrying a silk hat, into the lamplight of the kitchen. Frank stood up +instantly, and the Major went so far as to take down his feet. Then he, +too, stood up.</p> + +<p>"Good evening!" said the clergyman. "May I just come in for a minute or +two? I heard you had come, and as it's in my district—May I sit down, +Mrs. Partington?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Partington with sternly knit lips, swept a brown teapot, a +stocking, a comb, a cup and a crumby plate off the single unoccupied +chair, and set it a little forward near the fire. Clergymen were, to her +mind, one of those mysterious dispensations of the world for which there +was no adequate explanation at all—like policemen and men's gamblings +and horse-races. There they were, and there was no more to be said. They +were mildly useful for entertaining the children and taking them to +Southend, and in cases of absolute despair they could be relied upon for +soup-tickets or even half-crowns; but the big mysterious church, with +its gilded screen, its curious dark glass, and its white little +side-chapel, with the Morris hangings, the great clergy-house, the +ladies, the parish magazine and all the rest of it—these were simply +inexplicable. Above all inexplicable was the passion displayed for +district-visiting—that strange impulse that drove four +highly-cultivated young men in black frock-coats and high hats and +ridiculous little collars during five afternoons in the week to knock at +door after door all over the district and conduct well-mannered +conversations with bored but polite mothers of families. It was one of +the phenomena that had to be accepted. She supposed it stood for +something beyond her perceptions.</p> + +<p>"I thought I must come in and make your acquaintance," said the +clergyman, nursing his hat and smiling at the company. (He, too, +occasionally shared Mrs. Partington's wonder as to the object of all +this; but he, too, submitted to it as part of the system.) "People come +and go so quickly, you know—"</p> + +<p>"Very pleased to see a clergyman," said the Major smoothly. "No +objection to smoke, sir, I presume?" He indicated his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said the clergyman. "In fact, I smoke myself; and if Mrs. +Partington will allow me—" He produced a small pink and gilded packet +of Cinderellas. (I think he thought it brought him vaguely nearer the +people to smoke Cinderellas.)</p> + +<p>"Oh! no objection at all, sir," put in Mrs. Partington, still a little +grimly. (She was still secretly resenting being called upon at half-past +six. You were usually considered immune from this kind of thing after +five o'clock.)</p> + +<p>"So I thought I must just look in and catch you one evening," explained +the clergyman once more, "and tell you that we're your friends here—the +clergy, you know—and about the church and all that."</p> + +<p>He was an extremely conscientious young man—this Mr. Parham-Carter—an +old Etonian, of course, and now in his first curacy. It was all pretty +bewildering to him, too, this great and splendid establishment, the +glorious church by Bodley, with the Magnificat in Gothic lettering below +the roof, the well-built and furnished clergy-house, the ladies' house, +the zeal, the self-devotion, the parochial machinery, the Band of Hope, +the men's and boys' clubs, and, above all, the furious +district-visiting. Of course, it produced results, it kept up the +standards of decency and civilization and ideals; it was a weight in the +balances on the side of right and good living; the clubs kept men from +the public-house to some extent, and made it possible for boys to grow +up with some chance on their side. Yet he wondered, in fits of +despondency, whether there were not something wrong somewhere.... But he +accepted it: it was the approved method, and he himself was a learner, +not a teacher.</p> + +<p>"Very kind of you, sir," said the Major, replacing his feet on the +mantelshelf. "And at what time are the services on Sunday?"</p> + +<p>The clergyman jumped. He was not accustomed to that sort of question.</p> + +<p>"I ..." he began.</p> + +<p>"I'm a strong Churchman, sir," said the Major. "And even if I were not, +one must set an example, you know. I may be narrow-minded, but I'm +particular about all that sort of thing. I shall be with you on Sunday."</p> + +<p>He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter.</p> + +<p>"Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next Sunday, and the Holy +Eucharist at eleven—and, of course, at eight."</p> + +<p>"No vestments, I hope?" said the Major sternly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter faltered a little. Vestments were not in use, but to +his regret.</p> + +<p>"Well, we don't use vestments," he said, "but—"</p> + +<p>The Major resumed his pipe with a satisfied air.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he said. "Now, I'm not bigoted—my friend here's a +Roman Catholic, but—"</p> + +<p>The clergyman looked up sharply, and for the first time became +consciously conscious of the second man. Frank had sat back again on the +bed, with Jimmie beside him, and was watching the little scene quietly +and silently, and the clergyman met his eyes full. Some vague shock +thrilled through him; Frank's clean-shaven brown face seemed somehow +familiar—or was it something else?</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter considered the point for a little while in silence, +only half attending to the Major, who was now announcing his views on +the Establishment and the Reformation settlement. Frank said nothing at +all, and there grew on the clergyman a desire to hear his voice. He +made an opportunity at last.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see," he said to the Major; "and you—I don't know your name?"</p> + +<p>"Gregory, sir," said Frank. And again a little shock thrilled Mr. +Parham-Carter. The voice was the kind of thing he had expected from that +face.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was about ten minutes later, that the clergyman thought it was time +to go. He had the Major's positive promise to attend at least the +evening service on the following Sunday—a promise he did not somehow +very much appreciate—but he had made no progress with Frank. He shook +hands all round very carefully, told Jimmie not to miss Sunday-school, +and publicly commended Maggie for a recitation she had accomplished at +the Band of Hope on the previous evening; and then went out, accompanied +by Mrs. Partington, still silent, as far as the door. But as he actually +went out, someone pushed by the woman and came out into the street.</p> + +<p>"May I speak to you a minute?" said the strange young man, dropping the +"sir." "I'll walk with you as far as the clergy-house if you'll let me."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When they were out of earshot of the house Frank began.</p> + +<p>"You're Parham-Carter, aren't you?" he said. "Of Hales'."</p> + +<p>The other nodded. (Things were beginning to resolve themselves in his +mind.)</p> + +<p>"Well, will you give me your word not to tell a soul I'm here, and I'll +tell you who I am? You've forgotten me, I see. But I'm afraid you may +remember. D'you see?"</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"I'm Guiseley, of Drew's. We were in the same division once—up to +Rawlins. Do you remember?"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! But—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. But don't let's go into that. I've not done anything I +shouldn't. That's not the reason I'm like this. It's just turned out so. +And there's something else I want to talk to you about. When can I come +and see you privately? I'm going to begin work to-morrow at the jam +factory."</p> + +<p>The other man clutched at his whirling faculties.</p> + +<p>"To-night—at ten. Will that do?"</p> + +<p>"All right. What am I to say—when I ring the bell, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Just ask for me. They'll show you straight up to my room."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Frank, and was gone.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter's room in the clergy-house was of the regular +type—very comfortable and pleasing to the eye, as it ought to be for a +young man working under such circumstances; not really luxurious; pious +and virile. The walls were a rosy distemper, very warm and sweet, and +upon them, above the low oak book-cases, hung school and college groups, +discreet sporting engravings, a glorious cathedral interior, and the +Sistine Madonna over the mantelpiece. An oar hung all along one ceiling, +painted on the blade with the arms of an Oxford college. There was a +small <i>prie-dieu</i>, surmounted by a crucifix of Ober-Ammergau +workmanship: there was a mahogany writing-table with a revolving chair +set before it; there were a couple of deep padded arm-chairs, a +pipe-rack, and a row of photographs—his mother in evening dress, a +couple of sisters, with other well-bred-looking relations. Altogether, +with the curtains drawn and the fire blazing, it was exactly the kind of +room that such a wholesome young man ought to have in the East of +London.</p> + +<p>Frank was standing on the hearth-rug as Mr. Parham-Carter came in a +minute or two after ten o'clock, bearing a small tray with a covered +jug, two cups and a plate of cake.</p> + +<p>"Good-evening again," said the clergyman. "Have some cocoa? I generally +bring mine up here.... Sit down. Make yourself comfortable."</p> + +<p>Frank said nothing. He sat down. He put his cap on the floor by his +chair and leaned back. The other, with rather nervous movements, set a +steaming cup by his side, and a small silver box of cigarettes, matches +and an ash-tray. Then he sat down himself, took a long pull at his +cocoa, and waited with a certain apprehensiveness.</p> + +<p>"Who else is here?" asked Frank abruptly.</p> + +<p>The other ran through the three names, with a short biography of each. +Frank nodded, reassured at the end.</p> + +<p>"That's all right," he said. "All before my time, I expect. They might +come in, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" said the clergyman. "I told them not, and—"</p> + +<p>"Well, let's come to business," said Frank. "It's about a girl. You saw +that man to-day? You saw his sort, did you? Well, he's a bad hat. And +he's got a girl going about with him who isn't his wife. I want to get +her home again to her people."</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Can you do anything? (Don't say you can if you can't, please....) She +comes from Chiswick. I'll give you her address before I go. But I don't +want it muddled, you know."</p> + +<p>The clergyman swallowed in his throat. He had only been ordained +eighteen months, and the extreme abruptness and reality of the situation +took him a little aback.</p> + +<p>"I can try," he said. "And I can put the ladies on to her. But, of +course, I can't undertake—"</p> + +<p>"Of course. But do you think there's a reasonable chance? If not, I'd +better have another try myself."</p> + +<p>"Have you tried, then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, half a dozen times. A fortnight ago was the last, and I really +thought—"</p> + +<p>"But I don't understand. Are these people your friends, or what?"</p> + +<p>"I've been traveling with them off and on since June. They belong to +you, so far as they belong to anyone. I'm a Catholic, you know—"</p> + +<p>"Really? But—"</p> + +<p>"Convert. Last June. Don't let's argue, my dear chap. There isn't time."</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter drew a breath.</p> + +<p>There is no other phrase so adequate for describing his condition of +mind as the old one concerning head and heels. There had rushed on him, +not out of the blue, but, what was even more surprising, out of the very +dingy sky of Hackney Wick (and Turner Road, at that!), this astonishing +young man, keen-eyed, brown-faced, muscular, who had turned out to be a +school-fellow of his own, and a school-fellow whose reputation, during +the three hours since they had parted, he had swiftly remembered point +by point—Guiseley of Drew's—the boy who had thrown off his coat in +early school and displayed himself shirtless; who had stolen four out of +the six birches on a certain winter morning, and had conversed affably +with the Head in school yard with the ends of the birches sticking out +below the skirts of his overcoat; who had been discovered on the fourth +of June, with an air of reverential innocence, dressing the bronze +statue of King Henry VI. in a surplice in honor of the day. And now here +he was, and from his dress and the situation of his lodging-house to be +reckoned among the worst of the loafing class, and yet talking, with an +air of complete confidence and equality of a disreputable young +woman—his companion—who was to be rescued from a yet more disreputable +companion and restored to her parents in Chiswick.</p> + +<p>And this was not all—for, as Mr. Parham-Carter informed me +himself—there was being impressed upon him during this interview a very +curious sensation, which he was hardly able, even after consideration, +to put into words—a sensation concerning the personality and presence +of this young man which he could only describe as making him feel +"beastly queer."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It seems to have been about this point that he first perceived it +clearly—distinguished it, that is to say, from the whole atmosphere of +startling and suggesting mystery that surrounded him.</p> + +<p>He looked at Frank in silence a moment or two....</p> + +<p>There Guiseley sat—leaning back in the red leather chair, his cocoa +still untouched. He was in a villainous suit that once, probably, had +been dark blue. The jacket was buttoned up to his chin, and a grimy +muffler surrounded his neck. His trousers were a great deal too short, +and disclosed above a yellow sock, on the leg nearest to him, about four +inches of dark-looking skin. His boots were heavy, patched, and entirely +uncleaned, and the upper toe-cap of one of them gaped from the leather +over the instep. His hands were deep in his pockets, as if even in this +warm room, he felt the cold.</p> + +<p>There was nothing remarkable there. It was the kind of figure presented +by unsatisfactory candidates for the men's club. And yet there was about +him this air, arresting and rather disconcerting....</p> + +<p>It was a sort of electric serenity, if I understand Mr. Parham-Carter +aright—a zone of perfectly still energy, like warmth or biting cold, as +of a charged force: it was like a real person standing motionless in +the middle of a picture. (Mr. Parham-Carter did not, of course, use such +beautiful similes as these; he employed the kind of language customary +to men who have received a public school and university education, half +slang and half childishness; but he waved his hands at me and distorted +his features, and conveyed, on the whole, the kind of impression I have +just attempted to set down.)</p> + +<p>Frank, then, seemed as much out of place in this perfectly correct and +suitable little room as an Indian prince in Buckingham Palace; or, if +you prefer it, an English nobleman (with spats) in Delhi. He was just +entirely different from it all; he had nothing whatever to do with it; +he was wholly out of place, not exactly as regarded his manner (for he +was quite at his ease), but with regard to his significance. He was as a +foreign symbol in a familiar language.</p> + +<p>Its effect upon Mr. Parham-Carter was quite clear and strong. He +instanced to me the fact that he said nothing to Frank about his soul: +he honestly confessed that he scarcely even wished to press him to come +to Evensong on Sunday. Of course, he did not like Frank's being a Roman +Catholic; and his whole intellectual being informed him that it was +because Frank had never really known the Church of England that he had +left it. (Mr. Parham-Carter had himself learned the real nature of the +Church of England at the Pusey House at Oxford.) But there are certain +atmospheres in which the intellectual convictions are not very +important, and this was one of them. So here the two young men sat and +stared at one another, or, rather, Mr. Parham-Carter stared at Frank, +and Frank looked at nothing in particular.</p> + +<p>"You haven't drunk your cocoa," said the clergyman suddenly.</p> + +<p>Frank turned abruptly, took up the cup and drank the contents straight +off at one draught.</p> + +<p>"And a cigarette?"</p> + +<p>Frank took up a cigarette and put in his mouth.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said, taking it out again, "when'll you send your +ladies round? The morning's best, when the rest of us are out of the +way."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't think there's anything else?"</p> + +<p>"My dear chap," said the other, "I wish you'd tell me what it's all +about—why you're in this sort of life, you know. I don't want to pry, +but—"</p> + +<p>Frank smiled suddenly and vividly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's nothing to say. That's not the point. It's by my own choice +practically. I assure you I haven't disgraced anybody."</p> + +<p>"But your people—"</p> + +<p>"Oh! they're all right. There's nothing the matter with them.... Look +here! I really must be going."</p> + +<p>He stood up, and something seemed to snap in the atmosphere as he did +so.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I've got to be at work early—"</p> + +<p>"I say, what did you do then?"</p> + +<p>"Do then? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"When you stood up—Did you say anything?..."</p> + +<p>Frank looked at him bewildered.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you're talking about."</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter did not quite know what he had meant himself. It was a +sensation come and gone, in an instant, as Frank had moved ... a +sensation which I suppose some people would call "psychical"—a +sensation as if a shock had vibrated for one moment through every part +of his own being, and of the pleasant little warm room where he was +sitting. He looked at the other, dazed for a second or two, but there +was nothing. Those two steady black eyes looked at him in a humorous +kind of concern....</p> + +<p>He stood up himself.</p> + +<p>"It was nothing," he said. "I think I must be getting sleepy."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he said. "Oh! I'll come and see you as far as the gate."</p> + +<p>Frank looked at him a second.</p> + +<p>"I say," he said; "I suppose you've never thought of becoming a +Catholic?"</p> + +<p>"My dear chap—"</p> + +<p>"No! Well, all right.... oh! don't bother to come to the gate."</p> + +<p>"I'm coming. It may be locked."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter stood looking after Frank's figure even after it had +passed along the dark shop fronts and was turning the corner towards +Turner Road. Then it went under the lamplight, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>It was a drizzling, cold night, and he himself was bareheaded; he felt +the moisture run down his forehead, but it didn't seem to be happening +to him. On his right rose up the big parish-hall where the +entertainments were held, and beyond it, the east end of the great +church, dark now and tenantless; and he felt the wet woodwork of the +gate grasped in his fingers.</p> + +<p>He did not quite know what was happening to him but everything seemed +different. A hundred thoughts had passed through his mind during the +last half hour. It had occurred to him that he ought to have asked +Guiseley to come to the clergy-house and lodge there for a bit while +things were talked over; that he ought, tactfully, to have offered to +lend him money, to provide him with a new suit, to make suggestions as +to proper employment instead of at the jam factory—all those proper, +philanthropic and prudent suggestions that a really sensible clergyman +would have made. And yet, somehow, not only had he not made them, but it +was obvious and evident when he regarded them that they could not +possibly be made. Guiseley (of Drew's) did not require them, he was on +another line altogether.... And what was that line?</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter leaned on the gate a full five minutes considering all +this. But he arrived at no conclusion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIc" id="CHAPTER_IIc"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>The Rector of Merefield was returning from a short pastoral visitation +towards the close of an afternoon at the beginning of November. His +method and aims were very characteristic of himself, since he was one of +that numerous class of persons who, interiorly possessing their full +share of proper pride, wear exteriorly an appearance of extreme and +almost timid humility. The aims of his visiting were, though he was +quite unaware of the fact, directed towards encouraging people to hold +fast to their proper position in life (for this, after all, is only +another name for one's duty towards one's neighbor), and his method was +to engage in general conversation on local topics. There emerged, in +this way, information as to the patient's habits and actions; it would +thus transpire, for example, whether the patient had been to church or +not, whether there were any quarrels, and, if so, who were the +combatants and for what cause.</p> + +<p>He had been fairly satisfied to-day; he had met with good excuses for +the absence of two children from day-school, and of a young man from +choir-practice; he had read a little Scripture to an old man, and had +been edified by his comments upon it. It was not particularly +supernatural, but, after all, the natural has its place, too, in life, +and he had undoubtedly fulfilled to-day some of the duties for whose +sake he occupied the position of Rector of Merefield, in a completely +inoffensive manner. The things he hated most in the world were +disturbances of any kind, abruptness and the unexpected, and he had a +strong reputation in the village for being a man of peace.</p> + +<p>It sounds a hard thing to say of so conscientious a man, but a properly +preserved social order was perhaps to his mind the nearest approach to +the establishment of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Each person held +his proper position, including himself, and he no more expected others +to be untrue to their station than he wished to be untrue to his own. +There were, of course, two main divisions—those of gentle birth and +those not of gentle birth, and these were as distinct as the sexes. But +there were endless gradations in each respectively, and he himself +regarded those with as much respect as those of the angelic hierarchy: +the "Dominations" might, or might not be as "good" as the "Powers," but +they were certainly different, by Divine decree. It would be a species +of human blasphemy, therefore, for himself not to stand up in Lord +Talgarth's presence, or for a laborer not to touch his hat to Miss +Jenny. This is sometimes called snobbishness, but it is nothing of the +kind. It is merely a marked form of Toryism.</p> + +<p>It was a pleasant autumnal kind of afternoon, and he took off his hat as +he turned up past the park gates to feel the cool air, as he was a +little heated with his walk. He felt exceedingly content with all +things: there were no troubles in the parish, he enjoyed excellent +health, and he had just done his duty. He disliked pastoral visiting +very deeply indeed; he was essentially a timid kind of man, but he made +his rules and kept them, for he was essentially a conscientious man. He +was so conscientious that he was probably quite unaware that he disliked +this particular duty.</p> + +<p>Just as he came opposite the gates—great iron-work affairs with ramping +eagles and a Gothic lodge smothered in ivy—the man ran out and began to +wheel them back, after a hasty salute to his pastor; and the Rector, +turning, saw a sight that increased his complacency. It was just Jenny +riding with Lord Talgarth, as he knew she was doing that afternoon.</p> + +<p>They made a handsome, courtly kind of pair—a sort of "father and +daughter" after some romantic artist or other. Lord Talgarth's heavy +figure looked well-proportioned on horseback, and he sat his big black +mare very tolerably indeed. And Jenny looked delicious on the white +mare, herself in dark green. A groom followed twenty yards behind.</p> + +<p>Lord Talgarth's big face nodded genially to the Rector and he made a +kind of salute; he seemed in excellent dispositions; Jenny was a little +flushed with exercise, and smiled at her father with a quiet, friendly +dignity.</p> + +<p>"Just taking her ladyship home," said the old man.... "Yes; charming +day, isn't it?"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Rector followed them, pleased at heart. Usually Jenny rode home +alone with the groom to take back her mare to the stables. It was the +first time, so far as he could remember, that Lord Talgarth had taken +the trouble to escort her all the way home himself. It really was very +pleasant indeed, and very creditable to Jenny's tact, that relations +were so cordial.... And they were dining there to-morrow, too. The +social order of Merefield seemed to be in an exceedingly sound +condition.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>Lord Talgarth, too, seemed to the lodge-keeper, as ten minutes later the +gates rolled back again to welcome their lord, in an unusually genial +temper (and, indeed, there was always about this old man as great a +capacity for geniality on one side as for temper on the other; it is +usually so with explosive characters). He even checked his horse and +asked after "the missus" in so many words; although two days before a +violent message had come down to complain of laxity in the gate-opening, +owing to the missus' indisposition on an occasion when the official +himself had been digging cabbages behind the Gothic lodge and the hoot +of the motor had not been heard.</p> + +<p>The missus, it seemed, was up and about again (indeed her husband caught +a glimpse out of the tail of his eye of a pale face that glanced and +withdrew again apprehensively above the muslin curtain beyond his +lordship).</p> + +<p>"That's all right," remarked Lord Talgarth heartily, and rode on.</p> + +<p>The lodge-keeper exchanged a solemn wink with the groom half a minute +later, and stood to watch the heavy figure ahead plunging about rather +in the saddle as the big black mare set her feet upon the turf and +viewed her stable afar off.</p> + +<p>It was a fact that Lord Talgarth was pleased with himself and all the +world to-day, for he kept it up even with the footman who slipped, and +all but lost his balance, as he brought tea into the library.</p> + +<p>"Hold up!" remarked the nobleman.</p> + +<p>The footman smiled gently and weakly, after the manner of a dependent, +and related the incident with caustic gusto to his fellows in the +pantry.</p> + +<p>After tea Lord Talgarth lay back in his chair and appeared to meditate, +as was observed by the man who fetched out the tea-things and poked the +fire; and he was still meditating, though now there was the aromatic +smell of tobacco upon the air, when his own man came to tell him that it +was time to dress.</p> + +<p>It was indeed a perfect room for arm-chair meditations; there were tall +book-shelves, mahogany writing-tables, each with its shaded electric +lamp; the carpet was as deep as a summer lawn; and in the wide hearth +logs consumed themselves in an almost deferential silence. There was +every conceivable thing that could be wanted laid in its proper place. +It was the kind of room in which it would seem that no scheme could +miscarry and every wish must prevail; the objective physical world +grouped itself so obediently to the human will that it was almost +impossible to imagine a state of things in which it did not so. The +great house was admirably ordered; there was no sound that there should +not be—no hitches, no gaps or cracks anywhere; it moved like a +well-oiled machine; the gong, sounded in the great hall, issued +invitations rather than commands. All was leisurely, perfectly adapted +and irreproachable.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It is always more difficult for people who live in such houses as these +to behave well under adverse fortune than for those who live in houses +where the Irish stew can be smelled at eleven o'clock in the morning, +and where the doors do not shut properly, and the kitchen range goes +wrong. Possibly something of this fact helped to explain the owner's +extreme violence of temper on the occasion of his son's revolt. It was +intolerable for a man all of whose other surroundings moved like +clockwork, obedient to his whims, to be disobeyed flatly by one whose +obedience should be his first duty—to find disorder and rebellion in +the very mainspring of the whole machine.</p> + +<p>Possibly, too, the little scheme that was maturing in Lord Talgarth's +mind between tea and dinner that evening helped to restore his +geniality; for, as soon as the thought was conceived, it became obvious +that it could be carried through with success.</p> + +<p>He observed: "Aha! it's time, is it?" to his man in a hearty kind of +way, and hoisted himself out of his chair with unusual briskness.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>He spent a long evening again in the library alone. Archie was away; and +after dining alone with all the usual state, the old man commanded that +coffee should be brought after him. The butler found him, five minutes +later, kneeling before a tall case of drawers, trying various keys off +his bunch, and when the man came to bring in whisky and clear away the +coffee things he was in his deep chair, a table on either side of him +piled with papers, and a drawer upon his knees.</p> + +<p>"You can put this lot back," he remarked to the young footman, +indicating a little pile of four drawers on the hearth-rug. He watched +the man meditatively as he attempted to fit them into their places.</p> + +<p>"Not that way, you fool! Haven't you got eyes?... The top one at the +top!"</p> + +<p>But he said it without bitterness—almost contemplatively. And, as the +butler glanced round a moment or two later to see that all was in order, +he saw his master once more beginning to read papers.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," said Lord Talgarth.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my lord," said the butler.</p> + +<p>There was a good deal of discussion that night in the men's wing as to +the meaning of all this, and it was conducted with complete frankness. +Mr. Merton, the butler, had retired to his own house in the stable-yard, +and Mr. Clarkson, the valet, was in his lordship's dressing-room; so the +men talked freely. It was agreed that only two explanations were +possible for the unusual sweetness of temper: either Mr. Frank was to be +reinstated, or his father was beginning to break up. Frank was extremely +popular with servants always; and it was generally hoped that the former +explanation was the true one. Possibly, however, both were required.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mr. Clarkson too was greatly <i>intrigué</i> that night. He yawned about the +dressing-room till an unusually late hour, for Lord Talgarth generally +retired to rest between ten and half-past. To-night, however, it was +twenty minutes to twelve before the man stood up suddenly from the sofa +at the sound of a vibration in the passage outside. The old man came in +briskly, bearing a bundle of papers in one hand and a bed-candle in the +other, with the same twinkle of good temper in his eyes that he had +carried all the evening.</p> + +<p>"Give me the dispatch-box under the sofa," he said; "the one in the +leather case."</p> + +<p>This was done and the papers were laid in it, carefully, on the top. +Mr. Clarkson noticed that they had a legal appearance, were long-shaped +and inscribed in stiff lettering. Then the dispatch-box was reclosed and +set on the writing-table which my lord used sometimes when he was +unwell.</p> + +<p>"Remind me to send for Mr. Manners to-morrow," he said. (This was the +solicitor.)</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Getting ready for bed that evening was almost of a sensational nature, +and Mr. Clarkson had to keep all his wits about him to respond with +sufficient agility to the sallies of his master. Usually it was all a +very somber ceremony, with a good deal of groaning and snarling in +asides. But to-night it was as cheerful as possible.</p> + +<p>The mysteries of it all are too great for me to attempt to pierce them; +but it is really incredible what a number of processes are necessary +before an oldish man, who is something of a buck and something of an +invalid, and altogether self-centered, is able to lay him down to rest. +There are strange doses to be prepared and drunk, strange manipulations +to be performed and very particular little ceremonies to be observed, +each in its proper place. Each to-night was accompanied by some genial +comment: the senna-pod distillation, that had been soaking since seven +p.m. in hot water, was drunk almost with the air of a toast; the +massaging of the ankles and toes (an exercise invented entirely by Lord +Talgarth himself) might have been almost in preparation for a dance.</p> + +<p>He stood up at last, an erect, stoutish figure, in quilted dressing-gown +and pyjamas, before the fire, as his man put on his slippers for him, +for the little procession into the next room.</p> + +<p>"I think I'm better to-night, Clarkson," he said.</p> + +<p>"Your lordship seems very well indeed, my lord," murmured that diplomat +on the hearth-rug.</p> + +<p>"How old do you think I am, Clarkson?"</p> + +<p>Clarkson knew perfectly well, but it was better to make a deprecatory +confused noise.</p> + +<p>"Ah! well, we needn't reckon by years ... I feel young enough," observed +the stately figure before the fire.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then the procession was formed: the double doors were set back, the +electric light switched on; Lord Talgarth passed through towards the +great four-posted bed that stood out into the bedroom, and was in bed, +with scarcely a groan, almost before the swift Mr. Clarkson could be at +his side to help him in. He lay there, his ruddy face wonderfully +handsome against the contrast of his gray hair and the white pillow, +while Mr. Clarkson concluded the other and final ceremonies. A small +table had to be wheeled to a certain position beside the bed, and the +handle of the electric cord laid upon it in a particular place, between +the book and the tray on which stood some other very special draught to +be drunk in case of thirst.</p> + +<p>"Call me a quarter of an hour earlier than usual," observed the face on +the pillow. "I'll take a little stroll before breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"What did I tell you to remind me to do after breakfast?"</p> + +<p>"Send for Mr. Manners, my lord."</p> + +<p>"That's right. Good-night, Clarkson."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my lord."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was the usual discreet glance round the room to see that all was +in order; then the door into the dressing-room closed imperceptibly +behind Mr. Clarkson's bent back.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IIIc" id="CHAPTER_IIIc"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Winter at Merefield Rectory is almost as delightful as summer, although +in an entirely different way. The fact is that the Rectory has managed +the perfect English compromise. In summer, with the windows and doors +wide open, with the heavy radiant creepers, with the lawns lying about +the house, with the warm air flowing over the smooth, polished floors +and lifting the thin mats, with the endless whistle of bird song—then +the place seems like a summer-house. And in winter, with the heavy +carpets down, and the thick curtains, the very polished floors, so cool +in summer, seem expressly designed to glimmer warmly with candle and +fire-light; and the books seem to lean forward protectively and reassert +themselves, and the low beamed ceilings to shelter and safeguard the +interior comfort. The center of gravity is changed almost imperceptibly. +In summer the place is a garden with a house in the middle; in winter a +house surrounded by shrubberies.</p> + +<p>The study in one way and the morning-room in another are the respective +pivots of the house. The study is a little paneled room on the +ground-floor, looking out upon the last of the line of old yews and the +beginning of the lawn; the morning-room (once known as the school-room) +is the only other paneled room in the house, on the first floor, looking +out upon the front. And round these two rooms the two sections of the +house-life tranquilly revolve. Here in one the Rector controls the +affairs of the parish, writes his sermons, receives his men friends (not +very many), and reads his books. There in the other Jenny orders the +domestic life of the house, interviews the cook, and occupies herself +with her own affairs. They are two rival, but perfectly friendly, camps.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Lately (I am speaking now of the beginning of November) there had not +been quite so much communication between the two camps as usual, not so +many informal negotiations. Jenny did not look in quite so often upon +her father—for ten minutes after breakfast, for instance, or before +lunch—and when he looked in on her he seemed to find her generally with +rather a preoccupied air, often sitting before the wide-arched +fireplace, with her hands behind her head, looking at the red logs.</p> + +<p>He was an easy man, as has been seen, and did not greatly trouble his +head about it: he knew enough of the world to recognize that an +extremely beautiful girl like Jenny, living on the terms she did with +the great house—and a house with men coming and going continually, to +say nothing of lawn-tennis parties and balls elsewhere—cannot +altogether escape complications. He was reasonable enough, too, to +understand that a father is not always the best confidant, and he had +supreme confidence in Jenny's common sense.</p> + +<p>I suppose he had his dreams; he would scarcely have been human if he had +not, and he was quite human. The throwing over of Frank had brought him +mixed emotions, but he had not been consulted either at the beginning or +the end of the engagement, and he acquiesced. Of Dick's affair he knew +nothing at all.</p> + +<p>That, then, was the situation when the bomb exploded. It exploded in +this way.</p> + +<p>He was sitting in his study one morning—to be accurate, it was the +first Saturday in November, two days after the events of the last +chapter—preparing to begin the composition of his sermon for the next +day. They had dined up at the great house the night before quite quietly +with Lord Talgarth and Archie, who had just come back.</p> + +<p>He had selected his text with great care from the Gospel for the day, +when the door suddenly opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual +on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing that he must be at his +sermon; but his faint sense of annoyance was completely dispelled by his +daughter's face. She was quite pale—not exactly as if she had received +a shock, but as if she had made up her mind to something; there was no +sign of tremor in her face; on the contrary, she looked extremely +determined, but her eyes searched his as she stopped.</p> + +<p>"I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to you for a few minutes?"</p> + +<p>She did not wait for his answer, but came straight in and sat down in +his easy-chair. He laid his pen down and turned a little at his +writing-table to face her.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, dear. What is it? Nothing wrong?"</p> + +<p>(He noticed she had a note in her hand.)</p> + +<p>"No, nothing wrong...." She hesitated. "But it's rather important."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>She glanced down at the note she carried. Then she looked up at him +again.</p> + +<p>"Father, I suppose you've thought of my marrying some day—in spite of +Frank?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Would you mind if I married a man older than myself—I mean a good deal +older?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her in silence. Two or three names passed before his mind, +but he couldn't remember—</p> + +<p>"Father, I'm in trouble. I really am. I didn't expect—"</p> + +<p>Her voice faltered. He saw that she really found it difficult to speak. +A little wave of tenderness rolled over his heart. It was unlike her to +be so much moved. He got up and came round to her.</p> + +<p>"What is it, dear? Tell me."</p> + +<p>She remained perfectly motionless for an instant. Then she held out the +note to him, and simultaneously stood up. As he took it, she went +swiftly past him and out of the door. He heard the swish of her dress +pass up the stairs, and then the closing of a door. But he hardly heeded +it. He was reading the note she had given him. It was a short, perfectly +formal offer of marriage to her from Lord Talgarth.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>"Father, dear," said Jenny, "I want you to let me have my say straight +out, will you?"</p> + +<p>He bowed his head.</p> + +<p>They were sitting, on the evening of the same day, over the tea-things +in his study. He had not seen her alone for one moment since the +morning. She had refused to open her door to him when he went up after +reading the note: she had pleaded a headache at lunch, and she had been +invisible all the afternoon. Then, as he came in about tea-time, she had +descended upon him, rather pale, but perfectly herself, perfectly +natural, and even rather high-spirited. She had informed him that tea +would be laid in his study, as she wanted a long talk. She had poured +out tea, talking all the time, refusing, it seemed, to meet his eyes. +When she had finished, she had poured out his third cup, and then pushed +her own low chair back so far that he could not see her face.</p> + +<p>Then she had opened the engagement.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>To say that the poor man had been taken aback would be a very poor way +of describing his condition. The thing simply had never entered his +head. He had dreamed, in wild moments, of Archie; he had certainly +contemplated Dick; but Lord Talgarth himself, gouty and aged +sixty-five!... And yet he had not been indignant. Indignation not only +did not do with Jenny, but it was impossible. To be quite frank, the man +was afraid of his daughter; he was aware that she would do ultimately +as she wished, and not as he wished; and his extreme discomfort at the +thought of this old man marrying his daughter was, since he was human, +partly counter-balanced by the thought of who the old man was. Lastly, +it must be remembered that Jenny was really a very sensible girl, and +that her father was quite conscious of the fact.</p> + +<p>Jenny settled herself once more in her chair and began.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Father, dear, I want to be quite sensible about this. And I've been +very foolish and silly about it all day. I can't imagine why I behaved +as I did. There's nothing to go and mope about, that Lord Talgarth has +been kind enough to do me this honor. Because it is an honor, you know, +however you look at it, that anyone should ask one to be his wife.</p> + +<p>"Well, I want to say what I have to say first, and then I want you to +say exactly what you think. I've thought it all out, so I shan't be very +long."</p> + +<p>(He put down his cup noiselessly, as if in the presence of a sick +person. He was anxious not to lose a word, or even an inflection).</p> + +<p>"First of all, let's have all the things against it. He's an old man. We +mustn't forget that for one minute. And that's a very strong argument +indeed. Some people would think it final, but I think that's +foolish....</p> + +<p>"Secondly, it never entered my head for one instant." (Jenny said this +quite deliberately, almost reverently.) "Of course I see now that he's +hinted at it very often, but I never understood it at the time. I've +always thought of him as a sort of—well—a sort of uncle. And that's +another strong argument against it. If it was a right thing to do, +oughtn't it to have occurred to me too? I'm not quite sure about that.</p> + +<p>"Thirdly, it's unsuitable for several reasons. It'll make talk. Here +have I been engaged to Frank for ages and broken it off. Can't you +imagine how people will interpret that now? I suppose I oughtn't to mind +what people say, but I'm afraid I do. Then I'm the Rector's daughter ... +and I've been running in and out continually—dining with them, sitting +with him alone. Can't you imagine what people—Lady Richard, for +instance—will make of it?... I shall be an adventuress, and all the +rest of it. That's not worth much as an argument, but it is a ... a +consideration. One must look facts in the face and think of the future.</p> + +<p>"Fourthly, Lord Talgarth probably won't live very long...." (Jenny +paused, and then, with extraordinary impressiveness, continued).... "And +that, of, course, is perhaps the strongest argument of all. If I could +be of any real use to him—" She stopped again.</p> + +<p>The Rector shifted a little in his chair.</p> + +<p>It was impossible for him to conceal from himself any longer the fact +that up to now he had really been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. +But he was a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons she +had advanced against that. She had put into words just the sensible view +of which he himself had only had a confused apprehension; she had +analyzed into all its component parts that general sense which one side +of him had pushed before him all day—that the thing was really +abominable. And this side of him at this time was uppermost. He drew a +whistling breath.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was very apparent in his +voice. But Jenny interrupted.</p> + +<p>"One minute, please, father! In fairness to—to everyone I must put the +other side.... I suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I fond +of him?—fond enough, that is, to marry him—because, of course, I'm +fond of him; he's been so extraordinarily kind always.... I suppose +that's really the only thing to be considered. If I were fond enough of +him, I suppose all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't that +so?... Yes; I want you to say what you think."</p> + +<p>He waited. Still he could make out nothing of her face, though he +glanced across the tea-things once or twice.</p> + +<p>"My dear, I don't know what to say. I—"</p> + +<p>"Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do you think that any +consideration at all ought to stand in the way, if I were—I don't say +for one single moment that I am—but if I were—well, really fond of +him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very plainly, but it's no good being +silly."</p> + +<p>He swallowed in his throat once or twice.</p> + +<p>"If you really were fond of him—I think ... I think that, no +consideration of the sort you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in +your way."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, father," said Jenny softly.</p> + +<p>"When did you first think of it?"</p> + +<p>Jenny paused.</p> + +<p>"I think I knew he was going to ask me two days ago—the day you met us +out riding, you know."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There was a long silence.</p> + +<p>They had already discussed, when Frank's affair had been before them, +all secondary details.</p> + +<p>The Rector's sister was to have taken Jenny's place. There was nothing +of that sort to talk about now. They were both just face to face with +primary things, and they both knew it.</p> + +<p>The Rector's mind worked like a mill—a mill whose machinery is running +aimlessly. The wheels went round and round, but they effected nothing. +He was completely ignorant as to what Jenny intended. He perceived—as +in a series of little vignettes—a number of hypothetical events, on +this side and that, but they drew to no conclusion in his mind. He was +just waiting on his daughter's will.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Jenny broke the silence with a slow remark in another kind of voice.</p> + +<p>"Father, dear, there's something else I must tell you. I didn't see any +need to bother you with it before. It's this. Mr. Dick Guiseley proposed +to me when he was here for the shooting."</p> + +<p>She paused, but her father said nothing.</p> + +<p>"I told him he must wait—that I didn't know for certain, but that I was +almost certain. If he had pressed for an answer I should have said 'No.' +Oddly enough, I was thinking only yesterday that it wasn't fair to keep +him waiting any longer. Because ... because it's 'No' ... anyhow, now."</p> + +<p>The Rector still could not speak. It was just one bewilderment. But +apparently Jenny did not want any comments.</p> + +<p>"That being so," she went on serenely, "my conscience is clear, anyhow. +And I mustn't let what I think Mr. Dick might say or think affect +me—any more than the other things. Must I?"</p> + +<p>"... Jenny, what are you going to do? Tell me!"</p> + +<p>"Father, dear," came the high astonished voice, "I don't know. I don't +know at all. I must think. Did you think I'd made up my mind? Why! How +could I? Of course I should say 'No' if I had to answer now."</p> + +<p>"I—" began the Rector and stopped. He perceived that the situation +could easily be complicated.</p> + +<p>"I must just think about it quietly," went on the girl. "And I must +write a note to say so.... Father ..."</p> + +<p>He glanced in her direction.</p> + +<p>"Father, about being fond of a man.... Need it be—well, as I was fond +of Frank? I don't think Lord Talgarth could have expected that, could +he? But if you—well—get on with a man very well, understand him—can +stand up to him without annoying him ... and ... and care for him, +really, I mean, in such a way that you like being with him very much, +and look up to him very much in all kinds of ways—(I'm very sorry to +have to talk like this, but whom am I to talk to, father dear?) Well, if +I found I did care for Lord Talgarth like that—like a sort of daughter, +or niece, and more than that too, would that—"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the Rector, abruptly standing up. "I don't know; +you mustn't ask me. You must settle all that yourself."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, startled, it seemed, by the change in his manner.</p> + +<p>"Father, dear—" she began, with just the faintest touch of pathetic +reproach in her voice. But he did not appear moved by it.</p> + +<p>"You must settle," he said. "You have all the data. I haven't. I—"</p> + +<p>He stepped towards the door.</p> + +<p>"Tell me as soon as you have decided," he said, and went out.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>The little brown dog called Lama, who in an earlier chapter once trotted +across a lawn, and who had lately been promoted to sleeping upon Jenny's +bed, awoke suddenly that night and growled a low breathy remonstrance. +He had been abruptly kicked from beneath the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>"Get off, you heavy little beast," said a voice in the darkness.</p> + +<p>Lama settled himself again with a grunt, half of comfort, half of +complaint.</p> + +<p>"<i>Get off!</i>" came the voice again, and again his ribs were heaved at by +a foot.</p> + +<p>He considered it a moment or two, and even shifted nearer the wall, +still blind with sleep; but the foot pursued him, and he awoke finally +to the conviction that it would be more comfortable by the fire; there +was a white sheepskin there, he reflected. As he finally reached the +ground, a scratching was heard in the corner, and he was instantly +alert, and the next moment had fitted his nose, like a kind of +india-rubber pad, deep into a small mouse-hole in the wainscoting, and +was breathing long noisy sighs down into the delicious and +gamey-smelling darkness.</p> + +<p>"Oh! be quiet!" came a voice from the bed.</p> + +<p>Lama continued his investigations unmoved, and having decided, after one +long final blow, that there was to be no sport, returned to the +sheepskin with that brisk independent air that was so characteristic of +him. He was completely awake now, and stood eyeing the bed a moment, +with the possibility in his mind that his mistress was asleep again, +and that by a very gentle leap—But a match was struck abruptly, and he +lay down, looking, with that appearance of extreme wide-awakedness in +his black eyes that animals always wear at night, at his restless +mistress.</p> + +<p>He could not quite understand what was the matter.</p> + +<p>First she lit a candle, took a book from the small table by the bed and +began to read resolutely. This continued till Lama's eyes began to blink +at the candle flame, and then he was suddenly aware that the light was +out and the book closed, and all fallen back again into the clear gray +tones which men call darkness.</p> + +<p>He put his head down on his paws, but his eyebrows rose now and again as +he glanced at the bed.</p> + +<p>Then the candle was lighted again after a certain space of time, but +this time there was no book opened. Instead, his mistress took her arms +out of bed, and clasped them behind her head, staring up at the +ceiling....</p> + +<p>This was tiresome, as the light was in his eyes, and his body was just +inert enough with sleep to make movement something of an effort....</p> + +<p>Little by little, however, his eyebrows came down, remained down, and +his eyes closed....</p> + +<p>He awoke again at a sound. The candle was still burning, but his +mistress had rolled over on to her side and seemed to be talking gently +to herself. Then she was over again on this side, and a minute later was +out of bed, and walking to and fro noiselessly on the soft carpet.</p> + +<p>He watched her with interest, his eyes only following her. He had never +yet fully understood this mysterious change of aspect that took place +every night—the white thin dress, the altered appearance of the head, +and—most mysterious of all—the two white things that ought to be feet, +but were no longer hard and black. He had licked one of them once +tentatively, and had found that the effect was that it had curled up +suddenly; there had been a sound as of pain overhead, and a swift slap +had descended upon him.</p> + +<p>He was observing these things now—to and fro, to and fro—and his eyes +moved with them.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After a certain space of time the movement stopped. She was standing +still near a carved desk—important because a mouse had once been +described sitting beneath it; and she stood so long that his eyes began +to blink once more. Then there was a rustle of paper being torn, and he +was alert again in a moment. Perhaps paper would be thrown for him +presently....</p> + +<p>She came across to the hearth-rug, and he was up, watching her hands, +while his own short tail flickered three or four times in invitation. +But it was no good: the ball was crumpled up and thrown on to the red +logs. There was a "whup" from the fire and a flame shot up. He looked at +this carefully with his head on one side, and again lay down to watch +it. His mistress was standing quite still, watching it with him.</p> + +<p>Then, as the flame died down, she turned abruptly, went straight back to +the bed, got into it, drew the clothes over her and blew the candle out.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After a few moments steady staring at the fire, he perceived that a part +of the ball of paper had rolled out on to the stone hearth unburned. He +looked at it for some while, wondering whether it was worth getting up +for. Certainly the warmth was delicious and the sheepskin exquisitely +soft.</p> + +<p>There was no sound from the bed. A complete and absolute silence had +succeeded to all the restlessness.</p> + +<p>Finally he concluded that it was impossible to lie there any longer and +watch such a crisp little roll of paper still untorn. He got up, stepped +delicately on to the wide hearth, and pulled the paper towards him with +a little scratching sound. There was a sigh from the bed, and he paused. +Then he lifted it, stepped back to his warm place, lay down, and +placing his paws firmly upon the paper, began to tear scraps out of it +with his white teeth.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>be quiet</i>!" came the weary voice from the bed.</p> + +<p>He paused, considered; then he tore two more pieces. But it did not +taste as it should; it was a little sticky, and too stiff. He stood up +once more, turned round four times and lay down with a small grunt.</p> + +<p>In the morning the maid who swept up the ashes swept up these fragments +too. She noticed a wet scrap of a picture postcard, with the word +"Selby" printed in the corner. Then she threw that piece, too, into the +dustpan.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IVc" id="CHAPTER_IVc"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Partington and Gertie had many of those mysterious conversations +that such women have, full of "he's" and "she's" and nods and becks and +allusions and broken sentences, wholly unintelligible to the outsider, +yet packed with interest to the talkers. The Major, Mr. Partington +(still absent), and Frank were discussed continually and exhaustively; +and, so far as the subjects themselves ranged, there was hardly an +unimportant detail that did not come under notice, and hardly an +important fact that did. Gertie officially passed, of course, as Mrs. +Trustcott always.</p> + +<p>A couple of mornings after Frank had begun his work at the jam factory, +Mrs. Partington, who had stepped round the corner to talk with a friend +for an hour or so, returned to find Gertie raging. She raged in her own +way; she was as white as a sheet; she uttered ironical and +unintelligible sentences, in which Frank's name appeared repeatedly, and +it emerged presently that one of the Mission-ladies had been round +minding other folks' business, and that Gertie would thank that lady to +keep her airs and her advice to herself.</p> + +<p>Now Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie was not the Major's wife, and +Gertie knew that she knew it; and Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie knew +that she knew it. Yet, officially, all was perfectly correct; Gertie +wore a wedding-ring, and there never was the hint that she had not a +right to it. It was impossible, therefore, for Mrs. Partington to +observe out loud that she understood perfectly what the Mission-lady had +been talking about. She said very little; she pressed her thin lips +together and let Gertie alone. The conversations that morning were of +the nature of disconnected monologues from Gertie with long silences +between.</p> + +<p>It was an afternoon of silent storm. The Major was away in the West End +somewhere on mysterious affairs; the children were at school, and the +two women went about, each knowing what was in the mind of the other, +yet each resolved to keep up appearances.</p> + +<p>At half-past five o'clock Frank abruptly came in for a cup of tea, and +Mrs. Partington gave it him in silence. (Gertie could be heard moving +about restlessly overhead.) She made one or two ordinary remarks, +watching Frank when he was not looking. But Frank said very little. He +sat up to the table; he drank two cups of tea out of the chipped enamel +mug, and then he set to work on his kippered herring. At this point Mrs. +Partington left the room, as if casually, and a minute later Gertie came +downstairs.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She came in with an indescribable air of virtue, rather white in the +face, with her small chin carefully thrust out and her eyelids drooping. +It was a pose she was accustomed to admire in high-minded and +aristocratic barmaids. Frank nodded at her and uttered a syllable or two +of greeting.</p> + +<p>She said nothing; she went round to the window, carrying a white cotton +blouse she had been washing upstairs, and hung it on the clothes-line +that ran inside the window. Then, still affecting to be busy with it, +she fired her first shot, with her back to him.</p> + +<p>"I'll thank you to let my business alone...."</p> + +<p>(Frank put another piece of herring into his mouth.)</p> + +<p>"... And not to send round any more of your nasty cats," added Gertie +after a pause.</p> + +<p>There was silence from Frank.</p> + +<p>"Well?" snapped Gertie.</p> + +<p>"How dare you talk like that!" said Frank, perfectly quietly.</p> + +<p>He spoke so low that Gertie mistook his attitude, and, leaning her +hands on the table, she poured out the torrent that had been gathering +within her ever since the Mission-lady had left her at eleven o'clock +that morning. The lady had not been tactful; she was quite new to the +work, and quite fresh from a women's college, and she had said a great +deal more than she ought, with an earnest smile upon her face that she +had thought conciliatory and persuasive. Gertie dealt with her +faithfully now; she sketched her character as she believed it to be; she +traced her motives and her attitude to life with an extraordinary wealth +of detail; she threw in descriptive passages of her personal appearance, +and she stated, with extreme frankness, her opinion of such persons as +she had thought friendly, but now discovered to be hypocritical parsons +in disguise. Unhappily I have not the skill to transcribe her speech in +full, and there are other reasons, too, why her actual words are best +unreported: they were extremely picturesque.</p> + +<p>Frank ate on quietly till he had finished his herring; then he drank his +last cup of tea, and turned a little in his chair towards the fire. He +glanced at the clock, perceiving that he had still ten minutes, just as +Gertie ended and stood back shaking and pale-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" he asked.</p> + +<p>It seemed it was not all, and Gertie began again, this time on a +slightly higher note, and with a little color in her face. Frank waited, +quite simply and without ostentation. She finished.</p> + +<p>After a moment's pause Frank answered.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you want," he said. "I talked to you myself, and you +wouldn't listen. So I thought perhaps another woman would do it +better—"</p> + +<p>"I did listen—"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said Frank instantly. "I was wrong. You did listen, +and very patiently. I meant that you wouldn't do what I said. And so I +thought—"</p> + +<p>Gertie burst out again, against cats and sneaking hypocrites, but there +was not quite the same venom in her manner.</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Frank. "Then I won't make the mistake again. I am very +sorry—not in the least for having interfered, you understand, but for +not having tried again myself." (He took up his cap.) "You'll soon give +in, Gertie, you know. Don't you think so yourself?"</p> + +<p>Gertie looked at him in silence.</p> + +<p>"You understand, naturally, why I can't talk to you while the Major's +here. But the next time I have a chance—"</p> + +<p>The unlatched door was pushed open and the Major came in.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>There was an uncomfortable little pause for a moment. It is extremely +doubtful, even now, exactly how much the Major heard; but he must have +heard something, and to a man of his mind the situation that he found +must have looked extremely suspicious. Gertie, flushed now, with emotion +very plainly visible in her bright eyes, was standing looking at Frank, +who, it appeared, was a little disconcerted. It would have been almost +miraculous if the Major had not been convinced that he had interrupted a +little private love-making.</p> + +<p>It is rather hard to analyze the Major's attitude towards Gertie; but +what is certain is that the idea of anyone else making love to her was +simply intolerable. Certainly he did not treat her with any great +chivalry; he made her carry the heavier bundles on the tramp; he behaved +to her with considerable disrespect; he discussed her freely with his +friends on convivial occasions. But she was his property—his and no one +else's. He had had his suspicions before; he had come in quietly just +now on purpose, and he had found himself confronted by this very +peculiar little scene.</p> + +<p>He looked at them both in silence. Then his lips sneered like a dog's.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," he said, with extreme politeness. "I appear to be +interrupting a private conversation."</p> + +<p>No one said anything. Frank leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"It was private, then?" continued the Major with all the poisonous +courtesy at his command.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was private," said Frank shortly.</p> + +<p>The Major put his bowler hat carefully upon the table.</p> + +<p>"Gertie, my dear," he said. "Will you be good enough to leave us for an +instant? I regret having to trouble you."</p> + +<p>Gertie breathed rather rapidly for a moment or two. She was not +altogether displeased. She understood perfectly, and it seemed to her +rather pleasant that two men should get into this kind of situation over +her. She was aware that trouble would come to herself later, probably in +the form of personal chastisement, but to the particular kind of +feminine temperament that she possessed even a beating was not wholly +painful, and the cheap kind of drama in which she found herself was +wholly attractive. After an instant's pause, she cast towards Frank what +she believed to be a "proud" glance and marched out.</p> + +<p>"If you've got much to say," said Frank rapidly, as the door closed, +"you'd better keep it for this evening. I've got to go in ... in two +minutes."</p> + +<p>"Two minutes will be ample," said the Major softly.</p> + +<p>Frank waited.</p> + +<p>"When I find a friend," went on the other, "engaged in an apparently +exciting kind of conversation, which he informs me is private, with one +who is in the position of my wife—particularly when I catch a sentence +or two obviously not intended for my ears—I do not ask what was the +subject of the conversation, but I—"</p> + +<p>"My dear man," said Frank, "do put it more simply."</p> + +<p>The Major was caught, so to speak, full in the wind. His face twitched +with anger.</p> + +<p>Then he flung an oath at Frank.</p> + +<p>"If I catch you at it again," he said, "there'll be trouble. God damn +you!"</p> + +<p>"That is as it may be," said Frank.</p> + +<p>The Major had had just one drink too much, and he was in the kind of +expansive mood that changes very rapidly.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me you were not trying to take her from me?" he cried, +almost with pathos in his voice.</p> + +<p>This was, of course, exactly what Frank had been trying to do.</p> + +<p>"You can't deny it!... Then I tell you this, Mr. Frankie"—the Major +sprang up—"one word more from you to her on that subject ... and ... +and you'll know it. D'you understand me?"</p> + +<p>He thrust his face forward almost into Frank's.</p> + +<p>It was an unpleasant face at most times, but it was really dangerous +now. His lips lay back, and the peculiar hot smell of spirit breathed +into Frank's nostrils. Frank turned and looked into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I understand you perfectly," he said. "There's no need to say any more. +And now, if you'll forgive me, I must get back to my work."</p> + +<p>He took up his cap and went out.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Major, as has been said, had had one glass too much, and he had, +accordingly, put into words what, even in his most suspicious moments, +he had intended to keep to himself. It might be said, too, that he had +put into words what he did not really think. But the Major was, like +everyone else, for good or evil, a complex character, and found it +perfectly possible both to believe and disbelieve the same idea +simultaneously. It depended in what stratum the center of gravity +happened to be temporarily suspended. One large part of the Major knew +perfectly well, therefore, that any jealousy of Frank was simply +ridiculous—the thing was simply alien; and another part, not so large, +but ten times more concentrated, judged Frank by the standards by which +the Major (<i>qua</i> blackguard) conducted his life. For people who lived +usually in that stratum, making love to Gertie, under such +circumstances, would have been an eminently natural thing to do, and, +just now, the Major chose to place Frank amongst them.</p> + +<p>The Major himself was completely unaware of these psychological +distinctions, and, as he sat, sunk in his chair, brooding, before +stepping out to attend to Gertie, he was entirely convinced that his +suspicions were justified. It seemed to him now that numberless little +details out of the past fitted, with the smoothness of an adjusted +puzzle, into the framework of his thought.</p> + +<p>There was, first, the very remarkable fact that Frank, in spite of +opportunities to better himself, had remained in their company. At +Barham, at Doctor Whitty's, at the monastery, obvious chances had +offered themselves and he had not taken them. Then there were the small +acts of courtesy, the bearing of Gertie's bundles two or three times. +Finally, there was a certain change in Gertie's manner—a certain silent +peevishness towards himself, a curious air that fell on her now and then +as she spoke to Frank or looked at him.</p> + +<p>And so forth. It was an extraordinarily convincing case, clinched now +by the little scene that he had just interrupted. And the very +irregularity of his own relations with Gertie helped to poison the +situation with an astonishingly strong venom.</p> + +<p>Of course, there were other considerations, or, rather, there was +one—that Frank, obviously, was not the kind of man to be attracted by +the kind of woman that Gertie was—a consideration made up, however, of +infinitely slighter indications. But this counted for nothing. It seemed +unsubstantial and shadowy. There were solid, definable arguments on the +one side; there was a vague general impression on the other....</p> + +<p>So the Major sat and stared at the fire, with the candle-light falling +on his sunken cheeks and the bristle on his chin—a poor fallen kind of +figure, yet still holding the shadow of a shadow of an ideal that might +yet make him dangerous.</p> + +<p>Presently he got up with a sudden movement and went in search of Gertie.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>There are no free libraries in Hackney Wick; the munificences of Mr. +Carnegie have not yet penetrated to that district (and, indeed, the +thought of a library of any kind in Hackney Wick is a little +incongruous). But there is one in Homerton, and during the dinner-hour +on the following day Frank went up the steps of it, pushed open the +swing-doors, and found his way to some kind of a writing-room, where he +obtained a sheet of paper, an envelope and a penny stamp, and sat down +to write a letter.</p> + +<p>The picture that I have in my mind of Frank at this present time may +possibly be a little incorrect in one or two details, but I am quite +clear about its main outlines, and it is extremely vivid on the whole. I +see him going in, quietly and unostentatiously—quite at his ease, yet a +very unusual figure in such surroundings. I hear an old gentleman sniff +and move his chair a little as this person in an exceedingly shabby blue +suit with the collar turned up, with a muffler round his neck and large, +bulging boots on his feet, comes and sits beside him. I perceive an +earnest young lady, probably a typist in search of extra culture, look +at him long and vacantly from over her copy of Emerson, and can almost +see her mind gradually collecting conclusions about him. The attendant, +too, as he asks for his paper, eyes him shrewdly and suspiciously, and +waits till the three halfpence are actually handed across under the +brass wire partition before giving him the penny stamp. These +circumstances may be incorrect, but I am absolutely clear as to Frank's +own attitude of mind. Honestly, he no longer minds in the very least +how people behave to him; he has got through all that kind of thing long +ago; he is not at all to be commiserated; it appears to him only of +importance to get the paper and to be able to write and post his letter +without interruption. For Frank has got on to that plane—(I know no +other word to use, though I dislike this one)—when these other things +simply do not matter. We all touch that plane sometimes, generally under +circumstances of a strong mental excitement, whether of pleasure or +pain, or even annoyance. A man with violent toothache, or who has just +become engaged to be married, really does not care what people think of +him. But Frank, for the present at least, has got here altogether, +though for quite different reasons. The letter he wrote on this occasion +is, at present, in my possession. It runs as follows. It is very short +and business-like:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Jack</span>,</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you where I am—or, rather, where I can be got +at in case of need. I am down in East London for the present, +and one of the curates here knows where I'm living. (He was at +Eton with me.) His address is: The Rev. E. Parham-Carter, The +Eton Mission, Hackney Wick, London, N.E.</p> + +<p>"The reason I'm writing is this: You remember Major Trustcott +and Gertie, don't you? Well, I haven't succeeded in getting +Gertie back to her people yet, and the worst of it is that the +Major knows that there's something up, and, of course, puts the +worst possible construction upon it. Parham-Carter knows all +about it, too—I've just left a note on him, with instructions. +Now I don't quite know what'll happen, but in case anything +does happen which prevents my going on at Gertie, I want you to +come and do what you can. Parham-Carter will write to you if +necessary.</p> + +<p>"That's one thing; and the next is this: I'd rather like to +have some news about my people, and for them to know (if they +want to know—I leave that to you) that I'm getting on all +right. I haven't heard a word about them since August. I know +nothing particular can have happened, because I always look at +the papers—but I should like to know what's going on +generally.</p> + +<p>"I think that's about all. I am getting on excellently myself, +and hope you are. I am afraid there's no chance of my coming to +you for Christmas. I suppose you'll be home again by now.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i26">"Ever yours,<br /></span> +<span class="i28">"F.G."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"P.S.—Of course you'll keep all this private—as well as where +I'm living."</p></div> + +<p>Now this letter seems to me rather interesting from a psychological +point of view. It is extremely business-like, but perfectly unpractical. +Frank states what he wants, but he wants an absurd impossibility. I like +Jack Kirkby very much, but I cannot picture him as likely to be +successful in helping to restore a strayed girl to her people. I suppose +Frank's only excuse is that he did not know whom else to write to.</p> + +<p>It is rather interesting, too, to notice his desire to know what is +going on at his home; it seems as if he must have had, some faint +inkling that something important was about to happen, and this is +interesting in view of what now followed immediately.</p> + +<p>He directed his letter, stamped it, and posted it in the library +post-box in the vestibule. Then, cap in hand, he pushed open the +swing-doors and ran straight into Mr. Parham-Carter.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said that clergyman—and went a little white.</p> + +<p>"Hullo!" said Frank; and then: "What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going back to the jam factory."</p> + +<p>"May I walk with you?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you don't mind my eating as I go along."</p> + +<p>The clergyman turned with him and went beside him in silence, as Frank, +drawing out of his side-pocket a large hunch of bread and cheese, +wrapped up in the advertisement sheet of the <i>Daily Mail</i>, began to fill +his mouth.</p> + +<p>"I want to know if you've had any news from home."</p> + +<p>Frank turned to him slightly.</p> + +<p>"No," he said sharply, after a pause.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter licked his lips.</p> + +<p>"Well—no, it isn't bad news; but I wondered whether—"</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Your governor's married again. It happened yesterday. I thought perhaps +you didn't know."</p> + +<p>There was dead silence for an instant.</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't know," said Frank. "Who's he married?"</p> + +<p>"Somebody I never heard of. I wondered whether you knew her."</p> + +<p>"What's her name?"</p> + +<p>"Wait a second," said the other, plunging under his greatcoat to get at +his waistcoat pocket. "I've got the paragraph here. I cut it out of the +<i>Morning Post</i>. I only saw it half an hour ago. I was coming round to +you this evening."</p> + +<p>He produced a slip of printed paper. Frank stood still a moment, leaning +against some area-railings—they were in the distinguished quarter of +Victoria Park Road—and read the paragraph through. The clergyman +watched him curiously. It seemed to him a very remarkable situation that +he should be standing here in Victoria Park Road, giving information to +a son as to his father's marriage. He wondered, but only secondarily, +what effect it would have upon Frank.</p> + +<p>Frank gave him the paper back without a tremor.</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much," he said. "No; I didn't know."</p> + +<p>They continued to walk.</p> + +<p>"D'you know her at all?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know her. She's the Rector's daughter, you know."</p> + +<p>"What! At Merefield? Then you must know her quite well."</p> + +<p>"Oh! yes," said Frank, "I know her quite well."</p> + +<p>Again there was silence. Then the other burst out:</p> + +<p>"Look here—I wish you'd let me do something. It seems to me perfectly +ghastly—"</p> + +<p>"My dear man," said Frank. "Indeed you can't do anything.... You got my +note, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>The clergyman nodded.</p> + +<p>"It's just in case I'm ill, or anything, you know. Jack's a great friend +of mine. And it's just as well that some friend of mine should be able +to find out where I am. I've just written to him myself, as I said in my +note. But you mustn't give him my address unless in case of real need."</p> + +<p>"All right. But are you sure—"</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly sure.... Oh! by the way, that lady you sent round did no +good. I expect she told you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; she said she'd never come across such a difficult case."</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall have to try again myself.... I must turn off here. Good +luck!"</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>Gertie was sitting alone in the kitchen about nine o'clock that +night—alone, that is to say, except for the sleeping 'Erb, who, in a +cot at the foot of his mother's bed, was almost invisible under a pile +of clothes, and completely negligible as a witness. Mrs. Partington, +with the other two children, was paying a prolonged visit in Mortimer +Road, and the Major, ignorant of this fact, was talking big in the bar +of the "Queen's Arms" opposite the Men's Club of the Eton Mission.</p> + +<p>Gertie was enjoying herself just now, on the whole. It is true that she +had received some chastisement yesterday from the Major; but she had the +kind of nature that preferred almost any sensation to none. And, indeed, +the situation was full of emotion. It was extraordinarily pleasant to +her to occupy such a position between two men—and, above all, two +"gentlemen." Her attitude towards the Major was of the most simple and +primitive kind; he was her man, who bullied her, despised her, dragged +her about the country, and she never for one instant forgot that he had +once been an officer in the army. Even his blows (which, to tell the +truth, were not very frequent, and were always administered in a +judicial kind of way) bore with them a certain stamp of brilliance; she +possessed a very pathetic capacity for snobbishness. Frank, on the other +side, was no less exciting. She regarded him as a good young man, almost +romantic, indeed, in his goodness—a kind of Sir Galahad; and he, +whatever his motive (and she was sometimes terribly puzzled about his +motives), at any rate, stood in a sort of rivalry to the Major; and it +was she who was the cause of contention. She loved to feel herself +pulled this way and that by two such figures, to be quarreled over by +such very strong and opposite types. It was a vague sensation to her, +but very vivid and attractive; and although just now she believed +herself to be thoroughly miserable, I have no doubt whatever that she +was enjoying it all immensely. She was very feminine indeed, and the +little scene of last night had brought matters to an almost exquisite +point. She was crying a little now, gently, to herself.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The door opened. Frank came in, put down his cap, and took his seat on +the bench by the fire.</p> + +<p>"All out?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Gertie nodded, and made a little broken sound.</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Frank. "Then I'm going to talk to you."</p> + +<p>Gertie wiped away a few more tears, and settled herself down for a +little morbid pleasure. It was delightful to her to be found crying over +the fire. Frank, at any rate, would appreciate that.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Frank, "you've got the choice once more, and I'm going to +put it plainly. If you don't do what I want this time, I shall have to +see whether somebody else can't persuade you."</p> + +<p>She glanced up, a little startled.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Frank. "I'm not going to take any more trouble myself +over this affair. You were a good deal upset yesterday when the lady +came round, and you'll be more upset yet before the thing's over. I +shan't talk to you myself any more: you don't seem to care a hang what I +say; in fact, I'm thinking of moving my lodgings after Christmas. So now +you've got your choice."</p> + +<p>He paused.</p> + +<p>"On the one side you've got the Major; well, you know him; you know the +way he treats you. But that's not the reason why I want you to leave +him. I want you to leave him because I think that down at the bottom +you've got the makings of a good woman—"</p> + +<p>"I haven't," cried Gertie passionately.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you have. You're very patient, and you're very +industrious, and because you care for this man you'll do simply anything +in the world for him. Well, that's splendid. That shows you've got grit. +But have you ever thought what it'll all be like in five years from +now?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be dead," wailed Gertie. "I wish I was dead now."</p> + +<p>Frank paused.</p> + +<p>"And when you're dead—?" he said slowly.</p> + +<p>There was an instant's silence. Then Frank took up his discourse again. +(So far he had done exactly what he had wanted. He had dropped two tiny +ideas on her heart once more—hope and fear.)</p> + +<p>"Now I've something to tell you. Do you remember the last time I talked +to you? Well, I've been thinking what was the best thing to do, and a +few days ago I saw my chance and took it. You've got a little +prayer-book down at the bottom of your bundle, haven't you? Well, I got +at that (you never let anyone see it, you know), and I looked through +it. I looked through all your things. Did you know your address was +written in it? I wasn't sure it was your address, you know, until—"</p> + +<p>Gertie sat up, white with passion.</p> + +<p>"You looked at my things?"</p> + +<p>Frank looked her straight in the face.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to me like that," he said. "Wait till I've done.... Well, I +wrote to the address, and I got an answer; then I wrote again, and I got +another answer and a letter for you. It came this morning, to the +post-office where I got it."</p> + +<p>Gertie looked at him, still white, with her lips parted.</p> + +<p>"Give me the letter," she whispered.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I've done talking," said Frank serenely. "You've got to +listen to me first. I knew what you'd say: you'd say that your people +wouldn't have you back. And I knew perfectly well from the little things +you'd said about them that they would. But I wrote to make sure....</p> + +<p>"Gertie, d'you know that they're breaking their hearts for you?... that +there's nothing, in the whole world they want so much as that you +should come back?..."</p> + +<p>"Give me the letter!"</p> + +<p>"You've got a good heart yourself, Gertie; I know that well enough. +Think hard, before I give you the letter. Which is best—the Major and +this sort of life—and ... and—well, you know about the soul and God, +don't you?... or to go home, and—"</p> + +<p>Her face shook all over for one instant.</p> + +<p>"Give me the letter," she wailed suddenly.</p> + +<p>Then Frank gave it her.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>"But I can't possibly go home like this," whispered Gertie agitatedly in +the passage, after the Major's return half an hour later.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" whispered Frank, "what an extraordinary girl you are, to +think—"</p> + +<p>"I don't care. I can't, and I won't."</p> + +<p>Frank cast an eye at the door, beyond which dozed the Major in the chair +before the fire.</p> + +<p>"Well, what d'you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want another dress, and ... and lots of things."</p> + +<p>Frank stared at her resignedly.</p> + +<p>"How much will it all come to?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Two pounds—two pounds ten."</p> + +<p>"Let's see: to-day's the twentieth. We must get you back before +Christmas. If I let you have it to-morrow, will it do?—to-morrow +night?"</p> + +<p>She nodded. A sound came from beyond the door, and she fled.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>I am not sure about the details of the manner in which Frank got the two +pounds ten, but I know he got it, and without taking charity from a +soul. I know that he managed somehow to draw his week's money two days +before pay-day, and for the rest, I suspect the pawnshop. What is quite +certain is that when his friends were able to take stock of his +belongings a little later, the list of them was as follows:</p> + +<p>One jacket, one shirt, one muffler, a pair of trousers, a pair of socks, +a pair of boots, one cap, one tooth-brush, and a rosary. There was +absolutely nothing else. Even his razor was gone.</p> + +<p>Things, therefore, were pretty bad with him on the morning of the +twenty-second of December. I imagine that he still possessed a few +pence, but out of this few pence he had to pay for his own and Gertie's +journey to Chiswick, as well as keep himself alive for another week. At +least, so he must have thought.</p> + +<p>It must have been somewhere in Kensington High Street that he first had +a hint of a possibility of food to be obtained free, for, although I +find it impossible to follow all his movements during these days, it is +quite certain that he partook of the hospitality of the Carmelite +Fathers on this morning. He mentions it, with pleasure, in his diary.</p> + +<p>It is a very curious and medieval sight—this feeding of the poor in the +little deep passage that runs along the outside of the cloister of the +monastery in Church Street. The passage is approached by a door at the +back of the house, opening upon the lane behind, and at a certain hour +on each morning of the year is thronged from end to end with the most +astonishing and deplorable collection of human beings to be seen in +London. They are of all ages and sizes, from seventeen to seventy, and +the one thing common to them all is extreme shabbiness and poverty.</p> + +<p>A door opens at a given moment; the crowd surges a little towards a +black-bearded man in a brown frock, with an apron over it, and five +minutes later a deep silence, broken only by the sound of supping and +swallowing, falls upon the crowd. There they stand, with the roar of +London sounding overhead, the hooting of cars, the noise of innumerable +feet, and the rain—at least, on this morning—falling dismally down the +long well-like space. And here stand between two and three hundred men, +pinched, feeble, and yet wolfish, gulping down hot soup and bread, +looking something like a herd of ragged prisoners pent in between the +high walls.</p> + +<p>Here, then, Frank stood in the midst of them, gulping his soup. His van +and horses, strictly against orders, remained in Church Street, under +the care of a passer-by, whom Frank seems to have asked, quite openly, +to do it for him for God's sake.</p> + +<p>It is a dreary little scene in which to picture him, and yet, to myself, +it is rather pleasant, too. I like to think of him, now for the second +time within a few weeks, and all within the first six months of his +Catholic life, depending upon his Church for the needs of the body as +well as for the needs of the soul. There was nothing whatever to +distinguish him from the rest; he, too, had now something of that lean +look that is such a characteristic of that crowd, and his dress, too, +was entirely suitable to his company. He spoke with none of his hosts; +he took the basin in silence and gave it back in silence; then he wiped +his mouth on his sleeve, and went out comforted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_Vc" id="CHAPTER_Vc"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>Dick Guiseley sat over breakfast in his rooms off Oxford Street, +entirely engrossed in a local Yorkshire paper two days old.</p> + +<p>His rooms were very characteristic of himself. They were five in +number—a dining-room, two bedrooms, and two sitting-rooms divided by +curtains, as well as a little entrance-hall that opened on to the +landing, close beside the lift that served all the flats. They were +furnished in a peculiarly restrained style—so restrained, in fact, that +it was almost impossible to remember what was in them. One was just +conscious of a sense of extreme comfort and convenience. There was +nothing in particular that arrested the attention or caught the eye, +except here and there a space or a patch of wall about which Dick had +not yet made up his mind. He had been in them two years, indeed, but he +had not nearly finished furnishing. From time to time a new piece of +furniture appeared, or a new picture—always exceedingly good of its +kind, and even conspicuous. Yet, somehow or other, so excellent was his +taste, as soon as the thing was in place its conspicuousness (so to +speak) vanished amidst the protective coloring, and it looked as if it +had been there for ever. The colors were chosen with the same superfine +skill: singly they were brilliant, or at least remarkable (the ceilings, +for instance, were of a rich buttercup yellow); collectively they were +subdued and unnoticeable. And I suppose this is exactly what rooms ought +to be.</p> + +<p>The breakfast-table at which he sat was a good instance of his taste. +The silver-plate on it was really remarkable. There was a delightful +Caroline tankard in the middle, placed there for the sheer pleasure of +looking at it; there was a large silver cow with a lid in its back; +there were four rat-tail spoons; the china was an extremely cheap +Venetian crockery of brilliant designs and thick make. The coffee-pot +and milk-pot were early Georgian, with very peculiar marks; but these +vessels were at present hidden under the folded newspaper. There were +four chrysanthemums in four several vases of an exceptional kind of +glass. It sounds startling, I know, but the effect was not startling, +though I cannot imagine why not. Here again one was just conscious of +freshness and suitability and comfort.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>But Dick was taking no pleasure in it all this morning. He was feeling +almost physically sick, and the little spirit-heated silver dish of +kidneys on his Queen Anne sideboard was undisturbed. He had cut off the +top of an egg which was now rapidly cooling, and a milky surface +resembling thin ice was forming on the contents of his coffee-cup. And +meanwhile he read.</p> + +<p>The column he was reading described the wedding of his uncle with Miss +Jenny Launton, and journalese surpassed itself. There was a great deal +about the fine old English appearance of the bridegroom, who, it +appeared, had been married in a black frock-coat and gray trousers, with +white spats, and who had worn a chrysanthemum in his button-hole (Dick +cast an almost venomous glance upon the lovely blossom just beside the +paper), and the beautiful youthful dignity of the bride, "so popular +among the humble denizens of the country-side." The bride's father, it +seemed, had officiated at the wedding in the "sturdy old church," and +had been greatly affected—assisted by the Rev. Matthieson. The wedding, +it seemed, had been unusually quiet, and had been celebrated by special +license: few of the family had been present, "owing," said the discreet +reporter, "to the express wish of the bridegroom." (Dick reflected +sardonically upon his own convenient attack of influenza from which he +was now completely recovered.) Then there was a great deal more about +the ancient home of the Guiseleys, and the aristocratic appearance of +Viscount Merefield, the young and popular heir to the earldom, who, it +appeared, had assisted at the wedding in another black frock-coat. +General Mainwaring had acted as best man. Finally, there was a short +description of the presents of the bridegroom to the bride, which +included a set of amethysts, etc....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dick read it all through to the luxuriant end, down to the peals of the +bells and the rejoicings in the evening. He ate several pieces of dry +toast while he read, crumbling them quickly with his left hand, and when +he had finished, drank his coffee straight off at one draught. Then he +got up, still with the paper, sat down in the easy-chair nearest to the +fire and read the whole thing through once more. Then he pushed the +paper off his knee and leaned back.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It would need a complete psychological treatise to analyze properly all +the emotions he had recently gone through—emotions which had been, so +to say, developed and "fixed" by the newspaper column he had just read. +He was a man who was accustomed to pride himself secretly upon the speed +with which he faced each new turn of fortune, and the correctness of the +attitude he assumed. Perhaps it would be fair to say that the Artistic +Stoic was the ideal towards which he strove. But, somehow, those +emotions would not sort themselves. There they all were—fury, +indignation, contempt, wounded pride, resignation, pity—there were no +more to be added or subtracted; each had its place and its object, yet +they would not coalesce. Now fury against his uncle, now pity for +himself, now a poisonous kind of contempt of Jenny. Or, again, a +primitive kind of longing for Jenny, a disregard of his uncle, an +abasement of himself. The emotions whirled and twisted, and he sat quite +still, with his eyes closed, watching them.</p> + +<p>But there was one more emotion which had made its appearance entirely +unexpectedly as soon as he had heard the news, that now, greatly to his +surprise, was beginning to take a considerable place amongst the +rest—and this was an extraordinarily warm sense of affection towards +Frank—of all people. It was composed partly of compassion, and partly +of an inexplicable sort of respect for which he could perceive no +reason. It was curious, he thought later, why this one figure should +have pushed its way to the front just now, when his uncle and Jenny and, +secondarily, that Rector ("so visibly affected by the ceremony") should +have occupied all the field. Frank had never meant very much to Dick; he +had stood for the undignified and the boyish in the midst of those +other stately elements of which Merefield, and, indeed, all truly +admirable life, was composed.</p> + +<p>Yet now this figure stood out before him with startling distinctness.</p> + +<p>First there was the fact that both Frank and himself had suffered +cruelly at the hands of the same woman, though Frank incomparably the +more cruelly of the two. Dick had the honesty to confess that Jenny had +at least never actually broken faith with himself; but he had also the +perspicuity to see that it came to very nearly the same thing. He knew +with the kind of certitude that neither needs nor appeals to evidence +that Jenny would certainly have accepted him if it had not been that +Lord Talgarth had already dawned on her horizon, and that she put him +off for a while simply to see whether this elderly sun would rise yet +higher in the heavens. It was the same consideration, no doubt, that had +caused her to throw Frank over a month or two earlier. A Lord Talgarth +in the bush was worth two cadets in the hand. That was where her +sensibleness had come in, and certainly it had served her well.</p> + +<p>It was this community of injury, then, that primarily drew Dick's +attention to Frank; and, when once it lead been so drawn, it lingered on +other points in his personality. Artistic Stoicism is a very satisfying +ideal so long as things go tolerably well. It affords an excellent +protection against such misfortunes as those of not being appreciated or +of losing money or just missing a big position—against all such ills as +affect bodily or mental conveniences. But when the heart is touched, +Artistic Stoicism peels off like rusted armour. Dick had seriously began +to consider, during the last few days, whether the exact opposite of +Artistic Stoicism (let us call it Natural Impulsiveness) is not almost +as good an equipment. He began to see something admirable in Frank's +attitude to life, and the more he regarded it the more admirable it +seemed.</p> + +<p>Frank, therefore, had begun to wear to him the appearance of something +really moving and pathetic. He had had a communication or two from Jack +Kirkby that had given him a glimpse of what Frank was going through, and +his own extremely artificial self was beginning to be affected by it.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He looked round his room now, once or twice, wondering whether it was +all worth while. He had put his whole soul into these rooms—there was +that Jacobean press with the grotesque heads—ah! how long he had +agonized over that in the shop in the King's Road, Chelsea, wondering +whether or not it would do just what he wanted, in that space between +the two doors. There was that small statue of a Tudor lady in a square +head-dress that he had bought in Oxford: he had occupied at least a week +in deciding exactly from what point she was to smile on him; there was +the new curtain dividing the two rooms: he had had half a dozen +patterns, gradually eliminated down to two, lying over his sofa-back for +ten days before he could make up his mind. (How lovely it looked, by the +way, just now, with that patch of mellow London sunlight lying across +the folds!)</p> + +<p>But was it all worth it?... He argued the point with himself, almost +passively, stroking his brown beard meditatively; but the fact that he +could argue it at all showed that the foundations of his philosophy were +shaken.</p> + +<p>Well, then ... Frank ... What about him? Where was he?</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>About eleven o'clock a key turned in his outer door and a very +smart-looking page-boy came through, after tapping, with a telegram on a +salver.</p> + +<p>Dick was writing to Hamilton's, in Berners Street, about a question of +gray mats for the spare bedroom, and he took the telegram and tore open +the envelope with a preoccupied air. Then he uttered a small +exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Any answer, sir?"</p> + +<p>"No. Yes.... Wait a second."</p> + +<p>He took a telegraph-form with almost indecent haste, addressed it to +John Kirkby, Barham, Yorks, and wrote below:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Certainly; will expect you dinner and sleep</i>.—<span class="smcap">Richard +Guiseley</span>."</p></div> + +<p>Then, when the boy had gone, he read again the telegram he had received:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>Have received letter from Frank; can probably discover +address if I come to town. Can you put me up +to-night?</i>—<span class="smcap">Jack Kirkby</span>, Barham."</p></div> + +<p>He pondered it a minute or so. Then he finished his note to Hamilton's, +but it was with a distracted manner. Then for several minutes he walked +up and down his rooms with his hands in his jacket-pockets, thinking +very deeply. He was reflecting how remarkable it was that he should hear +of Frank again just at this time, and was wondering what the next move +of Providence would be.</p> + +<p>The rest of Dick's day was very characteristic of him; and considering +my other personages in this story and their occupations, I take a +dramatic sort of pleasure in writing it down.</p> + +<p>He went out to lunch with a distinguished lady of his +acquaintance—whose name I forbear to give; she was not less than +seventy years old, and the two sat talking scandal about all their +friends till nearly four o'clock. The Talgarth affair, even, was +discussed in all its possible lights, and Dick was quite open about his +own part in the matter. He knew this old lady very well, and she knew +him very well. She was as shrewd as possible and extremely experienced, +and had helped Dick enormously in various intricacies and troubles of +the past; and he, on the other hand, as a well-informed bachelor, was of +almost equal service to her. She was just the least bit in the world +losing touch with things (at seventy you cannot do everything), and Dick +helped to keep her in touch. He lunched with her at least once a week +when they were both in town.</p> + +<p>At four he went to the Bath Club, ordered tea and toast and cigarettes, +and sat out, with his hat over his eyes, on the balcony, watching the +swimmers. There was a boy of sixteen who dived with surprising skill, +and Dick took the greatest possible pleasure in observing him. There was +also a stout man of his acquaintance whose ambition it had been for +months to cross the bath by means of the swinging rings, and this +person, too, afforded him hardly less pleasure, as he always had to let +go at the fourth ring, if not the third, whence he plunged into the +water with a sound that, curiously enough, was more resonant than +sibilant.</p> + +<p>At six, after looking through all the illustrated papers, he went out to +get his coat, and was presently in the thick of a heated argument with a +member of the committee on the subject of the new carpet in the front +hall. It was not fit, said Dick (searching for hyperboles), for even the +drawing-room of the "Cecil."</p> + +<p>This argument made him a little later than he had intended, and, as he +came up in the lift, the attendant informed him, in the passionless +manner proper to such people, that the Mr. Kirkby who had been mentioned +had arrived and was waiting for him in his rooms.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>Shortly before midnight Dick attempted to sum up the situation. They had +talked about Frank practically without ceasing, since Dick's man had set +coffee on the table at nine o'clock, and both had learned new facts.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, wire to go down to this man, Parham-Carter," said Dick, +"the first thing after breakfast to-morrow. Do you know anything about +the Eton Mission?"</p> + +<p>"No. One used to have a collection for it each half, you know, in the +houses."</p> + +<p>"How do we go?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! railway from Broad Street. I've looked it up. Victoria Park's the +station."</p> + +<p>Dick drew two or three draughts of smoke from his cigar-butt, and laid +it down in a small silver tray at his elbow. (The tray was a gift from +the old lady he had lunched with to-day.)</p> + +<p>"All you've told me is extraordinarily interesting," he said. "It really +was to get away this girl that he's stopped so long?"</p> + +<p>"I expect that's what he tells himself—that's the handle, so to speak. +But it's chiefly a sort of obstinacy. He said he would go on the roads, +and so he's gone."</p> + +<p>"I rather like that, you know," said Dick.</p> + +<p>Jack snorted a little.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's better than saying a thing and not doing it. But why say it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! one must do something," said Dick. "At least, some people seem to +think so. And I rather envy them, you know. I'm afraid I don't."</p> + +<p>"Don't what?"</p> + +<p>"Don't do anything. Unless you can call this sort of thing doing +something." He waved his hand vaguely round his perfectly arranged +room.</p> + +<p>Jack said nothing. He was inclined to be a little strenuous himself in +some ways, and he had always been conscious of a faint annoyance with +Dick's extreme leisureliness.</p> + +<p>"I see you agree," went on Dick. "Well, we must see what can be done."</p> + +<p>He stood up smiling and began to expand and contract his fingers +luxuriously before the fire behind his back.</p> + +<p>"If we can only get Frank away," murmured Jack. "That's enough for the +present."</p> + +<p>"And what do you propose to do with him then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord! Anything. Go round the world if he likes. Come and stay at my +place."</p> + +<p>"And suppose he thinks that's a bit too near to ... to Lady Talgarth.".</p> + +<p>This switched Jack back again to a line he had already run on for an +hour this evening.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the ghastly part of it all. He's sure not to have heard. +And who the devil's to tell him? And how will he take it?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know," said Dick, "I'm really not frightened about that? All +you've told me about him makes me think he'll behave very well. Funny +thing, isn't it, that you know him so much better than I do? I never +dreamed there was so much in him, somehow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a lot in Frank. But one doesn't always know what it is."</p> + +<p>"Do you think his religion's made much difference?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's done this for him," said Jack slowly. "(I've been thinking +a lot about that). I think it's fixed things, so to speak ...." He +hesitated. He was not an expert in psychological analysis. Dick took him +up quickly. He nodded three or four times.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," he said. "That's it, no doubt. It's given him a center—a hub +for the wheel."</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"It's ... it's joined everything on to one point in him. He'll be more +obstinate and mad than ever before. He's got a center now.... I suppose +that's what religion's for," he added meditatively.</p> + +<p>This was Greek to Jack. He looked at Dick uncomprehendingly.</p> + +<p>Dick turned round and began to stare into the fire, still contracting +and expanding his fingers.</p> + +<p>"It's a funny thing—this religion," he said at last. "I never could +understand it."</p> + +<p>"And what about Archie?" asked Jack with sudden abruptness. (He had no +continuity of mind.)</p> + +<p>Dick brought his meditations to a close with equal abruptness, or +perhaps he would not have been so caustic as regards his first cousin.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Archie's an ass!" he said. "We can leave him out."</p> + +<p>Jack changed the subject again. He was feeling the situation very +acutely indeed, and the result was that all its elements came tumbling +out anyhow.</p> + +<p>"I've been beastly uncomfortable," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Dick. "Any particular way?"</p> + +<p>Jack shifted one leg over the other. He had not approached one element +in the situation at all, as yet, with Dick, but it had been simmering in +him for weeks, and had been brought to a point by Frank's letter +received this morning. And now the curious intimacy into which he had +been brought with Dick began to warm it out of him.</p> + +<p>"You'll think me an ass, too, I expect," he said. "And I rather think +it's true. But I can't help it."</p> + +<p>Dick smiled at him encouragingly. (Certainly, thought Jack, this man was +nicer than he had thought him.)</p> + +<p>"Well, it's this—" he said suddenly. "But it's frightfully hard to put +into words. You know what I told you about Frank's coming to me at +Barham?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Well, there was something he said then that made me uncomfortable. And +it's made me more and more uncomfortable ever since ..." (He paused +again.) "Well, it's this. He said that he felt there was something going +on that he couldn't understand—some sort of Plan, he said—in which he +had to take part—a sort of scheme to be worked out, you know. I suppose +he meant God," he explained feebly.</p> + +<p>Dick looked at him questioningly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I can't put it into words," said Jack desperately. "Nor did he, +exactly. But that was the kind of idea. A sort of Fate. He said he was +quite certain of it.... And there were lots of little things that fitted +in. He changed his clothes in the old vestry, you know—in the old +church. It seemed like a sort of sacrifice, you know. And then I had a +beastly dream that night. And then there was something my mother said. +... And now there's his letter: the one I showed you at dinner—about +something that might happen to him.... Oh! I'm a first-class ass, aren't +I?"</p> + +<p>There was a considerable silence. He glanced up in an ashamed sort of +way, at the other, and saw him standing quite upright and still, again +with his back to the fire, looking out across the room. From outside +came the hum of the thoroughfare—the rolling of wheels, the jingle of +bells, the cries of human beings. He waited in a kind of shame for +Dick's next words. He had not put all these feelings into coherent form +before, even to himself, and they sounded now even more fantastic than +he had thought them. He waited, then, for the verdict of this quiet man, +whom up to now he had deemed something of a fool, who cared about +nothing but billiards and what was called Art. (Jack loathed Art.)</p> + +<p>Then the verdict came in a surprising form. But he understood it +perfectly.</p> + +<p>"Well, what about bed?" said Dick quietly.</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was +summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two +gentlemen. She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with +the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby. He got up very +quickly, and went downstairs two at a time. A minute later he brought +them both upstairs and shut the door.</p> + +<p>"Sit down," he said. "I'm most awfully glad you've come. I ... I've been +fearfully upset by all this, and I haven't known what to do."</p> + +<p>"Now where is he?" demanded Jack Kirkby.</p> + +<p>The clergyman made a deprecatory face.</p> + +<p>"I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. "And you know—"</p> + +<p>"But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose to fetch him away. It +simply mustn't go on. That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter +on to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by the way), and he +asked me to come up to town. I got to town last night, and we've come +down here at once this morning."</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who +sat opposite.</p> + +<p>"But you know I promised," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes," burst in Jack; "but one doesn't keep promises one makes to +madmen. And—"</p> + +<p>"But he's not mad in the least. He's—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I was going to say that it seems to me that he's more sane than anyone +else," said the young man dismally. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but—"</p> + +<p>Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped.</p> + +<p>"I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle drawl. "And I quite +understand."</p> + +<p>"But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. "He must be mad. You don't +know Frank as I do—neither of you. And now there's this last +business—his father's marriage, I mean; and—"</p> + +<p>He broke off and looked across at Dick.</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Dick; "don't mind me."</p> + +<p>"Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it or not; but he must hear +sooner or later, and then—"</p> + +<p>"But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergyman. "I showed him the +paragraph myself."</p> + +<p>"He's heard of it! And he knows all about it!"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. And I understood from him that he knew the girl: the +Rector's daughter, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Knows the girl! Why, he was engaged to her himself."</p> + +<p>"<i>What</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; didn't he tell you?"</p> + +<p>"He didn't give me the faintest hint—"</p> + +<p>"How did he behave? What did he say?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence.</p> + +<p>"What did he say?" snapped out Jack impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Say? He said nothing. He just told me he knew the girl, when I asked +him."</p> + +<p>"Good God!" remarked Jack. And there was silence.</p> + +<p>Dick broke it.</p> + +<p>"Well, it seems to me we're rather in a hole."</p> + +<p>"But it's preposterous," burst out Jack again. "Here's poor old Frank, +simply breaking his heart, and here are we perfectly ready to do +anything we can—why, the chap must be in hell!"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Mr. Parham-Carter," said Dick softly. "What about your going +round to his house and seeing if he's in, and what he's likely to be +doing to-day."</p> + +<p>"He'll be at the factory till this evening."</p> + +<p>"The factory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; he's working at a jam factory just now."</p> + +<p>A sound of fury and disdain broke from Jack.</p> + +<p>"Well," continued Dick, "(May I take a cigarette, by the way?), why +shouldn't you go round and make inquiries, and find out how the land +lies? Then Kirkby and I might perhaps hang about a bit and run up +against him—if you'd just give us a hint, you know."</p> + +<p>The other looked at him a moment.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps I might," he said doubtfully. "But what—"</p> + +<p>"Good Lord! But you'll be keeping your promise, won't you? After all, +it's quite natural we should come down after his letter—and quite on +the cards that we should run up against him.... Please to go at once, +and let us wait here."</p> + +<p>In a quarter of an hour Mr. Parham-Carter came back quickly into the +room and shut the door.</p> + +<p>"Yes; he's at the factory," he said. "Or at any rate he's not at home. +And they don't expect him back till late."</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"There's something up. The girl's gone, too. (No; she's not at the +factory.) And I think there's going to be trouble."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIc" id="CHAPTER_VIc"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>The electric train slowed down and stopped at the Hammersmith terminus, +and there was the usual rush for the doors.</p> + +<p>"Come on, Gertie," said a young man, "here we are."</p> + +<p>The girl remained perfectly still with her face hidden.</p> + +<p>The crowd was enormous this Christmas Eve, and for the most part laden +with parcels; the platforms surged with folk, and each bookstall, +blazing with lights (for it was after seven o'clock), was a center of a +kind of whirlpool. There was sensational news in the evening papers, and +everyone was anxious to get at the full details of which the main facts +were tantalizingly displayed on the posters. Everyone wanted to know +exactly who were the people concerned and how it had all happened. It +was a delightful tragedy for the Christmas festivities.</p> + +<p>"Come on," said the young man again. "They're nearly all out."</p> + +<p>"I can't," moaned the girl.</p> + +<p>Frank took her by the arm resolutely.</p> + +<p>"Come!" he said.</p> + +<p>Then she came, and the two passed out together into the mob waiting to +come in.</p> + +<p>"We shall have to walk," said Frank. "I'm sorry; but I've got to get +home somehow."</p> + +<p>She bowed her head and said nothing.</p> + +<p>Gertie presented a very unusual appearance this evening. Certainly she +had laid out the two-pound-ten to advantage. She was in a perfectly +decent dark dress with a red stripe in it; she had a large hat and some +species of boa round her neck; she even carried a cheap umbrella with a +sham silver band and a small hand-bag with one pocket-handkerchief +inside it. And to her own mind, no doubt, she was a perfect picture of +the ideal penitent—very respectable and even prosperous looking, and +yet with a dignified reserve. She was not at all flaunting, she must +have thought; neither was she, externally, anything of a disgrace. It +would be evident presently to her mother that she had returned out of +simple goodness of heart and not at all because her recent escapade had +been a failure. She would still be able to talk of "the Major" with +something of an air, and to make out that he treated her always like a +lady. (When I went to interview her a few months ago I found her very +dignified, very self-conscious, excessively refined and faintly +reminiscent of fallen splendor; and her mother told me privately that +she was beginning to be restless again and talked of going on to the +music-hall stage.)</p> + +<p>But there is one thing that I find it very hard to forgive, and that is, +that as the two went together under the flaming white lights towards +Chiswick High Street, she turned to Frank a little nervously and asked +him if he would mind walking just behind her. (Please remember, however, +in extenuation, that Gertie's new pose was that of the Superior Young +Lady.)</p> + +<p>"I don't quite like to be seen—" murmured this respectable person.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly!" said Frank, without an instant's hesitation.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>They had met, half an hour before, by appointment, at the entrance to +the underground station at Victoria. Frank's van-journeyings would, he +calculated, bring him there about half-past six, and, strictly against +the orders of his superiors, but very ingeniously, with the connivance +of his fellow-driver of the van, he had arranged for his place to be +taken on the van for the rest of the evening by a man known to his +fellow-driver—but just now out of work—for the sum of one shilling, to +be paid within a week. He was quite determined not to leave Gertie alone +again, when once the journey to Chiswick had actually begun, until he +had seen her landed in her own home.</p> + +<p>The place of meeting, too, had suited Gertie very well. She had left +Turner Road abruptly, without a word to anyone, the instant that the +Major's military-looking back had been seen by her to pass within the +swing-doors of the "Queen's Arms" for his usual morning refreshment. +Then she had occupied herself chiefly by collecting her various things +at their respective shops, purchased by Frank's two-pound-ten, and +putting them on. She had had a clear threepence to spare beyond the few +shillings she had determined to put by out of the total, and had +expended it by a visit to the cinematograph show in Victoria Street. +There had been a very touching series of pictures of the "Old Home in +the Country," and the milking of the cows, with a general atmosphere of +roses and church-bells, and Gertie had dissolved into tears more than +once, and had cried noiselessly into her new pocket-handkerchief drawn +from her new hand-bag. But she had met Frank quite punctually, for, +indeed, she had burned her boats now entirely and there was nothing else +left for her to do.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At the entrance to Chiswick High Street another brilliant thought struck +her. She paused for Frank to come up.</p> + +<p>"Frankie," she said, "you won't say anything about the two-pound-ten, +will you? I shouldn't like them to think—"</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Frank gravely, and after a moment, noticing that +she glanced at him again uneasily, understood, and fell obediently to +the rear once more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About a quarter of a mile further on her steps began to go slower. Frank +watched her very carefully. He was not absolutely sure of her even now. +Then she crossed over the street between two trams, and Frank dodged +after her. Then she turned as if to walk back to Hammersmith. In an +instant Frank was at her side.</p> + +<p>"You're going the wrong way," he said.</p> + +<p>She stopped irresolutely, and had to make way for two or three hurrying +people, to pass.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frankie! I can't!" she wailed softly.</p> + +<p>"Come!" said Frank, and took her by the arm once more.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later they stood together half-way down a certain long lane +that turns out of Chiswick High Street to the left, and there, for the +first time, she seems to have been genuinely frightened. The street was +quite empty; the entire walking population was parading up and down the +brightly-lit thoroughfare a hundred yards behind them, or feverishly +engaged in various kinds of provision shops. The lamps were sparse in +this lane, and all was comparatively quiet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Frankie!" she moaned again. "I can't! I can't!... I daren't!"</p> + +<p>She leaned back against the sill of a window.</p> + +<p>Yet, even then, I believe she was rather enjoying herself. It was all so +extremely like the sort of plays over which she had been accustomed to +shed tears. The Prodigal's Return! And on Christmas Eve! It only +required a little snow to be falling and a crying infant at her +breast....</p> + +<p>I wonder what Frank made of it. He must have known Gertie thoroughly +well by now, and certainly there is not one sensible man in a thousand +whose gorge would not have risen at the situation. Yet I doubt whether +Frank paid it much attention.</p> + +<p>"Where's the house?" he said.</p> + +<p>He glanced up at the number of the door by which he stood.</p> + +<p>"It must be a dozen doors further on," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's the last house in the row," murmured Gertie, in a weak voice. "Is +father looking out? Go and see."</p> + +<p>"My dear girl," said Frank, "do not be silly. Do remember your mother's +letter."</p> + +<p>Then she suddenly turned on him, and if ever she was genuine she was in +that moment.</p> + +<p>"Frankie," she whispered, "why not take me away yourself? Oh! take me +away! take me away!"</p> + +<p>He looked into her eyes for an instant, and in that instant he caught +again that glimpse as of Jenny herself.</p> + +<p>"Take me away—I'll live with you just as you like!" She took him by his +poor old jacket-lapel. "You can easily make enough, and I don't ask—"</p> + +<p>Then he detached her fingers and took her gently by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," he said. "No; not another word."</p> + +<p>Together in silence they went the few steps that separated them from the +house. There was a little garden in front, its borders set alternately +with sea-shells and flints. At the gate she hesitated once more, but he +unlatched the gate and pushed her gently through.</p> + +<p>"Oh! my gloves!" whispered Gertie, in a sharp tone of consternation. "I +left them in the shop next the A.B.C. in Wilton Road."</p> + +<p>Frank nodded. Then, still urging her, he brought her up to the door and +tapped upon it.</p> + +<p>There were footsteps inside.</p> + +<p>"God bless you, Gertie. Be a good girl. I'll wait in the road for ten +minutes, so that you can call me if you want to."</p> + +<p>Then he was gone as the door opened.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>The next public appearance of Frank that I have been able to trace, was +in Westminster Cathedral. Now it costs an extra penny at least, I think, +to break one's journey from Hammersmith to Broad Street, and I imagine +that Frank would not have done this after what he had said to Gertie +about the difficulty connected with taking an omnibus, except for some +definite reason, so it is only possible to conclude that he broke his +journey at Victoria in an attempt to get at those gloves.</p> + +<p>It seems almost incredible that Gertie should have spoken of her gloves +at such a moment, but it really happened. She told me so herself. And, +personally, on thinking over it, it seems to me tolerably in line +(though perhaps the line is rather unusually prolonged) with all that I +have been able to gather about her whole character. The fact is that +gloves, just then, were to her really important. She was about to appear +on the stage of family life, and she had formed a perfectly consistent +conception of her part. Gloves were an integral part of her +costume—they were the final proof of a sort of opulence and refinement; +therefore, though she could not get them just then, it was perfectly +natural and proper of her to mention them. It must not be thought that +Gertie was insincere: she was not; she was dramatic. And it is a fact +that within five minutes of her arrival she was down on her knees by her +mother, with her face hidden in her mother's lap, crying her heart out. +By the time she remembered Frank and ran out into the street, he had +been gone more than twenty minutes.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>One of the priests attached to Westminster Cathedral happened to have a +pause about half-past nine o'clock in his hearing of confessions. He had +been in his box without a break from six o'clock, and he was extremely +tired and stiff about the knees. He had said the whole of his office +during intervals, and he thought he would take a little walk up and down +the south aisle to stretch his legs.</p> + +<p>So he unlatched the little door of his confessional, leaving the light +burning in case someone else turned up; he slipped off his stole and +came outside.</p> + +<p>The whole aisle, it seemed, was empty, though there was still a +sprinkling of folks in the north aisle, right across the great space of +the nave; and he went down the whole length, down to the west end to +have a general look up the Cathedral.</p> + +<p>He stood looking for three or four minutes.</p> + +<p>Overhead hung the huge span of brickwork, lost in darkness, incredibly +vast and mysterious, with here and there emerging into faint light a +slice of a dome or the slope of some architrave-like dogmas from +impenetrable mystery. Before him lay the immense nave, thronged now with +close-packed chairs in readiness for the midnight Mass, and they seemed +to him as he looked with tired eyes, almost like the bent shoulders of +an enormous crowd bowed in dead silence of adoration. But there was +nothing yet to adore, except up there to the left, where a very pale +glimmer shone on polished marble among the shadows before the chapel of +the Blessed Sacrament. There was one other exception; for overhead, +against the half-lighted apse, where a belated sacristan still moved +about, himself a shadow, busy with the last preparations of the High +Altar—there burgeoned out the ominous silhouette of the vast hanging +cross, but so dark that the tortured Christ upon it was invisible.... +Yet surely that was right on this night, for who, of all those who were +to adore presently the Child of joy, gave a thought to the Man of +Sorrows? His Time was yet three months away....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>As the priest stood there, looking and imagining, with that strange +clarity of mind and intuition that a few hours in the confessional gives +to even the dullest brain, he noticed the figure of a man detach itself +from one of the lighted confessionals on the left and come down towards +him, walking quickly and lightly. To his surprise, this young man, +instead of going out at the northwest door, wheeled and came towards +him.</p> + +<p>He noticed him particularly, and remembered his dress afterwards: it was +a very shabby dark blue suit, splashed with mud from the Christmas +streets, very bulgy about the knees; the coat was buttoned up tightly +round a muffler that had probably once been white, and his big boots +made a considerable noise as he came.</p> + +<p>The priest had a sudden impulse as the young man crossed him.</p> + +<p>"A merry Christmas," he said.</p> + +<p>The young man stopped a moment and smiled all over his face, and the +priest noticed the extraordinary serenity and pleasantness of the +face—and that, though it was the face of a Poor Man, with sunken cheeks +and lines at the corners of the mouth.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Father," he said. "The same to you."</p> + +<p>Then he went on, his boots as noisy as ever, and turned up the south +aisle. And presently the sound of his boots ceased.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The priest still stood a moment or two, looking and thinking, and it +struck him with something of pleasure that the young man, though +obviously of the most completely submerged tenth, had not even hesitated +or paused, still less said one word, with the hope of a little something +for Christmas' sake. Surely he had spoken, too, with the voice of an +educated man.</p> + +<p>He became suddenly interested—he scarcely knew why, and the impression +made just by that single glimpse of a personality deepened every +moment.... What in the world was that young man doing here?... What was +his business up in that empty south aisle? Who was he? What was it all +about?</p> + +<p>He thought presently that he would go up and see; it was on his way back +to the clergy-house, too. But when he reached the corner of the aisle +and could see up it, there seemed to be no one there.</p> + +<p>He began to walk up, wondering more than ever, and then on a sudden he +saw a figure kneeling on the lower step of the chapel on the right, +railed off and curtained now, where the Crib was ready to be disclosed +two hours later.</p> + +<p>It all seemed very odd. He could not understand why anyone should wish +to pray before an impenetrable curtain. As he came nearer he saw it was +his friend all right. Those boots were unmistakable. The young man was +kneeling on the step, quite upright and motionless, his cap held in his +hands, facing towards the curtain behind which, no doubt, there stood +the rock-roofed stable, with the Three Personages—an old man, a maid +and a new-born Child. But their time, too, was not yet. It was two hours +away.</p> + +<p>Priests do not usually stare in the face of people who are saying their +prayers—they are quite accustomed to that phenomenon; but this priest +(he tells me) simply could not resist it. And as he passed on his +noiseless shoes, noticing that the light from his own confessional shone +full upon the man, he turned and looked straight at his face.</p> + +<p>Now I do not understand what it was that he saw; he does not understand +it himself; but it seems that there was something that impressed him +more than anything else that he had ever seen before or since in the +whole world.</p> + +<p>The young man's eyes were open and his lips were closed. Not one muscle +of his face moved. So much for the physical facts. But it was a case +where the physical facts are supremely unimportant.... At any rate, the +priest could only recall them with an effort. The point was that there +was something supra-physical there—(personally I should call it +supernatural)—that stabbed the watcher's heart clean through with one +over whelming pang.... (I think that's enough.)</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>When the priest reached the Lady chapel he sat down, still trembling a +little, and threw all his attention into his ears, determined to hear +the first movement that the kneeling figure made behind him. So he sat +minute after minute. The Cathedral was full of echoes—murmurous +rebounds of the noises of the streets, drawn out and mellowed into long, +soft, rolling tones, against which, as against a foil, there stood out +detached, now and then, the sudden footsteps of someone leaving or +entering a confessional, the short scream of a slipping chair—once the +sudden noise of a confessional-door being opened and the click of the +handle which turned out the electric light. And it was full of shadows, +too; a monstrous outline crossed and recrossed the apse behind the High +Altar, as the sacristan moved about; once a hand, as of a giant, +remained poised for an instant somewhere on the wall beside the throne. +It seemed to the priest, tired and clear-brained as he was, as if he sat +in some place of expectation—some great cavern where mysteries moved +and passed in preparation for a climax. All was hushed and confused, yet +alive; and the dark waves would break presently in the glory of the +midnight Mass.</p> + +<p>He scarcely knew what held him there, nor what it was for which he +waited. He thought of the lighted common-room at the end of the long +corridor beyond the sacristy. He wondered who was there; perhaps one or +two were playing billiards and smoking; they had had a hard day of it +and would scarcely get to bed before three. And yet, here he sat, tired +and over-strained, yet waiting—waiting for a disreputable-looking young +man in a dirty suit and muffler and big boots, to give over praying +before a curtain in an empty aisle.</p> + +<p>A figure presently came softly round the corner behind him. It was the +priest whom he had heard leaving his confessional just now.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you done yet?" whispered the new-comer, pausing behind his +chair.</p> + +<p>"Coming in a minute or two," he said.</p> + +<p>The figure passed on; presently a door banged like muffled thunder +somewhere beyond the sacristy, and simultaneously he heard a pair of +boots going down the aisle behind.</p> + +<p>He got up instantly, and with long, silent steps made his way down the +aisle also. The figure wheeled the corner and disappeared; he himself +ran on tip-toe and was in time to see him turning away from the +holy-water basin by the door. But he came so quickly after him that the +door was still vibrating as he put his hand upon it. He came out more +cautiously through the little entrance, and stood on the steps in time +to see the young man moving off, not five yards away, in the direction +of Victoria Street. But here something stopped him.</p> + +<p>Coming straight up the pavement outside the Art and Book Company depot +was a newsboy at the trot, yelling something as he came, with a poster +flapping from one arm and a bundle of papers under the other. The priest +could not catch what he said, but he saw the young man suddenly stop and +then turn off sharply towards the boy, and he saw him, after fumbling in +his pocket, produce a halfpenny and a paper pass into his hands.</p> + +<p>There then he stood, motionless on the pavement, the sheet spread before +him flapping a little in the gusty night wind.</p> + +<p>"Paper, sir!" yelled the boy, pausing in the road. "'Orrible—"</p> + +<p>The priest nodded; but he was not thinking much about the paper, and +produced his halfpenny. The paper was put into his hand, but he paid no +attention to it. He was still watching the motionless figure on the +pavement. About three minutes passed. Then the young man suddenly and +dexterously folded the paper, folded it again and slipped it into his +pocket. Then he set off walking and a moment later had vanished round +the corner into Victoria Street.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The priest thought no more of the paper as he went back through the +Cathedral, wondering again over what he had seen....</p> + +<p>But the common-room was empty when he got to it, and presently he spread +the paper before him on the table and leaned over it to see what the +excitement was about. There was no doubt as to what the news was—there +were headlines occupying nearly a third of a column; but it appeared to +him unimportant as general news: he had never heard of the people +before. It seemed that a wealthy peer who lived in the North of England, +who had only recently been married for the second time, had been killed +in a motor smash together with his eldest son. The chauffeur had escaped +with a fractured thigh. The peer's name was Lord Talgarth.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIc" id="CHAPTER_VIIc"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>On the morning of the twenty-fourth a curious little incident +happened—I dug the facts out of the police news—in a small +public-house on the outskirts of South London. Obviously it is no more +than the sheerest coincidence. Four men were drinking a friendly glass +of beer together on their way back to work from breakfast. Their +ecclesiastical zeal seems to have been peculiarly strong, for they +distinctly stated that they were celebrating Christmas on that date, and +I deduce from that statement that beer-drinking was comparatively +infrequent with them.</p> + +<p>However, as they were about to part, there entered to them a fifth, +travel-stained and tired, who sat down and demanded some stronger form +of stimulant. The new-comer was known to these four, for his name was +given, and his domicile was mentioned as Hackney Wick. He was a small +man, very active and very silent and rather pale; and he seems to have +had something of a mysterious reputation even among his friends and to +be considered a dangerous man to cross.</p> + +<p>He made no mystery, however, as to where he had come from, nor whither +he was going. He had come from Kent, he said, and humorously added that +he had been hop-picking, and was going to join his wife and the family +circle for the festival of Christmas. He remarked that his wife had +written to him to say she had lodgers.</p> + +<p>The four men naturally stayed a little to hear all this news and to +celebrate Christmas once more, but they presently were forced to tear +themselves away. It was as the first man was leaving (his foreman +appears to have been of a tyrannical disposition) that the little +incident happened.</p> + +<p>"Why," he said, "Bill" (three out of the five companions seemed to have +been usually called "Bill"), "Bill, your boots are in a mess."</p> + +<p>The Bill in question made caustic remarks. He observed that it would be +remarkable if they were not in such weather. But the other persisted +that this was not mud, and a general inspection was made. This resulted +in the opinion of the majority being formed that Bill had trodden in +some blood. Bill himself was one of the majority, though he attempted in +vain to think of any explanation. Two men, however, declared that in +their opinion it was only red earth. (A certain obscurity appears in the +evidence at this point, owing to the common use of a certain expletive +in the mouth of the British working-man.) There was a hot discussion on +the subject, and the Bill whose boots were under argument seems to have +been the only man to keep his head. He argued very sensibly that if the +stains were those of blood, then he must have stepped in some—perhaps +in the gutter of a slaughter-house; and if it was not blood, then it +must be something else he had trodden in. It was urged upon him that it +was best washed off, and he seems finally to have taken the advice, +though without enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>Then the four men departed.</p> + +<p>The landlady's evidence was to the same effect. She states that the +new-comer, with whose name she had been previously unacquainted, though +she knew his face, had remained very tranquilly for an hour or so and +had breakfasted off bacon and eggs. He seemed to have plenty of money, +she said. He had finally set off, limping a little, in a northward +direction.</p> + +<p>Now this incident is a very small one. I only mention it because, in +reading the evidence later, I found myself reminded of a parallel +incident, recorded in a famous historical trial, in which something +resembling blood was seen on the hand of the judge. His name was Ayloff, +and his date the sixteenth century.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>Mrs. Partington had a surprise—not wholly agreeable—on that Christmas +Eve. For at half-past three, just as the London evening was beginning to +close in, her husband walked into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>She had seen nothing of him for six weeks, and had managed to get on +fairly well without him. I am not even now certain whether or no she +knows what her husband's occupation is during these absences of his—I +think it quite possible that, honestly, she does not—and I have no idea +myself. It seemed, however, this time, that he had prospered. He was in +quite a good temper, he was tolerably well dressed, and within ten +minutes of his arrival he had produced a handful of shillings. Five of +these he handed over to her at once for Christmas necessaries, and ten +more he entrusted to Maggie with explicit directions as to their +expenditure.</p> + +<p>While he took off his boots, his wife gave him the news—first, as to +the arrival of the Major's little party, and next as to its unhappy +dispersion on that very day.</p> + +<p>"He will 'ave it as the young man's gone off with the young woman," she +observed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Partington made a commentatory sound.</p> + +<p>"An' 'e's 'arf mad," she added. "'E means mischief if 'e can manage it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Partington observed, in his own particular kind of vocabulary, that +the Major's intentions were absurd, since the young man would scarcely +be such a peculiarly qualified kind of fool as to return. And Mrs. +Partington agreed with him. (In fact, this had been her one comfort all +day. For it seemed to her, with her frank and natural ideas, that, on +the whole, Frank and Gertie had done the proper thing. She was pleased, +too, to think that she had been right in her surmises as to Gertie's +attitude to Frank. For, of course, she never doubted for one single +instant that the two had eloped together in the ordinary way, though +probably without any intentions of matrimony.)</p> + +<p>Mr. Partington presently inquired as to where the Major was, and was +informed that he was, of course, at the "Queen's Arms." He had been +there, in fact, continuously—except for sudden excursions home, to +demand whether anything had been heard of the fugitives—since about +half-past eleven that morning. It was a situation that needed comfort.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Partington added a few comments on the whole situation, and +presently put on her bonnet and went out to supplement her Christmas +preparations with the extra five shillings, leaving her husband to doze +in the Windsor chair, with his pipe depending from his mouth. He had +walked up from Kent that morning, he said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>She returned in time to get tea ready, bringing with her various +"relishes," and found that the situation had developed slightly since +her departure. The Major had made another of his infuriated returns, and +had expanded at length to his old friend Mr. Partington, recounting the +extraordinary kindness he had always shown to Frank and the confidence +he had reposed in him. He had picked him up, it seemed, when the young +man had been practically starving, and had been father and comrade to +him ever since. And to be repaid in this way! He had succeeded also by +his eloquence, Mrs. Partington perceived, in winning her husband's +sympathies, and was now gone off again, ostensibly to scour the +neighborhood once more, but, more probably, to attempt to drown his +grieved and wounded feelings.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Partington set her thin lips and said nothing. She noticed also, as +she spread the table, a number of bottles set upon the floor, two of +them with yellow labels—the result of Maggie's errand—and prepared +herself to face a somewhat riotous evening. But Christmas, she reflected +for her consolation, comes but once a year.</p> + +<p>It was about nine o'clock that the two men and the one woman sat down to +supper upstairs. The children had been put to bed in the kitchen as +usual, after Jimmie had informed his mother that the clergyman had been +round no less than three times since four o'clock to inquire after the +vanished lodger. He was a little tearful at being put to bed at such an +unusually early hour, as Mr. Parham-Carter, it appeared, had promised +him no less than sixpence if he would come round to the clergy-house +within five minutes after the lodger's return, and it was obviously +impossible to traverse the streets in a single flannel shirt.</p> + +<p>His mother dismissed it all as nonsense. She told him that Frankie was +not coming back at all—that he wasn't a good young man, and had run +away without paying mother her rent. This made the situation worse than +ever, as Jimmie protested violently against this shattering of his +ideal, and his mother had to assume a good deal of sternness to cover up +her own tenderness of feeling. But she, too—though she considered the +flight of the two perfectly usual—was conscious of a very slight sense +of disappointment herself that it should have been this particular young +man who had done it.</p> + +<p>Then she went upstairs again to supper.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>The famous archway that gives entrance to the district of Hackney Wick +seems, especially on a rainy night, directly designed by the Great +Eastern Railway as a vantage ground for observant loafers with a desire +to know every soul that enters or leaves Hackney Wick. It is, of course, +possible to, enter Hackney Wick by other ways—it may be approached by +the marshes, and there is, I think, another way round about half a mile +to the east, under the railway. But those ways have nothing whatever to +do with people coming from London proper. You arrive at Victoria Park +Station; you turn immediately to the right and follow the pavement down, +with the park on your left, until you come to the archway where the road +unites with that coming from Homerton. One is absolutely safe, +therefore, assuming that one has not to deal with watchful criminals, in +standing under the arch with the certitude that sooner or later, if you +wait long enough, the man whom you expect to enter Hackney Wick will +pass within ten yards of you.</p> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter, of course, knew this perfectly well, and had, +finally, communicated the fact to the other two quite early in the +afternoon. An elaborate system of watches, therefore, had been arranged, +by which one of the three had been on guard continuously since three +o'clock. It was Jack who had had the privilege (if he had but known it) +of observing Mr. Partington himself returning home to his family for +Christmas, and it was Dick, who came on guard about five, who had seen +the Major—or, rather, what was to him merely a shabby and excited +man—leave and then return to the "Queen's Arms" during his hour's +watch.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>After the amazing and shocking news, however, of the accident to Lord +Talgarth and Archie, the precautions had been doubled. It was the +clergyman who had first bought an evening paper soon after five o'clock, +and within five minutes the other two knew it also.</p> + +<p>It is of no good to try to describe the effect it had on their minds, +beyond saying that it made all three of them absolutely resolute that +Frank should by no possible means escape them. The full dramatic +situation of it all they scarcely appreciated, though it soaked more and +more into them gradually as they waited—two of them in the Men's Club +just round the corner, and the third, shivering and stamping, under the +arch. (An unemployed man, known to the clergyman, had been set as an +additional sentry on the steps of the Men's Club, whose duty it would +be, the moment the signal was given from the arch that Frank was +coming, to call the other two instantly from inside. Further, the +clergyman—as has been related—had been round three times since four +o'clock to Turner Road, and had taken Jimmie into his pay.)</p> + +<p>The situation was really rather startling, even to the imperturbable +Dick. This pleasant young man, to whom he had begun to feel very +strangely tender during the last month or two, now tramping London +streets (or driving a van), in his miserable old clothes described to +him by the clergyman, or working at the jam factory, was actually no one +else at this moment but the new Lord Talgarth—with all that that +implied. Merefield was his, the big house in Berkeley Square was his; +the moor in Scotland.... It was an entire reversal of the whole thing: +it was as a change of trumps in whist: everything had altered its +value....</p> + +<p>Well, he had plenty of time, both before he came off guard at seven and +after he had joined the clergyman in the Men's Club, to sort out the +facts and their consequences.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>About half-past ten the three held a consultation under the archway, +while trains rumbled overhead. They attracted very little attention +here: the archway is dark and wide; they were muffled to the eyes; and +there usually is a fringe of people standing under shelter here on rainy +evenings. They leaned back against the wall and talked.</p> + +<p>They had taken further steps since they had last met. Mr. Parham-Carter +had been round to the jam factory, and had returned with the news that +the van had come back under the charge of only one of the drivers, and +that the other one, who was called Gregory (whom Mr. Parham-Carter was +inquiring after), would certainly be dismissed in consequence. He had +taken the address of the driver, who was now off duty—somewhere in +Homerton—with the intention of going to see him next morning if Frank +had not appeared.</p> + +<p>There were two points they were discussing now. First, should the police +be informed? Secondly, was it probable that Frank would have heard the +news, and, if so, was it conceivable that he had gone straight off +somewhere in consequence—to his lawyers, or even to Merefield itself?</p> + +<p>Dick remembered the name of the firm quite well—at least, he thought +so. Should he send a wire to inquire?</p> + +<p>But then, in that case, Jack shrewdly pointed out, everything was as it +should be. And this reflection caused the three considerable comfort.</p> + +<p>For all that, there were one or two "ifs." Was it likely that Frank +should have heard the news? He was notoriously hard up, and the name +Talgarth had not appeared, so far, on any of the posters. Yet he might +easily have been given a paper, or picked one up ... and then....</p> + +<p>So the discussion went on, and there was not much to be got out of it. +The final decision come to was this: That guard should be kept, as +before, until twelve o'clock midnight; that at that hour the three +should leave the archway and, in company, visit two places—Turner Road +and the police-station—and that the occupants of both these places +should be informed of the facts. And that then all three should go to +bed.</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>At ten minutes past eleven Dick moved away from the fire in the Men's +Club, where he had just been warming himself after his vigil, and began +to walk up and down.</p> + +<p>He had no idea why he was so uncomfortable, and he determined to set to +work to reassure himself. (The clergyman, he noticed, was beginning to +doze a little by the fire, for the club had just been officially closed +and the rooms were empty.)</p> + +<p>Of course, it was not pleasant to have to tell a young man that his +father and brother were dead (Dick himself was conscious of a +considerable shock), but surely the situation was, on the whole, +enormously improved. This morning Frank was a pauper; to-night he was +practically a millionaire, as well as a peer of the realm. This morning +his friends had nothing by which they might appeal to him, except common +sense and affection, and Frank had very little of the one, and, it would +seem, a very curious idea of the other.</p> + +<p>Of course, all that affair about Jenny was a bad business (Dick could +hardly even now trust himself to think of her too much, and not to +discuss her at all), but Frank would get over it.</p> + +<p>Then, still walking up and down, and honestly reassured by sheer reason, +he began to think of what part Jenny would play in the future.... It was +a very odd situation, a very odd situation indeed. (The deliberate and +self-restrained Dick used an even stronger expression.) Here was a young +woman who had jilted the son and married the father, obviously from +ambitious motives, and now found herself almost immediately in the +position of a very much unestablished kind of dowager, with the jilted +son reigning in her husband's stead. And what on earth would happen +next? Diamonds had been trumps; now it looked as if hearts were to +succeed them; and what a very remarkable pattern was that of these +hearts.</p> + +<p>But to come back to Frank—</p> + +<p>And at that moment he heard a noise at the door, and, as the clergyman +started up from his doze, Dick saw the towzled and becapped head of the +unemployed man and his hand beckoning violently, and heard his hoarse +voice adjuring them to make haste. The gentleman under the arch, he +said, was signaling.</p> + +<p>The scene was complete when the two arrived, with the unemployed man +encouraging them from behind, half a minute later under the archway.</p> + +<p>Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and +was holding him in talk.</p> + +<p>"My dear chap," he was saying, "we've been waiting for you all day. +Thank the Lord you've come!"</p> + +<p>Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who now for the first time +saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such +minuteness. He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy +drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when Dick +had last seen him—only at Easter. But his voice was confident and +self-respecting enough.</p> + +<p>"My dear Jack," he was saying, "you really mustn't interrupt. I've only +just—" Then he broke off as he recognized the others.</p> + +<p>"So you've given me away after all," he said with a certain sternness to +the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. "They came quite +unexpectedly this morning."</p> + +<p>"And you've told them that they could catch me here," said Frank "Well, +it makes no difference. I'm going on—Hullo! Dick!"</p> + +<p>"Look here!" said Dick. "It's really serious. You've heard about—" His +voice broke.</p> + +<p>"I've heard about it," said Frank. "But that doesn't make any difference +for to-night."</p> + +<p>"But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, +"it's simply ridiculous. We've come down here on purpose—you're killing +yourself—"</p> + +<p>"One moment," said Frank. "Tell me exactly what you want."</p> + +<p>Dick pushed to the front.</p> + +<p>"Let him alone, you fellows.... This is what we want, Frank. We want you +to come straight to the clergy-house for to-night. To-morrow you and +I'll go and see the lawyers first thing in the morning, and go up to +Merefield by the afternoon train. I'm sorry, but you've really got to go +through with it. You're the head of the family now. They'll be all +waiting for you there, and they can't do anything without you. This +mustn't get into the papers. Fortunately, not a soul knows of it yet, +though they would have if you'd been half an hour later. Now, come +along."</p> + +<p>"One moment," said Frank. "I agree with nearly all that you've said. I +quite agree with you that"—he paused a moment—"that the head of the +family should be at Merefield to-morrow night. But for to-night you +three must just go round to the clergy-house and wait. I've got to +finish my job clean out—and—"</p> + +<p>"What job?" cried two voices simultaneously.</p> + +<p>Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets.</p> + +<p>"I really don't propose to go into all that now. It'd take an hour. But +two of you know most of the story. In a dozen words it's this—I've got +the girl away, and now I'm going to tell the man, and tell him a few +other things at the same time. That's the whole thing. Now clear off, +please. (I'm awfully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really +must let me finish it before I do anything else."</p> + +<p>There was a silence.</p> + +<p>It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that—at least, it seemed +consistent with what appeared to the three to be the amazing unreason of +all Frank's proceedings. They hesitated, and were lost.</p> + +<p>"Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney Wick before we've seen you +again?" demanded Jack hoarsely.</p> + +<p>Frank bowed his head.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said.</p> + +<p>The clergyman and Dick were consulting in low voices. Jack looked at +them with a wild sort of appeal in his face. He was completely +bewildered, and hoped for help. But none came.</p> + +<p>"Will you swear—" he began again.</p> + +<p>Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Look here, old man. I'm really rather done up. I think you might let me +go without any more—"</p> + +<p>"All right, we agree," said Dick suddenly. "And—"</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Frank. "Then there's really no more—"</p> + +<p>He turned as if to go.</p> + +<p>"Frank, Frank—" cried Jack.</p> + +<p>Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went on.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he cried.</p> + +<p>And so they let him go.</p> + +<p>They watched him, in silence, cross the road by the "Queen's Arms" and +pass up the left-hand pavement. As he drew near each lamp his shadow +lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared before him. After +the third lamp they lost him, and they knew he would a moment later pass +into Turner Road.</p> + +<p>So they let him go.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>Mr. Parham-Carter's room looked very warm and home-like after the +comfortlessness of the damp lamp-lit streets. It was as has already been +related: the Madonna, the prints, the low book-cases, the drawn +curtains, the rosy walls, the dancing firelight and the electric lamp.</p> + +<p>It was even reassuring at first—safe and protected, and the three sat +down content. A tray with some cold meat and cheese rested on the table +by the fire, and cocoa in a brown jug stood warming in the fender. They +had had irregular kinds of refreshments in the Men's Club at odd +intervals, and were exceedingly hungry....</p> + +<p>They began to talk presently, and it was astonishing how the sight and +touch of Frank had cheered them. More than one of the three has +confessed to me since that a large part of the anxiety was caused by his +simple absence and by imaginative little pictures of street accidents. +It would have been so extremely ironical if he had happened to have +been run over on the day on which he became Lord Talgarth.</p> + +<p>They laid their little plans, too, for the next day. Dick had thought it +all out. He, Jack and Frank were to call at the lawyers' office in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, and leave a message, as the office would be closed +of course, immediately after the wanderer had been dressed properly in +ready-made clothes. Then they would catch the early afternoon train and +get to Merefield that night. The funeral could not possibly take place +for several days: there would have to be an inquest.</p> + +<p>Then they read over the account of the smash in the <i>Star</i> +newspaper—special edition. It seemed to have been nobody's fault. The +brake had refused to act going down a steep hill; they had run into a +wall; the chauffeur had been thrown clean over it; the two passengers +had been pinned under the car. Lord Talgarth was dead at once; Archie +had died five minutes after being taken out.</p> + +<p>So they all talked at once in low voices, but in the obvious excitement +of relief. It was an extraordinary pleasure to them—now that they +looked at it in the sanity conferred by food and warmth—to reflect that +Frank was within a quarter of a mile of them—certainly in dreary +surroundings; but it was for the last time. To-morrow would see him +restored to ordinary life, his delusions and vagaries plucked from him +by irresistible circumstance, and the future in his hands.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Midnight still found them talking—alert and cheerful; but a little +silence fell as they heard the chiming of bells.</p> + +<p>"Christmas Day, by George!" said the clergyman. "Merry Christmas!"</p> + +<p>They shook hands, smiling shamefacedly, as is the custom of Englishmen.</p> + +<p>"And to think of old Frank—" mused Jack half aloud. "I told you, +Guiseley, about his coming to me in the autumn?" (He had been thinking a +great deal about that visit lately, and about what Frank had told him of +himself—the idea he had of Something going on behind the scenes in +which he had passively to take his part; his remark on how pleasant it +must be to be a squire. Well, the play had come to an end, it seemed; +now there followed the life of a squire indeed. It was curious to think +that Frank was, actually at this moment, Lord Talgarth!)</p> + +<p>Dick nodded his head, smiling to himself in his beard. Somehow or +another the turn things had taken had submerged in him for the present +the consciousness of the tragedy up at Merefield, and his own private +griefs, and the memory of Jenny.</p> + +<p>Jack told it all again briefly. He piled it on about the Major and his +extreme repulsiveness, and the draggled appearance of Gertie, and +Frank's incredible obstinacy.</p> + +<p>"And to think that he's brought it off, and got the girl home to her +people.... Well, thank the Lord that's over! We shan't have any more of +that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>Dick got up presently and began to walk about, eyeing the pictures and +the books.</p> + +<p>"Want to turn in?" asked the cleric.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think, as we've an early start—"</p> + +<p>The clergyman jumped up.</p> + +<p>"You've a beastly little room, I'm afraid. We're rather full up. And +you, Mr. Kirkby!"</p> + +<p>"I'll wait till you come back," he said.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The two went out, after good-nights, and Jack was left staring at the +fire.</p> + +<p>He felt very wide-awake, and listened contentedly to the dying noises of +the streets. Somewhere in that hive outside was Frank—old Frank. That +was very good to think of....</p> + +<p>During these last months Frank's personality had been very persistently +before him. It was not that he pretended to understand him in the very +least; but he understood enough now to feel that there was something +very admirable in it all. It was mad and quixotic and absurd, but it +had a certain light of nobility. Of course, it would never do if people +in general behaved like that; society simply could not go on if everyone +went about espousing the cause of unhappy and badly-behaved individuals, +and put on old clothes and played the Ass. But, for all that, it was not +unpleasant to reflect that his own friend had chosen to do these things +in despite of convention. There was a touch of fineness in it. And it +was all over now, thank God.... What times they would have up in the +north!</p> + +<p>He heard a gate clash somewhere outside. The sound just detached itself +from the murmur of the night. Then a late train ran grinding over the +embanked railway behind the house, and drew up with the screaming of +brakes at Victoria Park Station, and distracted him again.</p> + +<p>"Are you ready, Mr. Kirkby?" said the clergyman, coming in.</p> + +<p>Jack stood up, stretching himself. In the middle of the stretch he +stopped.</p> + +<p>"What's that noise?" he asked.</p> + +<p>They stood listening.</p> + +<p>Then again came the sharp, prolonged tingle of an electric bell, +followed by a battering at a door downstairs.</p> + +<p>Jack, looking in the other's face, saw him go ever so slightly pale +beneath his eyes.</p> + +<p>"There's somebody at the door," said Mr. Parham-Carter. "I'll just go +down and see."</p> + +<p>And, as Jack stood there, motionless and breathless, he could hear no +sound but the thick hammering of his own heart at the base of his +throat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIIIc" id="CHAPTER_VIIIc"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + + +<h3>(I)</h3> + +<p>At half-past eleven o'clock Mrs. Partington came upstairs to the room +where the two men were still drinking, to make one more suggestion that +it was time to go to bed.</p> + +<p>It was a dreary little room, this front bedroom on the first floor, +where Frank and the Major had slept last night in one large double bed. +The bed was pushed now close against the wall, the clothes still tumbled +and unmade, with various articles lying upon it, as on a table. A chair +without a back stood between it and the window.</p> + +<p>The table where the two men still sat was pulled close to the fire that +had been lighted partly in honor of Mr. Partington and partly in honor +of Christmas, and was covered with a <i>débris</i> of plates and glasses and +tobacco and bottles. There was a jam-jar filled with holly obtained from +the butcher's shop, in the middle of the table. There was very little +furniture in the room; there was a yellow-painted chest of drawers +opposite the door, and this, too, held a little regiment of bottles; +there was a large oleograph of Queen Victoria hanging above the bed, +and a text—for some inscrutable reason—was permitted to hang above the +fireplace, proclaiming that "The Lord is merciful and long-suffering," +in Gothic letters, peeping modestly out of a wealth of painted +apple-blossoms, with a water-wheel in the middle distance and a stile. +On the further side of the fireplace was a washhand-stand, with a tin +pail below it, and the Major's bowler hat reposing in the basin. There +was a piece of carpet underneath the table, and a woolly sort of mat, +trodden through in two or three places, beside the bed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mrs. Partington coughed as she came in, so tremendous was the reek of +tobacco smoke, burning paraffin and spirits.</p> + +<p>"Bless the men!" she said, and choked once more.</p> + +<p>She was feeling comparatively light-hearted; it was a considerable +relief to her that Frank actually had not come back, though she never +had for one instant expected him to do so. But she didn't want any more +disturbances or quarrels, and, as she looked at the Major, who turned in +his chair as she came in, she felt even more relieved. His appearance +was not reassuring.</p> + +<p>He had been drinking pretty steadily all day to drown his grief, and had +ended up by a very business-like supper with his landlord. There were +four empty beer bottles and one empty whisky bottle distributed on the +table or floor, and another half-empty whisky bottle stood between the +two men on the table. And as she looked at the Major (she was completely +experienced in alcoholic symptoms), she understood exactly what stage he +had reached....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Now the Major was by no means a drunkard—let that be understood. He +drank whenever he could, but a tramp cannot drink to very grave excess. +He is perpetually walking and he is perpetually poor. But this was a +special occasion; it was Christmas; he was home in London; his landlord +had returned, and he had lost Gertie.</p> + +<p>He had reached, then, the dangerous stage, when the alcohol, after +having excited and warmed and confused the brain, recoils from it to +some extent, leaving it clear and resolute and entirely reckless, and +entirely conscious of any idea that happens to be dominant (at least, +that is the effect on some temperaments). The maudlin stage had passed +long ago, at the beginning of supper, when the Major had leaned his head +on his plate and wept over the ingratitude of man and the peculiar +poignancy of "old Frankie's" individual exhibition of it. A noisy stage +had succeeded to this, and now there was deadly quiet.</p> + +<p>He was rather white in the face; his eyes were set, but very bright, and +he was smoking hard and fast.</p> + +<p>"Now then," said Mrs. Partington cheerfully, "time for bed."</p> + +<p>Her husband winked at her gravely, which was his nearest approach to +hilarity. He was a quiet man at all times.</p> + +<p>The Major said nothing.</p> + +<p>"There! there's 'Erb awake again," said the mother, as a wail rose up +the staircase. "I'll be up again presently." And she vanished once more.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two of the children were awake after all.</p> + +<p>Jimmie lay, black-eyed and alert, beside his brother, and looked at his +mother reflectively as she came in. He was still thinking about the +sixpence that might conceivably have been his. 'Erb's lamentation +stopped as she came in, and she went to the table first to turn down the +smoking lamp.</p> + +<p>She was quite a kindly mother, a great deal more tender than she seemed, +and 'Erb knew it well enough. But he respected her sufficiently to stop +crying when she came in.</p> + +<p>"Now then," she said with motherly sternness. "I can't 'ave—"</p> + +<p>Then she stopped abruptly. She had heard steps on the pavement outside +as she came into the room, and now she heard the handle of the street +door turned and someone come into the passage. She stood wondering, and +in that pause she missed her chance, for the steps came straight past +the door and began to go upstairs. It might, of course, conceivably be +one of the lodgers on the top-floor, and yet she knew it was not. She +whisked to the door a moment later, but it was too late, and she was +only just in time to see the figure she knew turn the corner of the four +stairs that led to the first-floor landing.</p> + +<p>"Is that Frankie?" asked Jimmie, suddenly sitting up in bed. "Oh! +mother, let me—"</p> + +<p>"You be quiet!" snapped the woman, and stood listening; with parted +lips.</p> + + +<h3>(II)</h3> + +<p>From that point Mrs. Partington seems to have been able to follow very +closely what must have taken place upstairs.</p> + +<p>It was a very quiet night, here in Turner Road: the roysterers were in +the better-lighted streets, and the sober folk were at home. And there +was not a footstep on the pavements outside to confuse the little drama +of sound that came down to her through the ill-fitting boards overhead. +She could not explain afterwards why she did not interfere. I imagine +that she hoped against hope that she was misinterpreting what she heard, +and also that a kind of terror seized her which she found it really +impossible to shake off.</p> + +<p>First, there was the opening and closing of the door; two or three +footsteps, and then dead silence.</p> + +<p>Then she heard talking begin, first one voice, then a crescendo, as if +two or three clamored together; then one voice again. (It was +impossible, so far, to distinguish which was which.)</p> + +<p>This went on for a minute or two; occasionally there was a crescendo, +and once or twice some voice rose almost into a shout.</p> + +<p>Then, without warning, there was a shuffling of feet, and a crash, as of +an overturned chair; and, instant upon the noise, 'Erb set up a +prolonged wail.</p> + +<p>"You be quiet!" snapped the woman in a sharp whisper.</p> + +<p>The noises went on: now the stamp of a foot; now the scraping of +something overhead and a voice or two in sharp deep exclamation, and +then complete silence once more. 'Erb was sobbing now, as noiselessly as +he could, terrified at his mother's face, and Jimmie was up, standing +on the floor in his flannel shirt, listening like his mother. Maggie +still slept deeply on the further side of the bed.</p> + +<p>The woman went on tip-toe a step nearer the door, opened it, and peeped +out irresolutely. But the uncarpeted stairs stretched up into the +darkness, unlit except for the glimmer that came from the room at whose +door she was standing....</p> + +<p>There was a voice now, rising and falling steadily, and she heard it +broken in upon now and again by something that resembled a chuckle. +Somehow or another this sickened her more than all else; it was like her +husband's voice. She recoiled into the room, and, as she did so, there +came the sound of blows and the stamping of feet, and she knew, in a way +that she could not explain, that there was no fight going on. It was +some kind of punishment, not a conflict....</p> + +<p>She would have given the world to move, to run to the street door and +scream for help; but her knees shook under her and her heart seemed to +be hammering itself to bits. Jimmie had hold of her now, clinging round +her, shaking with terror and murmuring something she could not +understand. Her whole attention was upstairs. She was wondering how long +it would go on.</p> + +<p>It must be past midnight now, she thought: the streets seethed still as +death. But overhead there was still movement and the sound of blows, +and then abruptly the end came.</p> + +<p>There was one more crescendo of noise—two voices raised in dispute, one +almost shrill, in anger or expostulation; then one more sudden and heavy +noise as of a blow or a fall, and dead silence.</p> + + +<h3>(III)</h3> + +<p>The next thing that Mrs. Partington remembered afterwards was that she +found herself standing on the landing upstairs, listening, yet afraid to +move.</p> + +<p>All was very nearly silent within: there was just low talking, and the +sound of something being moved. It was her husband's voice that she +heard.</p> + +<p>Beyond her the stairs ran up to the next story, and she became aware +presently that someone else was watching, too. An untidy head of a woman +leaned over the banisters, and candle-light from somewhere beyond lit up +her face. She was grinning.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then the sharp whisper came down the stairs demanding what was up.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Partington jerked her thumb towards the closed door and nodded +reassuringly. She was aware that she must be natural at all costs. The +woman still hung over the banisters a minute longer and then was gone.</p> + +<p>Jimmie was with her too, now, still just in his shirt, perfectly quiet, +with a face as white as paper. His big black eyes dwelt on his mother's +face.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly she could bear the suspense no more. She stole up to the +door, still on tip-toe, still listening, and laid her fingers on the +handle. There were more gentle movements within now, the noise of water +and a basin (she heard the china clink distinctly), but no more words.</p> + +<p>She turned the handle resolutely and looked in.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Major was leaning in the corner by the window, with his hands in his +pockets, staring with a dull, white, defiant kind of face at the bed. +The lamp on the mantelpiece lighted him up clearly. On his knees by the +bedside was her husband, with his back to her, supporting a basin on the +bed and some thing dark that hung over it. Then she saw Frank. It was he +who was lying on the bed almost upon his face; one boot dangled down on +this side, and it was his head that her husband was supporting. She +stared at it a moment in terror.... Then her eyes wandered to the floor, +where, among the pieces of broken glass, a pool of dark liquid spread +slowly over the boards. Twigs and detached leaves of holly lay in the +midst of it. And at that sight her instinct reasserted herself.</p> + +<p>She stepped forward and took her husband by the shoulder. He turned a +face that twitched a little towards her. She pushed him aside, took the +basin from him, and the young man's head....</p> + +<p>"Clear out of this," she whispered sharply. "Quick, mind! You and the +Major!... Jimmie!" The boy was by her in an instant, shaking all over, +but perfectly self-controlled.</p> + +<p>"Jimmie, put your things on and be off to the clergy-house. Ring 'em up, +and ask for Mr. Carter. Bring him round with you."</p> + +<p>Frank's head slipped a little in her hands, and she half rose to steady +it. When she had finished and looked round again for her husband, the +room was empty. From below up the stairs came a sudden draught, and the +flame leaped in the lamp-chimney. And then, once more unrestrained, rose +up the wailing of 'Erb.</p> + + +<h3>(IV)</h3> + +<p>A little after dawn on that Christmas morning Mr. Parham-Carter sat +solitary in the kitchen. The children had been packed off to a +neighbor's house before, and he himself had been to and fro all night +and was tired out—to the priest's house at Homerton, to the doctor's, +and to the parish nurse. All the proper things had been done. Frank had +been anointed by the priest, bandaged by the doctor, and settled in by +the nurse into the middle of the big double bed. He had not yet +recovered consciousness. They were upstairs now—Jack, Dick and the +nurse; the priest and the doctor had promised to look in before +nine—there was nothing more that they could do for the present, they +said—and Mrs. Partington was out at this moment to fetch something from +the dispensary.</p> + +<p>He had heard her story during one of the intervals in the course of the +night, and it seemed to him that he had a tolerably accurate theory of +the whole affair—if, that is to say, her interpretation of the noises +she had heard was at all correct.</p> + +<p>The Major must have made an unexpected attack, probably by a kick that +had temporarily disabled Frank, and must then, with Mr. Partington's +judicial though amused approval, have proceeded to inflict chastisement +upon Frank as he lay on the floor. This must have gone on for a +considerable time; Frank seemed to have been heavily kicked all over his +body. And the thing must have ended with a sudden uncontrolled attack on +the part of the Major, not only with his boots, but with at least one of +the heavy bottles. The young man's head was cut deeply, as if by glass, +and it was probably three or four kicks on the head, before Mr. +Partington could interfere, that had concluded the punishment. The +doctor's evidence entirely corroborated this interpretation of events. +It was, of course, impossible to know whether Frank had had the time or +the will to make any resistance. The police had been communicated with, +but there was no news yet of the two men involved.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was one of those bleak, uncomfortable dawns that have no beauty +either of warmth or serenity—at least it seemed so here in Turner Road. +Above the torn and dingy strip of lace that shrouded the lower part of +the window towered the black fronts of the high houses against the +steely western sky. It was extraordinarily quiet. Now and then a +footstep echoed and died suddenly as some passer-by crossed the end of +the street; but there was no murmur of voices yet, or groups at the +doors, as, no doubt, there would be when the news became known.</p> + +<p>The room, too, was cheerless; the fire was long ago gone out; the +children's bed was still tumbled and disordered, and the paraffin lamp +had smoked itself out half an hour ago. Overhead the clergyman could +hear now and again a very gentle footstep, and that was all.</p> + +<p>He was worn out with excitement and a kind of terror; and events took +for him the same kind of clear, hard outline as did the physical objects +themselves in this cold light of dawn. He had passed through a dozen +moods: furious anger at the senseless crime, at the hopeless, miserable +waste of a life, an overwhelming compassion and a wholly unreasonable +self-reproach for not having foreseen danger more clearly the night +before. There were other thoughts that had come to him too—doubts as to +whether the internal significance of all these things were in the least +analogous to the external happenings; whether, perhaps, after all, the +whole affair were not on the inner side a complete and perfect event—in +fact, a startling success of a nature which he could not understand. +Certainly, exteriorly, a more lamentable failure and waste could not be +conceived; there had been sacrificed such an array of advantages—birth, +money, education, gifts, position—and for such an exceedingly small and +doubtful good, that no additional data, it would appear, could possibly +explain the situation. Yet was it possible that such data did exist +somewhere, and that another golden and perfect deed had been done—that +there was no waste, no failure, after all?</p> + +<p>But at present these thoughts only came to him in glimpses; he was +exhausted now of emotion and speculation. He regarded the pitiless +facts with a sunken, unenergetic attention, and wondered when he would +be called again upstairs.</p> + +<p>There came a footstep outside; it hesitated, then the street door was +pushed open and the step came in, up to the room door, and a small face, +pinched with cold, its eyes all burning, looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Jimmie," he whispered.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And so the two sat, huddled one against the other, and the man felt +again and again a shudder, though not of cold, shake the little body at +his side.</p> + + +<h3>(V)</h3> + +<p>Ten minutes later a step came down the stairs, a little hurriedly, +though on tip-toe; and Mrs. Partington, her own thin face lined with +sleeplessness and emotion, and her lips set, nodded at him emphatically. +He understood, and went quickly past her, followed closely by the child, +and up the narrow stairs.... He heard the street-door close behind him +as the woman left the house.</p> + +<p>It seemed to him as he came into the room as if he had stepped clean out +of one world into another. And the sense of it was so sudden and abrupt +that he stood for an instant on the threshold amazed at the transition.</p> + +<p>First, it was the absolute stillness and motionlessness of the room that +impressed him, so far as any one element predominated. There were +persons in the room, but they were as statues.</p> + +<p>On the farther side of the bed, decent now and arranged and standing out +across the room, kneeled the two men, Jack Kirkby and Dick Guiseley, but +they neither lifted their eyes nor showed the faintest consciousness of +his presence as he entered. Their faces were in shadow: behind them was +the cold patch of the window, and a candle within half an inch of +extinction stood also behind them on a table in the corner, with one or +two covered vessels and instruments.</p> + +<p>The nurse kneeled on this side, one arm beneath the pillow and the other +on the counterpane.</p> + +<p>And then there was Frank.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>He lay perfectly still upon his back, his hands clasped before him (and +even these were bandaged). His head lay high on three or four pillows, +and he wore what looked like a sort of cap, wholly hiding his hair and +ears. His profile alone showed clear-cut and distinct against the gloom +in the corner behind. His face was entirely tranquil, as pale as ivory; +his lips were closed. His eyes alone were alive.</p> + +<p>Presently those turned a little, and the man standing at the door, +understanding the look, came forward and kneeled too by the bed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Then, little by little, he began, in that living stillness, to +understand rather better what it was that he was witnessing.... It was +not that there was anything physical in the room, beyond the things of +which his senses told him; there was but the dingy furniture, the white +bed, august now with a strange dignity as of a white altar, and the four +persons beside himself—five now, for Jimmie was beside him. But that +the physical was not the plane in which these five persons were now +chiefly conscious was the most evident thing of all.... There was about +them, not a Presence, not an air, not a sweetness or a sound, and yet it +is by such negatives only that the thing can be expressed.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And so they kneeled and waited.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Why, Jack—"</p> + +<p>It shook the waiting air like the sound of a bell, yet it was only +whispered. The man nearest him on the other side shook with a single +spasmodic movement and laid his fingers gently on the bandaged hands. +And then for a long while there was no further movement or sound.</p> + +<p>"Rosary!" said Frank suddenly, still in a whisper.... "Beads...."</p> + +<p>Jack moved swiftly on his knees, took from the table a string of beads +from where they had been laid the night before, and put them into the +still fingers. Then he laid his own hands over them again.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Again there was a long pause.</p> + +<p>Outside in the street a footstep came up from the direction of Mortimer +Road, waxed loud and clear on the pavement, and died again down towards +the street leading to the marshes. And, but for this, there was no +further sound for a while. Then a cock crew, thin and shrill, somewhere +far away; a dray rumbled past the end of the street and was silent.</p> + +<p>But the silence in the room was of a different quality; or, rather, the +world seemed silent because this room was so, and not the other way. It +was here that the center lay, where a battered man was dying, and from +this center radiated out the Great Peace.</p> + +<p>It was no waste then, after all!—this life of strange unreason ending +in this very climax of uselessness, exactly when ordinary usefulness was +about to begin. Could that be waste that ended so?</p> + +<p>"Priest," whispered the voice from the bed.</p> + +<p>Then Dick leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"He has been," he said distinctly and slowly. "He was here at two +o'clock. He did—what he came for. And he's coming again directly."</p> + +<p>The eyes closed in sign of assent and opened again.</p> + +<p>He seemed to be looking, as in a kind of meditation, at nothing in +particular. It was as a man who waits at his ease for some pleasant +little event that will unroll by and by. He was in no ecstasy, and, it +seemed, in no pain and in no fierce expectation; he was simply at his +ease and waiting. He was content, whatever those others might be.</p> + +<p>For a moment it crossed the young clergyman's mind that he ought to pray +aloud, but the thing was dismissed instantly. It seemed to him +impertinent nonsense. That was not what was required. It was his +business to watch, not to act.</p> + +<p>So, little by little, he ceased to think actively, he ceased to consider +this and that. At first he had wondered how long it would be before the +doctor and the priest arrived. (The woman had gone to fetch them.) He +had wished that they would make haste.... He had wondered what the +others felt, and how he would describe it all to his Vicar. Now, little +by little, all this ceased, and the peace grew within and without, till +the balance of pressure was equalized and his attention floated at the +perfect poise.</p> + +<p>Again there was no symbol or analogy that presented itself. It was not +even by negation that he thought. There was just one positive element +that included all: time seemed to mean nothing, the ticks of the clock +with the painted face were scarcely consecutive; it was all one, and +distance was nothing, nor nearness—not even the nearness of the dying +face against the pillows....</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was so, then, that something of that state to which Frank had passed +communicated itself to at least one of those who saw him die.</p> + +<p>A little past the half hour Frank spoke again.</p> + +<p>"My love to Whitty," he said.... "Diary.... Tell him...."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The end came a few minutes before nine o'clock, and it seems to have +come as naturally as life itself. There was no drama, no dying speech, +not one word.</p> + +<p>Those who were there saw him move ever so slightly in bed, and his head +lifted a little. Then his head sank once more and the Failure was +complete.</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of None Other Gods, by Robert Hugh Benson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + +***** This file should be named 17627-h.htm or 17627-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/2/17627/ + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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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: None Other Gods + +Author: Robert Hugh Benson + +Release Date: January 29, 2006 [EBook #17627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + + + + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + +BY + +ROBERT HUGH BENSON + +AUTHOR OF "THE CONVENTIONALISTS," "THE NECROMANCERS," "A WINNOWING," +ETC. + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + + + + +DEDICATORY LETTER + + +MY DEAR JACK KIRKBY, + +To whom can I dedicate this book but to you who were, not only the best +friend of the man I have written about, but one without whom the book +could not have been written? It is to you that I owe practically all the +materials necessary for the work: it was to you that Frank left the +greater part of his diary, such as it was (and I hope I have observed +your instructions properly as regards the use I have made of it); it was +you who took such trouble to identify the places he passed through; and +it was you, above all, who gave me so keen an impression of Frank +himself, that it seems to me I must myself have somehow known him +intimately, in spite of the fact that we never met. + +I think I should say that it is this sense of intimacy, this +extraordinary interior accessibility (so to speak) of Frank, that made +him (as you and I both think) about the most lovable person we have ever +known. They were very extraordinary changes that passed over him, of +course--(and I suppose we cannot improve, even with all our modern +psychology, upon the old mystical names for such changes--Purgation, +Illumination and Union)--but, as theologians themselves tell us, that +mysterious thing which Catholics call the Grace of God does not +obliterate, but rather emphasizes and transfigures the natural +characteristics of every man upon whom it comes with power. It was the +same element in Frank, as it seems to me--the same root-principle, at +least--that made him do those preposterous things connected with bread +and butter and a railway train, that drove him from Cambridge in +defiance of all common-sense and sweet reasonableness; that held him +still to that deplorable and lamentable journey with his two traveling +companions, and that ultimately led him to his death. I mean, it was the +same kind of unreasonable daring and purpose throughout, though it +issued in very different kinds of actions, and was inspired by very +different motives. + +Well, it is not much good discussing Frank in public like this. The +people who are kind enough to read his life--or, rather, the six months +of it with which this book deals--must form their own opinion of him. +Probably a good many will think him a fool. I daresay he was; but I +think I like that kind of folly. Other people may think him simply +obstinate and tiresome. Well, I like obstinacy of that sort, and I do +not find him tiresome. Everyone must form their own views, and I have a +perfect right to form mine, which I am glad to know coincide with your +own. After all, you knew him better than anyone else. + +I went to see Gertie Trustcott, as you suggested, but I didn't get any +help from her. I think she is the most suburban person I have ever met. +She could tell me nothing whatever new about him; she could only +corroborate what you yourself had told me, and what the diaries and +other papers contained. I did not stay long with Miss Trustcott. + +And now, my dear friend, I must ask you to accept this book from me, and +to make the best of it. Of course, I have had to conjecture a great +deal, and to embroider even more; but it is no more than embroidery. I +have not touched the fabric itself which you put into my hands; and +anyone who cares to pull out the threads I have inserted can do so if +they will, without any fear of the thing falling to pieces. + +I have to thank you for many pleasurable and even emotional hours. The +offering which I present to you now is the only return I can make. + + I am, + Ever yours sincerely, + ROBERT HUGH BENSON. + +P.S.--We've paneled a new room since you were last at Hare Street. Come +and see it soon and sleep in it. We want you badly. And I want to talk +a great deal more about Frank. + +P.P.S.--I hear that her ladyship has gone back to live with her father; +she tried the Dower House in Westmoreland, but seems to have found it +lonely. Is that true? It'll be rather difficult for Dick, won't it? + + + + +NONE OTHER GODS + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +(I) + +"I think you're behaving like an absolute idiot," said Jack Kirkby +indignantly. + +Frank grinned pleasantly, and added his left foot to his right one in +the broad window-seat. + +These two young men were sitting in one of the most pleasant places in +all the world in which to sit on a summer evening--in a ground-floor +room looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity College, Cambridge. It +was in that short space of time, between six and seven, during which the +Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and the dawdlers have not +yet returned from field and river; and Fellows and other persons, young +enough to know better, who think that a summer evening was created for +the reading of books, have not yet emerged from their retreats. A +white-aproned cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with trays +upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes out of the corner entrance +from the hostel; a cat or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for +the rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows slope eastwards, +and the fitful splash and trickle of the fountain asserts itself clearly +above the gentle rumble of Trinity Street. + +Within, the room in which these two sat was much like other rooms of the +same standing; only, in this one case the walls were paneled with +white-painted deal. Three doors led out of it--two into a tiny bedroom +and a tinier dining-room respectively; the third on to the passage +leading to the lecture-rooms. Frank found it very convenient, since he +thus was enabled, at every hour of the morning when the lectures broke +up, to have the best possible excuse for conversing with his friends +through the window. + +The room was furnished really well. Above the mantelpiece, where rested +an array of smoking-materials and a large silver cigarette-box, hung an +ancestral-looking portrait, in a dull gilded frame, of an aged man, with +a ruff round his neck, purchased for one guinea; there was a sofa and a +set of chairs upholstered in a good damask: a black piano by Broadwood; +a large oval gate-leg table; a bureau; shelves filled with very +indiscriminate literature--law books, novels, Badminton, magazines and +ancient school editions of the classics; a mahogany glass-fronted +bookcase packed with volumes of esthetic appearance--green-backed poetry +books with white labels; old leather tomes, and all the rest of the +specimens usual to a man who has once thought himself literary. Then +there were engravings, well framed, round the walls; a black iron-work +lamp, fitted for electric light, hung from the ceiling; there were a +couple of oak chests, curiously carved. On the stained floor lay three +or four mellow rugs, and the window-boxes outside blazed with geraniums. +The debris of tea rested on the window-seat nearest the outer door. + +Frank Guiseley, too, lolling in the window-seat in a white silk shirt, +unbuttoned at the throat, and gray flannel trousers, and one white shoe, +was very pleasant to look upon. His hair was as black and curly as a +Neapolitan's; he had a smiling, humorous mouth, and black eyes--of an +extraordinary twinkling alertness. His clean-shaven face, brown in its +proper complexion as well as with healthy sunburning (he had played very +vigorous lawn-tennis for the last two months), looked like a boy's, +except for the very determined mouth and the short, straight nose. He +was a little below middle height--well-knit and active; and though, +properly speaking, he was not exactly handsome, he was quite +exceptionally delightful to look at. + +Jack Kirkby, sitting in an arm-chair a yard away, and in the same sort +of costume--except that he wore both his shoes and a Third Trinity +blazer--was a complete contrast in appearance. The other had something +of a Southern Europe look; Jack was obviously English--wholesome red +cheeks, fair hair and a small mustache resembling spun silk. He was, +also, closely on six feet in height. + +He was anxious just now, and, therefore, looked rather cross, fingering +the very minute hairs of his mustache whenever he could spare the time +from smoking, and looking determinedly away from Frank upon the floor. +For the last week he had talked over this affair, ever since the amazing +announcement; and had come to the conclusion that once more, in this +preposterous scheme, Frank really meant what he said. + +Frank had a terrible way of meaning what he said--he reflected with +dismay. There was the affair of the bread and butter three years ago, +before either of them had learned manners. This had consisted in the +fastening up in separate brown-paper parcels innumerable pieces of bread +and butter, addressing each with the name of the Reverend Junior Dean +(who had annoyed Frank in some way), and the leaving of the parcels +about in every corner of Cambridge, in hansom cabs, on seats, on +shop-counters and on the pavements--with the result that for the next +two or three days the dean's staircase was crowded with messenger boys +and unemployables, anxious to return apparently lost property. + +Then there had been the matter of the flagging of a fast Northern train +in the middle of the fens with a red pocket-handkerchief, to find out if +it were really true that the train would stop, followed by a rapid +retreat on bicycles so soon as it had been ascertained that it was true; +the Affair of the German Prince traveling incognito, into which the +Mayor himself had been drawn; and the Affair of the Nun who smoked a +short black pipe in the Great Court shortly before midnight, before +gathering up her skirts and vanishing on noiseless india-rubber-shod +feet round the kitchen quarters into the gloom of Neville's Court, as +the horrified porter descended from his signal-box. + +Now many minds could have conceived these things; a smaller number of +people would have announced their intention of doing them: but there +were very few persons who would actually carry them all out to the very +end: in fact, Jack reflected, Frank Guiseley was about the only man of +his acquaintance who could possibly have done them. And he had done +them all on his own sole responsibility. + +He had remembered, too, during the past week, certain incidents of the +same nature at Eton. There was the master who had rashly inquired, with +deep sarcasm, on the fourth or fifth occasion in one week when Frank had +come in a little late for five-o'clock school, whether "Guiseley would +not like to have tea before pursuing his studies." Frank, with a radiant +smile of gratitude, and extraordinary rapidity, had answered that he +would like it very much indeed, and had vanished through the still +half-open door before another word could be uttered, returning with a +look of childlike innocence at about five-and-twenty minutes to six. + +"Please, sir," he had said, "I thought you said I might go?" + +"And have you had tea?" + +"Why, certainly, sir; at Webber's." + +Now all this kind of thing was a little disconcerting to remember now. +Truly, the things in themselves had been admirably conceived and +faithfully executed, but they seemed to show that Frank was the kind of +person who really carried through what other people only talked +about--and especially if he announced beforehand that he intended to do +it. + +It was a little dismaying, therefore, for his friend to reflect that +upon the arrival of the famous letter from Lord Talgarth--Frank's +father--six days previously, in which all the well-worn phrases occurred +as to "darkening doors" and "roof" and "disgrace to the family," Frank +had announced that he proposed to take his father at his word, sell up +his property and set out like a prince in a fairy-tale to make his +fortune. + + * * * * * + +Jack had argued till he was sick of it, and to no avail. Frank had a +parry for every thrust. Why wouldn't he wait a bit until the governor +had had time to cool down? Because the governor must learn, sooner or +later, that words really meant something, and that he--Frank--was not +going to stand it for one instant. + +Why wouldn't he come and stay at Barham till further notice? They'd all +be delighted to have him: It was only ten miles off Merefield, and +perhaps--Because Frank was not going to sponge upon his friends. Neither +was he going to skulk about near home. Well, if he was so damned +obstinate, why didn't he go into the City--or even to the Bar? Because +(1) he hadn't any money; and (2) he would infinitely sooner go on the +tramp than sit on a stool. Well, why didn't he enlist, like a +gentleman? Frank dared say he would some time, but he wanted to stand by +himself a bit first and see the world. + +"Let's see the letter again," said Jack at last. "Where is it?" + +Frank reflected. + +"I think it's in that tobacco-jar just behind your head," he said. "No, +it isn't; it's in the pouch on the floor. I know I associated it somehow +with smoking. And, by the way, give me a cigarette." + +Jack tossed him his case, opened the pouch, took out the letter, and +read it slowly through again. + + "Merefield Court, + "near Harrogate. + "May 28th, _Thursday_. + + "I am ashamed of you, sir. When you first told me of your + intention, I warned you what would happen if you persisted, and + I repeat it now. Since you have deliberately chosen, in spite + of all that I have said, to go your own way, and to become a + Papist, I will have no more to do with you. From this moment + you cease to be my son. You shall not, while I live, darken my + doors again, or sleep under my roof. I say nothing of what you + have had from me in the past--your education and all the rest. + And, since I do not wish to be unduly hard upon you, you can + keep the remainder of your allowance up to July and the + furniture of your rooms. But, after that, not one penny shall + you have from me. You can go to your priests and get them to + support you. + + "I am only thankful that your poor mother has been spared this + blow. + + "T." + +Jack made a small murmurous sound as he finished. Frank chuckled aloud. + +"Pitches it in all right, doesn't he?" he observed dispassionately. + +"If it had been my governor--" began Jack slowly. + +"My dear man, it isn't your governor; it's mine. And I'm dashed if +there's another man in the world who'd write such a letter as that +nowadays. It's--it's too early-Victorian. They'd hardly stand it at the +Adelphi! I could have put it so much better myself.... Poor old +governor!" + +"Have you answered it?" + +"I ... I forget. I know I meant to.... No, I haven't. I remember now. +And I shan't till I'm just off." + +"Well, I shall," remarked Jack. + +Frank turned a swift face upon him. + +"If you do," he said, with sudden fierce gravity, "I'll never speak to +you again. I mean it. It's my affair, and I shall run it my own way." + +"But--" + +"I mean it. Now! give me your word of honor--" + +"I--" + +"Your word of honor, this instant, or get out of my room!" + +There was a pause. Then: + +"All right," said Jack. + +Then there fell a silence once more. + + +(II) + +The news began to be rumored about, soon after the auction that Frank +held of his effects a couple of days later. He carried out the scene +admirably, entirely unassisted, even by Jack. + +First, there appeared suddenly all over Cambridge, the evening before +the sale, just as the crowds of undergraduates and female relations +began to circulate about after tea and iced strawberries, a quantity of +sandwich-men, bearing the following announcement, back and front: + + TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. + + THE HON. FRANK GUISELEY + has pleasure in announcing that on + JUNE 7TH (Saturday) + at half-past ten a.m. precisely + in Rooms 1, Letter J, Great Court, Trinity College, + he will positively offer for + + SALE BY AUCTION + + _The household effects, furniture, books, etc., of + the Hon. Frank Guiseley, including_-- + +A piano by Broadwood (slightly out of tune); a magnificent suite of +drawing-room furniture, upholstered in damask, the sofa only slightly +stained with tea; one oak table and another; a bed; a chest of drawers +(imitation walnut, and not a very good imitation); a mahogany +glass-fronted bookcase, containing a set of suggestive-looking volumes +bound in faint colors, with white labels; four oriental mats; a portrait +of a gentleman (warranted a perfectly respectable ancestor); dining-room +suite (odd chairs); numerous engravings of places of interest and +noblemen's seats; a + +_Silver Cigarette-box and fifteen Cigarettes in it (Melachrino and Mixed +American_); a cuckoo-clock (without cuckoo); five walking-sticks; +numerous suits of clothes (one lot suitable for Charitable Purposes); +some books--all VERY CURIOUS indeed--comprising the works of an +Eminent Cambridge Professor, and other scholastic luminaries, as well as +many other articles. + + AT HALF-PAST TEN A.M. PRECISELY + All friends, and strangers, cordially invited. + NO RESERVE PRICE. + +It served its purpose admirably, for by soon after ten o'clock quite a +considerable crowd had begun to assemble; and it was only after a very +serious conversation with the Dean that the sale was allowed to proceed. +But it proceeded, with the distinct understanding that a college porter +be present; that no riotous behavior should be allowed; that the sale +was a genuine one, and that Mr. Guiseley would call upon the Dean with +further explanations before leaving Cambridge. + +The scene itself was most impressive. + +Frank, in a structure resembling an auctioneer's box, erected on the +hearth-rug, presided, with extraordinary gravity, hammer in hand, robed +in a bachelor's gown and hood. Beneath him the room seethed with the +company, male and female, all in an excellent humor, and quite tolerable +prices were obtained. No public explanations were given of the need for +the sale, and Jack, in the deepest dismay, looked in again that +afternoon, about lunch-time, to find the room completely stripped, and +Frank, very cheerful, still in his hood and gown, smoking a cigarette in +the window-seat. + +"Come in," he said. "And kindly ask me to lunch. The last porter's just +gone." + +Jack looked at him. + +He seemed amazingly genial and natural, though just a little flushed, +and such an air of drama as there was about him was obviously +deliberate. + +"Very well; come to lunch," said Jack. "Where are you going to dine and +sleep?" + +"I'm dining in hall, and I'm sleeping in a hammock. Go and look at my +bedroom." + +Jack went across the bare floor and looked in. A hammock was slung +across from a couple of pegs, and there lay a small carpet-bag beneath +it. A basin on an upturned box and a bath completed the furniture. + +"You mad ass!" said Jack. "And is that all you have left?" + +"Certainly. I'm going to leave the clothes I've got on to you, and you +can fetch the hammock when I've gone." + +"When do you start?" + +"Mr. Guiseley will have his last interview and obtain his _exeat_ from +the Dean at half-past six this evening. He proposes to leave Cambridge +in the early hours of to-morrow morning." + +"You don't mean that!" + +"Certainly I do." + +"What are you going to wear?" + +Frank extended two flanneled legs, ending in solid boots. + +"These--a flannel shirt, no tie, a cap, a gray jacket." + +Jack stood again in silence, looking at him. + +"How much money did your sale make?" + +"That's immaterial. Besides, I forget. The important fact is that when +I've paid all my bills I shall have thirteen pounds eleven shillings and +eightpence." + +"What?" + +"Thirteen pounds eleven shillings and eightpence." + +Jack burst into a mirthless laugh. + +"Well, come along to lunch," he said. + + * * * * * + +It seemed to Jack that he moved in a dreary kind of dream that afternoon +as he went about with Frank from shop to shop, paying bills. Frank's +trouser-pockets bulged and jingled a good deal as they started--he had +drawn all his remaining money in gold from the bank--and they bulged +and jingled considerably less as the two returned to tea in Jesus Lane. +There, on the table, he spread out the coins. He had bought some +tobacco, and two or three other things that afternoon, and the total +amounted now but to twelve pounds nineteen shillings and fourpence. + +"Call it thirteen pounds," said Frank. "There's many a poor man--" + +"Don't be a damned fool!" said Jack. + +"I'm being simply prudent," said Frank. "A contented heart--" + +Jack thrust a cup of tea and the buttered buns before him. + + * * * * * + +These two were as nearly brothers as possible, in everything but blood. +Their homes lay within ten miles of one another. They had gone to a +private school together, to Eton, and to Trinity. They had ridden +together in the holidays, shot, dawdled, bathed, skated, and all the +rest. They were considerably more brothers to one another than were +Frank and Archie, his actual elder brother, known to the world as +Viscount Merefield. Jack did not particularly approve of Archie; he +thought him a pompous ass, and occasionally said so. + +For Frank he had quite an extraordinary affection, though he would not +have expressed it so, to himself, for all the world, and a very real +admiration of a quite indefinable kind. It was impossible to say why he +admired him. Frank did nothing very well, but everything rather well; he +played Rugby football just not well enough to represent his college; he +had been in the Lower Boats at Eton, and the Lent Boat of his first year +at Cambridge; then he had given up rowing and played lawn-tennis in the +summer and fives in the Lent Term just well enough to make a brisk and +interesting game. He was not at all learned; he had reached the First +Hundred at Eton, and had read Law at Cambridge--that convenient branch +of study which for the most part fills the vacuum for intelligent +persons who have no particular bent and are heartily sick of classics; +and he had taken a Third Class and his degree a day or two before. He +was remarkably averaged, therefore; and yet, somehow or another, there +was that in him which compelled Jack's admiration. I suppose it was that +which is conveniently labeled "character." Certainly, nearly everybody +who came into contact with him felt the same in some degree. + +His becoming a Catholic had been an amazing shock to Jack, who had +always supposed that Frank, like himself, took the ordinary sensible +English view of religion. To be a professed unbeliever was bad form--it +was like being a Little Englander or a Radical; to be pious was equally +bad form--it resembled a violent devotion to the Union Jack. No; +religion to Jack (and he had always hitherto supposed, to Frank) was a +department of life in which one did not express any particular views: +one did not say one's prayers; one attended chapel at the proper times; +if one was musical, one occasionally went to King's on Sunday afternoon; +in the country one went to church on Sunday morning as one went to the +stables in the afternoon, and that was about all. + +Frank had been, too, so extremely secretive about the whole thing. He +had marched into Jack's rooms in Jesus Lane one morning nearly a +fortnight ago. + +"Come to mass at the Catholic Church," he said. + +"Why, the--" began Jack. + +"I've got to go. I'm a Catholic." + +"_What!_" + +"I became one last week." + +Jack had stared at him, suddenly convinced that someone was mad. When he +had verified that it was really a fact; that Frank had placed himself +under instruction three months before, and had made his confession--(his +confession!)--on Friday, and had been conditionally baptized; when he +had certified himself of all these things, and had begun to find +coherent language once more, he had demanded why Frank had done this. + +"Because it's the true religion," said Frank. "Are you coming to mass or +are you not?" + +Jack had gone then, and had come away more bewildered than ever as to +what it was all about. He had attempted to make a few inquiries, but +Frank had waved his hands at him, and repeated that obviously the +Catholic religion was the true one, and that he couldn't be bothered. +And now here they were at tea in Jesus Lane for the last time. + + * * * * * + +Of course, there was a little suppressed excitement about Frank. He +drank three cups of tea and took the last (and the under) piece of +buttered bun without apologies, and he talked a good deal, rather fast. +It seemed that he had really no particular plans as to what he was going +to do after he had walked out of Cambridge with his carpet-bag early +next morning. He just meant, he said, to go along and see what happened. +He had had a belt made, which pleased him exceedingly, into which his +money could be put (it lay on the table between them during tea), and he +proposed, naturally, to spend as little of that money as possible.... +No; he would not take one penny piece from Jack; it would be simply +scandalous if he--a public-school boy and an University man--couldn't +keep body and soul together by his own labor. There would be hay-making +presently, he supposed, and fruit-picking, and small jobs on farms. He +would just go along and see what happened. Besides there were always +casual wards, weren't there? if the worst came to the worst; and he'd +meet other men, he supposed, who'd put him in the way of things. Oh! +he'd get on all right. + +Would he ever come to Barham? Well, if it came in the day's work he +would. Yes: certainly he'd be most obliged if his letters might be sent +there, and he could write for them when he wanted, or even call for +them, if, as he said, it came in the day's work. + +What was he going to do in the winter? He hadn't the slightest idea. He +supposed, what other people did in the winter. Perhaps he'd have got a +place by then--gamekeeper, perhaps--he'd like to be a gamekeeper. + +At this Jack, mentally, threw up the sponge. + +"You really mean to go on at this rotten idea of yours?" + +Frank opened his eyes wide. + +"Why, of course. Good Lord! did you think I was bluffing?" + +"But ... but it's perfectly mad. Why on earth don't you get a proper +situation somewhere--land-agent or something?" + +"My dear man," said Frank, "if you will have it, it's because I want to +do exactly what I'm going to do. No--I'm being perfectly serious. I've +thought for ages that we're all wrong somehow. We're all so beastly +artificial. I don't want to preach, but I want to test things for +myself. My religion tells me--" He broke off. "No; this is fooling. I'm +going to do it because I'm going to do it. And I'm really going to do +it. I'm not going to be an amateur--like slumming. I'm going to find out +things for myself." + +"But on the roads--" expostulated Jack. + +"Exactly. That's the very point. Back to the land." + +Jack sat up. + +"Good Lord!" he said. "Why, I never thought of it." + +"What?" + +"It's your old grandmother coming out." + +Frank stared. + +"Grandmother?" + +"Yes--old Mrs. Kelly." + +Frank laughed suddenly and loudly. + +"By George!" he said, "I daresay it is. Old Grandmamma Kelly! She was a +gipsy--so she was. I believe you've hit it, Jack. Let's see: she was my +grandfather's second wife, wasn't she?" + +Jack nodded. + +"And he picked her up off the roads on his own estate. Wasn't she +trespassing, or something?" + +Jack nodded again. + +"Yes," he said, "and he was a magistrate and ought to have committed +her: And he married her instead. She was a girl, traveling with her +parents." + +Frank sat smiling genially. + +"That's it," he said. "Then I'm bound to make a success of it." + +And he took another cigarette. + +Then one more thought came to Jack: he had determined already to make +use of it if necessary, and somehow this seemed to be the moment. + +"And Jenny Launton," he said "I suppose you've thought of her?" + +A curious look came into Frank's eyes--a look of great gravity and +tenderness--and the humor died out. He said nothing for an instant. Then +he drew out of his breast-pocket a letter in an envelope, and tossed it +gently over to Jack. + +"I'm telling her in that," he said. "I'm going to post it to-night, +after I've seen the Dean." + +Jack glanced down at it. + + "MISS LAUNTON, + "The Rectory, + "Merefield, Yorks." + +ran the inscription. He turned it over; it was fastened and sealed. + +"I've told her we must wait a bit," said Frank, "and that I'll write +again in a few weeks." + +Jack was silent. + +"And you think it's fair on her?" he asked deliberately. + +Frank's face broke up into humor. + +"That's for her to say," he observed. "And, to tell the truth, I'm not +at all afraid." + +"But a gamekeeper's wife! And you a Catholic!" + +"Ah! you don't know Jenny," smiled Frank. "Jenny and I quite understand +one another, thank you very much." + +"But is it quite fair?" + +"Good Lord!" shouted Frank, suddenly roused. "Fair! What the devil does +it matter? Don't you know that all's fair--under certain circumstances? +I do bar that rotten conventionalism. We're all rotten--rotten, I tell +you; and I'm going to start fresh. So's Jenny. Kindly don't talk of what +you don't understand." + +He stood up, stretching. Then he threw the end of his cigarette away. + +"I must go to the Dean," he said. "It's close on the half-hour." + + +(III) + +The Reverend James Mackintosh was an excellent official of his college, +and performed his duties with care and punctilium. He rose about +half-past seven o'clock every morning, drank a cup of tea and went to +chapel. After chapel he breakfasted, on Tuesdays and Thursdays with two +undergraduates in their first year, selected in alphabetical order, +seated at his table; on the other days of the week in solitude. At ten +o'clock he lectured, usually on one of St. Paul's Epistles, on which +subjects he possessed note-books filled with every conceivable piece of +information that could be gathered together--grammatical, philological, +topographical, industrial, social, biographical--with a few remarks on +the fauna, flora, imports, characteristics and geological features of +those countries to which those epistles were written, and in which they +were composed. These notes, guaranteed to guide any student who really +mastered them to success, and even distinction, in his examinations, +were the result of a lifetime of loving labor, and some day, no doubt, +will be issued in the neat blue covers of the "Cambridge Bible for +Schools." From eleven to twelve he lectured on Church history of the +first five centuries--after which period, it will be remembered by all +historical students, Church history practically ceased. At one he +lunched; from two to four he walked rapidly (sometimes again in company +with a serious theological student), along the course known as the +Grantchester Grind, or to Coton and back. At four he had tea; at five he +settled down to administer discipline to the college, by summoning and +remonstrating with such undergraduates as had failed to comply with the +various regulations; at half-past seven he dined in hall--a meek figure, +clean shaven and spectacled, seated between an infidel philosopher and a +socialist: he drank a single glass of wine afterwards in the Combination +Room, smoked one cigarette, and retired again to his rooms to write +letters to parents (if necessary), and to run over his notes for next +day. + +And he did this, with the usual mild variations of a University life, +every weekday, for two-thirds of the year. Of the other third, he spent +part in Switzerland, dressed in a neat gray Norfolk suit with +knickerbockers, and the rest with clerical friends of the scholastic +type. It was a very solemn thought to him how great were his +responsibilities, and what a privilege it was to live in the whirl and +stir of one of the intellectual centers of England! + + * * * * * + +Frank Guiseley was to Mr. Mackintosh a very great puzzle. He had +certainly been insubordinate in his first year (Mr. Mackintosh gravely +suspected him of the Bread-and-Butter affair, which had so annoyed his +colleague), but he certainly had been very steady and even deferential +ever since. (He always took off his hat, for example, to Mr. Mackintosh, +with great politeness.) Certainly he was not very regular at chapel, and +he did not dine in hall nearly so often as Mr. Mackintosh would have +wished (for was it not part of the University idea that men of all +grades of society should meet as equals under the college roof?). But, +then, he had never been summoned for any very grave or disgraceful +breach of the rules, and was never insolent or offensive to any of the +Fellows. Finally, he came of a very distinguished family; and Mr. +Mackintosh had the keenest remembrance still of his own single +interview, three years ago, with the Earl of Talgarth. + +Mr. Mackintosh wondered, then, exactly what he would have to say to Mr. +Guiseley, and what Mr. Guiseley would have to say to him. He thought, +if the young man were really going down for good, as he had understood +this morning, it was only his plain duty to say a few tactful words +about responsibility and steadiness. That ridiculous auction would serve +as his text. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Mackintosh paused an instant, as he always did, before saying "Come +in!" to the knock on the door (I think he thought it helped to create a +little impression of importance). Then he said it; and Frank walked in. + +"Good evening, Mr. Guiseley.... Yes; please sit down. I understood from +you this morning that you wished for your _exeat_." + +"Please," said Frank. + +"Just so," said Mr. Mackintosh, drawing the _exeat_ book--resembling the +butt of a check-book--towards him. "And you are going down to-morrow?" + +"Yes," said Frank. + +"Going home?" murmured the Dean, inscribing Frank's name in his neat +little handwriting. + +"No," said Frank. + +"Not?... To London, perhaps?" + +"Well, not exactly," said Frank; "at least, not just yet." + +Mr. Mackintosh blotted the book carefully, and extracted the _exeat_. +He pushed it gently towards Frank. + +"About that auction!" he said, smiling indulgently; "I did want to have +a word with you about that. It was very unusual; and I wondered.... But +I am happy to think that there was no disturbance.... But can you tell +me exactly why you chose that form of ... of ..." + +"I wanted to make as much money as ever I could," said Frank. + +"Indeed!... Yes.... And ... and you were successful?" + +"I cleared all my debts, anyhow," said Frank serenely. "I thought that +very important." + +Mr. Mackintosh smiled again. Certainly this young man was very well +behaved and deferential. + +"Well, that's satisfactory. And you are going to read at the Bar now? If +you will let me say so, Mr. Guiseley, even at this late hour, I must say +that I think that a Third Class might have been bettered. But no doubt +your tutor has said all that?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Well, then, a little more application and energy now may perhaps make +up for lost time. I suppose you will go to the Temple in October?" + +Frank looked at him pensively a moment. + +"No, Mr. Mackintosh," he said suddenly; "I'm going on the roads. I mean +it, quite seriously. My father's disowned me. I'm starting out to-morrow +to make my own living." + +There was dead silence for an instant. The Dean's face was stricken, as +though by horror. Yet Frank saw he had not in the least taken it in. + +"Yes; that's really so," he said. "Please don't argue with me about it. +I'm perfectly determined." + +"Your father ... Lord Talgarth ... the roads ... your own living ... the +college authorities ... responsibility!" + +Words of this sort burst from Mr. Mackintosh's mouth. + +"Yes ... it's because I've become a Catholic! I expect you've heard +that, sir." + +Mr. Mackintosh threw himself back (if so fierce a word may be used of so +mild a manner)--threw himself back in his chair. + +"Mr. Guiseley, kindly tell me all about it. I had not heard one +word--not one word." + + * * * * * + +Frank made a great effort, and told the story, quite fairly and quite +politely. He described his convictions as well as he could, the various +steps he had taken, and the climax of the letter from his father. Then +he braced himself, to hear what would be said; or, rather, he retired +within himself, and, so to speak, shut the door and pulled down the +blinds. + +It was all said exactly as he knew it would be. Mr. Mackintosh touched +upon a loving father's impatience, the son's youth and impetuosity, the +shock to an ancient family, the responsibilities of membership in that +family, the dangers of rash decisions, and, finally, the obvious errors +of the Church of Rome. He began several sentences with the phrase: "No +thinking man at the present day ..." + +In fact, Mr. Mackintosh was, so soon as he had recovered from the first +shock, extraordinarily sensible and reasonable. He said all the proper +things, all the sensible and reasonable and common-sense things, and he +said them, not offensively or contemptuously, but tactfully and +persuasively. And he put into it the whole of his personality, such as +it was. He even quoted St. Paul. + +He perspired a little, gently, towards the end: so he took off his +glasses and wiped them, looking, still with a smile, through kind, +short-sighted eyes, at this young man who sat so still. For Frank was so +quiet that the Dean thought him already half persuaded. Then once more +he summed up, when his glasses were fixed again; he ran through his +arguments lightly and efficiently, and ended by a quiet little +assumption that Frank was going to be reasonable, to write to his father +once more, and to wait at least a week. He even called him "my dear +boy!" + +"Thanks very much," said Frank. + +"Then you'll think it over quietly, my dear boy. Come and talk to me +again. I've given you your _exeat_, but you needn't use it. Come in +to-morrow evening after hall." + +Frank stood up. + +"Thanks, very much, Mr. Mackintosh. I'll ... I'll certainly remember +what you've said." He took up his _exeat_ as if mechanically. + +"Then you can leave that for the present," smiled the Dean, pointing at +it. "I can write you another, you know." + +Frank put it down quickly. + +"Oh, certainly!" he said. + +"Well, good-night, Mr. Guiseley.... I ... I can't tell you how glad I am +that you confided in me. Young men are a little unwise and impetuous +sometimes, you know. Good-night ... good-night. I shall expect you +to-morrow." + +When Frank reached the court below he stood waiting a moment. Then a +large smile broke out on his face, and he hurried across to a passage +opposite, found a friend's door open, and rushed in. The room was empty. +He flew across to the window and crouched down, peeping over the sill at +the opening on the other side of the court leading to Mr. Mackintosh's +staircase. + +He was rewarded almost instantly. Even as he settled himself on the +window seat a black figure, with gown ballooning behind, hurried out and +whisked through the archway leading towards the street. He gave him +twenty seconds, and then ran out himself, and went in pursuit. Half-way +up the lane he sighted him once more, and, following cautiously on +tiptoe, with a handkerchief up to his face, was in time to behold Mr. +Mackintosh disappear into the little telegraph office on the left of +Trinity Street. + +"That settles it, then," observed Frank, almost aloud. "Poor Jack--I'm +afraid I shan't be able to breakfast with him after all!" + + +(IV) + +It was a little after four o'clock on the following morning that a +policeman, pacing with slow, flat feet along the little lane that leads +from Trinity Hall to Trinity College, yawning as he went, and entirely +unconscious of the divine morning air, bright as wine and clear as +water, beheld a remarkable spectacle. + +There first appeared, suddenly tossed on to the spikes that top the gate +that guards the hostel, a species of pad that hung over on both sides of +the formidable array of points. Upon this, more cautiously, was placed +by invisible hands a very old saddle without any stirrups. + +The policeman stepped back a little, and flattened +himself--comparatively speaking--against the outer wall of the hostel +itself. There followed a silence. + +Suddenly, without any warning, a heavy body, discernible a moment later +as a small carpet-bag, filled to bursting, fell abruptly on to the +pavement; and, again, a moment later, two capable-looking hands made +their appearance, grasping with extreme care the central rod on which +the spikes were supposed to revolve, on either side of the saddle. + +Still the policeman did not make any sign; he only sidled a step or two +nearer and stood waiting. + +When he looked up again, a young gentleman, in flannel trousers, gray +jacket, boots, and an old deerstalker, was seated astride of the saddle, +with his back to the observer. There was a pause while the rider looked +to this side and that; and then, with a sudden movement, he had dropped +clear of the wall, and come down on feet and hands to the pavement. + +"Good morning, officer!" said the young gentleman, rising and dusting +his hands, "it's all right. Like to see my _exeat_? Or perhaps half a +crown--" + + +(V) + +About six o'clock in the morning, Jack Kirkby awoke suddenly in his +bedroom in Jesus Lane. + +This was very unusual, and he wondered what it was all about. He thought +of Frank almost instantly, with a jerk, and after looking at his watch, +very properly turned over and tried to go to sleep again. But the +attempt was useless; there were far too many things to think about; and +he framed so many speeches to be delivered with convincing force at +breakfast to his misguided friend, that by seven o'clock he made up his +mind that he would get up, go and take Frank to bathe, and have +breakfast with him at half-past eight instead of nine. He would have +longer time, too, for his speeches. He got out of bed and pulled up his +blind, and the sight of the towers of Sidney Sussex College, gilded with +sunshine, determined him finally. + +When you go to bathe before breakfast at Cambridge you naturally put on +as few clothes as possible and do not--even if you do so at other +times--say your prayers. So Jack put on a sweater, trousers, socks, +canvas shoes, and a blazer, and went immediately down the +oilcloth-covered stairs. As he undid the door he noticed a white thing +lying beneath it, and took it up. It was a note addressed to himself in +Frank's handwriting; and there, standing on the steps, he read it +through; and his heart turned suddenly sick. + + * * * * * + +There is all the difference in the world between knowing that a +catastrophe is going to happen, and knowing that it has happened. Jack +knew--at least, with all his reasonable part--that Frank was going to +leave Cambridge in the preposterous manner described, after breakfast +with himself; and it was partly because of this very knowledge that he +had got up earlier in order to have an extra hour with Frank before the +final severance came. Yet there was something in him--the same thing +that had urged him to rehearse little speeches in bed just now--that +told him that until it had actually happened, it had not happened, and, +just conceivably, might not happen after all. And he had had no idea how +strong this hopeful strain had been in him--nor, for that matter, how +very deeply and almost romantically he was attached to Frank--until he +felt his throat hammering and his head becoming stupid, as he read the +terse little note in the fresh morning air of Jesus Lane. + +It ran as follows: + + "DEAR JACK, + + "It's no good, and I'm off early! That ass Mackintosh went and + wired to my people directly I left him. I tracked him down. And + there'll be the devil to pay unless I clear out. So I can't + come to breakfast. Sorry. + + "Yours, + "F.G. + + "P.S.--By the way, you might as well go round to the little man + and try to keep him quiet. Tell him it'll make a scandal for + Trinity College, Cambridge, if he makes a fuss. That'll stop + him, perhaps. And you might try to rescue my saddle from the + porter. He's probably got it by now." + +Three minutes later a figure in a sweater, gray trousers, canvas shoes, +Third Trinity blazer and no cap, stood, very inarticulate with +breathlessness, at the door of the Senior Dean's rooms, demanding of a +scandalized bed-maker to see the official in question. + +"'E's in his barth, sir!" expostulated the old woman. + +"Then he must come out of it!" panted Jack. + +"--That is, if 'e's out o' bed." + +"Then he can stop in it, if he isn't.... I tell you--" + +Jack gave up arguing. He took the old lady firmly by the shoulders, and +placed her in the doorway of the audience-room; then he was up the inner +stairs in three strides, through the sitting-room, and was tapping at +the door of the bedroom. A faint sound of splashing ceased. + +"Who's there? Don't--" + +"It's me, sir--Kirkby! I'm sorry to disturb you, but--" + +"Don't come in!" cried an agitated voice, with a renewed sound of water, +as if someone had hastily scrambled out of the bath. + +Jack cautiously turned the handle and opened the door a crack. A cry of +dismay answered his move, followed by a tremendous commotion and +swishing of linen. + +"I'm coming in, sir," said Jack, struggling between agitation and +laughter. It was obvious from the sounds that the clergyman had got into +bed again, wet, and as God made him. There was no answer, and Jack +pushed the door wider and went in. + +It was as he had thought. His unwilling host had climbed back into bed +as hastily as possible, and the bed-clothes, wildly disordered, were +gathered round his person. A face, with wet hair, looking very odd and +childlike without his glasses, regarded him with the look of one who +sees sacrilege done. A long flannel nightgown lay on the ground between +the steaming bath and the bed, and a quantity of water lay about on the +floor, in footprints and otherwise. + +"May I ask what is the meaning of this disgraceful--" + +"I'm sorry, sir," said Jack briefly, "but Frank Guiseley's bolted. I've +just found this note." It did not occur to him, as he handed the note to +a bare arm, coyly protruded from the tangled bed-clothes, that this very +officer of the college was referred to in it as "that ass" and "the +little man." ... All his attention, not occupied with Frank, was fixed +on the surprising new discovery that deans had bodies and used real +baths like other people. Somehow that had never occurred to him he had +never imagined them except in smooth, black clothes and white linen. His +discovery seemed to make Mr. Mackintosh more human, somehow. + +The Dean read the note through as modestly as possible, holding it very +close to his nose, as his glasses were unattainable, with an arm of +which not more than the wrist appeared. He swallowed in his throat once +or twice, and seemed to taste something with his lips, as his manner +was. + +"This is terrible!" said the Dean. "Had you any idea--" + +"I knew he was going some time to-day," said Jack, "and understood that +you knew too." + +"But I had no idea--" + +"You did telegraph, didn't you, sir?" + +"I certainly telegraphed. Yes; to Lord Talgarth. It was my duty. But--" + +"Well; he spotted it. That's all. And now he's gone. What's to be done?" + +Mr. Mackintosh considered a moment or two. Jack made an impatient +movement. + +"I must telegraph again," said the Dean, with the air of one who has +exhausted the resources of civilization. + +"But, good Lord! sir--" + +"Yes. I must telegraph again. As soon as I'm dressed. Or perhaps you +would--" + +"Office doesn't open till eight. That's no good. He'll be miles away by +then." + +"It's the only thing to be done," said the Dean with sudden energy. "I +forbid you to take any other steps, Mr. Kirkby. I am responsible--" + +"But--" + +"We must not make a scandal.... What else did you propose?" + +"Why--fifty things. Motor-cars; police--" + +"Certainly not. We must make no scandal as he ... as he very properly +says." (The Dean swallowed in his throat again. Jack thought afterwards +that it must have been the memory of certain other phrases in the +letter.) "So if you will be good enough to leave me instantly, Mr. +Kirkby, I will finish my dressing and deal with the matter." + + * * * * * + +Jack wheeled and went out of the room. + + * * * * * + +It was a miserable breakfast to which he sat down half an hour +later--still in flannels, and without his bath. Frank's place was laid, +in accordance with the instructions he had given his landlady last +night, and he had not the heart to push the things aside. There were +soles for two, and four boiled eggs; there was coffee and marmalade and +toast and rolls and fruit; and the comfortable appearance of the table +simply mocked him. + +He had had very confused ideas just now as to what was possible with +regard to the pursuit of Frank; a general vision of twenty motor-cars, +each with a keen-eyed chauffeur and an observant policeman, was all +that had presented itself to his imagination; but he had begun to +realize by now that you cannot, after all, abduct a young man who has +committed no crime, and carry him back unwillingly, even to Cambridge! +Neither the Dean of Trinity nor a father possesses quite unlimited power +over the freedom of a pupil and a son. And, after all, Frank had only +taken his father at his word! + +These reflections, however, did not improve the situation. He felt quite +certain, in theory, that something more could be done than feebly to +send another telegram or two; the only difficulty was to identify that +something. He had vague ideas, himself, of hiring a motor-car by the +day, and proceeding to scour the country round Cambridge. But even this +did not stand scrutiny. If he had failed to persuade Frank to remain in +Cambridge, it was improbable that he could succeed in persuading him to +return--even if he found him. About eight important roads run out of +Cambridge, and he had not a glimmer of an idea as to which of these he +had taken. It was possible, even, that he had not taken any of them, and +was walking across country. That would be quite characteristic of Frank. + + * * * * * + +He finished breakfast dismally, and blew through an empty pipe, staring +lackadaisically out of the window at the wall of Sidney Sussex for two +or three minutes before lighting up. Cambridge seemed an extraordinary +flat and stupid place now that Frank was no longer within it. Really +there was nothing particular to do. It had become almost a regular +engagement for him to step round to the Great Court about eleven, and +see what was to be done. Sometimes Frank wanted lawn-tennis--sometimes a +canoe on the Backs--at any rate, they would either lunch or dine +together. And if they didn't--well, at any rate, Frank was there! + +He tried to picture to himself what Frank was doing; he had visions of a +sunlit road running across a fen, with a figure tramping up it; of a +little wayside inn, and Frank drinking beer in the shade. But it seemed +an amazing waste of company that the figure should always be alone. Why +hadn't he proposed to go with him himself? He didn't know; except, that +it certainly would not have been accepted. And yet they could have had +quite a pleasant time for a couple of months; and, after a couple of +months, surely Frank would have had enough of it! + +But, again--would he?... Frank seemed really in earnest about making his +living permanently; and when Frank said that he was going do a thing, he +usually did it! And Jack Kirkby did not see himself leaving his own +mother and sisters indefinitely until Frank had learned not to be a +fool. + +He lit his pipe at last; and then remembered the commission with regard +to the saddle--whatever that might mean. He would stroll round presently +and talk to the porter about it ... Yes, he would go at once; and he +would just look in at Frank's rooms again. There was the hammock to +fetch, too. + +But it was a dreary little visit. He went round as he was, his hands +deep in his pockets, trying to whistle between his teeth and smoke +simultaneously; and he had to hold his pipe in his hand out of respect +for rules, as he conversed with the stately Mr. Hoppett in Trinity +gateway. Mr. Hoppett knew nothing about any saddle--at least, not for +public communication--but his air of deep and diplomatic suspiciousness +belied his words. + +"It's all right," said Jack pleasantly, "I had nothing to do with the +elopement. The Dean knows all about it." + +"I know nothing about that, sir," said Mr. Hoppett judicially. + +"Then you've not got the saddle?" + +"I have not, sir." + +Frank's outer door was open as Jack came to the familiar staircase, and +his heart leaped in spite of himself, as he peered in and heard +footsteps in the bedroom beyond. But it was the bed-maker with a mop, +and a disapproving countenance, who looked out presently. + +"He's gone, Mrs. Jillings," said Jack. + +Mrs. Jillings sniffed. She had heard tales of the auction and thought it +a very improper thing for so pleasant a young gentleman to do. + +"Yes, sir." + +"There isn't a saddle here, is there?" + +"Saddle, sir? No, sir. What should there be a saddle here for?" + +"Oh, well," said Jack vaguely. "I've come to fetch away the hammock, +anyhow." + +Certainly the rooms looked desolate. Even the carpets were gone, and the +unstained boards in the middle seemed suggestive of peculiar dreariness. +It was really very difficult to believe that these were the rooms where +he and Frank had had such pleasant times--little friendly +bridge-parties, and dinners, and absurd theatricals, in which Frank had +sustained, with extreme rapidity, with the aid of hardly any properties +except a rouge-pot, a burnt cork and three or four wisps of hair of +various shades, the part of almost any eminent authority in the +University of Cambridge that you cared to name. There were long +histories, invented by Frank himself, of the darker sides of the lives +of the more respectable members of the Senate--histories that grew, like +legends, term by term--in which the most desperate deeds were done. The +Master of Trinity, for example, in these Sagas, would pass through +extraordinary love adventures, or discover the North Pole, or give a +lecture, with practical examples, of the art of flying; the Provost of +King's would conspire with the President of Queen's College, to murder +the Vice-Chancellor and usurp his dignities. And these histories would +be enacted with astonishing realism, chiefly by Frank himself, with the +help of a zealous friend or two who were content to obey. + +And these were all over now; and that was the very door through which +the Vice-Chancellor was accustomed to escape from his assassins! + + * * * * * + +Jack sighed again; passed through, picked up the parcel of clothes that +lay in the window-seat, unhitched the hammock in which Frank had slept +last night (he noticed the ends of three cigarettes placed on the cover +of a convenient biscuit-tin), and went off resembling a _retiarius_. +Mrs. Jillings sniffed again as she looked after him up the court. She +didn't understand those young gentlemen at all; and frequently said so. + + +(VI) + +At half-past six o'clock that morning--about the time that Jack awoke in +Cambridge--John Harris, laborer, emerged, very sleepy and frowsy--for he +had sat up late last night at the "Spotted Dog"--from the door of a +small cottage on the Ely road, in the middle of Grunty Fen. He looked +this way and that, wondering whether it were as late as his +kitchen-clock informed him, and observing the sun, that hung now +lamentably high up in that enormous dome of summer sky that sat on the +fenland like a dish-cover on a dish. And as he turned southwards he +became aware of a young gentleman carrying a carpet-bag in one hand, and +a gray jacket over his other arm, coming up to him, not twenty yards +away. As he came nearer, Mr. Harris noticed that his face was badly +bruised as by a blow. + +"Good morning," said the young gentleman. "Hot work." + +John Harris made some observation. + +"I want some work to do," said the young gentleman, disregarding the +observation. "I'm willing and capable. Do you know of any? I mean, work +that I shall be paid for. Or perhaps some breakfast would do as a +beginning." + +John Harris regarded the young gentleman in silence. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +Merefield Court, as every tourist knows may be viewed from ten to five +on Tuesdays and Thursdays, when the family are not in residence, and on +Tuesdays only, from two to four, when they are. It is unnecessary, +therefore, to describe it very closely. + +It stands very nearly on the top of a hill, protected by woods from the +north winds of Yorkshire; and its towers and pinnacles can be seen from +ten miles away down the valley. It is built, architecturally considered, +in the form of an irregular triangular court--quite unique--with the old +barbican at the lower end; the chapel wing directly opposite; the ruins +of the old castle on the left, keep and all, and the new house that is +actually lived in on the right. It is of every conceivable date (the +housekeeper will supply details) from the British mound on which the +keep stands, to the Georgian smoking-room built by the grandfather of +the present earl; but the main body of the house, with which we are +principally concerned--the long gray pile facing south down to the +lake, and northwards into the court--is Jacobean down to the smallest +detail, and extremely good at that. It was on the end of this that the +thirteenth earl the fifteenth baron and the fourteenth viscount (one +man, not three) thought it proper to build on a Palladian kind of +smoking-room of red sandstone, brought at enormous cost from half across +England. Fortunately, however, ivy has since covered the greater part of +its exterior. + +It was in this room--also used as a billiard-room--that Archie Guiseley +(Viscount Merefield), and Dick Guiseley, his first cousin, first heard +the news of Frank's intentions. + +They were both dressed for dinner, and were knocking the balls about for +ten minutes, waiting for the gong, and they were talking in that +incoherent way characteristic of billiard-players. + +"The governor's not very well again," observed Archie, "and the doctor +won't let him go up to town. That's why we're here." + +Dick missed a difficult cannon (he had only arrived from town himself by +the 6.17), and began to chalk his cue very carefully. + +"There's nothing whatever to do," continued Archie, "so I warn you." + +Dick opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, pursing it up +precisely as once more he addressed himself to the balls, and this time +brought off a really brilliant stroke. + +"And he's in a terrible way about Frank," continued the other. "You've +heard all about that?" + +Dick nodded. + +"And he swears he won't have him home again, and that he can go to the +devil." + +Dick arched his eyebrows interrogatively. + +"Of course, he doesn't mean it.... But the gout, you know, and all +that.... I think Frank had better keep out of the way, though, for a +bit. Oh! by the way, the Rector and Jenny are coming to dinner." + +"What does Jenny say to it all?" asked Dick gently. + +"Oh! Jenny laughs." + +These two young men--for Archie was only twenty-five, and Dick a year or +two older--were quite remarkably like one another in manner and general +bearing. Each, though their faces were entirely different, wore that +same particular form of mask that is fashionable just now. Each had a +look in his eyes as if the blinds were down--rather insolent and yet +rather pleasant. Each moved in the same kind of way, slow and +deliberate; each spoke quietly on rather a low note, and used as few +words as possible. Each, just now, wore a short braided dinner-jacket of +precisely the same cut. + +For the rest, they were quite unlike. Archie was clean-shaven, of a +medium sort of complexion, with a big chin and rather loosely built; +Dick wore a small, pointed brown beard, and was neat and alert. Neither +of them did anything particular in the world. Archie was more or less +tied to his father, except in the autumn--for Archie drew the line at +Homburg, and went about for short visits, returning continually to look +after the estate; Dick lived in a flat in town on six hundred a year, +allowed him by his mother, and was supposed to be a sort of solicitor. +They saw a good deal of one another, off and on, and got on together +rather better than most brothers; certainly better than did Archie and +Frank. It was thought a pity by a good many people that they were only +cousins. + + * * * * * + +Then, as they gossiped gently, the door suddenly opened and a girl came +in. + +She was a very striking girl indeed, and her beauty was increased just +now by obvious excitement held well in check. She was tall and very +fair, and carried herself superbly, looking taller than she really was. +Her eyes, particularly bright just now, were of a vivid blue, wide-open +and well set in her face; her mouth was strong and sensible; and there +was a glorious air of breeziness and health about her altogether. She +was in evening dress, and wore a light cloak over her white shoulders. + +"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said--"Oh! good evening, Mr. Dick!--but +there's something wrong. Clarkson ran out to tell us that Lord +Talgarth--it's a telegram or something. Father sent me to tell you." + +Archie looked at her a second; then he was gone, swiftly, but not +hurriedly. The girl turned to Dick. + +"I'm afraid it's something about Frank," she said. "I heard Clarkson +mention his name to father. Is there any more news?" + +Dick laid down his cue across the table. + +"I only came an hour ago," he said. "Archie was telling me just now." + +Jenny went across to the deep chair on the hearth, threw off her cloak +and sat down. + +"Lord Talgarth's--well--if he was my father I should say he was in a +passion. I heard his voice." She smiled a little. + +Dick leaned against the table, looking at her. + +"Poor Frank!" he said. + +She smiled again, more freely. + +"Yes ... poor, dear Frank! He's always in hot water, isn't he?" + +"I'm afraid it's serious this time," observed Dick. "What did he want to +become a Catholic for?" + +"Oh, Frank's always unexpected!" + +"Yes, I know; but this happens to be just the one very thing--" + +She looked at him humorously. + +"Do you know, I'd no notion that Lord Talgarth was so deeply religious +until Frank became a Catholic." + +"Yes, I know," said Dick. "But it is just his one obsession. Frank must +have known that." + +"And I've not the slightest doubt," said Jenny, "that that was an +additional reason for his doing it." + +"Well, what'll happen?" + +She jerked her head a little. + +"Oh! it'll pass off. You'll see. Frank'll find out, and then we shall +all be happy ever afterwards." + +"But meantime?" + +"Oh! Frank'll go and stay with friends a month or two. I daresay he'll +come to the Kirkbys', and I can go and see him." + +"Suppose he does something violent? He's quite capable of it." + +"Oh! I shall talk to him. It'll be all right. I'm very sensible indeed, +you know. All my friends tell me that." + +Dick was silent. + +"Don't you think so?" + +"Think what?" + +"That I'm very sensible." + +Dick made a little movement with his head. + +"Oh! I suppose so. Yes, I daresay.... And suppose my uncle cuts him off +with a shilling? He's quite capable of it. He's a very heavy father, you +know." + +"He won't. I shall talk to him too." + +"Yes; but suppose he does?" + +She threw him a swift glance. + +"Frank'll put the shilling on his watch-chain, after it's been shown +with all the other wedding-presents. What are you going to give me, Mr. +Dick?" + +"I shall design a piece of emblematic jewelry," said Dick very gravely. +"When's the wedding to be?" + +"Well, we hadn't settled. Lord Talgarth wouldn't make up his mind. I +suppose next summer some time." + +"Miss Jenny--" + +"Yes?" + +"Tell me--quite seriously--what you'd do if there was a real row--a +permanent one, I mean--between Frank and my uncle?" + +"Dear Mr. Dick--don't talk so absurdly. I tell you there's not going to +be a row. I'm going to see to that myself." + +"But suppose there was?" + +Jenny stood up abruptly. + +"I tell you I'm a very sensible person, and I'm not going to imagine +absurdities. What do you want me to say? Do you want me to strike an +attitude and talk about love in a cottage?" + +"Well, that would be one answer." + +"Very well, then. That'll do, won't it? You can take it as said.... I'm +going to see what's happening." + +But as she went to the door there came footsteps and voices outside; and +the next moment the door opened suddenly, and Lord Talgarth, followed by +his son and the Rector, burst into the room. + + +(II) + +I am very sorry to have to say it, but the thirteenth Earl of Talgarth +was exactly like a man in a book--and not a very good book. His +character was, so to speak, cut out of cardboard--stiff cardboard, and +highly colored, with gilt edges showing here and there. He also, as has +been said, resembled a nobleman on the stage of the Adelphi. He had a +handsome inflamed face, with an aquiline nose and white eyebrows that +moved up and down, and all the other things; he was stout and tall, +suffered from the gout, and carried with him in the house a black stick +with an india-rubber pad on the end. There were no shades about him at +all. Construct a conventionally theatrical heavy father, of noble +family, and you have Lord Talgarth to the life. There really are people +like this in the world--of whom, too, one can prophesy, with tolerable +certainty, how they will behave in any given situation. + +Certainly, Lord Talgarth was behaving in character now. He had received +meek Mr. Mackintosh's deferential telegram, occupying several sheets, +informing him that his son had held an auction of all his belongings, +and had proposed to take to the roads; asking, also, for instructions as +to how to deal with him. And the hint of defiant obstinacy on the part +of Frank--the fact, indeed, that he had taken his father at his +word--had thrown that father into a yet more violent fit of passion. +Jenny had heard him spluttering and exclamatory with anger as she came +into the hall (the telegram had but that instant been put into his +hands), and even now the footmen, still a little pale, were exchanging +winks in the hall outside; while Clarkson, his valet, and the butler +stood in high and subdued conference a little way off. + +What Lord Talgarth would really have wished was that Frank should have +written to him a submissive--even though a disobedient--letter, telling +him that he could not forego his convictions, and preparing to assume +the _role_ of a Christian martyr. For he could have sneered at this, and +after suitable discipline forgiven its writer more or less. Of course, +he had never intended for one instant that his threats should really be +carried out; but the situation--to one of Lord Talgarth's +temperament--demanded that the threats should be made, and that Frank +should pretend to be crushed by them. That the boy should have behaved +like this brought a reality of passion into the affair--disconcerting +and infuriating--as if an actor should find his enemy on the stage was +armed with a real sword. There was but one possibility left--which Lord +Talgarth instinctively rather than consciously grasped at--namely, that +an increased fury on his part should once more bring realities back +again to a melodramatic level, and leave himself, as father, master both +of the situation and of his most disconcerting son. Frank had behaved +like this in minor matters once or twice before, and Lord Talgarth had +always come off victor. After all, he commanded all the accessories. + + * * * * * + +When the speeches had been made--Frank cut off with a shilling, driven +to the Colonies, brought back again, and finally starved to death at his +father's gates--Lord Talgarth found himself in a chair, with Jenny +seated opposite, and the rest of the company gone to dinner. He did not +quite realize how it had all been brought about, nor by whose +arrangement it was that a plate of soup and some fish were to come +presently, and Jenny and he to dine together. + +He pulled himself together a little, however, and began to use phrases +again about his "graceless son," and "the young villain," and "not a +penny of his." (He was, of course, genuinely angry; that must be +understood.) + +Then Jenny began to talk. + +"I think, you know," she said quietly, "that you aren't going the right +way to work. (It's very impertinent of me, isn't it?--but you did say +just now you wanted to hear what I thought.)" + +"Of course I do; of course I do. You're a sensible girl, my dear. I've +always said that. But as for this young--" + +"Well, let me say what I think. (Yes, put the soup down here, will you. +Is that right, Lord Talgarth?)." She waited till the man was gone again +and the old man had taken up his spoon. Then she took up her own. "Well, +I think what you've done is exactly the thing to make Frank more +obstinate than ever. You see, I know him very well. Now, if you'd only +laughed at him and patted his head, so to speak, from the beginning, and +told him you thought it an excellent thing for a boy of his character, +who wants looking after--" + +Lord Talgarth glared at her. He was still breathing rather heavily, and +was making something of a noise over his soup. + +"But how can I say that, when I think--" + +"Oh! you can't say it now, of course; it's too late. No; that would +never do. You must keep it up--only you mustn't be really angry. Why not +try a little cold severity?" + +She looked so charming and humorous that the old man began to melt a +little. He glanced up at her once or twice under his heavy eyebrows. + +"I wonder what you'll do," he said with a kind of gruffness, "when you +find you've got to marry a pauper?" + +"I shan't have to marry a pauper," said Jenny. "That wouldn't do +either." + +"Oh! you're counting on that eight hundred a year still, are you?" + +Jenny allowed a little coldness to appear on her face. Rude banter was +all very well, but it mustn't go too far. (Secretly she allowed to +herself sometimes that this old man had elements of the cad in his +character.) + +"That's entirely my own affair," she said, "and Frank's." + +Lord Talgarth blazed up a little. + +"And the eight hundred a year is mine," he said. + +Jenny laid down her spoon as the servant reappeared with the fish and +the menu-card. He came very opportunely. And while her host was +considering what he would eat next, she was pondering her next move. + +Jenny, as has been said, was an exceedingly sensible girl. She had grown +up in the Rectory, down at the park gates; and since her mother's death, +three years previously, had managed her father's house, including her +father, with great success. She had begun to extend her influence, for +the last year or two, even over the formidable lord of the manor +himself, and, as has been seen, was engaged to his son. Her judgment was +usually very sound and very sane, and the two men, with the Rector, had +been perfectly right just now in leaving the old man to her care for an +hour or so. If anything could quiet him it would be this girl. She was +quite fearless, quite dignified, and quite able to hold her own. And her +father perceived that she rather enjoyed it. + +When the man had gone out again, she resumed: + +"Well, let's leave it," she said, "for a day or two. There's no hurry, +and--" + +"But I must answer this--this telegram," he growled. "What am I to say +to the feller?" + +"Tell him to follow his discretion, and that you have complete +confidence--" + +"But--" + +"Yes; I know you haven't, really. But it'll do no harm, and it'll make +him feel important." + +"And what if the boy does take to the roads?" + +"Let him," said Jenny coolly. "It won't kill him." + +He looked up at her again in silence. + +Jenny herself was very far from comfortable, though she was conscious of +real pleasure, too, in the situation. She had seen this old man in a +passion pretty often, but she had never seen him in a passion with any +real excuse. No one ever thwarted him. He even decided where his doctor +should send him for his cure, and in what month, and for how long. And +she was not, therefore, quite certain what would happen, for she knew +Frank well enough to be quite sure that he meant what he said. However, +she reflected, the main thing at present was to smooth things down all +round as far as possible. Then she could judge. + +"Can't make out why you ever consented to marry such a chap at all!" he +growled presently. + +"Oh, well--" said Jenny. + + +(III) + +It was a delicious evening, and the three men, after dinner, strolled +out on to the broad terrace that ran, looking over the lake, straight up +and down the long side of the house. They had not had the advantage, +since the servants were in the room, of talking over the situation as +they wished, and there was no knowing when Lord Talgarth and Jenny might +emerge. So they sat down at a little stone table at the end furthest +from the smoking-room, and Archie and Dick lit their cigarettes. + +There is not a great deal to say about the Rector. The most effective +fact about him was that he was the father of Jenny. It was a case, here, +of "Averill following Averill": his father and grandfather, both second +sons, as was the Rector himself, had held the living before him, and had +performed the duties of it in the traditional and perfectly respectable +way. This one was a quiet middle-aged man, clean-shaven except for two +small whiskers. He wore a white tie, and a small gold stud was visible +in the long slit of his white shirt-front. He was on very easy terms in +this house, in an unintimate manner, and dined here once a fortnight or +so, without saying or hearing anything of particular interest. He had +been secretly delighted at his daughter's engagement, and had given his +consent with gentle and reserved cordiality. He was a Tory, not exactly +by choice, but simply--for the same reason as he was Church of +England--because he was unable, in the fiber of him, to imagine anything +else. Of course, Lord Talgarth was the principal personage in his world, +simply because he was Lord Talgarth and owned practically the whole +parish and two-thirds of the next. He regarded his daughter with the +greatest respect, and left in her hands everything that he decently +could. And, to do her justice, Jenny was a very benevolent, as well as +capable, despot. In short, the Rector plays no great part in this drama +beyond that of a discreet, and mostly silent, Greek chorus of +unimpeachable character. He disapproved deeply, of course, of Frank's +change of religion--but he disapproved with that same part of him that +appreciated Lord Talgarth. It seemed to him that Catholicism, in his +daughter's future husband, was a defect of the same kind as would be a +wooden leg or an unpleasant habit of sniffing--a drawback, yet not +insuperable. He would be considerably relieved if it could be cured. + + * * * * * + +The three men sat there for some while without interruption from the +smoking-room, while the evening breeze died, the rosy sky paled, and the +stars came out one by one, like diamonds in the clear blue. They said, +of course, all the proper things, and Dick heard a little more than he +had previously known. + +Dick was always conscious of a faint, almost impersonal, resentment +against destiny when he stayed at Merefield. It was obvious to him that +the position of heir there was one which would exactly have suited his +tastes and temperament. He was extremely pleased to belong to the +family--and it was, indeed, a very exceptional family as regards +history: it had been represented in nearly every catastrophe since the +Norman Conquest, and always on the winning side, except once--but it was +difficult to enjoy the distinction as it deserved, living, as he did, in +a flat in London all by himself. When his name was mentioned to a +well-informed stranger, it was always greeted by the question as to +whether he was one of the Guiseleys of Merefield, and it seemed to him +singularly annoying that he could only answer "First cousin." Archie, of +course, was a satisfactory heir; there was no question of that--he was +completely of Dick's own school of manner--but it seemed a kind of +outrage that Frank, with his violent convictions and his escapades, +should be Archie's only brother. There was little of that repose about +him that a Guiseley needed. + +It would be about half-past nine that the sound of an opening door, and +voices, from the further end of the terrace, told them that the +smoking-room conference was over, and they stood up as Jenny, very +upright and pale in the twilight, with her host at her side, came up +towards them. Dick noticed that the cigar his uncle carried was smoked +down almost to the butt, and augured well from that detail. The old +man's arm was in the girl's, and he supported himself on the other side, +limping a little, on his black stick. + +He sat down with a grunt and laid his stick across the table. + +"Well, boys, we've settled it," he said. "Jenny's to write the +telegram." + +"No one need be anxious any more," announced Jenny imperturbably. "Lord +Talgarth's extremely angry still, as he has every right to be, and +Frank's going to be allowed to go on the tramp if he wants to." + +The Rector waited, in deferential silence, for corroboration. + +"Jenny's a very sensible girl," observed Lord Talgarth. "And what she +says is quite right." + +"Do you mean to say--" began Archie. + +The old man frowned round at him. + +"All that I've said holds good," he said. + +"Frank's made his bed and he must lie on it. I warned him. And Jenny +sees that, too." + +Archie glanced at the girl, and Dick looked hard at her, straight into +her face. But there was absolutely no sign there of any perturbation. +Certainly she looked white in the falling dusk, but her eyes were merry +and steadfast, and her voice perfectly natural. + +"That's how we've settled it," she said. "And if I'm satisfied, I +imagine everyone else ought to be. And I'm going to write Frank a good +long letter all by myself. Come along, father, we must be going. Lord +Talgarth isn't well, and we mustn't keep him up." + + +(IV) + +When the last game of billiards had been played, and whisky had been +drunk, and Archie had taken up his candle, Dick stood still, with his +own in his hand. + +"Aren't you coming?" said Archie. + +Dick paused. + +"I think I'll smoke one more cigarette on the terrace," he said. "It's a +heavenly night, and I want to get the taste of the train out of my +mouth." + +"All right, then. Lock up, will you, when you come in? I'm off." + +It was, indeed, a heavenly night. Behind him as he sat at the table +where they had had coffee the great house shimmered pale in the summer +twilight, broken here by a line or two of yellow light behind shuttered +windows, here with the big oriel window of the hall, blazing with coats, +fully illuminated. (He must remember, he thought, to put out the lights +there as he went to bed.) + +And about him was the great soft, sweet-smelling darkness, roofed in by +the far-off sky alight with stars; and beneath him in the valley he +could catch the glimmer of the big lake and the blotted masses of pine +and cypress black against it. + +It was here, then, under these circumstances, that Dick confessed to +himself, frankly and openly for the first time, that he was in love with +Jenny Launton. + +He had known her for years, off and on, and had thought of her as a +pretty girl and a pleasant companion. He had skated with her, ridden +with her, danced with her, and had only understood, with a sense of mild +shock, at the time of her engagement to Frank six months before, that +she was of an age to become a wife to someone. + +That had been the beginning of a process which culminated to-night, as +he now understood perfectly. Its next step had been a vague wonder why +Archie hadn't fallen in love with her himself; and he had explained it +by saying that Archie had too great a sense of his own importance to +permit himself to marry a rector's daughter with only a couple of +hundred a year of her own. (And in this explanation I think he was quite +correct.) Then he had begun to think of her himself a good +deal--dramatically, rather than realistically--wondering what it would +feel like to be engaged to her. If a younger son could marry her, surely +a first cousin could--even of the Guiseleys. So it had gone on, little +by little. He had danced with her here at Christmas--just after the +engagement--and had stayed on a week longer than he had intended. He had +come up again at Easter, and again at Whitsuntide, though he always +protested to his friends that there was nothing to do at Merefield in +the summer. And now here he was again, and the thing had happened. + +At first, as he sat here, he tried to analyze his attitude to Frank. + +He had never approved of Frank altogether; he didn't quite like the +queer kinds of things that Frank did; for Frank's reputation at +Merefield was very much what it was at Cambridge. He did ridiculous and +undignified things. As a small boy, he had fought at least three pitched +battles in the village, and that was not a proper thing for a Guiseley +to do. He liked to go out with the keepers after poachers, and Dick, +very properly, asked himself what keepers were for except to do that +kind of thing for you? There had been a bad row here, too, scarcely +eighteen months ago; it had been something to do with a horse that was +ill-treated, and Frank had cut a very absurd and ridiculous figure, +getting hot and angry, and finally thrashing a groom, or somebody, with +his own hands, and there had been uncomfortable talk about police-courts +and actions for assault. Finally, he had fallen in love with, proposed +to, and become engaged to, Jenny Launton. That was an improper thing for +a younger son to do, anyhow, at his age, and Dick now perceived that the +fact that Jenny was Jenny aggravated the offense a hundredfold. And, +last of all, he had become a Catholic--an act of enthusiasm which seemed +to Dick really vulgar. + +Altogether, then, Frank was not a satisfactory person, and it would do +him no harm to have a little real discipline at last.... + + * * * * * + +It was the striking of midnight from the stable clock that woke Dick up +from his deep reverie, and was the occasion of his perceiving that he +had come to no conclusion about anything, except that Frank was an ass, +that Jenny was--well--Jenny, and that he, Dick, was an ill-used person. + +I do not like to set down here, even if I could, all the considerations +that had passed through Dick's mind since a quarter-past eleven, simply +because the very statement of them would give a false impression. Dick +was not a knave, and he did not deceive himself about himself more than +most of us do. Yet he had considered a number of points that, strictly +speaking, he ought not to have considered. He had wondered whether Frank +would die; he had wondered whether, if he did not, Lord Talgarth would +really be as good as his word; and, if so, what effect that would have +on Jenny. Finally, he had wondered, with a good deal of intellectual +application, what exactly Jenny had meant when she had announced all +that about the telegram she was going to send in Lord Talgarth's name, +and the letter she was going to send in her own. (He had asked Archie +just now in the smoking-room, and he, too, had confessed himself beaten. +Only, he had been quite sure that jenny would get her way and obtain +Frank's forgiveness.) + +Also, in the course of his three-quarters of an hour he had considered, +for perhaps the hundredth time since he had come to the age of +discretion, what exactly three lives between a man and a title stood +for. Lord Talgarth was old and gouty; Archie was not married, and showed +no signs of it; and Frank--well, Frank was always adventurous and +always in trouble. + +Well, I have set down the points, after all. But it must not be thought +that the gentleman with the pointed brown beard and thoughtful eyes, who +at five minutes past twelve went up the two steps into the smoking-room, +locked the doors, as he had been directed, took up his candle and went +to bed, went with an uneasy conscience, or, in fact, was a villain in +any way whatever. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +The first spot in Frank's pilgrimage which I have been able to visit and +identify in such a way that I am able to form to myself a picture of his +adventure more or less complete in all its parts, lies about ten miles +north-west of Doncaster, in a little valley, where curiously enough +another pilgrim named Richard lived for a little while nearly six +hundred years ago. + +Up to the time of Frank's coming there, in the season of hay-making, +numberless little incidents of his experience stand out, vivid, indeed, +but fragmentary, yet they do not form to my mind a coherent whole. I +think I understand to some extent the process by which he became +accustomed to ordinary physical hard living, into which the initiation +began with his series of almost wholly sleepless nights and heavy +sleep-burdened days. Night was too strange--in barns, beneath hay-ricks, +in little oppressive rooms, in stable-lofts--for him to sleep easily at +first; and between his tramps, or in the dinner-hour, when he managed to +get work, he would drop off in the hot sunshine down into depths of +that kind of rest that is like the sea itself--glimmering gulfs, lit by +glimpses of consciousness of the grass beneath his cheek, the bubble of +bird-song in the copses, stretching down into profound and utter +darkness. + +Of how the little happenings of every day wore themselves into a +coherent whole, and modified, not indeed himself, but his manner of life +and his experience and knowledge, I can make no real picture at all. The +first of these took place within ten miles of Cambridge on his first +morning, and resulted in the bruised face which Mr. Harris noticed; it +concerned a piece of brutality to a dog in which Frank interfered.... +(He was extraordinarily tender to animals.) Then there was the learning +as to how work was obtained, and, even more considerable, the doing of +the work. The amateur, as Frank pointed out later, began too vigorously +and became exhausted; the professional set out with the same +deliberation with which he ended. One must not run at one's spade, or +hoe, or whatever it was; one must exercise a wearisome self-control ... +survey the work to be done, turn slowly, spit on one's hands, and after +a pause begin, remembering that the same activity must show itself, if +the work was to be renewed next day, up to the moment of leaving off. + +Then there was the need of becoming accustomed to an entirely different +kind of food, eaten in an entirely different way, and under entirely +different circumstances. There was experience to be gained as to washing +clothes--I can almost see Frank now by a certain kind of stream, +stripped to the waist, waiting while his shirt dried, smoking an +ill-rolled cigarette, yet alert for the gamekeeper. Above all, there was +an immense volume of learning--or, rather, a training of instinct--to be +gained respecting human nature: a knowledge of the kind of man who would +give work, the kind of man who meant what he said, and the kind of man +who did not; the kind of woman who would threaten the police if milk or +bread were asked for--Frank learned to beg very quickly--the kind of +woman who would add twopence and tell him to be off, and the kind of +woman who, after a pause and a slow scrutiny, would deliberately refuse +to supply a glass of water. Then there was the atmosphere of the little +towns to be learned--the intolerable weariness of pavements, and the +patient persistence of policemen who would not allow you to sit down. He +discovered, also, during his wanderings, the universal fact that +policemen are usually good-hearted, but with absolutely no sense of +humor whatever; he learned this through various attempts to feign that +the policeman was in fancy-dress costume and had no real authority. He +learned, too, that all crimes pale before "resisting the police in the +execution of their duty"; then, he had to learn, to, the way in which +other tramps must be approached--the silences necessary, the sort of +questions which were useless, the jokes that must be laughed at and the +jokes that must be resented. + +All this is beyond me altogether; it was beyond even Frank's own powers +of description. A boy, coming home for the holidays for the first time, +cannot make clear to his mother, or even to himself, what it is that has +so utterly changed his point of view, and his relations towards familiar +things. + + * * * * * + +So with Frank. + +He could draw countless little vignettes of his experiences and +emotions--the particular sensation elicited, for example, by seeing +through iron gates happy people on a lawn at tea--the white china, the +silver, the dresses, the flannels, the lawn-tennis net--as he went past, +with string tied below his knees to keep off the drag of the trousers, +and a sore heel; the emotion of being passed by a boy and a girl on +horseback; the flood of indescribable associations roused by walking for +half a day past the split-oak paling of a great park, with lodge-gates +here and there, the cooing of wood-pigeons, and the big house, among +its lawns and cedars and geranium-beds, seen now and then, far off in +the midst. But what he could not describe, or understand, was the inner +alchemy by which this new relation to things modified his own soul, and +gave him a point of view utterly new and bewildering. Curiously enough, +however (as it seems to me), he never seriously considered the +possibility of abandoning this way of life, and capitulating to his +father. A number of things, I suppose--inconceivable to +myself--contributed to his purpose; his gipsy blood, his extraordinary +passion for romance, the attraction of a thing simply because it was +daring and unusual, and finally, a very exceptionally strong will that, +for myself, I should call obstinacy. + +The silence--as regards his old world--was absolute and unbroken. He +knew perfectly well that by now letters and telegrams must be waiting +for him at Jack's home, including at least one from Jenny, and probably +a dozen; but as to Jenny, he knew she would understand, and as to the +rest, he honestly did not care at all. He sent her a picture postcard +once or twice--from Ely, Peterborough, Sleaford and Newark--towns where +he stayed for a Sunday (I have seen in Sleaford the little room where he +treated himself to a bed for two nights)--and was content. He made no +particular plans for the future; he supposed something would turn up; +and he settled with himself, by the help of that same will which I have +mentioned before, that he would precipitate no conclusions till he +reached Barham later on in the early autumn. + +His faith and morals during these weeks are a little difficult to +describe. As regards his morals, at least in one particular point, he +had formulated the doctrine that, when he was very hungry, game might +not be touched, but that rabbits and birds were permissible if they +could be snared in the hedges of the high-road. He became an expert at +this kind of thing, and Jack has described to me, as taught by Frank, a +few devices of which I was entirely ignorant. Frank tramped for a couple +of days with a gamekeeper out of work, and learned these things from +him, as well as one or two simple methods of out-of-door cookery. As +regards his religion, I think I had better not say much just now; very +curious influences were at work upon him: I can only say that Frank +himself has described more than once, when he could be induced to talk, +the extraordinary, and indeed indescribable, thrill with which he saw, +now and again, in town or country, a priest in his vestments go to the +altar--for he heard mass when he could.... + +So much, then, is all that I can say of the small, detached experiences +that he passed through, up to the point when he came out one evening at +sunset from one of the fields of Hampole where he had made hay all day, +when his job was finished, and where he met, for the first time, the +Major and Gertie Trustcott. + + +(II) + +They were standing with the sunset light behind them, as a glory--two +disreputable figures, such as one sees in countless thousands along all +the high-roads of England in the summer. The Major himself was a lean +man, with a red mustache turning gray, deep-set, narrow, blood-shot +eyes, a chin and very square jaw shaved about two days previously. He +had an old cricketing cap on his head, trousers tied up with string, +like Frank's, and one of those long, square-tailed, yellowish coats with +broad side-pockets such as a gamekeeper might have worn twenty years +ago. One of his boots was badly burst, and he, seemed to rest his weight +by preference on the other foot. He was not prepossessing; but Frank +saw, with his newly-gained experience, that he was different from other +tramps. He glanced at the girl and saw that she too was not quite of the +regular type, though less peculiar than her companion; and he noticed +with an odd touch at his heart that she had certain characteristics in +common with Jenny. She was not so tall, but she had the same colored +hair under a filthy white sun-bonnet and the same kind of blue eyes: but +her oval face again was weak and rather miserable. They were both deeply +sunburned. + +Frank had learned the discretion of the roads by now, and did no more +than jerk his head almost imperceptibly as he went past. (He proposed to +go back to the farm to get his dwindled belongings, as the job was over, +and to move on a few miles northward before sleeping.) + +As he went, however, he knew that the man had turned and was looking +after him: but he made no sign. He had no particular desire for company. +He also knew by instinct, practically for certain, that these two were +neither husband and wife, nor father and daughter. The type was obvious. + +"I say, sir!" + +Frank turned as bucolically as he could. + +"I say, sir--can you direct this lady and myself to a lodging?" + +Frank had tried to cultivate a low and characterless kind of voice, as +of a servant or a groom out of work. He knew he could never learn the +proper accent. + +"Depends on what kind of lodging you want, sir." + +"What'd suit you 'ud suit us," said the Major genially, dropping the +"sir." + +"I'm going further, sir," said Frank. "I've done my job here." + +The Major turned to the girl, and Frank caught the words, "What d'you +say, Gertie?" There was a murmur of talk; and then the man turned to him +again: + +"If you've no objection, sir, we'll come with you. My good lady here is +good for a mile or two more, she says, and we'd like some company." + +Frank hesitated. He did not in the least wish for company himself. He +glanced at the girl again. + +"Very good, sir," he said. "Then if you'll wait here I'll be back in +five minutes--I've got to get my belongings." + +He nodded to the low farm buildings in the valley just below the +village. + +"We will await you here, sir," said the Major magnificently, stroking +his mustache. + + * * * * * + +As Frank came back up the little hill a few minutes later, he had made +up his mind as to what to say and do. It was his first experience of a +gentleman-tramp, and it was obvious that under the circumstances he +could not pretend to be anything else himself. But he was perfectly +determined not to tell his name. None of his belongings had anything +more than his initials upon them, and he decided to use the name he had +already given more than once. Probably they would not go far together; +but it was worth while to be on the safe side. + +He came straight up to the two as they sat side by side with their feet +in the ditch. + +"I'm ready, sir," he said. "Yes; you've spotted me all right." + +"University man and public school boy," said the Major without moving. + +"Eton and Cambridge," said Frank. + +The Major sprang up. + +"Harrow and the Army," he said. "Shake hands." + +This was done. + +"Name?" said the Major. + +Frank grinned. + +"I haven't my card with me," he said. "But Frank Gregory will do." + +"I understand," said the Major. "And 'The Major' will do for me. It has +the advantage of being true. And this lady?--well, we'll call her my +wife." + +Frank bowed. He felt he was acting in some ridiculous dream; but his +sense of humor saved him. The girl gave a little awkward bow in +response, and dropped her eyes. Certainly she was very like Jenny, and +very unlike. + +"And a name?" asked Frank. "We may as well have one in case of +difficulties." + +The Major considered. + +"What do you say to Trustcott?" he asked. "Will that do?" + +"Perfectly," said Frank. "Major and Mrs. Trustcott.... Well, shall we be +going?" + + * * * * * + +Frank had no particular views as to lodgings, or even to roads, so long +as the direction was more or less northward. He was aiming, generally +speaking, at Selby and York; and it seemed that this would suit the +Major as well as anything else. There is, I believe, some kind of +routine amongst the roadsters; and about that time of the year most of +them are as far afield as at any time from their winter quarters. The +Major and Mrs. Trustcott, he soon learned, were Southerners; but they +would not turn homewards for another three months yet, at least. For +himself, he had no ideas beyond a general intention to reach Barham some +time in the autumn, before Jack went back to Cambridge for his fourth +year. + +"The country is not prepossessing about here," observed the Major +presently; "Hampole is an exception." + +Frank glanced back at the valley they were leaving. It had, indeed, an +extraordinarily retired and rural air; it was a fertile little tract of +ground, very limited and circumscribed, and the rail that ran through it +was the only sign of the century. But the bright air was a little dimmed +with smoke; and already from the point they had reached tall chimneys +began to prick against the horizon. + +"You have been here before?" he said. + +"Why, yes; and about this time last year, wasn't it, Gertie? I +understand a hermit lived here once." + +"A hermit might almost live here to-day," said Frank. + +"You are right, sir," said the Major. + + * * * * * + +Frank began to wonder, as he walked, as to why this man was on the +roads. Curiously enough, he believed his statement that he had been in +the army. The air of him seemed the right thing. A militia captain would +have swaggered more; a complete impostor would have given more details. +Frank began to fish for information. + +"You have been long on the roads?" he said. + +The Major did not appear to hear him. + +"You have been long on the roads?" persisted Frank. + +The other glanced at him furtively and rather insolently. "The younger +man first, please." + +Frank smiled. + +"Oh, certainly!" he said. "Well, I have left Cambridge at the end of +June only." + +"Ah! Anything disgraceful?" + +"You won't believe me, I suppose, if I say 'No'?" + +"Oh! I daresay I shall." + +"Well, then, 'No.'" + +"Then may I ask--?" + +"Oh, yes! I was kicked out by my father--I needn't go into details. I +sold up my things and came out. That's all!" + +"And you mean to stick to it?" + +"Certainly--at least for a year or two." + +"That's all right. Well, then--Major--what did we say? Trustcott? Ah, +yes, Trustcott. Well, then, I think we might add 'Eleventh Hussars'; +that's near enough. The final catastrophe was, I think, cards. Not that +I cheated, you understand. I will allow no man to say that of me. But +that was what was said. A gentleman of spirit, you understand, could not +remain in a regiment when such things could be said. Then we tumbled +downhill; and I've been at this for four years. And, you know, sir, it +might be worse!" + +Frank nodded. + +Naturally he did not believe as necessarily true this terse little +story, and he was absolutely certain that if cards were mixed up in it +at all, obviously the Major had cheated. So he just took the story and +put it away, so to speak. It was to form, he perceived, the +understanding on which they consorted together. Then he began to wonder +about the girl. The Major soon supplied a further form. + +"And Mrs. Trustcott, here? Well, she joined me, let us say, rather more +than eighteen months ago. We had been acquainted before that, however. +That was when I was consenting to serve as groom to some--er--some +Jewish bounder in town. Mrs. Trustcott's parents live in town." + +The girl, who had been trudging patiently a foot or two behind them, +just glanced up at Frank and down again. He wondered exactly what her +own attitude was to all this. But she made no comment. + +"And now we know one another," finished the Major in a tone of genial +finality. "So where are you taking us--er--Mr. Gregory?" + + +(III) + +They were fortunate that night. + +The part of Yorkshire where they were traveling consists chiefly of an +innumerable quantity of little cottages, gathered for the most part +round collieries. One has the impression--at any rate, from a +motor--that there is nothing but villages. But that is not a fact. There +are stretches of road, quite solitary at certain hours; and in one of +these they noticed presently a little house, not twenty yards from the +road, once obviously forming part of a row of colliers' cottages, of +which the rest were demolished. + +It was not far off from ruin itself, and was very plainly uninhabited. +Across the front door were nailed deal props, originally, perhaps, for +the purpose of keeping it barred, and useful for holding it in its +place. The Major and Gertie kept watch on the road while Frank pushed +open the crazy little gate and went round to the back. A minute later he +called to them softly. + +He had wrenched open the back door, and within in the darkness they +could make out a little kitchen, stripped of everything--table, +furniture, and even the range itself. The Major kicked something +presently in the gloom, swore softly, and announced he had found a +kettle. They decided that all this would do very well. + + * * * * * + +Tramps do not demand very much, and these were completely contented when +they had made a small fire, damped down with a turf to prevent it +smoking, had boiled a little water, stewed some tea, and eaten what they +had. Even this was not luxurious. The Major produced the heel of a +cheese and two crushed-looking bananas, and Frank a half-eaten tin of +sardines and a small, stale loaf. The Major announced presently that he +would make a savory; and, indeed, with cheese melted on to the bread, +and sardines on the top, he did very well. Gertie moved silently about; +and Frank, in the intervals of rather abrupt conversation with the +Major, found his eyes following her as she spread out their small +possessions, vanished up the stairs and reappeared. Certainly she was +very like Jenny, even in odd little details--the line of her eyebrows, +the angle of her chin and so forth--perhaps more in these details than +in anything else. He began to wonder a little about her--to imagine her +past, to forecast her future. It seemed all rather sordid. She +disappeared finally without a word: he heard her steps overhead, and +then silence. + +Then he had to attend to the Major a little more. + +"It was easy enough to tell you," said that gentleman. + +"How?" + +"Oh, well, if nothing else, your clothes." + +"Aren't they shabby enough?" + +The Major eyed him with half-closed lids, by the light of the single +candle-end, stuck in its own wax on the mantelshelf. + +"They're shabby enough, but they're the wrong sort. There's the cut, +first--though that doesn't settle it. But these are gray flannel +trousers, for one thing, and then the coat's not stout enough." + +"They might have been given me," said Frank, smiling. + +"They fit you too well for that." + +"I'll change them when I get a chance," observed Frank. + +"It would be as well," assented the Major. + + * * * * * + +Somehow or another the sense of sordidness, which presently began to +affect Frank so profoundly, descended on him for the first time that +night. He had managed, by his very solitariness hitherto, to escape it +so far. It had been possible to keep up a kind of pose so far; to +imagine the adventure in the light of a very much prolonged and very +realistic picnic. But with this other man the thing became impossible. +It was tolerable to wash one's own socks; it was not so tolerable to see +another man's socks hung up on the peeling mantelpiece a foot away from +his own head, and to see two dirty ankles, not his own, emerging from +crazy boots. + +The Major, too, presently, when he grew a trifle maudlin over his own +sorrows, began to call him "Frankie," and "my boy," and somehow it +mattered, from a man with the Major's obvious record. Frank pulled +himself up only just in time to prevent a retort when it first happened, +but it was not the slightest use to be resentful. The thing had to be +borne. And it became easier when it occurred to him to regard the Major +as a study; it was even interesting to hear him give himself away, yet +all with a pompous appearance of self-respect, and to recount his first +meeting with Gertie, now asleep upstairs. + +The man was, in fact, exactly what Frank, in his prosperous days, would +have labeled "Bounder." He had a number of meaningless little +mannerisms--a way of passing his hand over his mustache, a trick of +bringing a look of veiled insolence into his eyes; there were subjects +he could not keep away from--among them Harrow School, the Universities +(which he called 'Varsity), the regiment he had belonged to, and a +certain type of adventure connected with women and champagne. And +underneath the whole crust of what the Major took to be breeding, there +was a piteous revelation of a feeble, vindictive, and rather nasty +character. It became more and more evident that the cheating +incident--or, rather, the accusation, as he persisted in calling +it--was merely the last straw in his fall, and that the whole thing had +been the result of a crumbly unprincipled kind of will underneath, +rather than of any particular strain of vice. He appeared, even now, to +think that his traveling about with a woman who was not his wife was a +sort of remnant of fallen splendor--as a man might keep a couple of +silver spoons out of the ruin of his house. + +"I recommend you to pick up with one," remarked the Major. "There are +plenty to be had, if you go about it the right way." + +"Thanks," said Frank, "but it's not my line." + + +(IV) + +The morning, too, was a little trying. + +Frank had passed a tolerable night. The Major had retired upstairs about +ten o'clock, taking his socks with him, presumably to sleep in them, and +Frank had heard him creaking about upstairs for a minute or two; there +had followed two clumps as the boots were thrown off; a board suddenly +spoke loudly; there was a little talking--obviously the Major had +awakened Gertie in order to make a remark or two--and then silence. + +Frank had not slept for half an hour; he was thinking, with some +depression, of the dreary affair into which he had been initiated, of +the Major, and of Gertie, for whom he was beginning to be sorry. He did +not suppose that the man actually bullied her; probably he had done this +sufficiently for the present--she was certainly very quiet and +subdued--or perhaps she really admired him, and thought it rather +magnificent to travel about with an ex-officer. Anyhow, it was rather +deplorable.... + + * * * * * + +When he awoke next morning, the depression was on him still; and it was +not lifted by the apparition of Gertie on which he opened his eyes from +his corner, in an amazingly dirty petticoat, bare-armed, with her hair +in a thick untidy pig-tail, trying to blow the fire into warmth again. + +Frank jumped up--he was in his trousers and shirt. + +"Let me do that," he said. + +"I'll do it," said Gertie passionlessly. + + * * * * * + +The Major came down ten minutes later, considerably the worse for his +night's rest. Yesterday he had had a day's beard on him; to-day he had +two, and there was a silvery sort of growth in the stubble that made it +look wet. His eyes, too, were red and sunken, and he began almost +instantly to talk about a drink. Frank stood it for a few minutes, then +he understood and capitulated. + +"I'll stand you one," he said, "if you'll get me two packets of +Cinderellas." + +"What's the good of that?" said the Major. "Pubs aren't open yet. It's +only just gone five." + +"You'll have to wait, then," said Frank shortly. + +Presently the Major did begin to bully Gertie. He asked her what the +devil was the good of her if she couldn't make a fire burn better than +that. He elbowed her out of the way and set to work at it himself. She +said nothing at all. Yet there was not the faintest use in Frank's +interfering, and, indeed, there was nothing to interfere in. + +Food, too, this morning, seemed disgusting; and again Frank learned the +difference between a kind of game played by oneself and a reality in +which two others joined. There had been something almost pleasing about +unrolling the food wrapped up at supper on the previous night, and +eating it, with or without cooking, all alone; but there was something +astonishingly unpleasant in observing sardines that were now common +property lying in greasy newspaper, a lump of bread from which their +hands tore pieces, and a tin bowl of warmish cocoa from which all must +drink. This last detail was a contribution on the part of Major and Mrs. +Trustcott, and it would have been ungracious to refuse. The Major, too, +was sullen and resentful this morning, and growled at Gertie more than +once. + +Even the weather seemed unpropitious as they set out together again soon +after six. Rain had fallen in the night, yet not all the rain that there +was overhead. There were still clouds hanging, mixed with the smoke from +the chimneys; the hedges seemed dulled and black in spite of their +green; the cinder path they walked on was depressing, the rain-fed road +even more so. They passed a dozen men on their way to the pits, who made +remarks on the three, and retaliation was out of the question. + + * * * * * + +It was very disconcerting to Frank to find the difference that his new +circumstances made; and yet he did not seriously consider changing them. +It seemed to him, somehow or other, in that strange fashion in which +such feelings come, that the whole matter was pre-arranged, and that the +company in which he found himself was as inevitably his--at least for +the present--as the family to a child born into it. And there was, of +course, too, a certain element of relief in feeling himself no longer +completely alone; and there was also, as Frank said later, a curious +sense of attraction towards, and pity for, Gertie that held him there. + +At the first public-house that was open the Major stopped. + +"I'll get your Cinderellas now, if you like," he said. + +This had not been Frank's idea, but he hardly hesitated. + +"All right," he said. "Here's fourpence." + +The Major vanished through the swing-doors as a miner came out, and a +gush of sweet and sickly scent--beer, spirits, tobacco--poured upon the +fresh air. And there was a vision of a sawdusted floor and spittoons +within. + +Frank looked at Gertie, who had stopped like a patient donkey, and, like +a prudent one, had let her bundle instantly down beside the Major's. + +"Like one, too?" he said. + +She shook her head. + +"Not for me." ... And no more. + +In a couple of minutes the Major was out again. + +"Only had one packet left," he said, and with an air of extreme +punctiliousness and magnanimity replaced one penny in Frank's hand. He +had the air of one who is insistent on the little honesties of life. +There was also a faintly spirituous atmosphere about him, and his eyes +looked a little less sunken. + +Then he handed over the cigarettes. + +"Shouldn't mind one myself," he said genially. + +Frank gave him one before lighting his own. + +"You're a good sort," said the Major, "and I wish I could give you one +of my old cigars I used to give my friends." + +"Ah! well, when your ship comes home," observed Frank, throwing away his +match. + +The Major nodded his head as with an air of fallen grandeur. + +"Well," he said, "_vorwaerts_. That means 'forward,' my dear," he +explained to Gertie. + +Gertie said nothing. They took up their bundles and went on. + + +(V) + +It was not till a week later that Gertie did that which was to effect so +much in Frank--she confided in him. + +The week had consisted of the kind of thing that might be +expected--small negligible adventures; work now and then--the Major and +Frank working side by side--a digging job on one day, the carrying of +rather dingy smoke-stained hay on another, the scraping of garden-paths +that ran round the small pink house of a retired tradesman, who observed +them magnificently though a plate-glass window all the while, with a +cigar in his teeth, and ultimately gave them ninepence between them. +They slept here and there--once, on a rainy night, in real lodgings, +once below a haystack. Frank said hardly a word to Gertie, and did +little more than listen to the Major, who was already beginning to +repeat himself; but he was aware that the girl was watching him. + +The crisis came about under circumstances that might be expected--on a +rather sentimental kind of Sunday evening, in a village whose name I +forget (perhaps it was Escrick) between Selby and York. Frank had made a +small excursion by himself in the morning and had managed to hear mass; +they had dined well off cold bacon and beans, and had walked on in the +afternoon some miles further; and they came to the village a little +after six o'clock. The Major had a blister, which he had exhibited at +least four times to the company, and had refused to go further; and as +they came to the outskirts of the village, volunteered to go and look +for shelter, if the two would wait for him at a stile that led across +fields to the old church. + +The scene was rather like the setting of the last act in a melodrama of +a theater on the Surrey side of the Thames--the act in which the injured +heroine, with her child, sinks down fainting as the folk are going to +church in the old village on a June evening among the trees--leading up +to moonlight effects and reunion. There was no organ to play "off," but +the bells were an excellent substitute, and it was these that presently +melted the heart of Gertie. + +When the Major had disappeared, limping, the two climbed over the stile +and sat down with their bundles under the hedge, but they presently +found that they had chosen something of a thoroughfare. Voices came +along presently, grew louder, and stopped as the speakers climbed the +stile. The first pair was of a boy and girl, who instantly clasped again +mutual waists, and went off up the path across the field to the +churchyard without noticing the two tramps; their heads were very near +together. + +Then other couples came along, old and young, and twice a trio--one, two +young men in black, who skirmished on either side of a very sedate girl +in white; one, two girls who shoved one another, and giggled, walking in +step three yards behind another young man with his hat on one side, who +gloried in being talked at and pretended to be rapt in abstraction. Then +some children came; then a family--papa walking severely apart in a silk +hat, and mamma, stout and scarlet-faced, in the midst of the throng. +Finally there came along a very old Darby and Joan, who with many +Yorkshire ejaculations helped one another over the stile, and moved on +with bent heads, scolding one another affectionately. It was as this +last couple reached the spot where the path ran into the corn that the +peal of four bells broke out, and Gertie broke down. + +Frank had not been noticing her particularly. He was gloomy himself; the +novelty of the whole affair had gone; the Major was becoming +intolerable, and Frank's religion was beginning to ebb from his +emotions. Mass this morning had not been a success from an emotional +point of view; he had had an uncomfortable seat on a pitch-pine bench in +a tin church with an American organ; the very young priest had been +tiresome and antipathetic.... Frank had done his best, but he was tired +and bored; the little church had been very hot, and it was no longer any +fun to be stared at superciliously by a stout tradesman as he came out +into the hot sunshine afterwards. + +Just now he had been watching the figures make their appearance from the +stile, re-form groups and dwindle slowly down to the corn, and their +heads and shoulders bob along above it--all with a kind of resentment. +These people had found their life; he was still looking for his. He was +watching, too, the strangely unreal appearance of the sunlit fields, the +long shadows, the golden smoky light, and the church tower, set among +cypresses half a mile away--yet without any conscious sentiment. He had +not said a word to Gertie, nor she to him, and he was totally taken by +surprise when, after the first soft crash of bells for evening service, +she had suddenly thrown herself round face forward among the grasses and +burst out sobbing. + +"My dear girl!" said Frank, "whatever's the matter?" Then he stopped. + + * * * * * + +Fortunately, the procession of worshipers had run dry, and the two were +quite alone. He sat upright, utterly ignorant of what to say. He thought +perhaps she was in pain ... should he run for the Major or a doctor?... +Then, as after a minute or two of violent sobbing she began a few +incoherent words, he understood. + +"Oh! I'm a wicked girl ... a wicked girl ... it's all so beautiful ... +the church bells ... my mother!" + + * * * * * + +He understood, then, what had precipitated this crisis and broken down +the girl's reserve. It was, in fact, exactly that same appeal which +holds a gallery breathless and tearful in the last act of a Surrey-side +melodrama--the combination of Sunday quiet, a sunset, church bells, +associations and human relationships; and Gertie's little suburban soul +responded to it as a bell to a bell-rope. It was this kind of thing that +stood to her for holiness and peace and purity, and it had gone clean +through her heart. And he understood, too, that it was his presence +that had allowed her to break down. The Major's atmosphere had held her +taut so far. Frank was conscious of a lump in his own throat as he +stared out, helpless, first at the peaceful Sunday fields and then down +at the shaking shoulders and the slender, ill-clad, writhed form of +Gertie.... He did not know what to do ... he hoped the Major would not +be back just yet. Then he understood he must say something. + +"Don't cry," he said. "The Major--" + +She sat up on the instant in sudden consternation, her pretty, weak, +sunburned face disfigured with tears, but braced for the moment by fear. + +"No, no," said Frank; "he isn't coming yet; but--" + +Then she was down again, moaning and talking. "Oh!... Oh!... I'm a +wicked girl.... My mother!... and I never thought I should come to +this!" + +"Well, why don't you chuck it?" said Frank practically. + +"I can't!... I can't! I ... I love him!" + +That had not occurred to this young man as a conceivable possibility, +and he sat silenced. The church-bells pealed on; the sun sank a little +lower; Gertie sobbed more and more gently; and Frank's mind worked like +a mill, revolving developments. Finally, she grew quiet, lay still, and, +as the bells gave place to one of their number, sat up. She dabbed at +her eyes with a handful of wet grass, passed her sleeve across them once +or twice, and began to talk. + +"I ... I'm very silly, Frankie," she said, "but I can't help it. I'm +better now. Don't tell George." + +"Of course I shan't!" said Frank indignantly. + +"You're a gentleman too," said Gertie. (Frank winced a little, +interiorly, at the "too.") "I can see that you're polite to a lady. And +I don't know however I came to tell you. But there it is, and no harm's +done." + +"Why don't you leave him?" said Frank courageously. A little wave of +feeling went over her face. + +"He's a gentleman," she said.... "No, I can't leave him. But it does +come over you sometimes; doesn't it?" (Her face wavered again.) "It was +them bells, and the people and all." + +"Where's your home?" + +She jerked her head in a vague direction. + +"Down Londonwards," she said. "But that's all done with. I've made my +bed, and--" + +"Tell me plainly: does he bully you?" + +"Not to say bully," she said. "He struck me once, but never again." + +"Tell me if he does it again." + +A small, sly, admirative look came into her eyes. "We'll see," she said. + + * * * * * + +Frank was conscious of a considerable sense of disappointment. The thing +had been almost touching just now, as the reserve first broke up, but it +was a very poor little soul, it seemed to him, that had at last made its +appearance. (He did not yet see that that made it all the more +touching.) He did not quite see what to do next. He was Christian enough +to resent the whole affair; but he was aristocratic enough in his +fastidiousness to think at this moment that perhaps it did not matter +much for people of this sort. Perhaps it was the highest ideal that +persons resembling the Major and Gertie could conceive. But her next +remark helped to break up his complacency. + +"You're a Catholic," she said. "People say that you Catholics don't mind +this kind of thing--me and the Major, I mean." + +There was a dreadful sort of sly suggestiveness about this remark that +stung him. He exploded: and his wounded pride gave him bitterness. + +"My good girl," he said, "Catholics simply loathe it. And even, +personally, I think it's beastly." + +"Well--I ..." + +"I think it's beastly," said Frank didactically. "A good girl like you, +well-brought-up, good parents, nice home, religious--instead of which +"--he ended in a burst of ironical reminiscence--"you go traveling about +with a--" he checked himself--"a man who isn't your husband. Why don't +you marry him?" + +"I can't!" wailed Gertie, suddenly stricken again with remorse; "his +wife's alive." + +Frank jumped. Somehow that had never occurred to him. And yet how +amazingly characteristic of the Major! + +"Well--leave him, then!" + +"I can't!" cried poor Gertie. "I can't!... I can't!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +Frank awoke with a start and opened his eyes. + +But it was still dark and he could see nothing. So he turned over on the +other side and tried to go to sleep. + +The three of them had come to this little town last night after two or +three days' regular employment; they had sufficient money between them; +they had found a quite tolerable lodging; they had their programme, such +as it was, for the next day or so; and--by the standard to which he had +learned to adjust himself--there was no sort of palpable cause for the +horror that presently fell on him. I can only conjecture that the origin +lay within, not without, his personality. + +The trouble began with the consciousness that on the one side he was +really tired, and on the other that he could not sleep and, to clinch +it, the knowledge that a twenty-mile walk lay before him. He began to +tell himself that sleep was merely a question of will--of will +deliberately relaxing attention. He rearranged his position a little; +shifted his feet, fitted himself a little more closely into the +outlines of the bed, thrust one hand under the pillow and bade himself +let go. + +Then the procession of thoughts began as orderly as if by signal. + +He found himself presently, after enumerating all the minor physical +points of discomfort--the soreness of his feet, the knobbiness of the +bed, the stuffiness of the room in which the three were sleeping, the +sound of the Major's slow snoring--beginning to consider the wisdom of +the whole affair. This was a point that he had not consciously yet +considered, from the day on which he had left Cambridge. The impetus of +his first impulse and the extreme strength of his purpose had, up to the +present--helped along by novelty--kept him going. Of course, the moment +had to come sooner or later; but it seems a little hard that he was +obliged to face it in that peculiarly dreary clarity of mind that falls +upon the sleepless an hour or two before the dawn. + +For, as he looked at it all now, he saw it as an outsider would see it, +no longer from the point of view of his own personality. He perceived a +young man, of excellent abilities and prospects, sacrificing these +things for an idea that fell to pieces the instant it was touched. He +touched it now with a critical finger, and it did so fall to pieces; +there was, obviously, nothing in it at all. It was an impulse of silly +pride, of obstinacy, of the sort of romance that effects nothing. There +was Merefield waiting for him--for he knew perfectly well that terms +could be arranged; there was all that leisureliness and comfort and +distinction in which he had been brought up and which he knew well how +to use; there was Jenny; there was his dog, his horse ... there was, in +fact, everything for which Merefield stood. He saw it all now, +visualized and clear in the dark; and he had exchanged all +this--well--for this room, and the Major's company, and back-breaking +toil.... And for no reason. + +So he regarded all this for a good long while; with his eyes closed, +with the darkness round him, with every detail visible and insistent, +seen as in the cold light of morning before colors reassert themselves +and reconcile all into a reasonable whole.... + +"... I must really go to sleep!" said Frank to himself, and screwed up +his eyes tight. + +There came, of course, a reaction presently, and he turned to his +religion. He groped for his rosary under his pillow, placed before him +(according to the instructions given in the little books) the "Mystery +of the Annunciation to Mary," and began the "Our Father." ... Half-way +through it he began all over again to think about Cambridge, and +Merefield and Jack Kirkby, and the auction in his own rooms, and his +last dinner-party and the design on the menu-cards, and what a fool he +was; and when he became conscious of the rosary again he found that he +held in his fingers the last bead but three in the fifth decade. He had +repeated four and a half decades without even the faintest semblance of +attention. He finished them hopelessly, and then savagely thrust the +string of beads under his pillow again; turned over once more, +rearranged his feet, wished the Major would learn how to sleep like a +gentleman; and began to think about his religion in itself. + + * * * * * + +After all, he began to say to himself, what proof was there--real +scientific proof--that the thing was true at all? Certainly there was a +great deal of it that was, very convincing--there was the curious ring +of assertion and confidence in it, there was its whole character, +composed (like personality) of countless touches too small to be +definable; there was the definite evidence adduced from history and +philosophy and all the rest. But underneath all that--was there, after +all, any human evidence in the world sufficient to establish the +astounding dogmas that lay at the root? Was it conceivable that any such +evidence could be forthcoming? + +He proceeded to consider the series of ancient dilemmas which, I +suppose, have presented themselves at some time or another to every +reasonable being--Free-will and Predestination; Love and Pain; +Foreknowledge and Sin; and their companions. And it appeared to him, in +this cold, emotionless mood, when the personality shivers, naked, in the +presence of monstrous and unsympathetic forces, that his own religion, +as much as every other, was entirely powerless before them. + +He advanced yet further: he began to reflect upon the innumerable little +concrete devotions that he had recently learned--the repetition of +certain words, the performance of certain actions--the rosary for +instance; and he began to ask himself how it was credible that they +could possibly make any difference to eternal issues. + +These things had not yet surrounded themselves with the atmosphere of +experience and association, and they had lost the romance of novelty; +they lay before him detached, so to say, and unconvincing. + +I do not mean to say that during this hour he consciously disbelieved; +he honestly attempted to answer these questions; he threw himself back +upon authority and attempted to reassure himself by reflecting that +human brains a great deal more acute than his own found in the dilemmas +no final obstacles to faith; he placed himself under the shelter of the +Church and tried to say blindly that he believed what she believed. But, +in a sense, he was powerless: the blade of his adversary was quicker +than his own; his will was very nearly dormant; his heart was entirely +lethargic, and his intellect was clear up to a certain point and +extraordinarily swift.... + +Half an hour later he was in a pitiable state; and had begun even to +question Jenny's loyalty. He had turned to the thought of her as a last +resort for soothing and reassurance, and now, in the chilly dawn, even +she seemed unsubstantial. + +He began by remembering that Jenny would not live for ever; in fact, she +might die at any moment; or he might; and he ended by wondering, +firstly, whether human love was worth anything at all, and, secondly, +whether he possessed Jenny's. He understood now, with absolute +certitude, that there was nothing in him whatever which could possibly +be loved by anyone; the whole thing had been a mistake, not so much on +his part as on Jenny's. She had thought him to be something he was not. +She was probably regretting already the engagement; she would certainly +not fulfill it. And could she possibly care for anyone who had been such +an indescribable fool as to give up Merefield, and his prospects and his +past and his abilities, and set out on this absurd and childish +adventure? So once more he came round in a circle and his misery was +complete. + + * * * * * + +He sat up in bed with a sudden movement as the train of thought clicked +back into its own beginning, clasped his hands round his knees and +stared round the room. + +The window showed a faint oblong of gray now, beyond where the Major +breathed, and certain objects were dingily and coldly visible. He +perceived the broken-backed chair on which his clothes were heaped--with +the exception of his flannel shirt, which he still wore; he caught a +glimmer of white where Gertie's blouse hung up for an airing. + +He half expected that things would appear more hopeful if he sat up in +bed. Yet they did not. The sight of the room, such as it was, brought +the concrete and material even more forcibly upon him--the gross things +that are called Facts. And it seemed to him that there were no facts +beyond them. These were the bones of the Universe--a stuffy bedroom, a +rasping flannel suit, a cold dawn, a snoring in the gloom, and three +bodies, heavy with weariness.... There once had been other facts: +Merefield and Cambridge and Eton had once existed; Jenny had once been a +living person who loved him; once there had been a thing called +Religion. But they existed no longer. He had touched reality at last. + + * * * * * + +Frank drew a long, dismal sigh; he lay down; he knew the worst now; and +in five minutes he was asleep. + + +(II) + +Of course, the thing wore away by midday, and matters had readjusted +themselves. But the effect remained as a kind of bruise below the +surface. He was conscious that it had once been possible for him to +doubt the value of everything; he was aware that there was a certain +mood in which nothing seemed worth while. + +It was practically his first experience of the kind, and he did not +understand it. But it did its work; and I date from that day a certain +increased sort of obstinacy that showed itself even more plainly in his +character. One thing or the other must be the effect of such a mood in +which--even though only for an hour or two--all things other than +physical take on themselves an appearance of illusiveness: either the +standard is lowered and these things are treated as slightly doubtful; +or the will sets its teeth and determines to live by them, whether they +are doubtful or not. And the latter I take to be the most utter form of +faith. + + * * * * * + +About midday the twine round Frank's bundle broke abruptly, and every +several article fell on to the road. He repressed a violent feeling of +irritation, and turned round to pick them up. The Major and Gertie +instinctively made for a gate in the hedge, rested down their bundles +and leaned against it. + +Frank gathered the articles--a shirt, a pair of softer shoes, a razor +and brush, a tin of potted meat, a rosary, a small round cracked +looking-glass and a piece of lead piping--and packed them once more +carefully together on the bank. He tested his string, knotted it, drew +it tight, and it broke again. The tin of potted meat--like some small +intelligent animal--ran hastily off the path and dived into a small +drain. + +A short cry of mirth broke from the Major, and Gertie smiled. + +Frank said nothing at all. He lay down on the road, plunged his arm into +the drain and drew up the potted meat; it had some disagreeable-looking +moist substance adhering to it, which he wiped off on to his sleeve, and +then regretted having done so. Again he packed his things; again he drew +the string tight, and again it snapped. + +"Lord! man, don't be so hard on it." + +Frank looked up with a kind of patient fury. His instinct was to kick +every single object that lay before him on the path as hard as possible +in every direction. + +"Have you any more string?" he said. + +"No. Stick the things in your pocket and come on." + +Frank made no answer. He went to the hedge and drew out a long supple +twig of hazel, stripped it of its leaves, and once more tried, with it, +to tie up his parcel. But the angle was too acute, and just as the twig +tightened satisfactorily it snapped, and this time the razor slid out +sideways into a single minute puddle that lay on the path. + +The Major snorted in mirthful impatience. + +"But--" + +"Kindly let me alone," said Frank icily. "The thing's got to go like +this, or not at all." + +He drew out the razor from the puddle, opened it and dried the blade on +his sleeve. During the process Gertie moved suddenly, and he looked up. +When he looked down again be perceived that he had slit a neat slice +into the cloth of his jacket. + +He remained quite still for one moment. Then he sat down on the bank, +and examined the twine once more. + +The Major began to make slightly offensive comments. Then Frank looked +up. + +"You can go to hell!" he said quite softly, "or anywhere else you like. +But I'm going to do up the bundle in my way and not yours." + + * * * * * + +Now that is a sort of parable. It really happened, for it was reported +to a witness by Frank himself exactly as I have told it, and it seems to +me a very good little symbol of his state of mind. It is quite +indefensible, of course--and especially his regrettable language that +closed the interview; but it gives a pleasant little glimpse, I think, +of Frank's character just now, in section. The things had to go in a +certain way: he saw no adequate reason to change that way, and +ultimately, of course, the twine held. It must have been a great +satisfaction to him. + + +(III) + +It seems that Frank must have been allowed just now to sample several +different kinds of moods, for he had a very different kind of awakening +a day or two later. + +They had come to some piece of open country that I am unable to +identify, and for some reason or other determined to spend the night out +of doors. There was a copse a hundred yards away from the road, and in +the copse a couple of small shelters built, probably, for wood-pigeon +shooting. The Major and Gertie took possession of one, and Frank of the +other, after they had supped in the dark under the beeches. + + * * * * * + +Frank slept deeply and well, half waking once, however, at that strange +moment of the night when the earth turns and sighs in her sleep, when +every cow gets up and lies down again. He was conscious of a shrill +crowing, thin as a bugle, from some farm-yard out of sight; then he +turned over and slept again. + +When he awoke it was daylight. He lay on his back looking at the network +of twigs overhead, the beech leaves beyond, and the sky visible only in +glimpses--feeling extremely awake and extremely content. Certainly he +was a little stiff when he moved, but there was a kind of interior +contentment that caused that not to matter. + +After a minute or two he sat up, felt about for his shoes and slipped +them on. Then he unwound the wrapping about his neck, and crept out of +the shelter. + +It was that strange pause before the dawn when the light has broadened +so far as to extinguish the stars, and to bring out all the colors of +earth into a cold deliberate kind of tint. Everything was absolutely +motionless about him as he went under the trees and came out above the +wide park-land of which the copse was a sort of barrier. The dew lay +soaking and thick on the grass slopes, but there was not yet such light +as to bring out its sparkle; and everywhere, dotted on the green before +him, sat hundreds of rabbits, the nearest not twenty yards away. + +The silence and the solemnity of the whole seemed to him extraordinary. +There was not a leaf that stirred--each hung as if cut of steel; there +was not a bird which chirped nor a distant cock that crew; the rabbits +eyed him unafraid in this hour of truce. + +It seemed to him like some vast stage on to which he had wandered +unexpectedly. The performance of the day before had been played to an +end, the night scene-shifting was finished, and the players of the new +eternal drama were not yet come. An hour hence they would be all about: +the sounds would begin again; men would cross the field-paths, birds +would be busy; the wind would awake and the ceaseless whisper of leaves +answer its talking. But at present the stage was clear-swept, washed, +clean and silent. + +It was the solemnity then that impressed him most--solemnity and an air +of expectation. Yet it was not mere expectation. There was a suggestion +of the fundamental and the normal, as if perhaps movement and sound +were, after all, no better than interruptions; as if this fixed poise of +nature were something complete in itself; as if these trees hung out +their leaves to listen to something that they could actually hear, as if +these motionless creatures of the woodland were looking upon something +that they could actually see; as if there were some great secret +actually present and displayed in dead silence and invisibility before +those only who possessed the senses necessary to perceive it. + + * * * * * + +It was odd to regard life from this standpoint--to look back upon the +days and their incidents that were past, forward upon the days and +incidents to come. Again it was possible for Frank to look upon these +things as an outsider and a deliberate critic--as he had done in the +stuffy room of the lodging-house in the town. Yet now, though he was +again an outsider, though he was again out of the whirl of actual +living, he seemed to be looking at things--staring out, as he was, +almost unseeingly at the grass slopes before him--from exactly the +opposite side. Then, they had seemed to him the only realities, these +tangible physical things, and all else illusion: now it was the physical +things that were illusive, and something else that was real. Once again +the two elements of life lay detached--matter and spirit; but it was as +obviously now spirit that was the reality as it had been matter a day or +two before. It was obviously absurd to regard these outward things on +which he looked as anything but a frame of something completely +different. They were too silent, too still, too little self-sufficient +to be complete in themselves. Something solid lay embraced within +them.... + +So, then, he stared and ruminated, scarcely perceiving that he thought, +so intensely conscious was he of that of which he thought. It was not +that he understood anything of that on which he looked; he was but aware +that there was something to be understood. And the trees hung rigid +above him, and the clear blue sky still a hard stone beyond them, not +yet flushed with dawn; and the grass lay before him, contracted, it +seemed, with cold, and every blade soaked in wet; and the silence was +profound.... + +Then a cock crew, a mile away, a thin, brazen cry; a rabbit sat up, then +crouched and bolted, and the spell faded like a mist. + +Frank turned and walked back under the trees, to see if the Major was +awake. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +We are arrived now at one of those few deplorable incidents in Frank's +career, against which there is no defense. And the painful thing about +it is that Frank never seemed to think that it required any defense. He +shows no penitence for it in his diary: and yet moralists are united in +telling us that we must never do evil that good may come. It is only, +paralleled by his rash action in leaving Cambridge in defiance of all +advice and good sense; so far, that is to say, as a legally permissible +act, however foolish, can be paralleled by one of actual crime. +Moralists, probably, would tell us, in fact, that the first led +inevitably to the second. + +It fell out in this way. + +Once or twice in his travels with the Major he had been haunted by an +uncomfortable suspicion that this or that contribution that the warrior +made to their common table had not been come by honestly. When a +gentleman, known to possess no more than tenpence, and with a +predilection to drink, leaves the shelter of a small copse; let us say, +at seven o'clock, and reappears, rather breathless, forty minutes later +with a newly-plucked fowl--or even with a fowl not plucked at all, and +still warm, or with half a dozen eggs; and, in addition, issues out +again later in the evening and returns with a strong smell of spirits +and a watery eye--it seems a little doubtful as to whether he has been +scrupulously honest. In cases of this kind Frank persevered in making +some excuse for not joining in the festivity: he put it to himself as +being a matter of pride; but it is hard to understand that it was simply +that in a young man who made no scruple of begging in cases of +necessity. However, there it was, and even the Major, who began by +protesting, ended by acquiescing. + + * * * * * + +They were somewhere in the neighborhood of Market Weighton when the +thing happened--I cannot identify the exact spot. The situation was as +follows: + +They had secured an excellent barn for their night's lodging--facing on +the road on the outskirts of a village. Behind them were, the farm +buildings, and the farmer's household gone to bed. The sun had set and +it was dark. They had supped sparingly, of necessity, and had finished +every morsel of food. (Frank had even found himself mechanically +gathering up crumbs on a wet finger.) They had had a bad week of it; +the corn was not yet ready for cutting, and there seemed no work +anywhere for honest men. The Major's gloom had become terrible; he had +even made remarks upon a choice between a workhouse and a razor. He had +got up after supper and turned his waistcoat pockets inside out to +secure the last possible grains of tobacco, and had smoked about a +quarter of a pipeful gathered in this way without uttering one word. He +had then uttered a short string of them, had seized his cap and +disappeared. + +Frank, too, was even more heavy and depressed than usual. The last +shreds of romance were gone from his adventure long ago, and yet his +obstinacy held firm. But he found he could not talk much. He watched +Gertie listlessly as she, listless too, began to spread out nondescript +garments to make a bed in the corner. He hardly spoke to her, nor she to +him. + +He was beginning to feel sleepy, when he heard rather hurried steps, as +of one trying to run on tiptoe, coming up the lane, and an instant later +in popped the Major. + +"Put out that damned light!" he whispered sharply. + +The candle end went out with the swiftness of thought. + +"What's up?" Frank roused himself to ask. There had been a strenuous +look about the face seen an instant before that interested him. + +There was dead silence. Gertie seemed frozen into motionlessness in her +corner, almost as if she had had experience of this kind of thing +before. Frank listened with all his ears; it was useless to stare into +the dark: here in this barn the blackness was complete. + +At first there was no sound at all, except a very soft occasional scrape +of a boot-nail that betokened that the Major was seeking cover +somewhere. Then, so suddenly that he started all over, Frank felt a hand +on his arm and smelt a tobacco-laden breath. (Alas! there had been no +drink to-night.) + +"See here, Frankie, my boy.... I ... I've got the thing on me.... What +shall I do with it?... It's no good chucking it away: they'd find it." + +"Got what?" whispered Frank. + +"There was a kid coming along ... she had a tin of something ... I don't +even know what it is.... And ... and she screamed out and someone ran +out. But they couldn't spot me; it was too dark." + +"Hush!" whispered Frank sharply, and the hand tightened on his arm. But +it was only a rat somewhere in the roof. + +"Well?" he said. + +"Frankie ... I suppose you wouldn't take it from me ... and ... and be +off somewhere. We could meet again later.... I ... I'm afraid someone +may have spotted us coming through the village earlier. They'll ... +they'll search, I expect." + +"You can do your own dirty work," whispered Frank earnestly through the +darkness. + +"Frankie, my boy ... don't be hard on a poor devil.... I ... I can't +leave Gertie." + +"Well, hide it somewhere." + +"No good--they'd ... Good God--!" + +The voice was stricken into silence once more, as a light, hardly seen +before it was gone again, shone through a crack in the side of the barn. +Then there was unmistakable low talking somewhere. + +Frank felt the man, crouched at his side, suddenly stand up noiselessly, +and in that instant his own mind was made up. + +"Give it here, you fool," he said. "Here!" + +He felt a smooth flat and circular thing thrust suddenly into his hands +with a whisper that he could not catch, and simultaneously he heard a +rush of footsteps outside. He had just time to stuff the thing inside +his coat and roll over as if asleep when the door flew open, and three +or four men, with a policeman at their head, burst into the barn. + + +(II) + +It would be charitable, I think, to suppress the name of the small +market-town where the trial was held. The excellent magistrates who +conducted it certainly did their best under very difficult +circumstances; for what are you to do if a man accused of theft +cordially pleads guilty? and yet, certainly it would distress them to +hear of a very obvious miscarriage of justice executed at their hands. + +On Friday morning at ten o'clock the vehicles began to arrive--the motor +of the country gentleman, the dog-cart of the neighboring rector, and +the brougham of the retired general. It was the General who presided. + +The court-room was not more dismal than court-rooms usually are. When I +visited it on my little pilgrimage, undertaken a few months ago, it had +been repainted and the woodwork grained to represent oak. Even so, it +was not cheering. + +At the upper end, under one of the windows, were ranged five seats on a +dais, with a long baize-covered table before them. Then, on a lower +level, stood the clerk's and solicitors' table, fenced by a rail from +the vulgar crowd who pressed in, hot and excited, to see the criminals +and hear justice done. There was a case arising from an ancient family +feud, exploded at last into crime; one lady had thrown a clog at another +as the last repartee in a little dialogue held at street doors; the clog +had been well aimed, and the victim appeared now with a very large white +bandage under her bonnet, to give her testimony. This swelled the crowd +beyond its usual proportions, as both ladies were well known in society. + +The General was a kindly-looking old man (Frank recognized his name as +soon as he heard it that morning, though he had never met him before) +and conversed cheerily with his brother magistrates as they took their +seats. The Rector was--well, like other rectors, and the Squire like +other squires. + + * * * * * + +It was a quarter to twelve before the ladies' claims were adjusted. They +were both admonished in a paternal kind of way, and sent about their +business, since there was disputed evidence as to whether or not the +lady with the bandage had provoked the attack, not only by her language, +but by throwing a banana-skin at the lady without the bandage. They were +well talked to, their husbands were bidden to keep them in order, and +they departed, both a little crestfallen, to discuss the whole matter +over a pint of beer. + +There was a little shifting about in court; a policeman, looking +curiously human without his helmet, pushed forward from the door and +took his place by the little barrier. The magistrates and the clerk and +the inspector all conferred a little together, and after an order or +two, the door near the back of the court leading from the police-cells +opened, and Frank stepped forward into the dock, followed by another +policeman who clicked the barrier behind the prisoner and stood, +waiting, like Rhadamanthus. Through the hedge of the front row of the +crowd peered the faces of Gertie and the Major. + +We need not bother with the preliminaries--in fact, I forget how they +ran--Frank gave his name of Frank Gregory, his age as twenty-two years, +his occupation as casual laborer, and his domicile as no fixed abode. + +The charge was read to him. It was to the effect that he, on the night +of Tuesday, the twenty-third instant, had in the village (whose name I +choose to forget, if I ever knew it), seized from Maggie Cooper, aged +nine years, a tin of preserved salmon, with intent to steal. The +question put to the prisoner was: Did he or did he not plead guilty? + +"I plead guilty, sir," said Frank, without a tremor. + +He had been two full days in the cells by now, and it had not improved +his appearance. He was still deeply sunburned, but he was a little pale +under the eyes, and he was unshaven. He had also deliberately rumpled +his hair and pulled his clothes to make them look as untidy as possible. +He answered in a low voice, so as to attract as little attention as +possible. He had given one quick look at the magistrates as he came in, +to make sure he had never met them out shooting or at dinner-parties, +and he had been deeply relieved to find them total strangers. + +"You plead guilty, eh?" said the General. + +Frank nodded. + +"Well, well! let's hear the whole story. Where is the complainant?" + +A rather pale and awe-stricken child appeared somewhere in a little box +opposite Frank, with a virtuous mother in black silk behind her. It +appeared that this child was on her way to her aunt--her father was a +grocer--with a tin of salmon that had been promised and forgotten (that +was how she came to be out so late). As she reached the corner by +Barker's Lane a man had jumped at her and seized the tin. (No; he had +not used any other violence.) She had screamed at the top of her voice, +and Mrs. Jennings' door had opened. Then the man had run away. + +"Had she seen the man clearly?" No, she hadn't seen him at all; she had +just seen that he was a man. ("Called himself one," put in a voice.) The +witness here cast an indignant--almost vindictive--look at Frank. + +Then a few corroborations were issued. Mrs. Jennings, a widow lady, +keeping house for her brother who was a foreman in Marks' yard, ratified +the statement about the door being opened. She was going to shut up for +the night when she heard the child scream. Her brother, a severe-looking +man, with a black beard, finished her story. He had heard his sister +call out, as he was taking off his boots at the foot of the stairs; he +had run out with his laces dangling, in time to see the man run past the +public-house fifty yards up the street. No ... he, too, had not seen the +man clearly, but he had seen him before, in company with another; the +two had come to his yard that afternoon to ask for work and been +refused, as they wanted no more hands. + +"Well, what had happened then?" + +He had hammered at two or three doors as he ran past, among them that of +the police-constable, and himself had run on, in time to hear the +prisoner's footsteps run up the lane leading to the barn. He had stopped +then as he was out of breath, and as he thought they would have the man +now, since there was no exit from the lane except through Mr. Patten's +farm-yard, and if he'd gone that way they'd have heard the dogs. + +Finally the police-constable corroborated the entire story, and added +that he, in company with the foreman and two other men, had "proceeded" +to the barn immediately, and there had found the prisoner, who was +pretending to be asleep, with the tin of salmon (produced and laid on +the table) hidden inside his jacket. He had then taken him into custody. + +"Was there any one else in the barn?" + +Yes--two persons, who gave the names of George and Gertie Trustcott. +These were prepared to give evidence as to the prisoner's identity, and +as to his leaving and returning to the barn on the evening in question, +if the magistrate wished.... Yes; they were present in court. + + * * * * * + +The General began to turn a little testy as the constable finished. He +seemed a magistrate who liked to be paternal, and he appeared to grow +impatient under the extraordinarily correct language of the policeman. + +He turned to Frank--seeming to forget all about the two witnesses not +yet called--and spoke rather sharply: + +"You don't deny all that? You plead guilty, eh?" + +"Yes, sir," said Frank, gazing at the very pink salmon emblazoned on +the tin. + +"Why did you do it?" + +"I was hungry, sir." + +"Hungry, eh? An able-bodied lad like you? Can't you work, then?" + +"When I can get it, sir," said Frank + +"Eh?... eh? Well, that's true enough. You couldn't get it that day, +anyhow. Mr. What's-his-name's told us that." + +"Yes, sir." + +Then the Rector leaned forward swiftly--to Frank's horror. + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"Do I, sir? I'm very pleased to hear it." + +There was a faint snigger in court. + +"Where were you educated?" persisted the Rector. + +"Am I bound to incriminate myself, sir?" + +"Incriminate?" said the General suddenly interested. "Eh? you mean, +after a good education. I see. No, of course you're not, my lad." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"And you plead guilty? And you'd like the case dealt with now?" + +"If you please, sir." + +The clerk rose swiftly in his place and began to whisper to the +magistrates behind his hand. Frank understood perfectly what was +happening; he understood that it was doubtful whether or no his case +could be dealt with in this court. He exploded within himself a violent +adjuration to the Supreme Authorities, and the next instant the General +sat back. + +"Nonsense! nonsense! It isn't highway robbery at all within the meaning +of the term. We'll deal with it now--eh, gentlemen?" + +There was a little more whispering, and finally the General settled +himself and took up a quill pen. + +"Well, we'll deal with it now, my lad, as you wish. I'm sorry to see a +fellow like you in this position--particularly if you've had a good +education, as you seem to have had. Cowardly thing, you know, to attack +a child like that, isn't it? even if you were hungry. You ought to be +more hardy than that, you know--a great fellow like you--than to mind a +bit of hunger. Boys like you ought to enlist; that'd make a man of you +in no time. But no.... I know you; you won't.... You'd sooner loaf about +and pick up what you can--sooner than serve His Majesty. Well, well, +there's no compulsion--not yet; but you should think over it. Come and +see me, if you like, when you've done your time, and we'll see what can +be done. That'd be better than loafing about and picking up tins of +salmon, eh?" + +"Well, I've no more to say. But you just think over it. And we'll give +you fourteen days." + + * * * * * + +Then as Frank went out he saw the three magistrates lean back in +conversation. + + +(III) + +I find it very hard to explain, even to myself, the extraordinary +depression that fell upon Frank during his fourteen days. He could +hardly bear even to speak of it afterwards, and I find in his diary no +more than a line or two, and those as bald as possible. Apparently it +was no kind of satisfaction to him to know that the whole thing was +entirely his own doing, or that it was the thought of Gertie that had +made him, in the first instance, take the tin from the Major. Yet it was +not that there was any sense of guilt, or even of mistake. One would +have thought that from everybody's point of view, and particularly +Gertie's, it would be an excellent thing for the Major to go to prison +for a bit. It would certainly do him no harm, and it would be a real +opportunity to separate the girl from his company. As for any wrong in +his pleading guilty, he defended it (I must say, with some adroitness) +by saying that it was universally acknowledged that the plea of "Not +Guilty" is merely formal, and in no way commits one to its intrinsic +truth (and he is right there, at least according to Moral Theology as +well as common sense) and, therefore, that the alternative plea is also +merely formal. + +And yet he was depressed by his fourteen days to the verge of +melancholia. + +There are several contributory causes that may be alleged. + +First, there is the extreme ignominy of all the circumstances, beginning +with the paternal scolding in court, in the presence of grocers and +persons who threw clogs, continuing with the dreary journey by rail, in +handcuffs, and the little crowds that gathered to laugh or stare, and +culminating with the details of the prison life. It is not pleasant for +a cleanly man to be suspected of dirt, to be bathed and examined all +over by a man suffering himself apparently from some species of eczema; +it is not pleasant to be ordered about peremptorily by uniformed men, +who, three months before, would have touched their hats to you, and to +have to do things instantly and promptly for the single reason that one +is told to do them. + +Secondly, there was the abrupt change of life--of diet, air and +exercise.... + +Thirdly, there was the consideration, the more terrible because the more +completely unverifiable, as to what difference all this would make, not +only to the regard of his friends for him, but to his own regard for +himself. Innocence of a fault does not entirely do away with the +distress and stigma of its punishment. He imagined himself telling +Jenny; he tried to see her laughing, and somehow he could not. It was +wholly uncharacteristic of all that he knew of her, and yet somehow, +night after night, as the hours dragged by, he seemed to see her looking +at him a little contemptuously. + +"At any rate," he almost heard her say, "if you didn't do it, you made a +friend of a man who did. And you were in prison." + +Oh! there are countless excellent explanations of his really terrible +depression; and yet somehow it does not seem to me at all in line with +what I know of Frank, to think that they explain it in the least. I +prefer to believe, with a certain priest who will appear by and by, that +the thing was just one stage of a process that had to be accomplished, +and that if it had not come about in this way, it must have come about +in another. As for his religion, all emotional grasp of that fled, it +seemed finally, at the touch of real ignominy. He retained the +intellectual reasons for which he had become a Catholic, but the thing +seemed as apart from him as his knowledge of law--such as it +was--acquired at Cambridge, or his proficiency in lawn-tennis. Certainly +it was no kind of consolation to him to reflect on the sufferings of +Christian martyrs! + +It was a Friday evening when he came out and went quickly round the +corner of the jail, in order to get away from any possibility of being +identified with it. + +He had had a short interview with the Governor--a very conscientious and +religious man, who made a point of delivering what he called "a few +earnest words" to every prisoner before his release. But, naturally +enough, they were extraordinarily off the point. It was not helpful to +Frank to have it urged upon him to set about an honest livelihood--it +was what he had tried to do every day since June--and not to go about +robbing innocent children of things like tins of salmon--it was the very +last thing he had ever dreamed of doing. + + * * * * * + +He had also had more than one interview with the chaplain of the +Established Church, in consequence of his resolute refusal to +acknowledge any religious body at all (he had determined to scotch this +possible clue to his identification); and those interviews had not been +more helpful than any other. It is not of much use to be entreated to +turn over a new leaf when you see no kind of reason for doing so; and +little books left tactfully in your cell, directed to the same point, +are equally useless. Frank read them drearily through. He did not +actually kick them from side to side of his cell when he had finished; +that would have been offensive to the excellent intentions of the +reverend gentleman.... + +Altogether I do not quite like to picture Frank as he was when he came +out of jail, and hurried away. It is such a very startling contrast with +the gayety with which he had begun his pilgrimage. + + * * * * * + +He had had plenty of time to think over his plans during the last +fortnight, and he went, first, straight to the post-office. The Governor +had given him half-a-crown to start life with, and he proposed to +squander fourpence of it at once in two stamps, two sheets of paper and +two envelopes. + +His first letter was to be to Jack; the second to Major Trustcott, who +had thoughtfully given him the address where he might be found about +that date. + +But there were to be one or two additional difficulties first. + +He arrived at the post-office, went up the steps and through the swing +doors. The place had been newly decorated, with a mahogany counter and +light brass lattice rails, behind which two young ladies of an +inexpressibly aristocratic demeanor and appearance were engaged in +conversation: their names, as he learned from a few sentences he +listened to before daring to interrupt so high a colloquy, were Miss +Mills and Miss Jamieson. + +After a decent and respectful pause Frank ventured on his request. + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please ... miss." +(He did manage that!) + +Miss Mills continued her conversation: + +"So I said to her that that would never do, that Harold would be sure to +get hold of it, and that then--" + +Frank shuffled his feet a little. Miss Mills cast him a high glance. + +"--There'd be trouble, I said, Miss Jamieson." + +"You did quite right, dear." + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss." He +clicked four pence together on the counter. Miss Mills rose slowly from +her place, went a yard or two, and took down a large book. Frank watched +her gratefully. Then she took a pen and began to make entries in it. + +"Two stamps, two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please." + +Frank's voice shook a little with anger. He had not learned his lesson +yet. + +Miss Mills finished her entry; looked at Frank with extreme disdain, +and finally drew out a sheet of stamps. + +"Pennies?" she inquired sharply. + +"Please." + +Two penny stamps were pushed across and two pennies taken up. + +"And now two sheets of paper and two envelopes, please, miss," went on +Frank, encouraged. He thought himself foolish to be angry. Miss Jamieson +uttered a short laugh and glanced at Miss Mills. Miss Mills pursed her +lips together and took up her pen once more. + +"Will you be good enough to give me what I ask for, at once, please?" + +The whole of Frank blazed in this small sentence: but Miss Mills was +equal to it. + +"You ought to know better," she said, "than to come asking for such +things here! Taking up a lot of time like that." + +"You don't keep them?" + +Miss Mills uttered a small sound. Miss Jamieson tittered. + +"Shops are the proper places for writing-paper. This is a post-office." + +Words cannot picture the superb high breeding shown in this utterance. +Frank should have understood that he had been guilty of gross +impertinence in asking such things of Miss Mills; it was treating her +almost as a shop-girl. But he was extremely angry by now. + +"Then why couldn't you have the civility to tell me so at once?" + +Miss Jamieson laid aside a little sewing she was engaged on. + +"Look here, young man, you don't come bullying and threatening here. +I'll have to call the policeman if you do.... I was at the railway +station last Friday week, you know." + +Frank stood still for one furious instant. Then his heart sank and he +went out without a word. + + * * * * * + +The letters got written at last, late that evening, in the back room of +a small lodging-house where he had secured a bed. I have the one he +wrote to Jack before me as I write, and I copy it as it stands. It was +without address or date. + + "DEAR JACK, + + "I want you to do, something for me. I want you to go to + Merefield and see, first, Jenny, and then my father; and tell + them quite plainly and simply that I've been in prison for a + fortnight. I want Jenny to know first, so that she can think of + what to say to my father. The thing I was sent to prison for + was that I pleaded guilty to stealing a tin of salmon from a + child called Mary Cooper. You can see the account of the case + in the County Gazette for last Saturday week, the + twenty-seventh. The thing I really did was to take the tin from + somebody else I was traveling with. He asked me to. + + "Next, I want you to send on any letters that may have come for + me to the address I enclose on a separate piece of paper. + Please destroy the address at once; but you can show this + letter to Jenny and give her my love. You are not to come and + see me. If you don't, I'll come and see you soon. + + "Things are pretty bad just now, but I'm going to go through + with it. + + "Yours, + + "F. + + "P.S.--By the way, please address me as Mr. F. Gregory when you + write." + + * * * * * + +He was perfectly obstinate, you understand, still. + + * * * * * + +Frank's troubles as regards prison were by no means exhausted by his +distressing conversation with the young ladies in the post office, and +the next one fell on him as he was leaving the little town early on the +Saturday morning. + +He had just turned out of the main street and was going up a quiet side +lane that looked as if it would lead to the York Road, when he noticed +a disagreeable little scene proceeding up a narrow _cul-de-sac_ across +whose mouth he was passing. + +A tall, loose-limbed young man, in his working-clothes, obviously +slightly excited with drink, had hold of a miserable old man by the +scruff of the neck with one hand, and was cuffing him with the other. + +Now I do not wish to represent Frank as a sort of knight-errant, but the +fact is that if anyone with respectable and humane ideas goes on the +tramp (I have this from the mouth of experienced persons) he has to make +up his mind fairly soon either to be a redresser of wrongs or to be +conveniently short-sighted. Frank was not yet sufficiently experienced +to have learned the wisdom of the second alternative. + +He went straight up the _cul-de-sac_ and without any words at all hit +the young man as hard as possible under the ear nearest to him. + +There seems to have been a moment of amazed silence; the young man +dropped the old one, who fled out into the lane, and struck back at +Frank, who parried. Simultaneously a woman screamed somewhere; and faces +began to appear at windows and doors. + +It is curious how the customs of the Middle Ages, as well as some of +their oaths, seem to have descended to the ranks of the British +working-man. In the old days--as also in prize-fights to-day--it was +quite usual to assail your adversary with insults as well as with blows. +This was done now. The young man, with a torrent of imprecations, +demanded who Frank thought he was, asked where he was coming to, +required of society in general an explanation of a stranger's +interfering between a son and a qualified father. There was a murmur of +applause and dissent, and Frank answered, with a few harmless expletives +such as he had now learned to employ as a sort of verbal disguise, that +he did not care how many sons or fathers were in question, that he did +not propose to see a certain kind of bully abuse an old man, and that he +would be happy to take the old man's place.... + +Then the battle was set. + +Frank had learned to box in a certain small saloon in Market Street, +Cambridge, and knew perfectly well how to take care of himself. He +received about half the force of one extremely hard blow just on his +left cheek-bone before he got warmed to his work; but after that he did +the giving and the loose-limbed young man the receiving, Frank was even +scientific; he boxed in the American manner, crouching, with both arms +half extended (and this seems to have entirely bewildered his adversary) +and he made no effort to reach the face. He just thumped away steadily +below the spot where the ribs part, and where--a doctor informs me--a +nerve-center, known as the _solar plexus_, is situated. He revolved, +too, with considerable agility, round his opponent, and gradually drew +the battle nearer and nearer to the side lane outside. He knew enough of +slum-chivalry by now to be aware that if a sympathizer, or sycophant, of +the young man happened to be present, he himself would quite possibly +(if the friend happened to possess sufficient courage) suddenly collapse +from a disabling blow on the back of the neck. Also, he was not sure +whether there was any wife in the question; and in this case it would be +a poker, or a broken bottle, held dagger-wise, that he would have to +meet. And he wished therefore to have more room round him than the +_cul-de-sac_ afforded. + +But there was no need for precaution. + +The young man had begun to look rather sickly under the eyes and to +hiccup three or four times in distressed manner; when suddenly the +clamor round the fight ceased. Frank was aware of a shrill old voice +calling out something behind him; and the next instant, simultaneously +with the dropping of his adversary's hands, he himself was seized from +behind by the arms, and, writhing, discerned is blue sleeve and a gloved +hand holding him. + +"Now, what's all this?" said a voice in his ear. + +There was a chorus of explanation, declaring that "'Alb" had been set +upon without provocation. There was a particularly voluble woman with +red arms and an exceedingly persuasive manner, who advanced from a +doorway and described the incident from her own point of view. She had +been hanging out the children's things, she began, and so forth; and +Frank was declared the aggressor and "'Alb" the innocent victim. + +Then the chorus broke out again, and "'Alb," after another fit of +hiccupping, corroborated the witnesses in a broken and pathetically +indignant voice. + +Frank tore himself from one embracing arm and faced round, still held by +the other. + +"All right; I shan't run away.... Look here; that's a black lie. He was +hitting that old man. Where is he? Come on, uncle, and tell us all about +it." + +The old man advanced, his toothless face contorted with inexplicable +emotion, and corroborated the red-armed woman, and the chorus generally, +with astonishing volubility and emphasis. + +"You old fool!" said Frank curtly. "What are you afraid of? Let's have +the truth, now. Wasn't he hitting you?" + +"He, he, he!" giggled the old man, torn by the desire of +self-preservation on one side and, let us hope, by a wish for justice on +the other. "He warn't hittin' of me. He's my son, he is.... 'Alb is.... +We were just having--" + +"There! get out of this," said the policeman, releasing Frank with a +shove. "We don't want your sort here. Coming and making trouble.... Yes; +my lad. You needn't look at me like that. I know you." + +"Who the deuce are you talking to?" snapped Frank. + +"I know who I'm talking to, well enough," pronounced the policeman +judicially. "F. Gregory, ain't it? Now you be off out of this, or you'll +be in trouble again." + +There was something vaguely kindly about the man's manner, and Frank +understood that he knew very tolerably where the truth lay, but wished +to prevent further disturbance. He gulped down his fury. It was no good +saying anything; but the dense of the injustice of the universe was very +bitter. He turned away-- + +A murmur of indignation broke out from the crowd, bidding the policeman +do his duty. + +And as Frank went up the lane, he heard that zealous officer addressing +the court with considerable vigor. But it was very little comfort to +him. He walked out of the town with his anger and resentment still hot +in his heart at the indignity of the whole affair. + + +(V) + +By the Sunday afternoon Frank was well on his way to York. + +It was a heavy, hot day, sunny, but with brooding clouds on the low +horizons; and he was dispirited and tired as he came at last into a +small, prim village street rather after two o'clock (its name, once +more, I suppress). + +His possessions by now were greatly reduced. His money had gone, little +by little, all through his journey with the Major, and he had kept of +other things only one extra flannel shirt, a pair of thick socks and a +small saucepan he had bought one day. The half-crown that the Governor +had given him was gone, all but fourpence, and he wanted, if possible, +to arrive at York, where he was to meet the Major, at least with that +sum in his possession. Twopence would pay for a bed and twopence more +for supper. + +Half-way up the street he stopped suddenly. Opposite him stood a small +brick church, retired by a few yards of turf, crossed by a path, from +the iron railings that abutted on the pavement: and a notice-board +proclaimed that in this, church of the Sacred Heart mass was said on +Sundays at eleven, on holidays of obligation at nine, and on weekdays at +eight-thirty A.M. Confessions were heard on Saturday evenings +and on Thursday evenings before the first Friday, from eight +to nine P.M. Catechism was at three P.M. on Sundays; and +rosary, sermon and benediction at seven P.M. A fat cat, looking +as if it were dead, lay relaxed on the grass beneath this board. + +The door was open and Frank considered an instant. But he thought that +could wait for a few minutes as he glanced at the next house. This was +obviously the presbytery. + +Frank had never begged from a priest before, and he hesitated a little +now. Then he went across the street into the shadow on the other side, +leaned against the wall and looked. The street was perfectly empty and +perfectly quiet, and the hot summer air and sunshine lay on all like a +charm. There was another cat, he noticed, on a doorstep a few yards +away, and he wondered how any living creature in this heat could +possibly lie like that, face coiled round to the feet, and the tail laid +neatly across the nose. A dreaming cock crooned heart-brokenly somewhere +out of sight, and a little hot breeze scooped up a feather of dust in +the middle of the road and dropped again. + +Even the presbytery looked inviting on a day like this. He had walked a +good twenty-five miles to-day, and the suggestion of a dark, cool room +was delicious. It was a little pinched-looking house, of brick, like the +church, squeezed between the church and a large grocery with a +flamboyant inscription over its closed shutters. All the windows were +open, hung inside with cheap lace curtains, and protected with +dust-screens. He pictured the cold food probably laid out within, and +his imagination struck into being a tall glass jug of something like +claret-cup, still half-full. Frank had not dined to-day. + +Then he limped boldly across the street, rapped with the cast-iron +knocker, and waited. + +Nothing at all happened. + + * * * * * + +Presently the cat from the notice-board appeared round the corner, eyed +Frank suspiciously, decided that he was not dangerous, came on, walking +delicately, stepped up on to the further end of the brick stair, and +began to arch itself about and rub its back against the warm angle of +the doorpost. Frank rapped again, interrupting the cat for an instant, +and then stooped down to scratch it under the ear. The cat crooned +delightedly. Steps sounded inside the house; the cat stopped writhing, +and as the door opened, darted in noiselessly with tail erect past the +woman who held the door uninvitingly half open. + +She had a thin, lined face and quick black eyes. + +"What do you want?" she asked sharply, looking up and down Frank's +figure with suspicion. Her eyes dwelt for a moment on the bruise on his +cheek-bone. + +"I want to see the priest, please," said Frank. + +"You can't see him." + +"I am very sorry," said Frank, "but I must see him." + +"Coming here begging!" exclaimed the woman bitterly. "I'd be ashamed! Be +off with you!" + +Frank's dignity asserted itself a little. + +"Don't speak to me in that tone, please. I am a Catholic, and I wish to +see the priest." + +The woman snorted; but before she could speak there came the sound of an +opening door and a quick step on the linoleum of the little dark +passage. + +"What's all this?" said a voice, as the woman stepped back. + +He was a big, florid young man, with yellow hair, flushed as if with +sleep; his eyes were bright and tired-looking, and his collar was +plainly unbuttoned at the back. Also, his cassock was unfastened at the +throat and he bore a large red handkerchief in his hand. Obviously this +had just been over his face. + +Now, I do not blame this priest in the slightest. He had sung a late +mass--which never agreed with him--and in his extreme hunger he had +eaten two platefuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and drunk a +glass and a half of solid beer. And he had just fallen into a deep sleep +before giving Catechism, when the footsteps and voices had awakened him. +Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this road paid him a +call, and he had not yet met with one genuine case of want. When he had +first come here he had helped beggars freely and generously, and he +lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, out of which he paid his +housekeeper fifteen. + +"What do you want?" he said. + +"May I speak to you, father?" said Frank. + +"Certainly. Say what you've got to say." + +"Will you help me with sixpence, father?" + +The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely. + +"Are you a Catholic?" + +"Yes, father." + +"I didn't see you at mass this morning." + +"I wasn't here this morning. I was walking on the roads." + +"Where did you hear mass?" + +"I didn't hear it at all, father. I was on the roads." + +"What's your work?" + +"I haven't any." + +"Why's that?" + +Frank shrugged his shoulders a little. + +"I do it when I can get it," he said. + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"I am pretty well educated." + +The priest laughed shortly. + +"What's that bruise on your cheek?" + +"I was in a street fight, yesterday, father." + +"Oh, this is ridiculous!" he said. "Where did you come from last?" + +Frank paused a moment. He was very hot and very tired.... Then he spoke. + +"I was in prison till Friday," he said. "I was given fourteen days on +the charge of robbing a child, on the twenty-sixth. I pleaded guilty. +Will you help me, father?" + +If the priest had not been still half stupid with sleep and indigestion, +and standing in the full blaze of this hot sun, he might have been +rather struck by this last sentence. But he did have those +disadvantages, and he saw in it nothing but insolence. + +He laughed again, shortly and angrily. + +"I'm amazed at your cheek," he said. "No, certainly not! And you'd +better learn manners before you beg again." + +Then he banged the door. + + * * * * * + +About ten minutes later he woke up from a doze, very wide awake indeed, +and looked round. There lay on the table by him a Dutch cheese, a large +crusty piece of bread and some very soft salt butter in a saucer. There +was also a good glass of beer left--not claret-cup--in a glass jug, very +much as Frank had pictured it. + +He got up and went out to the street door, shading his eyes against the +sun. But the street lay hot and dusty in the afternoon light, empty from +end to end, except for a cat, nose in tail, coiled on the grocery +door-step. + +Then he saw two children, in white frocks, appear round a corner, and he +remembered that it was close on time for Catechism. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +(I) + +About the time that Frank was coming into the village where the priest +lived, Jenny had just finished lunch with her father. She took a book, +two cigarettes, a small silver matchbox and a Japanese fan, and went out +into the garden. She had no duties this afternoon; she had played the +organ admirably at the morning service, and would play it equally +admirably at the evening service. The afternoon devotions in the little +hot Sunday school--she had decided, in company with her father a year or +two ago--and the management of the children, were far better left in the +professional hands of the schoolmistress. + +She went straight out of the drawing-room windows, set wide and shaded +by awnings, and across the lawn to the seat below the ancient yews. +There she disposed herself, with her feet up, lit a cigarette, buried +the match and began to read. + + * * * * * + +She had not heard from Frank for nearly three weeks; his last +communication had been a picture postcard of Selby Abbey, with the +initial "F" neatly printed at the back. But she was not very greatly +upset. She had written her letter as she had promised, and had heard +from Jack Kirkby, to whose care she sent it, that he had no idea of +Frank's whereabouts, and that he would send on the letter as soon as he +knew more. She supposed that Frank would communicate with her again as +soon as he thought proper. + +Other circumstances to be noted were that Dick had gone back to town +some while ago, but would return almost immediately now for the +grouse-shooting; that Archie and Lord Talgarth were both up at the +house--indeed, she had caught sight of them in the red-curtained +chancel-pew this morning, and had exchanged five words with them both +after the service--and that in all other respects other things were as +they had been a month ago. + +The Dean of Trinity had telegraphed in great dismay on the morning +following his first communication that Frank had gone, and that no one +had the slightest idea of his destination; he had asked whether he +should put detectives on the track, and had been bidden, in return, +politely but quite firmly, to mind his own business and leave Lord +Talgarth's younger son to Lord Talgarth. + +It was a sleepy afternoon, even up here among the hills, and Jenny had +not read many pages before she became aware of it. The Rectory garden +was an almost perfect place for a small doze; the yews about her made a +grateful shade, and the limes behind them even further cooled the air, +and, when the breeze awoke, as one talking in his sleep, the sound about +her was as of gentle rain. The air was bright and dusty with insects; +from the limes overhead, the geranium beds, and the orchard fifty yards +away, came the steady murmur of bees and flies. + +Jenny woke up twenty minutes later with a sudden start, and saw someone +standing almost over her. She threw her feet down, still bewildered by +the sudden change and the glare on which she opened her eyes, and +perceived that it was Jack Kirkby, looking very dusty and hot. + +"I am so sorry," said Jack apologetically, "but I was told you were out +here." + +She did not know Jack very well, though she had known him a long time. +She looked upon him as a pleasant sort of boy whom she occasionally met +at lawn-tennis parties and flower shows, and things like that, and she +knew perfectly how to talk to young men. + +"How nice of you to came over," she said. "Did you bicycle? Have +something to drink?" + +She made room for him on the seat and held out her second cigarette. + +"It's your last," said Jack. + +"I've lots more in the house." + +She watched him as he lit it, and as the last shreds of sleep rolled +away, put the obvious question. + +"You've news of Frank?" + +Jack threw away the match and drew two or three draughts of smoke before +answering. + +"Yes," he said. + +"Where is he?" + +"He gave an address at York, though he wasn't there when he wrote. I +sent your letter on there yesterday." + +"Oh I did he give any account of himself?" + +Jack looked at her. + +"Well, he did. I've come about that. It's not very pleasant." + +"Is he ill?" asked Jenny sharply. + +"Oh, no; not at all; at least, he didn't say so." + +"What's the matter, then?" + +Jack fumbled in his breast-pocket and drew out a letter, which he held a +moment before unfolding. + +"I think you'd better read what he says, Miss Launton. It isn't +pleasant, but it's all over now. I thought I'd better tell you that +first." + +She held out her hand without speaking. + +Jack gave it her, and addressed himself carefully to his cigarette. He +didn't like this kind of thing at all, he wished Frank wouldn't give him +unpleasant commissions. But, of course, it had to be done. He looked out +at the lawn and the sleepy house, but was aware of nothing except the +girl beside him in her white dress and the letter in her hands. When she +had finished it, she turned back and read it again. Then she remained +perfectly still, with the letter held on her knee. + +"Poor, dear old boy!" she said suddenly and quietly. + +An enormous wave of relief rolled up and enveloped Jack. He had been +exceedingly uncomfortable this morning, ever since the letter had come. +His first impulse had been to ride over instantly after breakfast; then +he had postponed it till lunch; then he had eaten some cold beef about +half-past twelve and come straight away. He told himself he must give +her plenty of time to write by the late Sunday night post. + +He had not exactly distrusted Jenny; Frank's confidence was too +overwhelming and too infectious. But he had reflected that it was not a +wholly pleasant errand to have to inform a girl that her lover had been +in prison for a fortnight. But the tone in which she had just said those +four words was so serene and so compassionate that he was completely +reassured. This really was a fine creature, he said to himself. + +"I'm extraordinarily glad you take it like that," he said. + +Jenny looked at him out of her clear, direct eyes. + +"You didn't suppose I should abuse him, did you?... How exactly like +Frank! I suppose he did it to save some blackguard or other." + +"I expect that was it," said Jack. + +"Poor, dear old boy!" she said again. + +There was a moment's silence. Then Jack began again: + +"You see, I've got to go and tell Lord Talgarth. Miss Launton, I wish +you'd come with me. Then we can both write by to-night's post." + +Jenny said nothing for an instant. Then: + +"I suppose that would be best," she said. "Shall we go up pretty soon? I +expect we shall find him in the garden." + +Jack winced a little. Jenny smiled at him openly. + +"Best to get it over, Mr. Jack. I know it's like going to the dentist. +But it can't be as bad as you think. It never is. Besides, you'll have +somebody to hold your hand, so to speak." + +"I hope I shan't scream out loud," observed Jack. "Yes, we'd better +go--if you don't mind." + +He stood up and waited. Jenny rose at once. + +"I'll go and get a hat. Wait for me here, will you? I needn't tell +father till this evening." + + +(II) + +The park looked delicious as they walked slowly up the grass under the +shade of the trees by the side of the drive. The great beeches and elms +rose in towering masses, in clump after clump, into the distance, and +beneath the nearest stood a great stag with half a dozen hinds about +him, eyeing the walkers. The air was very still; only from over the hill +came the sound of a single church bell, where some infatuated clergyman +hoped to gather the lambs of his flock together for instruction in the +Christian religion. + +"That's a beauty," said Jack, waving a languid hand towards the stag. +"Did you ever hear of the row Frank and I got into when we were boys?" + +Jenny smiled. She had been quite silent since leaving the Rectory. + +"I heard of a good many," she said. "Which was this?" + +Jack recounted a story of Red Indians and ambuscades and a bow and +arrows, ending in the flight of a frantic stag over the palings and +among the garden beds; it was on a Sunday afternoon, too. + +"Frank was caned by the butler, I remember; by Lord Talgarth's express +orders. Certainly he richly deserved it. I was a guest, and got off +clear." + +"How old were you?" + +"We were both about eleven, I think." + +"Frank doesn't strike me as more than about twelve now," observed Jenny. + +"There's something in that," admitted Jack.... "Oh! Lord! how hot it +is!" He fanned himself with his hat. + + * * * * * + +There was no sign of life as they passed into the court and up to the +pillared portico; and at last, when the butler appeared, the irregular +state of his coat-collar showed plainly that he but that moment had put +his coat on. + +(This would be about the time that Frank left the village after his +interview with the priest.) + +Yes; it seemed that Lord Talgarth was probably in the garden; and, if +so, almost certainly in the little square among the yews along the upper +terrace. His lordship usually went there on hot days. Would Miss Launton +and Mr. Kirkby kindly step this way? + +No; he was not to trouble. They would find their own way. On the upper +terrace? + +"On the upper terrace, miss." + + * * * * * + +The upper terrace was the one part of the old Elizabethan garden left +entirely unaltered. On either side rose up a giant wall of yew, shaped +like a castle bastion, at least ten feet thick; and between the two ran +a broad gravel path up to the sun-dial, bordered on either side by huge +herbaceous beds, blazing with the color of late summer. In two or three +places grass paths crossed these, leading by a few yards of turf to +windows cut in the hedge to give a view of the long, dazzling lake +below, and there was one gravel path, parallel to these, that led to the +little yew-framed square built out on the slope of the hill. + +Two very silent persons now came out from the house by the garden door +on the south side, turned along the path, went up a dozen broad steps, +passed up the yew walk and finally turned again down the short gravel +way and stood abashed. + +His lordship was indeed here! + +A long wicker chair was set in one angle, facing them, in such a +position that the movement of the sun would not affect the delightful +shade in which the chair stood. A small table stood beside it, with the +_Times_ newspaper tumbled on to it, a box of cigars, a spirit-bottle of +iridescent glass, a syphon, and a tall tumbler in which a little ice lay +crumbled at the bottom. And in the wicker chair, with his mouth wide +open, slept Lord Talgarth. + +"Good gracious!" whispered Jenny. + +There was a silence, and then like far-off thunder a slow meditative +snore. It was not an object of beauty or dignity that they looked upon. + +"In one second I shall laugh," asserted Jenny, still in a cautious +whisper. + +"I think we'd better--" began Jack; and stopped petrified, to see one +vindictive-looking eye opened and regarding him, it seemed, with an +expression of extraordinary malignity. Then the other eye opened, the +mouth abruptly closed and Lord Talgarth sat up. + +"God bless my soul!" + +He rolled his eyes about a moment while intelligence came back. + +"You needn't be ashamed of it," said Jenny. "Mr. Jack Kirkby caught me +at it, too, half an hour ago." + +His lordship's senses had not even now quite returned. He still stared +at them innocently like a child, cleared his throat once or twice, and +finally stood up. + +"Jack Kirkby, so it is! How do, Jack? And Jenny? + +"That's who we are," said Jenny. "Are you sure you're quite recovered?" + +"Recovered! Eh--!" (He emitted a short laugh.) "Sit down. There's chairs +somewhere." + +Jack hooked out a couple that were leaning folded against the low wall +of yew beneath the window and set them down. + +"Have a cigar, Jack?" + +"No, thanks." + +They were on good terms--these two. Jack shot really well, and was smart +and deferential. Lord Talgarth asked no more than this from a young man. + +"Well--what's the matter?" + +Jack left it thoughtfully for Jenny to open the campaign. She did so +very adroitly. + +"Mr. Jack came over to see me," she said, "and I thought I couldn't +entertain him better than by bringing him up to see you. You haven't +such a thing as a cigarette, Lord Talgarth?" + +He felt about in his pockets, drew out a case and pushed it across the +table. + +"Thanks," said Jenny; and then, without the faintest change of tone: +"We've some news of Frank at last." + +"Frank, eh? Have you? And what's the young cub at, now?" + +"He's in trouble, as usual, poor boy!" remarked Jenny, genially. "He's +very well, thank you, and sends you his love." + +Lord Talgarth cast her a pregnant glance. + +"Well, if he didn't, I'm sure he meant to," went on Jenny; "but I +expect he forgot. You see, he's been in prison." + +The old man jerked such a face at her, that even her nerve failed for an +instant. Jack saw her put her cigarette up to her mouth with a hand that +shook ever so slightly. And yet before the other could say one word she +recovered herself. + +"Please let me say it right out to the end first," she said. "No; please +don't interrupt! Mr. Jack, give me the letter ... oh! I've got it." (She +drew it out and began to unfold it, talking all the while with +astonishing smoothness and self-command.) "And I'll read you all the +important part. It's written to Mr. Kirkby. He got it this morning and +very kindly brought it straight over here at once." + +Jack was watching like a terrier. On the one side he saw emotions so +furious and so conflicting that they could find no expression, and on +the other a restraint and a personality so complete and so compelling +that they simply held the field and permitted no outburst. Her voice was +cool and high and natural. Then he noticed her flick a glance at +himself, sideways, and yet perfectly intelligible. He stood up. + +"Yes, do just take a stroll, Mr. Kirkby.... Come back in ten minutes." + +And as he passed out again through the thick archway on to the terrace +he heard, in an incredibly matter-of-fact voice, the letter begin. + + "DEAR JACK...." + +Then he began to wonder what, as a matter of interest, Lord Talgarth's +first utterance would be. But he felt he could trust Jenny to manage +him. She was an astonishingly sane and sensible girl. + + +(III) + +He was at the further end of the terrace, close beneath the stable wall, +when the stable clock struck the quarter for the second time. That would +make, he calculated, about seventeen minutes, and he turned reluctantly +to keep his appointment. But he was still thirty yards away from the +opening when a white figure in a huge white hat came quickly out. She +beckoned to him with her head, and he followed her down the steps. She +gave him one glance as if to reassure him as he caught her up, but said +not a word, good or bad, till they had passed through the house again, +and were well on their way down the drive. + +"Well?" said Jack. + +Jenny hesitated a moment. + +"I suppose anyone else would have called him violent," she said. "Poor +old dear! But it seems to me he behaved rather well on the +whole--considering all things." + +"What's he going to do?" + +"If one took anything he said as containing any truth at all, it would +mean that he was going to flog Frank with his own hands, kick him first +up the steps of the house then down again, and finally drown him in the +lake with a stone round his neck. I think that was the sort of +programme." + +"But--" + +"Oh! we needn't be frightened," said Jenny. "But if you ask me what he +will do, I haven't the faintest idea." + +"Did you suggest anything?" + +"He knows what my views are," said jenny. + +"And those?" + +"Well--make him a decent allowance and let him alone." + +"He won't do that!" said Jack. "That's far too sensible." + +"You think so?" + +"That would solve the whole problem, of course," went on Jack, "marriage +and everything. I suppose it would have to be about eight hundred a +year. And Talgarth must have at least thirty thousand." + +"Oh! he's more than that," said Jenny. "He gives Mr. Dick twelve +hundred." + +There was a pause. Jack did not know what to think. He was only quite +certain that the thing would have been far worse if he had attempted to +manage it himself. + +"Well, what shall I say to Frank?" he asked. Jenny paused again. + +"It seems to me the best thing for you to do is not to write. I'll write +myself this evening, if you'll give me his address, and explain--" + +"I can't do that," said Jack. "I'm awfully sorry, but--" + +"You can't give me his address?" + +"No, I'm afraid I mustn't. You see, Frank's very particular in his +letter...." + +"Then how can I write to him? Mr. Kirkby, you're really rather--" + +"By George! I've got it!" cried Jack. "If you don't mind my waiting at +the Rectory. Why shouldn't you write to him now, and let me take the +letter away and post it? It'll go all the quicker, too, from Barham." + +He glanced at her, wondering whether she were displeased. Her answer +reassured him. + +"That'll do perfectly," she said, "if you're sure you don't mind +waiting." + +The Rectory garden seemed more than ever a harbor from storm as they +turned into it. The sun was a little lower now, and the whole lawn lay +in shadow. As they came to the door she stopped. + +"I think I'd better go and get it over," she said. "I can tell father +all about it after you've gone. Will you go now and wait there?" She +nodded towards the seat where they had sat together earlier. + + * * * * * + +But it was nearly an hour before she came out again, and a neat maid, in +apron and cap, had come discreetly out with the tea-things, set them +down and retired. + +Jack had been thinking of a hundred things, which all centered round +one--Frank. He had had a real shock this morning. It had been +intolerable to think of Frank in prison, for even Jack could guess +something of what that meant to him; and the tone of the letter had been +so utterly unlike what he had been accustomed to from his friend. He +would have expected a bubbling torrent of remarks--wise and +foolish--full of personal descriptions and unkind little sketches. And, +indeed, there had come this sober narration of facts and requests.... + +But in all this there was one deep relief--that it should be a girl like +Jenny who was the heart of the situation. If she had been in the least +little bit disturbed, who could tell what it would mean to Frank? For +Frank, as he knew perfectly well, had a very deep heart indeed, and had +enshrined Jenny in the middle of it. Any wavering or hesitation on her +part would have meant misery to his friend. But now all was perfectly +right, he reflected; and really, after all, it did not matter very much +what Lord Talgarth said or did. Frank was a free agent; he was very +capable and very lovable; it couldn't possibly be long before something +turned up, and then, with Jenny's own money the two could manage very +well. And Lord Talgarth could not live for ever; and Archie would do the +right thing, even if his father didn't. + + * * * * * + +It was after half-past four before he looked up at a glint of white and +saw Jenny standing at the drawing-room window. She stood there an +instant with a letter in her hand; then she stepped over the low sill +and came towards him across the grass, serene and dignified and +graceful. Her head was bare again, and the great coils of her hair +flashed suddenly as they caught a long horizontal ray from the west. + +"Here it is," she said. "Will you direct it? I've told him everything." + +Jack nodded. + +"That's excellent!" he said. "It shall go to-night." + +He glanced up at her and saw her looking at him with just the faintest +wistfulness. He understood perfectly, he said to himself: she was still +a little unhappy at not being allowed to send the letter herself. What a +good girl she was! + +"Have some tea before you go?" she said. + +"Thanks. I'd better not. They'll be wondering what's happened to me." + +As he shook hands he tried to put something of his sympathy into his +look. He knew exactly how she was feeling, and he thought her splendidly +brave. But she hardly met his eyes, and again he felt he knew why. + +As he opened the garden gate beyond the house he turned once more to +wave. But she was busy with the tea-things, and a black figure was +advancing briskly upon her from the direction of the study end of the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +(I) + +Life had been a little difficult for the Major for the last fortnight or +so. Not only was Frank's material and moral support lacking to him, but +the calls upon him, owing to Gertie's extreme unreasonableness, had +considerably increased. He had explained to her, over and over again, +with a rising intensity each time, how unselfishly he had acted +throughout, how his sole thought had been for her in his recent course +of action. It would never have done, he explained pacifically, for a +young man like Frank to have the responsibility of a young girl like +Gertie on his hands, while he (the Major) was spending a fortnight +elsewhere. And, in fact, even on the most economical grounds he had +acted for the best, since it had been himself who had been charged in +the matter of the tin of salmon, it would not have been a fortnight, but +more like two months, during which the little community would have been +deprived of his labor. He reminded her that Frank had had a clean record +up to that time with the police.... + +But explanation had been fruitless. Gertie had even threatened a +revelation of the facts of the case at the nearest police-station, and +the Major had been forced to more manly tactics with her. He had not +used a stick; his hands had served him very well, and in the course of +his argument he had made a few insincere remarks on the mutual relations +of Frank and Gertie that the girl remembered. + + * * * * * + +He had obtained a frugal little lodging in one of the small streets of +York, down by the river--indeed looking straight on to it; and, for a +wonder, five days' regular work at the unloading of a string of barges. +The five days expired on the Saturday before Frank was expected, but he +had several shillings in hand on the Sunday morning when Frank's letter +arrived, announcing that he hoped to be with them again on Sunday night +or Monday morning. Two letters, also, had arrived for his friend on the +Sunday morning--one in a feminine handwriting and re-directed, with an +old postmark of June, as well as one of the day before--he had held it +up to the light and crackled it between his fingers, of course, upon +receiving it--and the other an obvious bill--one postmark was Cambridge +and the other Barham. He decided to keep them both intact. Besides, +Gertie had been present at their delivery. + +The Major spent, on the whole, an enjoyable Sunday. He lay in bed till +a little after twelve o'clock, with a second-hand copy of the Sporting +Times, and a tin of tobacco beside him. They dined at about one o'clock, +and he managed to get a little spirit to drink with his meal. He had +walked out--not very far--with Gertie in the afternoon, and had managed +by representing himself as having walked seven miles--he was determined +not to risk anything by foolishly cutting it too fine--to obtain a +little more. They had tea about six, and ate, each of them, a kippered +herring and some watercress. Then about seven o'clock Frank suddenly +walked in and sat down. + +"Give me something to eat and drink," he said. + +He looked, indeed, extraordinarily strained and tired, and sat back on +the upturned box by the fireplace as if in exhaustion. He explained +presently when Gertie had cooked another herring, and he had drunk a +slop-basinful of tea, that he had walked fasting since breakfast, but he +said nothing about the priest. The Major with an air of great +preciseness measured out half a finger of whisky and insisted, with the +air of a paternal doctor, upon his drinking it immediately. + +"And now a cigarette, for God's sake," said Frank. "By the way, I've got +some work for to-morrow." + +"That's first-rate, my boy," said the Major. "I've been working myself +this week." + +Frank produced his fourpence and laid it on the corner of the table. + +"That's for supper and bed to-night," he said. + +"Nonsense, my boy; put it back in your pocket." + +"Kindly take that fourpence," remarked Frank. "You can add some +breakfast to-morrow, if you like." + + * * * * * + +He related his adventures presently--always excepting the priest--and +described how he had met a man at the gate of a builder's yard this +evening as he came through York, who had promised him a day's job, and +if things were satisfactory, more to follow. + +"He seemed a decent chap," said Frank. + + * * * * * + +The Major and Gertie had not much to relate. They had left the +market-town immediately after Frank's little matter in the magistrates' +court, and had done pretty well, arriving in York ten days ago. They +hardly referred to Frank's detention, though he saw Gertie looking at +him once or twice in a curiously shy kind of way, and understood what +was in her mind. But for very decency's sake the Major had finally to +say something. + +"By the way, my boy, I won't forget what you did for me and for my +little woman here. I'm not a man of many words, but--" + +"Oh! that's all right," said Frank sleepily. "You'll do as much for me +one day." + +The Major assented with fervor and moist eyes. It was not till Frank +stood up to go to bed that anyone remembered the letters. + +"By the way, there are two letters come for you," said the Major, +hunting in the drawer of the table. Frank's bearing changed. He whisked +round in an instant. + +"Where are they?" + +They were put into his hand. He looked at them carefully, trying to make +out the postmark--turned them upside down and round, but he made no +motion to open them. + +"Where am I to sleep?" he said suddenly. "And can you spare a bit of +candle?" + +(And as he went upstairs, it must have been just about the time that the +letter-box at Barham was cleared for the late Sunday post.) + + +(II) + +Frank lay a long time awake in the dark that night, holding tight in his +hand Jenny's letter, written to him in June. The bill he had not even +troubled to open. + +For the letter said exactly and perfectly just all those things which +he most wished to hear, in the manner in which he wished to hear them. +It laughed at him gently and kindly; it called him an extraordinarily +silly boy; it said that his leaving Cambridge, and, above all, his +manner of leaving it--Frank had added a postscript describing his +adventure with the saddle and the policeman--were precisely what the +writer would have expected of him; it made delightful and humorous +reflections upon the need of Frank's turning over a new leaf--there was +quite a page of good advice; and finally it gave him a charming +description--just not over the line of due respect--of his father's +manner of receiving the news, with extracts from some of the choicest +remarks made upon that notable occasion. It occupied four +closely-written pages, and if there were, running underneath it +all, just the faintest taint of strain and anxiety, loyally +concealed--well--that made the letter no less pleasant. + +I have not said a great deal about what Jenny meant to Frank, just +because he said so very little about her himself. She was, in fact, +almost the only element in his variegated life upon which he had not +been in the habit of pouring out torrential comments and reflections. +His father and Archie were not at all spared in his conversation with +his most intimate friends; in fact, he had been known, more than once, +in a very select circle at Cambridge, to have conducted imaginary +dialogues between those two on himself as their subject, and he could +imitate with remarkable fidelity his Cousin Dick over a billiard-table. +But he practically never mentioned Jenny; he had not even a photograph +of her on his mantelpiece. And it very soon became known among his +friends, when the news of his engagement leaked out through Jack, that +it was not to be spoken of in his presence. He had preserved the same +reticence, it may be remembered, about his religion. + +And so Frank at last fell asleep on a little iron bedstead, just +remembering that it was quite possible he might have another letter from +her to-morrow, if Jack had performed his commission immediately. But he +hardly expected to hear till Tuesday. + + * * * * * + +Gertie was up soon after five next morning to get breakfast for her men, +since the Major had announced that he would go with Frank to see whether +possibly there might not be a job for him too; and as soon as they had +gone, very properly went to sleep again on the bed in the sitting-room. + +Gertie had a strenuous time of it, in spite of the Major's frequently +expressed opinion that women had no idea what work was. For, first, +there was the almost unending labor of providing food and cooking it as +well as possible; there was almost a standing engagement of mending and +washing clothes; there were numerous arguments to be conducted, on terms +of comparative equality, if possible, with landladies or farmers' +wives--Gertie always wore a brass wedding-ring and showed it sometimes a +little ostentatiously; and, finally, when the company was on the march, +it was only fair that she should carry the heavier half of the luggage, +in order to compensate for her life of luxury and ease at other times. +Gertie, then, was usually dog-tired, and slept whenever she could get a +chance. + +It was nearly eight o'clock before she was awakened again by sharp +knocking on her door; and on opening it, found the landlady' standing +there, examining a letter with great attention. (It had already been +held up to the light against the kitchen window.) + +"For one of your folks, isn't it, Mrs.--er--" Gertie took it. It was +written on excellent paper, and directed in a man's handwriting to Mr. +Gregory: + +"Thank you, Mrs.--er--" said Gertie. + +Then she went back into her room, put the letter carefully away in the +drawer of the table and set about her household business. + +About eleven o'clock she stepped out for a little refreshment. She had, +of course, a small private exchequer of her own, amounting usually to +only a few pence, of which the Major knew nothing. This did not strike +her as at all unfair; she only wondered gently sometimes at masculine +innocence in not recognizing that such an arrangement was perfectly +certain. She got into conversation with some elder ladies, who also had +stepped out for refreshment, and had occasion, at a certain point, to +lay her wedding-ring on the bar-counter for exhibition. So it was not +until a little after twelve that she remembered the time and fled. She +was not expecting her men home to dinner; in fact, she had wrapped up +provisions for them in fragments of the Major's _Sporting Times_ before +they had left; but it was safer to be at home. One never knew. + +As she came into the room, for an instant her heart leaped into her +mouth, but it was only Frank. + +"Whatever's the matter?" she said. + +"Turned off," said Frank shortly. He was sitting gloomily at the table +with his hands in his pockets. + +"Turned off?" + +He nodded. + +"What's up?" + +"'Tecs," said Frank. + +Gertie's mouth opened a little. + +"One of them saw me going in and wired for instructions. He had seen the +case in the police-news and thought I answered to the description. Then +he came back at eleven and told the governor." + +"And--" + +"Yes." + +There was a pause. + +"And George?" + +"Oh! he's all right," said Frank a little bitterly. "There's nothing +against him. Got any dinner, Gertie? I can't pay for it ... oh, yes, I +can; here's half a day." (He chucked ninepence upon the table; the +sixpence rolled off again, but he made no movement to pick it up.) + +Gertie looked at him a moment. + +"Well--" she began emphatically, then she stooped to pick up the +sixpence. + +Frank sighed. + +"Oh! don't begin all that--there's a good girl. I've said it all +myself--quite adequately, I assure you." + +Gertie's mouth opened again. She laid the sixpence on the table. + +"I mean, there's nothing to be said," explained Frank. "The point +is--what's to be done?" + +Gertie had no suggestions. She began to scrape out the frying-pan in +which the herrings had been cooked last night. + +"There's a letter for you," she said suddenly. + +Frank sat up. + +"Where?" + +"In the drawer there--by your hand. Frankie...." + +Frank tore at the handle and it came off. He uttered a short +exclamation. Then, with infinite craft he fitted the handle in again, +wrapped in yet one more scrap of the _Sporting Times_, and drew out the +drawer. His face fell abruptly as he saw the handwriting. + +"That can wait," he muttered, and chucked the letter face downwards on +to the table. + +"Frankie," said the girl again, still intent on her frying-pan. + +"Well?" + +"It's all my fault," she said in a low voice. + +"Your fault! How do you make that out?" + +"If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have taken the tin from George, +and...." + +"Oh, Lord!" said Frank, "if we once begin on that!... And if it hadn't +been for George, he wouldn't have taken the tin; and if it hadn't been +for Maggie Cooper, there wouldn't have been the tin; and if it hadn't +been for Maggie's father's sister, she wouldn't have gone out with it. +It's all Maggie's father's sister's fault, my dear! It's nothing to do +with you." + +The words were brisk enough, but the manner was very heavy. It was like +repeating a lesson learned in childhood. + +"That's all right," began Gertie again, "but--" + +"My dear girl, I shall be annoyed if you go back to all that. Why can't +you let it alone? The point is, What's to happen? I can't go on sponging +on you and the Major." + +Gertie flushed under her tan. + +"If you ever leave us," she said, "I'll--" + +"Well?" + +"I'll ... I'll never leave George." + +Frank was puzzled for a moment. It seemed a _non sequitur_. + +"Do you mean--" + +"I've got me eyes," said Gertie emphatically, "and I know what you're +thinking, though you don't say much. And I've been thinking, too." + +Frank felt a faint warmth rise in his own heart. "You mean you've been +thinking over what I said the other day?" + +Gertie bent lower over her frying-pan and scraped harder than ever. + +"Do stop that confounded row one second!" shouted Frank. + +The noise stopped abruptly. Gertie glanced up and down again. Then she +began again, more gently. + +"That's better," said Frank.... "Well, I hope you have," he went on +paternally. "You're a good girl, Gertie, and you know better. Go on +thinking about it, and tell me when you've made up your mind. When'll +dinner be ready?" + +"Half an hour," said Gertie. + +"Well, I'll go out for a bit and look round." + +He took up the letter carelessly and went out. + + +(III) + +As he passed the window Gertie glanced towards it with the corner of her +eye. Then, frying-pan still in hand, she crept up to the angle and +watched him go down the quay. + +A very convenient barrel was set on the extreme edge of the embankment +above the water, with another beside it, and Frank made for this +immediately. She saw him sit on one of the barrels and put the letter, +still unopened, on the top of the other. Then he fumbled in his pockets +a little, and presently a small blue cloud of smoke went upwards like +incense. Gertie watched him for an instant, but he did not move again. +Then she went back to her frying-pan. + +Twenty minutes later dinner was almost ready. + +Gertie had spread upon the table, with great care, one of the Major's +white pocket-handkerchiefs. He insisted upon those being, not only +retained, but washed occasionally, and Gertie understood something of +his reasons, since in the corner of each was embroidered a monogram, of +which the letters were not "G.T." But she never could make out what they +were. + +Upon this tablecloth she had placed on one side a black-handled fork +with two prongs, and a knife of the same pattern (this was for Frank) +and on the other a small pewter tea-spoon and a knife, of which the only +handle was a small iron spike from which the wood had fallen away. (This +was for herself.) Then there was a tooth-glass for Frank, and a +teacup--without a handle, but with a gold flower in the middle of it, to +make up--for herself. In the center of the pocket-handkerchief stood a +crockery jug, with a mauve design of York Minster, with a thundercloud +behind it and a lady and gentleman with a child bowling a hoop in front +of it. This was the landlady's property, and was half full of beer. +Besides all this, there were two plates, one of a cold blue color, with +a portrait of the Prince Consort, whiskers and hat complete, in a small +medallion in the center, and the other white, with a representation of +the Falls of Lodore. There was no possibility of mistaking any of the +subjects treated upon these various pieces of table-ware, since the +title of each was neatly printed, in various styles, just below the +picture. + +Gertie regarded this array with her head on one side. It was not often +that they dined in such luxury. She wished she had a flower to put in +the center. Then she stirred the contents of the frying-pan with an iron +spoon, and went again to the window. + +The figure on the barrel had not moved; but even as she looked she saw +him put out his hand to the letter. She watched him. She saw him run a +finger inside the envelope, and toss the envelope over the edge of the +quay. Then she saw him unfold the paper inside and become absorbed. + +This would never do. Gertie's idea of a letter was that it occupied at +least several minutes to read through; so she went out quickly to the +street door to call him in. + +She called him, and he did not turn his head, nor even answer. + +She called him again. + + +(IV) + +The letter that Frank read lies, too, with a few other papers, before me +as I write. + +It runs as follows: + + "MY DEAR FRANK, + + "I know you won't like what I have to say, but it has to be + said. Believe me, it costs me as much to write as you to + read--perhaps more. + + "It is this: Our engagement must be at an end. + + "You have a perfect right to ask me for reasons, so I will give + them at once, as I don't want to open the subject again. It + would do no kind of good. My mind is absolutely made up. + + "My main reason is this: When I became engaged to you I did not + know you properly. I thought you were quite different from what + you are. I thought that underneath all your nice wildness, and + so on, there was a very solid person. And I hinted that, you + will remember, in my first letter, which I suppose you have + received just before this. And now I simply can't think that + any longer. + + "I don't in the least blame you for being what you are: that's + not my business. But I must just say this--that a man who can + do what you've done, not only for a week or two, as I thought + at first, as a sort of game, but for nearly three months, and + during that time could leave me with only three or four + postcards and no news; above all, a man who could get into + such disgrace and trouble, and actually go to prison, and yet + not seem to mind much--well, it isn't what I had thought of + you. + + "You see, there are a whole lot of things together. It isn't + just this or that, but the whole thing. + + "First you became a Catholic, without telling me anything until + just before. I didn't like that, naturally, but I didn't say + anything. It isn't nice for a husband and wife to be of + different religions. Then you ran away from Cambridge; then you + got mixed up with this man you speak of in your letter to Jack; + and you must have been rather fond of him, you know, to go to + prison for him, as I suppose you did. And yet, after all that, + I expect you've gone to meet him again in York. And then + there's the undeniable fact of prison. + + "You see, it's all these things together--one after another. I + have defended you to your father again and again; I haven't + allowed anybody to abuse you without standing up for you; but + it really has gone too far. You know I did half warn you in + that other letter. I know you couldn't have got it till just + now, but that wasn't my fault; and the letter shows what I was + thinking, even three months ago. + + "Don't be too angry with me, Frank. I'm very fond of you still, + and I shall always stand up for you when I can. And please + don't answer this in any way. Jack Kirkby isn't answering just + yet. I asked him not, though he doesn't know why. + + "Your father is going to send the news that the engagement is + broken off to the newspapers. + + "Yours sincerely, + "JENNY LAUNTON." + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +(I) + +Barham, as all Yorkshire knows, lies at the foot of a long valley, where +it emerges into the flatter district round Harrogate. It has a railway +all to itself, which goes no further, for Barham is shut in on the north +by tall hills and moors, and lies on the way to nowhere. It is almost +wholly an agricultural town, and has a curious humped bridge, right in +the middle of the town, where men stand about on market days and discuss +the price of bullocks. It has two churches--one, disused, on a +precipitous spur above the town, surrounded by an amazingly irregular +sort of churchyard, full, literally, to bursting (the Kirkbys lie there, +generation after generation of them, beneath pompous tombs), and the +other church a hideous rectangular building, with flat walls and +shallow, sham Gothic windows. It was thought extremely beautiful when it +was built forty years ago. The town itself is an irregular and rather +picturesque place, with a twisting steep High Street, looking as if a +number of houses had been shot at random into this nook among the hills +and left to find their own levels. + +The big house where the Kirkbys have lived since the middle of the +seventeenth century is close to the town, as the squire's house ought to +be, and its park gates open right upon the northern end of the old +bridge. There's nothing of great interest in the house (I believe there +is an old doorway in the cellar, mentioned in guide-books), since it was +rebuilt about the same time as the new church first rose. It is just a +big, comfortable, warm, cool, shady sort of house, with a large hall and +a fine oak staircase, surrounded by lawns and shrubberies, that adjoin +on the west the lower slopes, first of the park and then of the moors +that stretch away over the horizon. + +There is a pleasant feudal air about the whole place--feudal, in a small +and neighborly kind of way. Jack's father died just a year before his +only son came of age; and Jack himself, surrounded by sisters and an +excellent and beneficently-minded mother, has succeeded to all the +immemorial rights and powers, written and unwritten, of the Squire of +Barham. He entertained me delightfully for three or four days a few +months ago, when I was traveling about after Frank's footsteps, and I +noticed with pleasure as we drove through the town that there was +hardly a living creature in the town whom he did not salute; and who did +not salute him. + +He took me first to the bridge and pulled up in the middle of it, to +point out a small recess in it, over the central pier, intended, no +doubt, to give shelter to foot-passengers before the bridge was widened, +in case a large vehicle came through. + +"There," he said. "That's the place I first saw Frank when he came." + +We drove on up through the town, and at the foot of the almost +precipitous hill leading up to the ruined church we got out, leaving the +dog-cart in charge of the groom. We climbed the hill slowly, for it was +a hot day, Jack uttering reminiscences at intervals (many of which are +recorded in these pages) and turned in at the churchyard gate. + +"And this was the place," said Jack, "where I said good-by to him." + + +(II) + +It was on the twenty-fifth of September, a Monday, that Jack sat in the +smoking-room, in Norfolk jacket and gaiters, drinking tea as fast as he +possibly could. He had been out on the moors all day, and was as thirsty +as the moors could make him, and he had been sensual enough to smoke a +cigarette deliberately before beginning tea, in order to bring his +thirst to an acute point. + +Then, the instant he had finished he snatched for his case again, for +this was to be the best cigarette of the whole day, and discovered that +his sensuality had overreached itself for once, and that there were none +left. He clutched at the silver box with a sinking heart, +half-remembering that he had filled his case with the last of them this +morning. It was a fact, and he knew that there were no others in the +house. + +This would never do, and he reflected that if he sent a man for some +more, he would not get them for at least twenty minutes. (Jack never +could understand why an able-bodied footman always occupied twenty +minutes in a journey that ought to take eight.) So he put on his cap +again, stepped out of the low window and set off down the drive. + + * * * * * + +It was getting a little dark as he passed out of the lodge-gates. The +sun, of course, had set at least an hour before behind the great hill to +the west, but the twilight proper was only just beginning. He was nearly +at the place now, and as he breasted the steep ascent of the bridge, +peered over it, at least with his mind's eye, at the tobacconist's +shop--first on the left--where a store of "Mr. Jack's cigarettes" was +always on hand. + +He noticed in the little recess I have just spoken of a man leaning +with his elbows on the parapet, and staring out up the long reach of the +stream to the purple evening moors against the sky and the luminous +glory itself; and as he came opposite him, wondered vaguely who it was +and whether he knew him. Then, as he got just opposite him, he stopped, +uneasy at heart. + + * * * * * + +Naturally Frank was never very far away from Jack's thoughts just +now--ever since, indeed, he had heard the news in a very discreet letter +from the Reverend James Launton a week or two ago. (I need not say he +had answered this letter, not to the father, but to the daughter, but +had received no reply.) + +He had written a frantic letter to Frank himself then, but it had been +returned, marked: "Unknown at this address." And ever since he had eyed +all tramps on the road with an earnestness that elicited occasionally a +salute, and occasionally an impolite remark. + +The figure whose back he saw now certainly was not much like Frank; but +then--again--it was rather like him. It was dressed in a jacket and +trousers so stained with dust and wet as to have no color of their own +at all, and a cloth cap of the same appearance. A bundle tied up in a +red handkerchief, and a heavy stick, rested propped against an angle of +the recess. + +Jack cleared his throat rather loud and stood still, prepared to be +admiring the view, in case of necessity; the figure turned an eye over +its shoulder, then faced completely round; and it was Frank Guiseley. + +Jack for the first instant said nothing at all, but stood transfixed, +with his mouth a little open and his eyes staring. Frank's face was +sunburned almost beyond recognition, his hair seemed cut shorter than +usual, and the light was behind him. + +Then Jack recovered. + +"My dear man," he said, "why the--" + +He seized him by the hands and held him, staring at him. + +"Yes; it's me all right," said Frank. "I was just wondering--" + +"Come along, instantly.... Damn! I've got to go to a tobacconist's; it's +only just here. There isn't a cigarette in the house. Come with me?" + +"I'll wait here," said Frank. + +"Will you? I shan't be a second." + +It was, as a matter of fact, scarcely one minute before Jack was back; +he had darted in, snatched a box from the shelf and vanished, crying out +to "put it down to him." He found Frank had faced round again and was +staring at the water and sky and high moors. He snatched up his friend's +bundle and stick. + +"Come along," he said, "we shall have an hour or two before dinner." + +Frank, in silence, took the bundle and stick from him again, firmly and +irresistibly, and they did not speak again till they were out of +ear-shot of the lodge. Then Jack began, taking Frank's arm--a custom for +which he had often been rebuked. + +"My dear old man!" he said. "I ... I can't say what I feel. I know the +whole thing, of course, and I've expressed my mind plainly to Miss +Jenny." + +"Yes?" + +"And to your father. Neither have answered, and naturally I haven't been +over again.... Dick's been there, by the way." + +Frank made no comment. + +"You look simply awful, old chap," pursued Jack cheerily. "Where on +earth have you been for the last month? I wrote to York and got the +letter returned." + +"Oh! I've been up and down," said Frank impassively. + +"With the people you were with before--the man, I mean?" + +"No. I've left them for the present. But I shall probably join them +again later." + +"Join...!" began the other aghast. + +"Certainly! This thing's only just begun," said Frank, with that same +odd impassivity. "We've seen the worst of it, I fancy." + +"But you don't mean you're going back! Why, it's ridiculous!" + +Frank stopped. They were within sight of the house now and the lights +shone pleasantly out. + +"By the way, Jack, I quite forgot. You will kindly give me your promise +to make no sort of effort to detain me when I want to go again, or I +shan't come any further." + +"But, my dear chap--" + +"Kindly promise at once, please." + +"Oh, well! I promise, but--" + +"That's all right," said Frank, and moved on. + + * * * * * + +"I say," said Jack, as they came up to the hall door. "Will you talk now +or will you change, or what?" + +"I should like a hot bath first. By the way, have you anyone staying in +the house?" + +"Not a soul; and only two sisters at home. And my mother, of course." + +"What about clothes?" + +"I'll see about that. Come on round to the smoking-room window. Then +I'll get in Jackson and explain to him. I suppose you don't mind your +name being known? He'll probably recognize you, anyhow." + +"Not in the least, so long as no one interferes." + +Jack rang the bell as soon as they came into the smoking-room, and Frank +sat down in a deep chair. Then the butler came. He cast one long look at +the astonishing figure in the chair. + +"Oh!--er--Jackson, this is Mr. Frank Guiseley. He's going to stay here. +He'll want some clothes and things. I rather think there are some suits +of mine that might do. I wish you'd look them out." + +"I beg your pardon, sir? + +"This is Mr. Frank Guiseley--of Merefield.... It is, really! But we +don't want more people talking than are necessary. You understand? +Please don't say anything about it, except that he's come on a +walking-tour. And please tell the housekeeper to get the Blue Room +ready, and let somebody turn on the hot water in the bath-room until +further notice. That's all, Jackson ... and the clothes. You +understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"And get the _eau de lubin_ from my dressing-room and put it in the +bath-room. Oh, yes; and the wooden bowl of soap." + +"These clothes of mine are not to be thrown away, please, Jackson," +said Frank gravely from the chair. "I shall want them again." + +"Yes, sir." + +"That's all, then," said Jack. + +Mr. Jackson turned stiffly and left the room. + +"It's all right," said Jack. "You remember old Jackson. He won't say a +word. Lucky no one saw us as we came up." + +"It doesn't matter much, does it?" said Frank. + +There was a pause. + +"I say, Frank, when will you tell me--" + +"I'll answer any questions after dinner to-night. I simply can't talk +now." + +Dinner was a little difficult that night. + +Mrs. Kirkby had been subjected to a long lecture from her son during the +half hour in which she ought to have been dressing, in order to have it +firmly implanted in her mind that Frank--whom she had known from a +boy--was simply and solely in the middle of a walking-tour all by +himself. She understood the situation perfectly in a minute and a +half--(she was a very shrewd woman who did not say much)--but Jack was +not content. He hovered about her room, fingering photographs and +silver-handled brushes, explaining over and over again how important it +was that Frank should be made to feel at his case, and that Fanny and +Jill--(who were just old enough to come to dinner in white high-necked +frocks that came down to their very slender ankles, and thick pig-tails +down their backs)--must not be allowed to bother him. Mrs. Kirkby said, +"Yes, I understand," about a hundred and thirty times, and glanced at +the clock. She stood with one finger on the electric button for at least +five minutes before venturing to ring for her maid, and it was only that +lady's discreet tap at one minute before eight that finally got Jack out +of the room. He looked in on Frank in the middle of his dressing, found +to his relief that an oldish suit of dress-clothes fitted him quite +decently, and then went to put on his own. He came down to the +drawing-room seven minutes after the gong with his ears very red and his +hair in a plume, to find Frank talking to his mother, and eyed by his +sisters who were pretending to look at photographs, with all the ease in +the world. + +But dinner itself was difficult. It was the obvious thing to talk about +Frank's "walking-tour"; and yet this was exactly what Jack dared not do. +The state of the moors, and the deplorable ravages made among the young +grouse by the early rains, occupied them all to the end of fish; to the +grouse succeeded the bullocks: to the bullocks, the sheep, and, by an +obvious connection--obvious to all who knew that gentleman--from the +sheep to the new curate. + +But just before the chocolate _soufflee_ there came a pause, and Jill, +the younger of the two sisters, hastened to fill the gap. + +"Did you have a nice walking-tour, Mr. Guiseley?" + +Frank turned to her politely. + +"Yes, very nice, considering," he said. + +"Have you been alone all the time?" pursued Jill, conscious of a social +success. + +"Well, no," said Frank. "I was traveling with a ... well, with a man who +was an officer in the army. He was a major." + +"And did you--" + +"That's enough, Jill," said her mother decidedly. "Don't bother Mr. +Guiseley. He's tired with his walk." + +The two young men sat quiet for a minute or two after the ladies had +left the room. Then Jack spoke. + +"Well?" he said. + +Frank looked up. There was an odd, patient kind of look in his eyes that +touched Jack a good deal. Frank had not been distinguished for +submissiveness hitherto. + +"Oh! a bit later, if you don't mind," he said. "We can talk in the +smoking-room." + + +(IV) + +"Well, I'll tell you the whole thing as far as I understand it," began +Frank, as the door closed behind Jackson, who had brought whisky and +candles. "And then I'll answer any questions you want." + +He settled himself back in his chair, stretching out his legs and +clasping his hands behind his head. Jack had a good view of him and +could take notice of his own impressions, though he found them hard to +put into words afterwards. The words he finally chose were "subdued" and +"patient" again, and there are hardly two words that would have been +less applicable to Frank three months before. At the same time his +virility was more noticeable than ever; he had about him, Jack said, +something of the air of a very good groom--a hard-featured and sharp, +yet not at all unkindly look, very capable and, at the same time, very +much restrained. There was no sentimental nonsense about him at all--his +sorrow had not taken that form. + +"Well, I needn't talk much about Jenny's last letter and what happened +after that. I was entirely unprepared, of course. I hadn't the faintest +idea--Well, she was the one person about whom I had no doubts at all! I +actually left the letter unread for a few minutes (the envelope was in +your handwriting, you know)--because I had to think over what I had to +do next. The police had got me turned away from a builder's yard--" + +Jack emitted a small sound. He was staring at Frank with all his eyes. + +"Yes; that's their way," said Frank. "Well, when I read it, I simply +couldn't think any more at all for a time. The girl we were traveling +with--she had picked up with the man I had got into trouble over, you +know--the girl was calling me to dinner, she told me afterwards. I +didn't hear a sound. She came and touched me at last, and I woke up. But +I couldn't say anything. They don't even now know what's the matter. I +came away that afternoon. I couldn't even wait for the Major--" + +"Eh?" + +"The Major.... Oh! that's what the chap calls himself. I don't think +he's lying, either. I simply couldn't stand him another minute just +then. But I sent them a postcard that night--I forget where from; +and--There aren't any letters for me, are there? + +"One or two bills." + +"Oh! well, I shall hear soon, I expect. I must join them again in a day +or two. They're somewhere in this direction, I know." + +"And what did you do?" + +Frank considered. + +"I'm not quite sure. I know I walked a great deal. People were awfully +good to me. One woman stopped her motor--and I hadn't begged, either--" + +"You! Begged!" + +"Lord, yes; lots of times.... Well, she gave me a quid, and I didn't +even thank her. And that lasted me very well, and I did a little work +too, here and there." + +"But, good Lord! what did you do?" + +"I walked. I couldn't bear towns or people or anything. I got somewhere +outside of Ripon at last, and went out on to the moors. I found an old +shepherd's hut for about a week or ten days--" + +"And you--" + +"Lived there? Yes. I mended the hut thoroughly before I came away. And +then I thought I'd come on here." + +"What were you doing on the bridge?" + +"Waiting till dark. I was going to ask at the lodge then whether you +were at home." + +"And if I hadn't been?" + +"Gone on somewhere else, I suppose." + +Jack tried to help himself to a whisky and soda, but the soda flew out +all over his shirt-front like a fountain, and he was forced to make a +small remark. Then he made another. + +"What about prison?" + +Frank smiled. + +"Oh! I've almost forgotten that. It was beastly at the time, though." + +"And ... and the Major and the work! Lord! Frank, you do tell a story +badly." + +He smiled again much more completely. + +"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, +somehow." + +"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?" + +Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture. + +"Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack." + +"Yes." + +"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily +interested as to what's going to happen next--inside, I mean. At least, +sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang." + +Jack looked bewildered, and said so tersely. Frank leaned forward a +little. + +"It's like this, you see. Something or other has taken me in hand: I'm +blessed if I know what. All these things don't happen one on the top of +the other just by a fluke. There's something going on, and I want to +know what it is. And I suppose something's going to happen soon." + +"For God's sake do say what you mean!" + +"I can't more than that. I tell you I don't know. I only wish somebody +could tell me." + +"But what does it all amount to? What are you going to do next?" + +"Oh! I know that all right. I'm going to join the Major and Gertie +again." + +"Frank!" + +"Yes?... No, not a word, please. You promised you wouldn't. I'm going to +join those two again and see what happens." + +"But why?" + +"That's my job. I know that much. I've got to get that girl back to her +people again. She's not his wife, you know." + +"But what the devil--" + +"It seems to me to matter a good deal. Oh! she's a thoroughly stupid +girl, and he's a proper cad; but that doesn't matter. It's got to be +done; or, rather, I've got to try to do it. I daresay I shan't succeed, +but that, again, doesn't matter. I've got to do my job, and then we'll +see." + +Jack threw up his hands. + +"You're cracked!" he said. + +"I daresay," said Frank solemnly. + +There was a pause. It seemed to Jack that the whole thing must be a +dream. This simply wasn't Frank at all. The wild idea came to him that +the man who sat before him with Frank's features was some kind of +changeling. Mentally he shook himself. + +"And what about Jenny?" he said. + +Frank sat perfectly silent and still for an instant. Then he spoke +without heat. + +"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Sometimes I'd like to ... well, to make +her a little speech about what she's done, and sometimes I'd like to +crawl to her and kiss her feet--but both those things are when I'm +feeling bad. On the whole, I think--though I'm not sure--that is not my +business any more; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. It's part of the +whole campaign and out of my hands. It's no good talking about that any +more. So please don't, Jack." + +"One question?" + +"Well?" + +"Have you written to her or sent her a message?" + +"No." + +"And I want to say one other thing. I don't think it's against the +bargain." + +"Well?" + +"Will you take five hundred pounds and go out to the colonies?" + +Frank looked up with an amused smile. + +"No, I won't--thanks very much.... Am I in such disgrace as all that, +then?" + +"You know I don't mean that," said Jack quietly. + +"No, old chap. I oughtn't to have said that. I'm sorry." + +Jack waved a hand. + +"I thought perhaps you'd loathe England, and would like--And you don't +seem absolutely bursting with pride, you know." + +"Honestly, I don't think I am," said Frank. "But England suits me very +well--and there are the other two, you know. But I'll tell you one thing +you could do for me." + +"Yes?" + +"Pay those extra bills. I don't think they're much." + +"That's all right," said Jack. "And you really mean to go on with it +all?" + +"Why, yes." + + +(V) + +The moors had been pretty well shot over already since the twelfth of +August, but the two had a very pleasant day, for all that, a couple of +days later. They went but with a keeper and half a dozen beaters--Frank +in an old homespun suit of Jack's, and his own powerful boots, and made +a very tolerable bag. There was one dramatic moment, Jack told me, when +they found that luncheon had been laid at a high point on the hills from +which the great gray mass of Merefield and the shimmer of the lake in +front of the house were plainly visible only eight miles away. The flag +was flying, too, from the flagstaff on the old keep, showing, according +to ancient custom, that Lord Talgarth was at home. Frank looked at it a +minute or two with genial interest, and Jack wondered whether he had +noticed, as he himself had, that even the Rectory roof could be made +out, just by the church tower at the foot of the hill. + +Neither said anything, but as the keeper came up to ask for orders as +they finished lunch, he tactfully observed that there was a wonderful +fine view of Merefield. + +"Yes," said Frank, "you could almost make out people with a telescope." + + * * * * * + +The two were walking together alone as they dropped down, an hour before +sunset, on to the upper end of Barham. They were both glowing with the +splendid air and exercise, and were just in that state of weariness that +is almost unmixed physical pleasure to an imaginative thinker who +contemplates a hot bath, a quantity of tea, and a long evening in a +deep chair. Frank still preserved his impassive kind of attitude towards +things in general, but Jack noticed with gentle delight that he seemed +more off his guard, and that he even walked with something more of an +alert swing than he had on that first evening when they trudged up the +drive together. + +Their road led them past the gate of the old churchyard, and as they +approached it, dropping their feet faster and faster down the steep +slope, Jack noticed two figures sitting on the road-side, with their +feet in the ditch--a man and a girl. He was going past them, just +observing that the man had rather an unpleasant face, with a ragged +mustache, and that the girl was sunburned, fair-haired and rather +pretty, when he became aware that Frank had slipped behind him. The next +instant he saw that Frank was speaking to them, and his heart dropped to +zero. + +"All right," he heard Frank say, "I was expecting you. This evening, +then.... I say, Jack!" + +Jack turned. + +"Jack, this is Major and Mrs. Trustcott, I told you of. This is my +friend, Mr.--er--Mr. Jack." + +Jack bowed vaguely, overwhelmed with disgust. + +"Very happy to make your acquaintance, sir," said the Major, +straightening himself in a military manner. "My good lady and I were +resting here. Very pleasant neighborhood." + +"I'm glad you like it," said Jack. + +"Then, this evening," said Frank again. "Can you wait an hour or two?" + +"Certainly, my boy," said the Major. "Time's no consideration with us, +as you know." + +(Jack perceived that this was being said at him, to show the familiarity +this man enjoyed with his friend.) + +"Would nine o'clock be too late?" + +"Nine o'clock it shall be," said the Major. + +"And here?" + +"Here." + +"So long, then," said Frank. "Oh, by the way--" He moved a little closer +to this appalling pair, and Jack stood off, to hear the sound of a +sentence or two, and then the chink of money. + +"So long, then," said Frank again. "Come along, Jack; we must make +haste." + +"Good-evening, sir," cried the Major, but Jack made no answer. + + * * * * * + +"Frank, you don't mean to tell me that those are the people?" + +"That's the Major and Gertie--yes." + +"And what was all that about this evening?" + +"I must go, Jack. I'm sorry; but I told you it couldn't be more than a +few days at the outside." + +Jack was silent, but it was a hard struggle. + +"By the way, how shall we arrange?" went on the other. "I can't take +these clothes, you know; and I can't very well be seen leaving the house +in my own." + +"Do as you like," snapped Jack. + +"Look here, old man, don't be stuffy. How would it do if I took a bag +and changed up in that churchyard? It's locked up after dark, isn't it?" + +"Yes." + +"You've got a key, I suppose?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, that's it. And I'll leave the bag and the key in the hedge +somewhere." + +Jack was silent. + +Jack held himself loyally in hand that evening, but he could not talk +much. He consented to explain to his mother that Frank had to be off +after dinner that night, and he also visited the housekeeper's room, and +caused a small bundle, not much larger than a leg of mutton, including +two small bottles which jingled together, to be wrapped up in brown +paper--in which he inserted also a five-pound note (he knew Frank would +not take more)--and the whole placed in the bag in which Frank's old +clothes were already concealed. For the rest of the evening he sat, +mostly silent, in one chair, trying not to watch Frank in another; +pretending to read, but endeavoring to picture to his imagination what +he himself would feel like if he were about to join the Major and Gertie +in the churchyard at nine o'clock.... Frank sat quite quiet all the +evening, reading old volumes of _Punch_. + +They dined at half-past seven, by request--Frank still in his homespun +suit. Fanny and Jill were rather difficult. It seemed to them both a +most romantic thing that this black-eyed, sunburned young man, with whom +they had played garden-golf the day before, should really be continuing +his amazing walking-tour, in company with two friends, at nine o'clock +that very night. They wondered innocently why the two friends had not +been asked to join them at dinner. It was exciting, too, and unusual, +that this young man should dine in an old homespun suit. They asked a +quantity of questions. Where was Mr. Guiseley going first? Frank didn't +quite know; Where would he sleep that night? Frank didn't quite know; he +would have to see. When was the walking-tour going to end? Frank didn't +quite know. Did he really like it? Oh, well, Frank thought it was a good +thing to go on a walking tour, even if you were rather uncomfortable +sometimes. + +The leave-taking was unemotional. Jack had announced suddenly and +loudly in the smoking-room before dinner that he was going to see the +last of Frank, as far as the churchyard; Frank had protested, but had +yielded. The rest had all said good-by to him in the hall, and at a +quarter to nine the two young men went out into the darkness. + + +(VI) + +It was a clear autumn night--a "wonderful night of stars"--and the skies +blazed softly overhead down to the great blotted masses of the high +moors that stood round Barham. It was perfectly still, too--the wind had +dropped, and the only sound as the two walked down the park was the low +talking of the stream over the stones beyond the belt of trees fifty +yards away from the road. + +Jack was sick at heart; but even so, he tells me, he was conscious that +Frank's silence was of a peculiar sort. He felt somehow as if his friend +were setting out to some great sacrifice in which he was to suffer, and +was only partly conscious of it--or, at least, so buoyed by some kind of +exaltation or fanaticism as not to realize what he was doing. (He +reminded me of a certain kind of dream that most people have now and +then, of accompanying some friend to death: the friend goes forward, +silent and exultant, and we cannot explain nor hold him back. + +"That was the sort of feeling," said Jack lamely.) + + * * * * * + +Jack had the grim satisfaction of carrying the bag in which, so to +speak, the knife and fillet were hidden. He changed his mood half a +dozen times even in that quarter of an hour's walk through the town. Now +the thing seemed horrible, like a nightmare; now absurdly preposterous; +now rather beautiful; now perfectly ordinary and commonplace. After all, +Jack argued with himself, there are such people as tramps, and they +survive. Why should not Frank? He had gipsy blood in him, too. What in +the world was he--Jack--frightened of? + +"Do you remember our talking about your grandmother?" he said suddenly, +as they neared the lodge. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Only I've just thought of something else. Wasn't one of your people +executed under Elizabeth?" + +"By gad, yes; so he was. I'd quite forgotten. It was being on the wrong +side for once." + +"How--the wrong side?" + +There was amusement in Frank's voice as he answered. + +"It was for religion," he said. "He was a Papist. All the rest of them +conformed promptly. They were a most accommodating lot. They changed +each time without making any difficulty. I remember my governor telling +us about it once. He thought them very sensible. And so they were, by +George! from one point of view." + +"Has your religion anything to do with all this?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Frank, with an indifferent air. + + * * * * * + +There were a good many doors open in the High Street as they went up it, +and Jack saluted half a dozen people mechanically as they touched their +hats to him as he passed in the light from the houses. + +"What does it feel like being squire?" asked Frank. + +"Oh, I don't know," said Jack. + +"Rather good fun, I should think," said Frank. + + * * * * * + +They were nearing the steep part of the ascent presently, and the church +clock struck nine. + +"Bit late," said Frank. + +"When will you come again?" asked the other suddenly. "I'm here another +fortnight, you know, and then at Christmas again. Come for Christmas if +you can." + +"Ah! I don't know where I shall be. Give my love to Cambridge, though." + +"Frank!" + +"Yes?" + +"Mayn't I say what I think?" + +"No!" + + * * * * * + +Ah! there was the roof of the old church standing out against the stars, +and there could be no more talking. They might come upon the other two +at any moment now. They went five steps further, and there, in the +shadow of the gate, burned a dull red spot of fire, that kindled up as +they looked, and showed for an instant the heavy eyes of the Major with +a pipe in his mouth. + + * * * * * + +"Good-evening, sir," came the military voice, and the girl rose to her +feet beside him. "You're just in time." + +"Good-evening," said Jack dully. + +"We've had a pleasant evening of it up here, Mr. Kirkby, after we'd +stepped down and had a bit of supper at the 'Crown.'" + +"I suppose you heard my name there," said Jack. + +"Quite right, sir." + +"Give us the key," said Frank abruptly. + +He unlocked the door and pushed it back over the grass-grown gravel. + +"Wait for me here, will you?" he said to Jack. + +"I'm coming in. I'll show you where to change." + + * * * * * + +Twenty yards of an irregular twisted path, over which they stumbled two +or three times, led them down to the little ruined doorway at the west +end of the old church. Jack's father had restored the place admirably, +so far as restoration was possible, and there stood now, strong as ever, +the old tower, roofed and floored throughout, abutting on the four +roofless walls, within which ran the double row of column bases. + +Jack struck a light, kindled a bicycle lamp he had brought with him, and +led the way. + +"Come in here," he said. + +Frank followed him into the room at the base of the tower and looked +round. + +"This looks all right," he said. "It was a Catholic church once, I +suppose? + +"Yes; the parson says this was the old sacristy. They've found things +here, I think--cupboards in the wall, and so on." + +"This'll do excellently," said Frank. "I shan't be five minutes." + +Jack went out again without a word. He felt it was a little too much to +expect him to see the change actually being made, and the garments of +sacrifice put on. (It struck him with an unpleasant shock, considering +the form of his previous metaphor, that he should have taken Frank into +the old sacristy.) + +He sat down on the low wall, built to hold the churchyard from slipping +altogether down the hill-side, and looked out over the little town +below. + +The sky was more noticeable here; one was more conscious of the enormous +silent vault, crowded with the steady stars, cool and aloof; and, +beneath, of the feverish little town with sparks of red light dotted +here and there, where men wrangled and planned and bargained, and +carried on the little affairs of their little life with such astonishing +zest. Jack was far from philosophical as a rule, but it is a fact that +meditations of this nature did engross him for a minute or two while he +sat and waited for Frank, and heard the low voices talking in the lane +outside. It even occurred to him for an instant that it was just +possible that what Frank had said in the smoking-room before dinner was +true, and that Something really did have him in hand, and really, did +intend a definite plan and result to emerge from this deplorable and +quixotic nonsense. (I suppose the contrast of stars and human lights may +have helped to suggest this sort of thing to him.) + +Then he gave himself up again to dismal considerations of a more +particular kind. + + * * * * * + +He heard Frank come out, and turned to see him in the dim light, bag in +hand, dressed again as he had been three days ago. On his head once more +was the indescribable cap; on his body the indescribable clothes. He +wore on his feet the boots in which he had tramped the moors that day. +(How far away seemed that afternoon now, and the cheerful lunch in the +sunshine on the hill-top!) + +"Here I am, Jack." + +Then every promise went to the winds. Jack stood up and took a step +towards him. + +"Frank, I do implore you to give up this folly. I asked you not to do it +at Cambridge, and I ask you again now. I don't care a damn what I +promised. It's simple madness, and--" + +Frank had wheeled without a word, and was half-way to the gate. Jack +stumbled after him, calling under his breath; but the other had already +passed through the gate and joined the Major and Gertie before Jack +could reach him. + +"And so you think up here is the right direction?" Frank was saying. + +"I got some tips at the 'Crown,'" said the Major. "There are some farms +up there, where--" + +"Frank, may I speak to you a minute?" + +"No.... All right, Major; I'm ready at once if you are." + +He turned towards Jack. + +"By the way," he said, "what's in this parcel?" + +"Something to eat and drink," murmured Jack. + +"Oh ... I shan't want that, thanks very much. Here's the bag with the +clothes in it. I'm awfully grateful, old man, for all your kindness. +Awfully sorry to have bothered you." + +"By the way, Frankie," put in the hateful voice at his side, "I'll take +charge of that parcel, if you don't want it." + +"Catch hold, then," said Frank. "You're welcome to it, if you'll carry +it. You all right, Gertie?" + +The girl murmured something inaudible. As at their first meeting, she +had said nothing at all. The Major lifted a bundle out of the depths of +the hedge, slung it on his stick, and stood waiting, his face again +illuminated with the glow of his pipe. He had handed the new parcel to +Gertie without a word. + +"Well, good-by again, old man," said Frank, holding out his hand. He, +too, Jack saw, had his small bundle wrapped up in the red handkerchief, +as on the bridge when they had first met. Jack took his hand and shook +it. He could say nothing. + +Then the three turned and set their faces up the slope. He could see +them, all silent together, pass up, more and more dim in the darkness of +the hedge, the two men walking together, the girl a yard behind them. +Then they turned the corner and were gone. But Jack still stood where +Frank had left him, listening, until long after the sound of their +footfalls had died away. + + +(VII) + +Jack had a horrid dream that night. + +He was wandering, he thought, gun in hand after grouse, alone on the +high moors. It was one of those heavy days, so common in dreams, when +the light is so dim that very little can be seen. He was aware of +countless hill-tops round him, and valleys that ran down into profound +darkness, where only the lights of far-off houses could be discerned. +His sport was of that kind peculiar to sleep-imaginings. Enormous birds, +larger than ostriches, rose occasionally by ones or twos with incredible +swiftness, and soared like balloons against the heavy, glimmering sky. +He fired at these and feathers sprang from them, but not a bird fell. +Once he inflicted an indescribable wound ... and the bird sped across +the sky, blotting out half of it, screaming. Then as the screaming died +he became aware that there was a human note in it, and that Frank was +crying to him, somewhere across the confines of the wold, and the horror +that had been deepening with each shot he fired rose to an intolerable +climax. Then began one of the regular nightmare chases: he set off to +run; the screaming grew fainter each instant; he could not see his way +in the gloom; he clambered over bowlders; he sank in bogs, and dragged +his feet from them with infinite pains; his gun became an unbearable +burden, yet he dared not throw it from him; he knew that he should need +it presently.... The screaming had ceased now, yet he dared not stop +running; Frank was in some urgent peril, and he knew it was not yet too +late, if he could but find him soon. He ran and ran; the ground was +knee-deep now in the feathers that had fallen from the wounded birds; it +was darker than ever, yet he toiled on hopelessly, following, as he +thought, the direction from which the cries had come. Then as at last he +topped the rise of a hill, the screaming broke out again, shrill and +frightful, close at hand, and the next instant he saw beneath him in the +valley a hundred yards away that for which he had run so far. Running up +the slope below, at right angles to his own path came Frank, in the +dress-clothes he had borrowed, with pumps upon his feet; his hands were +outstretched, his face white as ashes, and he screamed as he ran. +Behind him ran a pack of persons whose faces he could not see; they ran +like hounds, murmuring as they came in a terrible whining voice. Then +Jack understood that he could save Frank; he brought his gun to the +shoulder, aimed it at the brown of the pack and drew the trigger. A snap +followed, and he discovered that he was unloaded; he groped in his +cartridge-belt and found it empty.... He tore at his pockets, and found +at last one cartridge; and as he dashed it into the open breach, his gun +broke in half. Simultaneously the quarry vanished over an edge of hill, +and the pack followed, the leaders now not ten yards behind the flying +figure in front. + +Jack stood there, helpless and maddened. Then he flung the broken pieces +of his gun at the disappearing runners; sank down in the gloom, and +broke out into that heart-shattering nightmare sobbing which shows that +the limit has been reached. + +He awoke, still sobbing--certain that Frank was in deadly peril, if not +already dead, and it was a few minutes before he dared to go to sleep +once more. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +The Rectory garden at Merefield was, obviously, this summer, the proper +place to spend most of the day. Certainly the house was cool--it was one +of those long, low, creeper-covered places that somehow suggest William +IV. and crinolines (if it is a fact that those two institutions +flourished together, as I think), with large, darkish rooms and wide, +low staircases and tranquil-looking windows through which roses peep; +but the shadow of the limes and the yews was cooler still. A table stood +almost permanently through those long, hot summer days in the place +where Dick had sat with Jenny, and here the Rector and his daughter +breakfasted, lunched and dined, day after day, for a really +extraordinarily long period. + +Jenny herself lived in the garden even more than her father; she got +through the household business as quickly as possible after breakfast, +and came out to do any small businesses that she could during the rest +of the morning. She wrote a few letters, read a few books, sewed a +little, and, on the whole, presented a very domestic and amiable +picture. She visited poor people for an hour or so two or three days a +week, and occasionally, when Lord Talgarth was well enough, rode out +with him and her father after tea, through the woods, and sometimes with +Lord Talgarth alone. + +She suffered practically no pangs of conscience at all on the subject of +Frank. Her letter had been perfectly sincere, and she believed herself +to have been exceedingly sensible. (It is, perhaps, one may observe, one +of the most dangerous things in the world to think oneself sensible; it +is even more dangerous than to be told so.) For the worst of it all was +that she was quite right. It was quite plain that she and Frank were not +suited to one another; that she had looked upon that particular quality +in him which burst out in the bread-and-butter incident, the leaving of +Cambridge, the going to prison, and so forth, as accidental to his +character, whereas it was essential. It was also quite certain that it +was the apotheosis of common-sense for her to recognize that, to say so, +and to break off the engagement. + +Of course, she had moments of what I should call "grace," and she would +call insanity, when she wondered for a little while whether to be +sensible was the highest thing in life; but her general attitude to +these was as it would be towards temptation of any other kind. To be +sensible, she would say, was to be successful and effective; to be +otherwise was to fail and to be ineffective. + +Very well, then. + + * * * * * + +At the beginning of September Dick Guiseley came to Merefield to shoot +grouse. The grouse, as I think I have already remarked, were backward +this year, and, after a kind of ceremonial opening, to give warning as +it were, on the twelfth of August, they were left in peace. Business was +to begin on the third, and on the evening of the second Dick arrived. + +He opened upon the subject that chiefly occupied his thoughts just now +with Archie that night when Lord Talgarth had gone to bed. They were +sitting in the smoking-room, with the outer door well open to admit the +warm evening air. They had discussed the prospects of grouse next day +with all proper solemnity, and Archie had enumerated the people who were +to form their party. The Rector was coming to shoot, and Jenny was to +ride out and join them at lunch. + +Then Archie yawned largely, finished his drink, and took up his candle. + +"Oh! she's coming, is she?" said Dick meditatively. + +Archie struck a match. + +"How's Frank?" went on Dick. + +"Haven't heard from him." + +"Where is the poor devil?" + +"Haven't an idea." + +Dick emitted a monosyllabic laugh. + +"And how's she behaving?" + +"Jenny? Oh! just as usual. She's a sensible girl and knows her mind." + +Dick pondered this an instant. + +"I'm going to bed," said Archie. "Got to have a straight eye to-morrow." + +"Oh! sit down a second.... I want to talk." + +Archie, as a compromise, propped himself against the back of a chair. + +"She doesn't regret it, then?" pursued Dick. + +"Not she," said Archie. "It would never have done." + +"I know," agreed Dick warmly. (It was a real pleasure to him that head +and heart went together in this matter.) "But sometimes, you know, women +regret that sort of thing. Wish they hadn't been quite so sensible, you +know." + +"Jenny doesn't," said Archie. + +Dick took up his glass which he had filled with his third +whisky-and-soda, hardly five minutes before, and drank half of it. He +sucked his mustache, and in that instant confidentialism rose in his +heart. + +"Well, I'm going to have a shot myself," he said. + +"What?" + +"I'm going to have a shot. She can but say 'No.'" + +Archie's extreme repose of manner vanished for a second. His jaw dropped +a little. + +"But, good Lord! I hadn't the faintest--" + +"I know you hadn't. But I've had it for a long time.... What d'you +think, Archie?" + +"My good chap--" + +"Yes, I know; leave all that out. We'll take that as read. What comes +next?" + +Archie looked at him a moment. + +"How d'you mean? Do you mean, do I approve?" + +"Well, I didn't mean that," admitted Dick. "I meant, how'd I better set +about it?" + +Archie's face froze ever so slightly. (It will be remembered that Jack +Kirkby considered him pompous.) + +"You must do it your own way," he said. + +"Sorry, old man," said Dick. "Didn't mean to be rude." + +Archie straightened himself from the chair-back. + +"It's all rather surprising," he said. "It never entered my head. I +must think about it. Good-night. Put the lights out when you come." + +"Archie, old man, are you annoyed?" + +"No, no; that's all right," said Archie. + +And really and truly that was all that passed between these two that +night on the subject of Jenny--so reposeful were they. + + +(II) + +There was a glorious breeze blowing over the hills as Jenny rode slowly +up about noon next day. The country is a curious mixture--miles of moor, +as desolate and simple and beautiful as moors can be, and by glimpses, +now and then in the valleys between, of entirely civilized villages, +with even a town or two here and there, prick-up spires and roofs; and, +even more ominous, in this direction and that, lie patches of smoke +about the great chimneys. + +Jenny was meditative as she rode up alone. It is very difficult to be +otherwise when one has passed through one considerable crisis, and +foresees a number of others that must be met, especially if one has not +made up one's mind as to the proper line of action. It is all very well +to be sensible, but a difficulty occasionally arises as to which of two +or three courses is the more in accordance with that character. To be +impulsive certainly leads to trouble sometimes, but also, sometimes it +saves it. + +Jenny looked charming in repose. She was in a delightful green habit; +she wore a plumy kind of hat; she rode an almost perfect little mare +belonging to Lord Talgarth, and her big blue, steady eyes roved slowly +round her as she went, seeing nothing. It was, in fact, the almost +perfect little mare who first gave warning of the approach to the +sportsmen, by starting violently all over at the sound of a shot, fired +about half a mile away. Jenny steadied her, pulled her up, and watched +between the cocked and twitching ears. + +Below her, converging slowly upwards, away from herself, moved a line of +dots, each precisely like its neighbor in color (Lord Talgarth was very +particular, indeed, about the uniform of his beaters), and by each moved +a red spot, which Jenny understood to be a flag. The point towards which +they were directed culminated in a low, rounded hill, and beneath the +crown of this, in a half circle, were visible a series of low defenses, +like fortifications, to command the face of the slope and the dips on +either side. This was always the last beat--in this moor--before lunch; +and lunch itself, she knew, would be waiting on the other side of the +hill. Occasionally as she watched, she saw a slight movement behind +this or that butt--no more--and the only evidence of human beings, +beside the beaters, lay in the faint wreath of all but invisible smoke +that followed the reports, coming now quicker and quicker, as the grouse +took alarm. Once with a noise like a badly ignited rocket, there burst +over the curve before her a flying brown thing, that, screaming with +terrified exultation, whirred within twenty yards of her head and +vanished into silence. (One cocked ear of the mare bent back to see if +the rocket were returning or not.) + +Jenny's meditations became more philosophical than ever as she looked. +She found herself wondering how much free choice the grouse--if they +were capable themselves of philosophizing--would imagine themselves to +possess in the face of this noisy but insidious death. She reminded +herself that every shred of instinct and experience that each furious +little head contained bade the owner of it to fly as fast and straight +as possible, in squawking company with as many friends as possible, away +from those horrible personages in green and silver with the agitating +red flags, and up that quiet slope which, at the worst, only emitted +sudden noises. A reflective grouse would perhaps (and two out of three +did) consider that he could fly faster and be sooner hidden from the +green men with red flags, if he slid crosswise down the valleys on +either side. But--Jenny observed--that was already calculated by these +human enemies, and butts (like angels' swords) commanded even these +approaches too. + +It was obvious, then, that however great might be the illusion of free +choice, in reality there was none: they were betrayed hopelessly by the +very instincts intended to safeguard them; practical common-sense, in +this case, at least, led them straight into the jaws of death. A little +originality and impulsiveness would render them immortal so far as guns +were concerned.... + +Yes; but there was one who had been original, who had actually preferred +to fly straight past a monster in green on a gray mare rather than to +face the peaceful but deathly slopes; and he had escaped. But obviously +he was an exception. Originality in grouse-- + +At this point the mare breathed slowly and contemptuously and advanced a +delicate, impatient foot, having quite satisfied herself that danger was +no longer imminent; and Jenny became aware she was thinking nonsense. + + * * * * * + +There were a number of unimportant but well-dressed persons at lunch, +with most of whom Jenny was acquainted. These extended themselves on the +ground and said the right things one after another; and all began with +long drinks, and all ended with heavy meals. There were two other women +whom she knew slightly, who had driven up half an hour before. +Everything was quite perfect--down even to hot grilled grouse that +emerged from emblazoned silver boxes, and hot black coffee poured from +"Thermos" flasks. Jenny asked intelligent questions and made herself +agreeable. + +At the close of lunch she found herself somehow sitting on a small rock +beside Dick. Lord Talgarth was twenty yards away, his gaitered legs very +wide apart, surveying the country and talking to the keeper. Her father +was looking down the barrels of his rather ineffective gun, and Archie, +with three or four other men and two women, a wife and a sister, was +smoking with his back against a rock. + +"Shall you be in to-morrow?" asked Dick casually. + +Jenny paused an instant. + +"I should think so!" she said. "I've got one or two things to do." + +"Perhaps I may look in? I want to talk to you about something if I may." + +"Shan't you be shooting again?" + +"No; I'm not very fit and shall take a rest." + +Jenny was silent. + +"About what time?" pursued Dick. + +Jenny roused herself with a little start. She had been staring out over +the hills and wondering if that was the church above Barham that she +could almost see against the horizon. + +"Oh! any time up to lunch," she said vaguely. + +Dick stood up slowly with a satisfied air and stretched himself. He +looked very complete and trim, thought Jenny, from his flat cap to his +beautifully-spatted shooting-boots. (It was twelve hundred a year, at +least, wasn't it?) + +"Well, I suppose we shall be moving directly," he said. + + * * * * * + +A beater came up bringing the mare just before the start was made. + +"All right, you can leave her," said Jenny. "I won't mount yet. Just +hitch the bridle on to something." + +It was a pleasant and picturesque sight to see the beaters, like a file +of medieval huntsmen, dwindle down the hill in their green and silver in +one direction, and, five minutes later, the sportsmen in another. It +looked like some mysterious military maneuver on a small scale; and +again Jenny considered the illusion of free choice enjoyed by the +grouse, who, perhaps, two miles away, crouched in hollows among the +heather. And yet, practically speaking, there was hardly any choice at +all.... + +Lady Richard, the wife of one of the men, interrupted her in a drawl. + +"Looks jolly, doesn't it?" she said. + +Jenny assented cordially. + +(She hated this woman, somehow, without knowing why. She said to herself +it was the drawl and the insolent cold eyes and the astonishing +complacency; and she only half acknowledged that it was the beautiful +lines of the dress and the figure and the assured social position.) + +"We're driving," went on the tall girl. "You rode, didn't you? + +"Yes." + +"Lord Talgarth's mare, isn't it? I thought I recognized her." + +"Yes. I haven't got a horse of my own, you know," said Jenny +deliberately. + +"Oh!" + +Jenny suddenly felt her hatred rise almost to passion. + +"I must be going," she said. "I've got to visit an old woman who's +dying. A rector's daughter, you know--" + +"Ah! yes." + +Then Jenny mounted from a rock (Lady Richard held the mare's head and +settled the habit), and rode slowly away downhill. + + +(III) + +Dick approached the Rectory next day a little before twelve o'clock with +as much excitement in his heart as he ever permitted to himself. + +Dick is a good fellow--I haven't a word to say against him, except +perhaps that he used to think that to be a Guiseley, and to have +altogether sixteen hundred a year and to live in a flat in St. James's, +and to possess a pointed brown beard and melancholy brown eyes and a +reposeful manner, relieved him from all further effort. I have wronged +him, however; he had made immense efforts to be proficient at billiards, +and had really succeeded; and, since his ultimate change of fortune, has +embraced even further responsibilities in a conscientious manner. + +Of course, he had been in love before in a sort of way; but this was +truly different. He wished to marry Jenny very much indeed.... That she +was remarkably sensible, really beautiful and eminently presentable, of +course, paved the way; but, if I understand the matter rightly, these +were not the only elements in the case. It was the genuine thing. He did +not quite know how he would face the future if she refused him; and he +was sufficiently humble to be in doubt. + +The neat maid told him at the door that Miss Launton had given +directions that he was to be shown into the garden if he came.... No; +Miss Launton was in the morning-room, but she should be told at once. So +Dick strolled across the lawn and sat down by the garden table. + +He looked at the solemn, dreaming house in the late summer sunshine; he +observed a robin issue out from a lime tree and inspect him sideways; +and then another robin issue from another lime tree and drive the first +one away. Then he noticed a smear of dust on his own left boot, and +flicked it off with a handkerchief. Then, as he put his handkerchief +away again, he saw Jenny coming out from the drawing-room window. + +She looked really extraordinarily beautiful as she came slowly across +towards him and he stood to meet her. She was bare-headed, but her face +was shadowed by the great coils of hair. She was in a perfectly plain +pink dress, perfectly cut, and she carried herself superbly. She looked +just a trifle paler than yesterday, he thought, and there was a very +reserved, steady kind of question in her eyes. (I am sorry to be obliged +to go on saying this sort of thing about Jenny every time she comes upon +the scene; but it is the sort of thing that everyone is obliged to go on +thinking whenever she makes her appearance.) + +"I've got a good deal to say," said Dick, after they had sat a moment +or two. "May I say it right out to the end?" + +"Why, certainly," said Jenny. + +Dick leaned back and crossed one knee over the other. His manner was +exactly right--at any rate, it was exactly what he wished it to be, and +all through his little speech he preserved it. It was quite restrained, +extremely civilized, and not at all artificial. It was his method of +presenting a fact--the fact that he really was in love with this +girl--and was in his best manner. There was a lightness of touch about +this method of his, but it was only on the surface. + +"I daresay it's rather bad form my coming and saying all this so soon, +but I can't help that. I know you must have gone through an awful lot in +the last month or two--perhaps even longer--but I don't know about that. +And I want to begin by apologizing if I am doing what I shouldn't. The +fact is that--well, that I daren't risk waiting." + +He did not look at Jenny (he was observing the robin that had gone and +come again since Jenny had appeared), but he was aware that at his first +sentence she had suddenly settled down into complete motionlessness. He +wondered whether that was a good omen or not. + +"Well, now," he said, "let me give a little account of myself first. I'm +just thirty-one; I've got four hundred a year of my own, and Lord +Talgarth allows me twelve hundred a year more. Then I've got other +expectations, as they say. My uncle gives me to understand that my +allowance is secured to me in his will; and I'm the heir of my aunt, +Lady Simon, whom you've probably met. I just mention that to show I'm +not a pauper--" + +"Mr. Guiseley--" began Jenny. + +"Please wait. I've not done yet. Do you mind? ... I'm a decent living +man. I'm not spotless, but I'll answer any questions you like to put--to +your father. I've not got any profession, though I'm supposed to be a +solicitor; but I'm perfectly willing to work if ... if it's wished, or +to stand for Parliament, or anything like that--there hasn't, so far, +seemed any real, particular reason why I should work. That's all. And I +think you know the sort of person I am, all round. + +"And now we come to the point." (Dick hesitated a fraction of a second. +He was genuinely moved.) "The point is that I'm in love with you, and I +have been for some time past. I ... I can't put it more plainly ... (One +moment, please, I've nearly done.) ... I can't think of anything else; +and I haven't been able to for the last two or three months. I ... I ... +I'm fearfully sorry for poor old Frank; I'm very fond of him, you know, +but I couldn't help finding it an extraordinary relief when I heard the +news. And now I've come to ask you, perfectly straight, whether you'll +consent to be my wife." + +Dick looked at her for the first time since he had begun his little +speech. + +She still sat absolutely quiet (she had not even moved at the two words +she had uttered), but she had gone paler still. Her mouth was in repose, +without quiver or movement, and her beautiful eyes looked steadily on to +the lawn before her. She said nothing. + +"If you can't give me an answer quite at once," began Dick again +presently, "I'm perfectly willing to--" + +She turned and looked him courageously in the face. + +"I can't say 'Yes,'" she said. "That would be absurd.... You have been +quite straightforward with me, and I must be straightforward with you. +That is what you wish, isn't it?" + +Dick inclined his head. His heart was thumping furiously with +exultation--in spite of her words. + +"Then what I say is this: You must wait a long time. If you had insisted +on an answer now, I should have said 'No.' I hate to keep you waiting, +particularly when I do really think it will be 'No' in the long run; but +as I'm not quite sure, and as you've been perfectly honest and +courteous, if you really wish it I won't say 'No' at once. Will that +do?" + +"Whatever you say," said Dick. + +"You mustn't forget I was engaged to Frank till quite lately. Don't you +see how that obscures one's judgment? I simply can't judge now, and I +know I can't.... You're willing to wait, then?--even though I tell you +now that I think it will be 'No'?" + +"Whatever you say," said Dick again; "and may I say thank you for not +saying 'No' at once?" + +A very slight look of pain came into the girl's eyes. + +"I would sooner you didn't," she said. "I'm sorry you said that...." + +"I'm sorry," said poor Dick. + +There was a pause. + +"One other thing," said Jenny. "Would you mind not saying anything to my +father? I don't want him to be upset any more. Have you told anybody +else you were--?" + +"Yes," said Dick bravely, "I told Archie." + +"I'm sorry you did that. Will you then just tell him exactly what I +said--exactly, you know. That I thought it would be 'No'; but that I +only didn't say so at once because you wished it." + +"Very well," said Dick. + +It was a minute or so before either spoke again. Jenny had that +delightful and soothing gift which prevents silence from being empty. It +is the same gift, in another form, as that which enables its possessor +to put people at their ease. (It is, I suppose, one of the elements of +tact.) Dick had a sense that they were still talking gently and +reasonably, though he could not quite understand all that Jenny was +meaning. + +She interrupted it by a sudden sentence. + +"I wonder if it's fair," she said. "You know I'm all but certain. I only +don't say so because--" + +"Let it be at that," said Dick. "It's my risk, isn't it?" + + +(III) + +When he had left her at last, she sat on perfectly still in the same +place. The robin had given it up in despair: this human creature was not +going to scratch garden-paths as she sometimes did, and disclose rich +worms and small fat maggots. But a cat had come out instead and was now +pacing with stiff forelegs, lowered head and trailing tail, across the +sunny grass, endeavoring to give an impression that he was bent on some +completely remote business of his own. + +He paused at the edge of the shadow and eyed the girl malignantly. + +"Wow!" said the cat. + +There was no response. + +"Wow!" said the cat. + +Jenny roused herself. + +"Wow!" said Jenny meditatively. + +"Wow!" said the cat, walking on. + +"Wow!" said Jenny. + +Again there was a long silence. + +"Wow!" said Jenny indignantly. + +The cat turned a slow head sideways as he began to cross the path, but +said nothing. He waited for another entreaty, but Jenny paid no more +attention. As he entered the yews he turned once more. + +"Wow!" said the cat, almost below his breath. + +But Jenny made no answer. The cat cast one venomous look and +disappeared. + + * * * * * + +Then there came out a dog--a small brown and black animal, very sturdy +on his legs, and earnest and independent in air and manner. He was the +illegitimate offspring of a fox-terrier. He trotted briskly across from +the direction of the orchard, diagonally past Jenny. As he crossed the +trail of the cat he paused, smelt, and followed it up for a yard or two, +till he identified for certain that it proceeded from an acquaintance; +then he turned to resume his journey. The movement attracted the girl's +attention. + +"Lama!" called Jenny imperiously. "Come here this instant!" + +Lama put his head on one side, nodded and smiled at her indulgently, and +trotted on. + + * * * * * + +"Oh, dear me!" said Jenny, sighing out loud. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +There lived (and still lives, I believe) in the small Yorkshire village +of Tarfield a retired doctor, entirely alone except for his servants, in +a large house. It is a very delightful house, only--when I stayed there +not long ago--it seemed to me that the doctor did not know how to use +it. It stands in its own grounds of two or three acres, on the +right-hand side of the road to a traveler going north, separated by a +row of pollarded limes from the village street, and approached--or, +rather, supposed to be approached--by a Charles II. gate of iron-scroll +work. I say "supposed to be approached" because the gate is invariably +kept locked, and access can only be gained to the house through the side +gate from the stable-yard. The grounds were abominably neglected when I +saw them; grass was growing on every path, and as fine a crop of weeds +surged up amongst the old autumn flowers as ever I have seen. The house, +too, was a sad sight. There here two big rooms, one on either side of +the little entrance-hall--one a dining-room, the other a sort of +drawing-room--and both were dreary and neglected-looking places. In the +one the doctor occasionally ate, in the other he never sat except when a +rare visitor came to see him, and the little room supposed to be a study +at the foot of the stairs in the inner hall that led through the kitchen +was hardly any better. I was there, I say, last autumn, and the +condition of the place must have been very much the same as that in +which it was when Frank came to Tarfield in October. + +For the fact was that the doctor--who was possessed of decent private +means--devoted the whole of his fortune, the whole of his attention, and +the whole of his life--such as it was--to the study of toxins upstairs. + +Toxins, I understand, have something to do with germs. Their study +involves, at any rate at present, a large stock of small animals, such +as mice and frogs and snakes and guinea-pigs and rabbits, who are given +various diseases and then studied with loving attention. I saw the +doctor's menagerie when I went to see him about Frank; they were chiefly +housed in a large room over the kitchen, communicating with the doctor's +own room by a little old powder-closet with two doors, and the smell was +indescribable. Ranks of cages and boxes rose almost to the ceiling, and +in the middle of the room was a large business-like looking wooden +kitchen-table with various appliances on it. I saw the doctor's room +also--terribly shabby, but undoubtedly a place of activity. There were +piles of books and unbound magazines standing about in corners, with +more on the table, as well as a heap of note-books. An array of glass +tubes and vary-colored bottles stood below the window, with a +microscope, and small wooden boxes on one side. And there was, besides, +something which I think he called an "incubator"--a metal affair, +standing on four slender legs; a number of glass tubes emerged from +this, each carefully stoppered with cotton wool, and a thermometer +thrust itself up in one corner. + +A really high degree of proficiency in any particular subject invariably +leads to atrophy in other directions. A man who eats and breathes and +dreams Toxins, for instance, who lives so much in Toxins that he +corresponds almost daily with learned and unintelligible Germans; who +knows so much about Toxins that when he enters, with shabby trousers and +a small hand-bag, into the room of a polished specialist in Harley +Street, he sees as in a dream the specialist rise and bow before +him--who, when he can be persuaded to contribute a short and highly +technical article to a medical magazine, receives a check for +twenty-five guineas by return of post--a man of this kind is peculiarly +open to the danger of thinking that anything which cannot be expressed +in terms of Toxin is negligible nonsense. It is the characteristic +danger of every specialist in every branch of knowledge; even +theologians are not wholly immune. + +It was so in the case of Dr. Whitty (I forget all the initials that +should follow his name). He had never been married, he never took any +exercise; occasionally, when a frog's temperature approached a crisis, +he slept in his clothes, and forgot to change them in the morning. And +he was the despair of the zealous vicar. He was perfectly convinced +that, since the force that underlay the production of Toxins could +accomplish so much, it could surely accomplish everything. He could +reduce his roses, his own complexion, the grass on his garden-paths, the +condition of his snakes', and frogs' skins, and the texture of his +kitchen-table--if you gave him time--to terms of Toxin; therefore, +argued Dr. Whitty, you could, if you had more time, reduce everything +else to the same terms. There wasn't such a thing as a soul, of +course--it was a manifestation of a combination of Toxins (or +anti-Toxins, I forget which); there was no God--the idea of God was the +result of another combination of Toxins, akin to a belief in the former +illusion. Roughly speaking, I think his general position was that as +Toxins are a secretion of microbes (I am certain of that phrase, +anyhow), so thought and spiritual experiences and so forth are a +secretion of the brain. I know it sounded all very brilliant and +unanswerable and analogous to other things. He hardly ever took the +trouble to say all this; he was far too much interested in what he +already knew, or was just on the point of finding out, to treat of these +extravagant and complicated ramifications of his subject. When he really +got to know his mice and bats, as they deserved to be known, it might be +possible to turn his attention to other things. Meanwhile, it was +foolish and uneconomical. So here he lived, with a man-of-all-work and +his man's wife, and daily went from strength to strength in the +knowledge of Toxins. + + * * * * * + +It was to this household that there approached, in the month of October, +a small and dismal procession of three. + +The doctor was first roused to a sense of what was happening as he +shuffled swiftly through his little powder-closet one morning soon after +breakfast, bearing in his hand the corpse of a mouse which had at last, +and most disappointingly, succumbed to a severe attack of some hybrid of +leprosy. As he flew through to his microscope he became aware of an +altercation in the stable-yard beneath. + +"I tell you he ain't a proper doctor," he heard his man explaining; "he +knows nothing about them things." + +"My good fellow," began a high, superior voice out of sight; but Dr. +Whitty swept on, and was presently deep in indescribable disgustingness +of the highest possible value to the human race, especially in the South +Seas. Time meant nothing at all to him, when this kind of work was in +hand; and it was after what might be an hour or two hours, or ten +minutes, that he heard a tap on his door. + +He uttered a sound without moving his eye, and the door opened. + +"Very sorry, sir," said his man, "but there's a party in the yard as +won't--" + +The doctor held up his hand for silence, gazed a few moments longer, +poked some dreadful little object two or three times, sighed and sat +back. + +"Eh?" + +"There's a party in the yard, sir, wants a doctor." + +(This sort of thing had happened before.) + +"Tell them to be off," he said sharply. He was not an unkindly man, but +this sort of thing was impossible. "Tell them to go to Dr. Foster." + +"I 'ave, sir," said the man. + +"Tell them again," said the doctor. + +"I 'ave, sir. 'Arf a dozen times." + +The doctor sighed--he was paying practically no attention at all, of +course. The leprous mouse had been discouraging; that was all. + +"If you'd step down, sir, an instant--" + +The doctor returned from soaring through a Toxined universe. + +"Nonsense," he said sharply. "Tell them I'm not practicing. What do they +want?" + +"Please, sir, it's a young man as 'as poisoned 'is foot, 'e says. 'E +looks very bad, and--" + +"Eh? Poison?" + +"Yes, sir." + +The doctor appeared to reflect a moment (that mouse, you know--); then +he recovered. + +"I'll be down directly," he said almost mechanically. "Take 'em all into +the study." + + +(II) + +Dr. Whitty could hardly explain to me, even when he tried, exactly why +he had made an exception in this particular instance. Of course, I +understand perfectly myself why he did; but, for himself, all he could +say was that he supposed the word Poison happened to meet his mood. He +had honestly done with the mouse just now; he had no other very critical +case, and he thought he might as well look at the poisoned young man +for an instant, before finally despatching him to Dr. Foster, six miles +further on. + +When he came into the study ten minutes later he found the party ranged +to meet him. A girl was sitting on a box in the corner by the window, +and stood up to receive him; a young man was sitting back in a Windsor +chair, with one boot off, jerking spasmodically; his eyes stared +unmeaningly before him. A tallish, lean man of a particularly +unprepossessing appearance was leaning over him with an air of immense +solicitude. They were all three evidently of the tramp-class. + +What they saw--with the exception of Frank, I expect, who was too far +gone to notice anything--was a benignant-looking old man, very shabby, +in an alpaca jacket, with a rusty velvet cap on his head, and very +bright short-sighted eyes behind round spectacles. This figure appeared +in the doorway, stood looking at them a moment, as if bewildered as to +why he or they were there at all; and then, with a hasty shuffling +movement, darted across the floor and down on his knees. + +The following colloquy was held as soon as the last roll of defiled +bandage had dropped to the floor, and Frank's foot was disclosed. + +"How long's this been going on?" asked the doctor sharply, holding the +discolored thing carefully in his two hands. + +"Well, sir," said the Major reflectively, "he began to limp about--let's +see--four days ago. We were coming through--" + +The doctor, watching Frank's face curiously (the spasm was over for the +present), cut the Major short by a question to the patient. + +"Now, my boy, how d'you feel now?" + +Frank's lips moved; he seemed to be trying to lick them; but he said +nothing, and his eyes closed, and he grinned once or twice, as if +sardonically. + +"When did these spasms begin?" went on the doctor, abruptly turning to +the Major again. + +"Well, sir--if you mean that jerking--Frankie began to jerk about half +an hour ago when we were sitting down a bit; but he's seemed queer since +breakfast. And he didn't seem to be able to eat properly." + +"How do you mean? D'you mean he couldn't open his mouth?" + +"Well, sir, it was something like that." + +The doctor began to make comments in a rapid undertone, as if talking to +himself; he pressed his hand once or twice against Frank's stomach; he +took up the filthy bandage and examined it. Then he looked at the boot. + +"Where's the sock?" he asked sharply. + +Gertie produced it from a bundle. He looked at it closely, and began to +mumble again. Then he rose to his feet. + +"What's the matter with him, doctor?" asked the Major, trying to look +perturbed. + +"We call it tetanus," said the doctor. + +"Who are you, my man?" he said. "Any relation?" + +The Major looked at him loftily. + +"No, sir.... I am his friend." + +"Ha! Then you must leave your friend in my charge. He shall be well in a +week at the latest." + +The Major was silent. + +"Well?" snapped the doctor. + +"I understood from your servant, sir--" + +"You speak like an educated man." + +"I am an educated man." + +"Ha--well--no business of mine. What were you about to say?" + +"I understood from your servant, sir, that this was not quite in your +line; and since--" + +The specialist smiled grimly. He snatched up a book from a pile on the +table, thrust open the title-page and held it out. + +"Read that, sir.... As it happens, it's my hobby. Go and ask Dr. +Foster, if you like.... No, sir; I must have your friend; it's a good +sound case." + +The Major read the title-page in a superior manner. It purported to be +by a James Whitty, and the name was followed by a series of distinctions +and of the initials, which I have forgotten. F.R.S. were the first. + +"My name," said the doctor. + +The Major handed the book back with a bow. + +"I am proud to make your acquaintance, Dr. Whitty. I have heard of you. +May I present Mrs. Trustcott?" + +Gertie looked confused. The doctor made a stiff obeisance. Then his face +became animated again. + +"We must move your friend upstairs," he said. "If you will help, Mr. +Trustcott, I will call my servant." + + +(III) + +It was about half-past nine that night that the doctor, having rung the +bell in the spare bedroom, met his man at the threshold. + +"I'll sleep in this room to-night," he said; "you can go to bed. Bring +in a mattress, will you?" + +The man looked at his master's face. (He looked queer-like, reported +Thomas later to his wife.) + +"Hope the young man's doing well, sir?" + +A spasm went over the doctor's face. + +"Most extraordinary young man in the world," he said.... Then he broke +off. "Bring the mattress at once, Thomas. Then you can go to bed." + +He went back and closed the door. + + * * * * * + +Thomas had seldom seen his master so perturbed over a human being +before. He wondered what on earth was the matter. During the few minutes +that he was in the room he looked at the patient curiously, and he +noticed that the doctor was continually looking at him too. Thomas +described to me Frank's appearance. He was very much flushed, he said, +with very bright eyes, and he was talking incessantly. And it was +evidently this delirious talking that had upset the doctor. I tried to +get out of Doctor Whitty what it was that Frank had actually said, but +the doctor shut up his face tight and would say nothing. Thomas was more +communicative, though far from adequate. + +It was about religion, he said, that Frank was talking--about +religion.... And that was really about all that he could say of that +incident. + +Thomas awoke about one o'clock that night, and, still with the +uneasiness that he had had earlier in the evening, climbed out of bed +without disturbing his wife, put on his slippers and great-coat and made +his way down the attic stairs. The October moon was up, and, shining +through the staircase window, showed him the door of the spare bedroom +with a line of light beneath it. From beyond that door came the steady +murmur of a voice.... + +Now Thomas's nerves were strong: he was a little lean kind of man, very +wiry and active, nearly fifty years old, and he had lived with his +master, and the mice and the snakes, and disagreeable objects in +bottles, for more than sixteen years. He had been a male nurse in an +asylum before that. Yet there was something--he told me later--that +gripped him suddenly as he was half-way down the stairs and held him in +a kind of agony which he could in no way describe. It was connected with +the room behind that lighted door. It was not that he feared for his +master, nor for Frank. It was something else altogether. (What a pity it +is that our system of education teaches neither self-analysis nor the +art of narration!) + +He stood there--he told me--he should think for the better part of ten +minutes, unable to move either way, listening, always listening, to the +voice that rose and sank and lapsed now and then into silences that +were worse than all, and telling himself vigorously that he was not at +all frightened. + +It was a creak somewhere in the old house that disturbed him and snapped +the thin, rigid little thread that seemed to paralyze his soul; and +still in a sort of terror, though no longer in the same stiff agony, he +made his way down the three or four further steps of the flight, laid +hold of the handle, turned it and peered in. + +Frank was lying quiet so far as he could see. A night-light burned by +the bottles and syringes on the table at the foot of the bed, and, +although shaded from the young man's face, still diffused enough light +to shoes the servant the figure lying there, and his master, seated +beyond the bed, very close to it, still in his day-clothes--still, even, +in his velvet cap--his chin propped in his hand, staring down at his +patient, utterly absorbed and attentive. + +There was nothing particularly alarming in all that, and yet there was +that in the room which once more seized the man at his heart and held +him there, rigid again, terrified, and, above all, inexpressibly awed. +(At least, that is how I should interpret his description.) He said that +it wasn't like the spare bedroom at all, as he ordinarily knew it (and, +indeed, it was a mean sort of room when I saw it, without a fireplace, +though of tolerable size). It was like another room altogether, said +Thomas. + +He tried to listen to what Frank was saying, and I imagine he heard it +all quite intelligently; yet, once more, all he could say afterwards was +that it was about religion ... about religion.... + +So he stood, till he suddenly perceived that the doctor was looking at +him with a frown and contorted features of eloquence. He understood that +he was to go. He closed the door noiselessly; and, after another pause, +sped upstairs without a sound in his red cloth slippers. + + +(IV) + +When Frank awoke to normal consciousness again, he lay still, wondering +what it was all about. He saw a table at the foot of his bed and noticed +on it a small leather case, two green bottles stoppered with +india-rubber, and a small covered bowl looking as if it contained +beef-tea. He extended his explorations still further, and discovered an +Hanoverian wardrobe against the left wall, a glare of light (which he +presently discerned to be a window), a dingy wall-paper, and finally a +door. As he reached this point the door opened and an old man with a +velvet skull-cap, spectacles, and a kind, furrowed face, came in and +stood over him. + +"Well?" said the old man. + +"I am a bit stiff," said Frank. + +"Are you hungry?" + +"I don't think so." + +"Well, you're doing very well, if that's any satisfaction to you," +observed the doctor, frowning on him doubtfully. + +Frank said nothing. + +The doctor sat down on a chair by the bed that Frank suddenly noticed +for the first time. + +"Well," said the doctor, "I suppose you want to know the facts. Here +they are. My name is Whitty; I'm a doctor; you're in my house. This is +Wednesday afternoon; your friends brought you here yesterday morning. +I've given them some work in the garden. You were ill yesterday, but +you're all right now." + +"What was the matter?" + +"We won't bother about names," said the doctor with a kind sharpness. +"You had a blister; it broke and became a sore; then you wore one of +those nasty cheap socks and it poisoned it. That's all." + +"That's in those bottles?" asked Frank languidly. (He felt amazingly +weak and stupid.) + +"Well, it's an anti-toxin," said the doctor. "That doesn't tell you +much, does it?" + +"No," said Frank.... "By the way, who's going to pay you, doctor? I +can't." + +The doctor's face rumpled up into wrinkles. (Frank wished he wouldn't +sit with his back to the window.) + +"Don't you bother about that, my boy. You're a case--that's what you +are." + +Frank attempted a smile out of politeness. + +"Now, how about some more beef-tea, and then going to sleep again?" + +Frank assented. + + * * * * * + +It was not until the Thursday morning that things began to run really +clear again in Frank's mind. He felt for his rosary under his pillow and +it wasn't there. Then he thumped on the floor with a short stick which +had been placed by him, remembering that in some previous existence he +had been told to do this. + +A small, lean man appeared at the door, it seemed, with the quickness of +thought. + +"My rosary, please," said Frank. "It's a string of beads. I expect it's +in my trouser-pocket." + +The man looked at him with extraordinary earnestness and vanished. + +Then the doctor appeared holding the rosary. + +"Is this what you want?" he asked. + +"That's it! Thanks very much." + +"You're a Catholic?" went on the other, giving it him. + +"Yes." + +The doctor sat down again. + +"I thought so," he said. + +Frank wondered why. Then a thought crossed his mind. + +"Have I been talking?" he said. "I suppose I was delirious?" + +The doctor made no answer for a moment; he was looking at him fixedly. +Then he roused himself. + +"Well, yes, you have," he said. + +Frank felt rather uncomfortable. + +"Hope I haven't said anything I shouldn't." + +The old man laughed shortly and grimly. + +"Oh, no," he said. "Far from it. At least, your friends wouldn't think +so." + +"What was it about?" + +"We'll talk about that later, if you like," said the doctor. "Now I want +you to get up a bit after you've had some food." + + * * * * * + +It was with a very strange sensation that Frank found himself out in the +garden next day, in a sheltered corner, seated in a wicker chair in +which, by the help of bamboo poles, he had been carried downstairs by +Thomas and the Major, with the doctor leading the way and giving +directions as to how to turn the corners. The chair was brought out +through an irregularly-shaped little court at the back of the house and +set down in the warm autumn noon, against an old wall, with a big +kitchen garden, terribly neglected, spread before him. The smoke of +burning went up in the middle distance, denoting the heap of weeds +pulled by the Major and Gertie during the last three days. He saw Gertie +in the distance once or twice, in a clean sun-bonnet, going about her +business, but she made no sign. The smell of the burning weeds gave a +pleasant, wholesome and acrid taste to his mouth. + +"Now then," said the doctor, "we can have our little talk." And he sat +down beside him on another chair. + + * * * * * + +Frank felt a little nervous, he scarcely knew why. It seemed to him that +it would be far better not to refer to the past at all. And it appeared +to him a little unusual that a doctor should be so anxious about it. +Twice or three times since yesterday this old man had begun to ask him a +question and had checked himself. There was a very curious eagerness +about him now. + +"I'm awfully grateful and all that," said Frank. "Is there anything +special you want to know? I suppose I've been talking about my people?" + +The doctor waved a wrinkled hand. + +"No, no," he said, "not a word. You talked about a girl a little, of +course--everybody does; but not much. No, it isn't that." + +Frank felt relieved. He wasn't anxious about anything else. + +"I'm glad of that. By the way, may I smoke?" + +The doctor produced a leather case of cigarettes and held it out. + +"Take one of these," he said. + +"Because," continued Frank, "I'm afraid I mustn't talk about my people. +The name I've got now is Gregory, you know." He lit his cigarette, +noticing how his fingers still shook, and dropped the match. + +"No, it's not about that," said the doctor; "it's not about that." + +Frank glanced at him, astonished by his manner. + +"Well, then--?" he began. + +"I want to know first," said the doctor slowly, "where you've got all +your ideas from. I've never heard such a jumble in my life. I know you +were delirious; but ... but it hung together somehow; and it seemed much +more real to you than anything else." + +"What did?" asked Frank uncomfortably. + +The doctor made no answer for a moment. He looked out across the untidy +garden with its rich, faded finery of wild flowers and autumn leaves, +and the yellowing foliage beyond the wall, and the moors behind--all +transfigured in October sunshine. The smoke of the burning weeds drew +heavenly lines and folds of ethereal lace-work across the dull splendors +beyond. + +"Well," he said at last, "everything. You know I've heard hundreds and +hundreds of folks ..." he broke off again, "... and I know what people +call religion about here--and such a pack of nonsense ..." (He turned on +Frank again suddenly.) "Where d'you get your ideas from?" + +"Do you mean the Catholic religion?" said Frank. + +"Bah! don't call it that. I know what that is--" Frank interrupted him. + +"Well, that's my religion," he said. "I haven't got any other." + +"But ... but the way you hold it," cried the other; "the grip ... the +grip it has of you. That's the point. D'you mean to tell me--" + +"I mean that I don't care for anything else in the whole world," said +Frank, stung with sudden enthusiasm. + +"But ... but you're not mad! You're a very sensible, fellow. You don't +mean to tell me you really believe all that--all that about pain and so +on? We doctors know perfectly what all that is. It's a reaction of +Nature ... a warning to look out ... it's often simply the effects of +building up; and we're beginning to think--ah! that won't interest you! +Listen to me! I'm what they call a specialist--an investigator. I can +tell you, without conceit, that I probably know all that is to be known +on a certain subject. Well, I can tell you as an authority--" + +Frank lifted his head a little. He was keenly interested by the fire +with which this other enthusiast spoke. + +"I daresay you can," said Frank. "And I daresay it's all perfectly true; +but what in the world has all that got to do with it--with the use made +of it--the meaning of it? Now I--" + +"Hush! hush!" said the doctor. "We mustn't get excited. That's no good." + +He stopped and stared mournfully out again. + +"I wish you could really tell me," he said more slowly. "But that's just +what you can't. I know that. It's a personal thing." + +"But my dear doctor--" said Frank. + +"That's enough," said the other. "I was an old fool to think it +possible--" + +Frank interrupted again in his turn. (He was conscious of that +extraordinary mental clearness that comes sometimes to convalescents, +and he suddenly perceived there was something behind all this which had +not yet made its appearance.) + +"You've some reason for asking all this," he said. "I wish you'd tell me +exactly what's in your mind." + +The old man turned and looked at him with a kind of doubtful fixedness. + +"Why do you say that, my boy?" + +"People like you," said Frank smiling, "don't get excited over people +like me, unless there's something.... I was at Cambridge, you know. I +know the dons there, and--" + +"Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor, drawing a long breath. "I hadn't +meant to. I know it's mere nonsense; but--" He stopped an instant and +called aloud: "Thomas! Thomas!" + +Thomas's lean head, like a bird's, popped out from a window in the +kitchen court behind. + +"Come here a minute." + +Thomas came and stood before them with a piece of wash-leather in one +hand and a plated table-spoon in the other. + +"I want you to tell this young gentleman," said the doctor +deliberately, "what you told me on Wednesday morning." + +Thomas looked doubtfully from one to the other. + +"It was my fancy, sir," he said. + +"Never mind about that. Tell us both." + +"Well, sir, I didn't like it. Seemed to me when I looked in--" + +("He looked in on us in the middle of the night," explained the doctor. +"Yes, go on, Thomas.") + +"Seemed to me there was something queer." + +"Yes?" said the doctor encouragingly. + +"Something queer," repeated Thomas musingly.... "And now if you'll +excuse me, sir, I'll have to get back--" + +The doctor waved his hands despairingly as Thomas scuttled back without +another word. + +"It's no good," he said, "no good. And yet he told me quite +intelligibly--" + +Frank was laughing quietly to himself. + +"But you haven't told me one word--" + +"Don't laugh," said the old man simply. "Look here, my boy, it's no +laughing matter. I tell you I can't think of anything else. It's +bothering me." + +"But--" + +The doctor waved his hands. + +"Well," he said, "I can say it no better. It was the whole thing. The +way you looked, the way you spoke. It was most unusual. But it affected +me--it affected me in the same way; and I thought that perhaps you could +explain." + + +(V) + +It was not until the Monday afternoon that Frank persuaded the doctor to +let him go. Dr. Whitty said everything possible, in his emphatic way, as +to the risk of traveling again too soon; and there was one scene, +actually conducted in the menagerie--the only occasion on which the +doctor mentioned Frank's relations--during which he besought the young +man to be sensible, and to allow him to communicate with his family. +Frank flatly refused, without giving reasons. + +The doctor seemed strangely shy of referring again to the conversation +in the garden; and, for his part, Frank shut up like a box. They seem +both to have been extraordinarily puzzled at one another--as such people +occasionally are. They were as two persons, both intelligent and +interested, entirely divided by the absence of any common language, or +even of symbols. Words that each used meant different things to the +other. (It strikes me sometimes that the curse of Babel was a deeper +thing than appears on the surface.) + +The Major and Gertie, all this while, were in clover. The doctor had no +conception of what six hours' manual work could or could not do, and, in +return for these hours, he made over to the two a small disused +gardener's cottage at the end of his grounds, some bedding, their meals, +and a shilling the day. It was wonderful how solicitous the Major was as +to Frank's not traveling again until it was certain he was capable of +it; but Frank had acquired a somewhat short and decisive way with his +friend, and announced that Monday night must see them all cleared out. + +The leave-taking--so far as I have been able to gather--was rather +surprisingly emotional. The doctor took Frank apart into the study where +he had first seen him, and had a short conversation, during which one +sovereign finally passed from the doctor to the patient. + +I have often tried to represent to myself exactly what elements there +were in Frank that had such an effect upon this wise and positive old +man. He had been a very upsetting visitor in many ways. He had +distracted his benefactor from a very important mouse that had died of +leprosy; he had interfered sadly with working hours; he had turned the +house, comparatively speaking, upside down. Worse than all, he had--I +will not say modified the doctor's theories--that would be far too +strong a phrase; but he had, quite unconsciously, run full tilt against +them; and finally, worst of all, he had done this right in the middle of +the doctor's own private preserve. There was absolutely every element +necessary to explain Frank's remarks during his delirium; he was a +religiously-minded boy, poisoned by a toxin and treated by the +anti-toxin. What in the world could be expected but that he should rave +in the most fantastic way, and utter every mad conception and idea that +his subjective self contained. As for that absurd fancy of the doctor +himself, as well as of his servant that there was "something queer" in +the room--the more he thought of it, the less he valued it. Obviously it +was the result of a peculiar combination of psychological conditions, +just as psychological conditions were themselves the result of an +obscure combination of toxin--or anti-toxin--forces. + +Yet for all that, argue as one may, the fact remained that this dry and +rather misanthropic scientist was affected in an astonishing manner by +Frank's personality. (It will appear later on in Frank's history that +the effect was more or less permanent.) + +Still more remarkable to my mind was the very strong affection that +Frank conceived for the doctor. (There is no mystery coming: the doctor +will not ultimately turn out to be Frank's father in disguise; Lord +Talgarth still retains that distinction.) But it is plainly revealed by +Frank's diary that he was drawn to this elderly man by very much the +same kind of feelings as a son might have. And yet it is hardly possible +to conceive two characters with less in common. The doctor was a +dogmatic materialist--and remains so still--Frank was a Catholic. The +doctor was scientific to his finger-tips--Frank romantic to the same +extremities; the doctor was old and a confirmed stay-at-home--Frank was +young, and an incorrigible gipsy. Yet so the matter was. I have certain +ideas of my own, but there is no use in stating them, beyond saying +perhaps that each recognized in the other--sub-consciously only, since +each professed himself utterly unable to sympathize in the smallest +degree with the views of the other--a certain fixity of devotion that +was the driving-force in each life. Certainly, on the surface, there are +not two theories less unlike than the one which finds the solution of +all things in Toxin, and the other which finds it in God. But perhaps +there is a reconciliation somewhere. + + * * * * * + +The Major and Gertie were waiting in the stable-yard when the two other +men emerged. The Major had a large bag of apples--given him by Thomas at +the doctor's orders--which he was proceeding to add to Gertie's load at +the very moment when the two others came out. Frank took them, without a +word, and slung them over his own back. + +The doctor stood blinking a moment in the strong sunshine. + +"Well, good-by, my boy," he said. "Good luck! Remember that if ever you +come this way again--" + +"Good-by, sir," said Frank. + +He held out his disengaged hand. + +Then an astonishing thing happened. The doctor took the hand, then +dropped it; threw his arms round the boy's neck, kissed him on both +cheeks, and hurried back through the garden gate, slamming it behind +him. And I imagine he ran upstairs at once to see how the mice were. + + * * * * * + +Well, that is the whole of the incident. The two haven't met since, that +I am aware. And I scarcely know why I have included it in this book. But +I was able to put it together from various witnesses, documentary and +personal, and it seemed a pity to leave it out. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +An enormous physical weariness settled down on Frank, as he trudged +silently with the Major, towards evening, a week later. + +He had worked all the previous day in a farm-yard--carting manure, and +the like; and though he was perfectly well again, some of the spring had +ebbed from his muscles during his week's rest. This day, too, the first +of November, had been exhausting. They had walked since daybreak, after +a wretched night in a barn, plodding almost in silence, mile after mile, +against a wet south-west wind, over a discouraging kind of high-road +that dipped and rose and dipped again, and never seemed to arrive +anywhere. + +It is true that Frank was no longer intensely depressed; quite another +process had been at work upon him for the last two or three months, as +will be seen presently; but his limbs seemed leaden, and the actual +stiffness in his shoulders and loins made walking a little difficult. + +They were all tired together. They did not say much to one another. +They had, in fact, said all that there was to be said months ago; and +they were reduced--as men always are reduced when a certain pitch is +reached--to speak simply of the most elementary bodily things--food, +tobacco and sleep. The Major droned on now and then--recalling luxuries +of past days--actual roofs over the head, actual hot meat to put in the +mouth, actual cigars--and Frank answered him. Gertie said nothing. + + * * * * * + +She made up for it, soon after dark had fallen, by quite suddenly +collapsing into a hedge, and announcing that she would die if she didn't +rest. The Major made the usual remarks, and she made no answer. + +Frank interposed suddenly. + +"Shut up," he said. "We can't stop here. I'll go on a bit and see what +can be done." + +And, as he went off into the darkness, leaving his bundle, he heard the +scolding voice begin again, but it was on a lower key and he knew it +would presently subside into a grumble, soothed by tobacco. + + * * * * * + +He had no idea as to the character of the road that lay before him. They +had passed through a few villages that afternoon, whose names meant +nothing to him, and he scarcely knew why, even, they were going along +this particular road. They were moving southwards towards London--so +much had been agreed--and they proposed to arrive there in another month +or so. But the country was unfamiliar to him, and the people seemed +grudging and uncouth. They had twice been refused the use of an outhouse +for the night, that afternoon. + +It seemed an extraordinarily deserted road. There were no lights from +houses, so far as he could make out, and the four miles that had been +declared at their last stopping-place to separate them from the next +village appeared already more like five or six. Certainly the three of +them had between two and three shillings, all told; there was no actual +need of a workhouse just yet, but naturally it was wished to spend as +little as possible. + +Then on a sudden he caught a glimpse of a light burning somewhere, that +appeared and vanished again as he moved, and fifty yards more brought +him to a wide sweep, a pair of gate-posts with the gate fastened back, +and a lodge on the left-hand side. So much he could make out dimly +through the November darkness; and as he stood there hesitating, he +thought he could see somewhere below him a few other lights burning +through the masses of leafless trees through which the drive went +downhill. + +He knew very well by experience that lodge-keepers were, taken +altogether, perhaps the most unsympathetic class in the community. (They +live, you see, right on the high road, and see human nature at its +hottest and crossest as well as its most dishonest.) Servants at back +doors were, as a rule, infinitely more obliging; and, as obviously this +was the entrance to some big country house, the right thing to do would +be to steal past the lodge on tiptoe and seek his fortune amongst the +trees. Yet he hesitated; the house might be half a mile away, for all he +knew; and, certainly there was a hospitable look about the fastened-back +gate. + +There came a gust of wind over the hills behind him, laden with wet.... +He turned, went up to the lodge door and knocked. + +He could hear someone moving about inside, and just as he was beginning +to wonder whether his double tap had been audible, the door opened and +disclosed a woman in an apron. + +"Can you very kindly direct me--" began Frank politely. + +The woman jerked her head sharply in the direction of the house. + +"Straight down the hill," she said. "Them's the orders." + +"But--" + +It was no good; the door was shut again in his face, and he stood alone +in the dark. + +This was all very unusual. Lodge-keepers did not usually receive +"orders" to send tramps, without credentials, on to the house which the +lodge was supposed to guard.... That open gate, then, must have been +intentional. Plainly, however, he must take her at her word; and as he +tramped down the drive, he began to form theories. It must be a fanatic +of some kind who lived here, and he inclined to consider the owner as +probably an eccentric old lady with a fad, and a large number of +lap-dogs. + +As he came nearer, through the trees, he became still more astonished, +for as the branches thinned, he became aware of lights burning at such +enormous distances apart that the building seemed more like a village +than a house. + +Straight before him shone a row of lighted squares, high up, as if hung +in air, receding in perspective, till blocked out by a black mass which +seemed a roof of some kind; far on the left shone some kind of +illuminated gateway, and to his right another window or two glimmered +almost beneath his feet. + +Another fifty yards down the winding drive disclosed a sight that made +him seriously wonder whether the whole experience were real, for now +only a few steps further on, and still lower than the level at which he +was, stood, apparently, a porter's lodge, as of a great college. There +was a Tudor archway, with rooms above it and rooms on either side; a +lamp hung from the roof illuminated the dry stone pavement within, and +huge barred gates at the further end, shut off all other view. It looked +like the entrance to some vast feudal castle, and he thought again that +if an eccentric old lady lived here, she must be very eccentric indeed. +He began to wonder whether a seneschal in a belt hung with keys would +presently make his appearance: he considered whether or not he could +wind a horn, if there were no other way of summoning the retainers. + +When at last he tapped at a small interior door, also studded and barred +with iron, and the door opened, the figure he did see was hardly less of +a shock to him than a seneschal would have been. + +For there stood, as if straight out of a Christmas number, the figure of +a monk, tall, lean, with gray hair, clean-shaven, with a pair of merry +eyes and a brisk manner. He wore a broad leather band round his black +frock, and carried his spare hand thrust deep into it. + + +(II) + +The monk sighed humorously. + +"Another of them," he said. "Well, my man?" + +"Please, father--" + +The monk closed his eyes as in resignation. + +"You needn't try that on," he said. "Besides, I'm not a father. I'm a +brother. Can you remember that?" + +Frank smiled back. + +"Very well, brother. I'm a Catholic myself." + +"Ah! yes," sighed the monk briskly. "That's what they all say. Can you +say the 'Divine Praises'? Do you know what they are?... However, that +makes no difference, as--" + +"But I can, brother. 'Blessed be God. Blessed be His--" + +"But you're not Irish?" + +"I know I'm not. But--" + +"Are you an educated man? However, that's not my affair. What can I do +for you, sir?" + +The monk seemed to take a little more interest in him, and Frank took +courage. + +"Yes," he said, "I'm an educated man. My name's Frank Gregory. I've got +two friends out on the road up there--a man and a woman. Their name's +Trustcott--and the woman--" + +"No good; no good," said the monk. "No women." + +"But, brother, she really can't go any further. I'm very sorry, but we +simply must have shelter. We've got two or three shillings, if +necessary--" + +"Oh, you have, have you?" said the monk keenly. "That's quite new. And +when did you touch food last? Yesterday morning? (Don't say 'S'elp me!' +It's not necessary.)" + +"We last touched food about twelve o'clock to-day. We had beans and cold +bacon," said Frank deliberately. "We're perfectly willing to pay for +shelter and food, if we're obliged. But, of course, we don't want to." + +The monk eyed him very keenly indeed a minute or two without speaking. +This seemed a new type. + +"Come in and sit down a minute," he said. "I'll fetch the guest-master." + +It was a very plain little room in which Frank sat, and seemed designed, +on purpose, to furnish no temptation to pilferers. There was a table, +two chairs, a painted plaster statue of a gray-bearded man in black +standing on a small bracket with a crook in his hand; a pious book, much +thumb-marked, lay face downwards on the table beside the oil lamp. There +was another door through which the monk had disappeared, and that was +absolutely all. There was no carpet and no curtains, but a bright little +coal fire burned on the hearth, and two windows looked, one up the drive +down which Frank had come, and the other into some sort of courtyard on +the opposite side. + +About ten minutes passed away without anything at all happening. Frank +heard more than one gust of rain-laden wind dash against the little +barred window to the south, and he wondered how his friends were getting +on. The Major, at any rate, he knew, would manage to keep himself +tolerably dry. Then he began to think about this place, and was +surprised that he was not surprised at running into it like this in the +dark. He knew nothing at all about monasteries--he hardly knew that +there were such things in England (one must remember that he had only +been a Catholic for about five months), and yet somehow, now that he had +come here, it all seemed inevitable. (I cannot put it better than that: +it is what he himself says in his diary.) + +Then, as he meditated, the door opened, and there came in a thin, +eager-looking elderly man, dressed like the brother who followed him, +except that over his frock he wore a broad strip of black stuff, +something like a long loose apron, hanging from his throat to his feet, +and his head was enveloped in a black hood. + +Frank stood up and bowed with some difficulty. He was beginning to feel +stiff. + +"Well," said the priest sharply, with his bright gray eyes, puckered at +the corners, running over and taking in the whole of Frank's figure from +close-cut hair to earthy boots. "Brother James tells me you wish to see +me." + +"It was Brother James who said so, father," said Frank. + +"What is it you want?" + +"I've got two friends on the road who want shelter--man and woman. We'll +pay, if necessary, but--" + +"Never mind about that," interrupted the priest sharply. "Who are you?" + +"The name I go by is Frank Gregory." + +"The name you go by, eh?... Where were you educated?" + +"Eton and Cambridge." + +"How do you come to be on the roads?" + +"That's a long story, father." + +"Did you do anything you shouldn't?" + +"No. But I've been in prison since." + +"And your name's Frank Gregory.... F.G., eh?" + +Frank turned as if to leave. He understood that he was known. + +"Well--good-night, father--" + +The priest turned with upraised hand. + +"Brother James, just step outside." + +Then he continued as the door closed. + +"You needn't go, Mr.--er--Gregory. Your name shall not be mentioned to a +living being without your leave." + +"You know about me?" + +"Of course I do.... Now be sensible, my dear fellow; go and fetch your +friends. We'll manage somehow." (He raised his voice and rapped on the +table.) "Brother James ... go up with Mr. Gregory to the porter's lodge. +Make arrangements to put the woman up somewhere, either there or in a +gardener's cottage. Then bring the man down here.... His name?" + +"Trustcott," said Frank. + +"And when you come back, I shall be waiting for you here." + + +(III) + +Frank states in his diary that an extraordinary sense of familiarity +descended on him as, half an hour later, the door of a cell closed +behind Dom Hildebrand Maple, and he found himself in a room with a +bright fire burning, a suit of clothes waiting for him, a can of hot +water, a sponging tin and a small iron bed. + +I think I understand what he means. Somehow or other a well-ordered +monastery represents the Least Common Multiple of nearly all pleasant +houses. It has the largeness and amplitude of a castle, and the +plainness of decent poverty. It has none of that theatricality which it +is supposed to have, none of the dreaminess or the sentimentality with +which Protestants endow it. He had passed just now through, first, a +network of small stairways, archways, vestibules and passages, and then +along two immense corridors with windows on one side and closed doors on +the other. Everywhere there was the same quiet warmth and decency and +plainness--stained deal, uncarpeted boards, a few oil pictures in the +lower corridor, an image or two at the turn and head of the stairs; it +was lighted clearly and unaffectedly by incandescent gas, and the only +figures he had seen were of two or three monks, with hooded heads (they +had raised these hoods slightly in salutation as he passed), each going +about his business briskly and silently. There was even a cheerful smell +of cooking at the end of one of the corridors, and he had caught a +glimpse of two or three aproned lay brothers, busy in the firelight and +glow of a huge kitchen, over great copper pans. + +The sense of familiarity, then, is perfectly intelligible: a visitor to +a monastery steps, indeed, into a busy and well-ordered life, but there +is enough room and air and silence for him to preserve his individuality +too. + + * * * * * + +As soon as he was washed and dressed, he sat down in a chair before the +fire; but almost immediately there came a tap on his door, and the +somewhat inflamed face of the Major looked in. + +"Frankie?" he whispered, and, reassured, came in and closed the door +behind. (He looked very curiously small and unimportant, thought Frank. +Perhaps it was the black suit that had been lent him.) + +"By gad, Frankie ... we're in clover," he whispered, still apparently +under the impression that somehow he was in church. "There are some +other chaps, you know, off the roads too, but they're down by the lodge +somewhere." (He broke off and then continued.) "I've got such a queer +Johnnie in my room--ah! you've got one, too." + +He went up to examine a small plaster statue of a saint above the +prie-dieu. + +"It's all right, isn't it?" said Frank sleepily. + +"And there's another Johnnie's name on the door. The Rev. S. Augustine, +or something." + +He tip-toed back to the fire, lifted his tails, and stood warming +himself with a complacent but nervous smile. + +(Frank regarded him with wonder.) + +"What do all the Johnnies do here?" asked the Major presently. "Have a +rare old time, I expect. I bet they've got cellars under here all right. +Just like those chaps in comic pictures, ain't it?" + +(Frank decided it was no use to try to explain.) + +The Major babbled on a minute or two longer, requiring no answer, and +every now and then having his roving eye caught by some new marvel. He +fingered a sprig of yew that was twisted into a crucifix hung over the +bed. ("Expect it's one of those old relics," he said, "some lie or +other.") He humorously dressed up the statue of the saint in a +pocket-handkerchief, and said: "Let us pray," in a loud whisper, with +one eye on the door. And all the while there still lay on him apparently +the impression that if he talked loud or made any perceptible sound he +would be turned out again. + +He was just beginning a few steps of a noiseless high-kicking dance when +there was a tap at the door, and he collapsed into an attitude of +weak-kneed humility. Dom Hildebrand came in. + +"If you're ready," he said, "we might go down to supper." + + * * * * * + +Frank relates in his diary that of all else in the monastery, apart from +the church, the refectory and its manners impressed him most. (How easy +it is to picture it when one has once seen the ceremonies!) + +He sat at a center table, with the Major opposite (looking smaller than +ever), before a cloth laid with knife, spoon and forks. All round the +walls on a low dais, with their backs against them, sat a row of perhaps +forty monks, of every age, kind and condition. The tables were bare +wood, laid simply with utensils and no cloths, with a napkin in each +place. At the end opposite the door there sat at a table all alone a +big, portly, kindly-faced man, of a startlingly fatherly appearance, +clean-shaven, gray-haired, and with fine features. This was the Abbot. +Above him hung a crucifix, with the single word "_Sitio_" beneath it on +a small black label. + +The meal began, however, with the ceremony of singing grace. The rows of +monks stood out, with one in the middle, facing the Abbot, each with his +hood forward and his hands hidden in his scapular. It was sung to a +grave tone, with sudden intonations, by the united voices in +unison--blessing, response, collect, psalm and the rest. (Frank could +not resist one glance at the Major, whose face of consternation +resembled that of a bird in the company of sedate cats.) + +Then each went to his place, and, noiselessly, the orderly meal began +and continued to the reading first of the gospel, and then of a history, +from a pulpit built high in the wall. All were served by lay brothers, +girded with aprons; almost every movement, though entirely natural, +seemed ordered by routine and custom, and was distinguished by a serious +sort of courtesy that made the taking of food appear, for once, as a +really beautiful, august, and almost sacramental ceremony. The great +hall, too, with its pointed roof, its tiled floor, its white-wood +scrubbed tables, and its tall emblazoned windows, seemed exactly the +proper background--a kind of secular sanctuary. The food was plain and +plentiful: soup, meat, cheese and fruit; and each of the two guests had +a small decanter of red wine, a tiny loaf of bread, and a napkin. The +monks drank beer or water. + +Then once more followed grace, with the same ceremonial. + +When this was ended, Frank turned to see where Father Hildebrand was, +supposing that all would go to their rooms; but as he turned he saw the +Abbot coming down alone. He moved on, this great man, with that same +large, fatherly air, but as he passed the two guests, he inclined +slightly towards them, and Frank, with a glance to warn the Major, +understanding that they were to follow, came out of his place and passed +down between the lines of the monks, still in silence. + +The Abbot went on, turned to the right, and as he moved along the +cloister, loud sonorous chanting began behind. So they went, on and on, +up the long lighted corridor, past door after door, as in some church +procession. Yet all was obviously natural and familiar. + +They turned in at last beneath an archway to the left, went through a +vestibule, past a great stone of a crowned Woman with a Child in her +arms, and as they entered the church, the Abbot dipped his finger into a +stoop and presented it to Frank. Frank touched the drop of water, made +the sign of the cross, and presented again his damp finger to the Major, +who looked at him with a startled eye. + +The Abbot indicated the front row of the seats in the nave, and Frank +went into it, to watch the procession behind go past, flow up the steps, +and disappear into the double rows of great stalls that lined the choir. + +There was still silence--and longer silence, till Frank understood.... + + +(IV) + +His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom little by little, and he began to +be able to make out the magnificence of the place he was in. Behind him +stretched the immense nave, its roof and columns lost in darkness, its +sides faintly illuminated by the glimmer of single oil-lamps, each in a +small screened-off chapel. But in front of him was the greater splendor. + +From side to side across the entrance to the choir ran the rood-screen, +a vast erection of brown oak and black iron, surmounted by a high loft, +from which glimmered down sheaves of silvered organ pipes, and, higher +yet, in deep shadow, he could make out three gigantic figures, of which +the center one was nailed to a cross. Beyond this began the stalls--dark +and majestic, broken by carving--jutting heads of kings and priests +leaning forward as if to breathe in the magnetism of that immense living +silence generated by forty men at their prayers. At the further end +there shone out faintly the glory of the High Altar, almost luminous, it +seemed, in the light of the single red spark that hung before it. Frank +could discern presently the gilded figures that stood among the +candlesticks behind, the throne and crucifix, the mysterious veiling +curtains of the Tabernacle.... Finally, in the midst of the choir, +stood a tall erection which he could not understand. + + * * * * * + +An extraordinary peace seemed to descend and envelop him as he looked--a +kind of crown and climax of various interior experiences that were +falling on him now--for the last few weeks. (It is useless trying to put +it into words. I shall hope to do my best presently by quoting Frank +himself.) There was a sense of home-coming; there was a sense of +astonishing sanity; there was a sense of an enormous objective peace, +meeting and ratifying that interior peace which was beginning to be his. +It appeared to him, somehow, as if for the first time he experienced +without him that which up to now he had chiefly found within. Certainly +there had been moments of this before--not merely emotional, you +understand--when heart and head lay still from their striving, and the +will reposed in Another Will. But this was the climax: it summed up all +that he had learned in the last few months; it soothed the last scars +away, it explained and answered--and, above all, correlated--his +experiences. No doubt it was the physical, as well as the spiritual, +atmosphere of this place, the quiet corridors, the warmth and the +plainness and the solidity, even the august grace of the refectory--all +these helped and had part in the sensation. Yet, if it is possible for +you to believe it, these were no more than the vessels from which the +heavenly fluid streamed; vessels, rather, that contained a little of +that abundance that surged up here as in a fountain.... + +Frank started a little at a voice in his ear. + +"When's it going to begin?" whispered the Major in a hoarse, +apprehensive voice. + + +(V) + +A figure detached itself presently from the dark mass of the stalls and +came down to where they were sitting. Frank perceived it was Father +Hildebrand. + +"We're singing Mattins of the Dead, presently," he said in a low voice. +"It's All Souls' Eve. Will you stay, or shall I take you to your room?" + +The Major stood up with alacrity. + +"I'll stay, if I may," said Frank. + +"Very well. Then I'll take Mr. Trustcott upstairs." + + * * * * * + +Half an hour later the ceremony began. + +Here, I simply despair of description. I know something of what Frank +witnessed and perceived, for I have been present myself at this affair +in a religious house; but I do not pretend to be able to write it down. + +First, however, there was the external, visible, audible service: the +catafalque, a bier-like erection, all black and yellow, guarded by +yellow flames on yellow candles--the grave movements, the almost +monstrous figures, the rhythm of the ceremonies, and the wail of, the +music of forty voices singing as one--all that is understood.... + +But the inner side of these things--the reverse of which these things +are but a coarse lining, the substance of which this is a shadow--that +is what passes words and transcends impressions. + +It seemed to Frank that one section, at any rate, of that enormous truth +at which he had clutched almost blindly when he had first made his +submission to the Church--one chamber in that House of Life--was now +flung open before him, and he saw in it men as trees walking.... He was +tired and excited, of course; he was intensely imaginative; but there +are some experiences that a rise of temperature cannot explain and that +an imagination cannot originate.... + +For it seemed to him that here he was aware of an immeasurable need to +which those ministrations were addressed, and this whole was countless +in its units and clamant in its silence. It was as a man might see the +wall of his room roll away, beyond which he had thought only the night +to lie, and discern a thronging mass of faces crying for help, pressing +upon him, urging, yet all without sound or word. He attempts in his +diary to use phrases for all this--he speaks of a pit in which is no +water, of shadows and forms that writhe and plead, of a light of glass +mingled with fire; and yet of an inevitability, of a Justice which there +is no questioning and a Force that there is no resisting. And, on the +other side, there was this help given by men of flesh and blood like +himself--using ceremonies and gestures and strange resonant words.... +The whole was as some enormous orchestra--there was the wail on this +side, the answer on that--the throb of beating hearts--there were +climaxes, catastrophes, soft passages, and yet the result was one vast +and harmonious whole. + +It was the catafalque that seemed to him the veiled door to that other +world that so manifested itself--seen as he saw it in the light of the +yellow candles--it was as the awful portal of death itself; beneath that +heavy mantle lay not so much a Body of Humanity still in death, as a +Soul of Humanity alive beyond death, quick and yet motionless with pain. +And those figures that moved about it, with censor and aspersorium, were +as angels for tenderness and dignity and undoubted power. They were men +like himself, yet they were far more; and they, too, one day, like +himself, would pass beneath that pall and need the help of others that +should follow them.... + + * * * * * + +Something of this is but a hint of what Frank experienced; it came and +went, no doubt, in gusts, yet all through he seems to have felt that +sense that here was a door into that great watching world beyond--that +here, in what is supposed by the world to be the narrow constraint of +religion, was a liberty and an outlook into realities such as the open +road and nature can but seldom give. But for my part, I can no more +follow him further than I can write down the passion of the lover and +the ecstasy of the musician. If these things could be said in words, +they would have been said long ago. But at least it was along this path +of perception that Frank went--a path that but continued the way along +which he had come with such sure swiftness ever since the moment he had +taken his sorrows and changed them from bitter to sweet. Some sentences +that he has written mean nothing to me at all.... + +Only this I see clearly, both from my talks with Father Hildebrand and +from the diary which Frank amplified at his bidding--that Frank had +reached the end of a second stage in his journey, and that a third was +to begin. + +It is significant also, I think, in view of what is to follow, that the +last initiation of this stage should have taken place on such an +occasion as this. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +There are certain moods into which minds, very much tired or very much +concentrated, occasionally fall, in which the most trifling things take +on them an appearance of great significance. A man in great anxiety, for +example, will regard as omens or warnings such things as the ringing of +a bell or the flight of a bird. I have heard this process deliberately +defended by people who should know better. I have heard it said that +those moods of intense concentration are, as a matter of fact states of +soul in which the intuitive or mystical faculties work with great +facility, and that at such times connections and correlations are +perceived which at other times pass unnoticed. The events of the world +then are, by such people, regarded as forming links in a chain of +purpose--events even which are obviously to the practical man merely the +effects of chance and accident. It is utterly impossible, says the +practical man, that the ringing of a bell, or the grouping of +tea-leaves, or the particular moment at which a picture falls from a +wall, can be anything but fortuitous: and it is the sign of a weak and +superstitious mind to regard them as anything else. There can be no +purpose or sequence except in matters where we can perceive purpose or +sequence. + +Of course the practical man must be right; we imply that he is right, +since we call him practical, and I have to deplore, therefore, the fact +that Frank on several occasions fell into a superstitious way of looking +at things. The proof is only too plain from his own diary--not that he +interprets the little events which he records, but that he takes such +extreme pains to write them down--events, too, that are, to all +sensibly-minded people, almost glaringly unimportant and insignificant. + + * * * * * + +I have two such incidents to record between the the travelers' leaving +the Benedictine monastery and their arriving in London in December. The +Major and Gertie have probably long since forgotten the one which they +themselves witnessed, and, indeed, there is no particular reason why +they should remember it. Of the other Frank seems to have said nothing +to his friends. Both of them, however, are perfectly insignificant--they +concern, respectively, only a few invisible singers and a couple of +quite ordinary human beings. They are described with a wholly +unnecessary wealth of detail in Frank's diary, though without comment, +and I write them down here for that reason, and that reason only. + +The first was as follows: + +They were approaching a certain cathedral town, not a hundred miles from +London, and as the evening was clear and dry, though frosty, and money +was low, they determined to pass the night in a convenient brick-yard +about half a mile out of the town. + +There was a handy shed where various implements were kept; the Major, by +the help of a little twisted wire, easily unfastened the door. They +supped, cooking a little porridge over a small fire which they were able +to make without risk, and lay down to sleep after a pipe or two. + +Tramps go to sleep early when they mean business, and it could not have +been more than about eleven o'clock at night when Frank awoke with the +sense that he had slept long and deeply. He seems to have lain there, +content and quiet enough, watching the last ember dying in the brazier +where they had made their fire.... There was presently a stir from the +further corner of the shed, a match was struck, and Frank, from his +improvised pillow, beheld the Major's face suddenly illuminated by the +light with which he was kindling his pipe once more. He watched the face +with a sort of artistic interest for a few seconds--the drooping +shadows, the apparently cavernous eyes, the deep-shaded bar of the +mustache across the face. In the wavering light cast from below it +resembled the face of a vindictive beast. Then the Major whispered, +between his puffs: + +"Frankie?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh! you're awake too, are you?" + +"Yes." + +A minute later, though they had spoken only in whispers, Gertie drew a +long sighing breath from her corner of the shed and they could hear that +she, too, sat up and cleared her throat. + +"Well, this is a pretty job," said the Major jovially to the company +generally. "What's the matter with us?" + +Frank said nothing. He lay still, with a sense of extraordinary content +and comfort, and heard Gertie presently lie down again. The Major smoked +steadily. + +Then the singing began. + + * * * * * + +It was a perfectly still night, frost-bound and motionless. It was late +enough for the sounds of the town to have died away (cathedral towns go +to bed early and rise late), and, indeed, almost the only sounds they +had heard, even three or four hours before, had been the occasional +deliberate chime of bells, like a meditative man suddenly uttering a +word or two aloud. Now, however, everything was dead silent. Probably +the hour had struck immediately before they awoke, since Frank remarks +that it seemed a long time before four notes tolled out the quarter. + +The singing came first as a sensation rather than as a sound, so far +away was it. It was not at once that Frank formulated the sense of +pleasure that he experienced by telling himself that someone was +singing. + +At first it was a single voice that made itself heard--a tenor of +extraordinary clarity. The air was unknown to him, but it had the +character of antiquity; there was a certain pleasant melancholy about +it; it contained little trills and grace-notes, such as--before harmony +developed in the modern sense--probably supplied the absence of chords. +There was no wind on which the sound could rise or fall, and it grew +from a thread out of the distance into clear singing not a quarter of a +mile away.... + +The Major presently grunted over his pipe some expression of surprise; +but Frank could say nothing. He was almost holding his breath, so great +was his pleasure. + +The air, almost regretfully, ran downhill like a brook approaching, an +inevitable full close; and then, as the last note was reached, a chord +of voices broke in with some kind of chorus. + +The voices were of a quartette of men, and rang together like struck +notes, not loud or harsh, but, on the contrary, with a restrained +softness that must, I suppose, have been the result of very careful +training. It was the same air that they were repeating, but the +grace-notes were absent, and the four voices, in chord after chord, +supplied their place by harmony. It was impossible to tell what was the +subject of the song or even whether it were sacred or secular, for it +was of that period--at least, so I conjecture--when the two worlds were +one, and when men courted their love and adored their God after the same +fashion. Only there ran through all that air of sweet and austere +melancholy, as if earthly music could do no more than hint at what the +heart wished to express. + + * * * * * + +Frank listened in a sort of ecstasy. The music was nearer now, coming +from the direction from which the three travelers had themselves come +this afternoon. Presently, from the apparent diminuendo, it was plain +that the singers were past, and were going on towards the town. There +was no sound of footsteps; the Major remarked on that, when he could +get Frank to attend a few minutes later, when all was over; but there +were field paths running in every direction, as well as broad stretches +of grass beside the road, so the singers may very well have been walking +on soft ground. (These points are dispassionately noted down in the +diary.) + +The chorus was growing fainter now; once more the last slopes of the +melody were in sight--those downhill gradations of the air that told of +the silence to come. Then once more, for an instant, there was silence, +till again, perhaps nearly a quarter of a mile away, the single tenor +voice began _da capo_. And the last that Frank heard, at the moment +before the quarter struck and, soft and mellow though it was, jarred the +air and left the ear unable to focus itself again on the tiny woven +thread of sound, was, once more the untiring quartette taking up the +melody, far off in the silent darkness. + +It seems to me a curious little incident--this passing of four singers +in the night; it might have seemed as if our travelers, by a kind of +chance, were allowed to overhear the affairs of a world other than their +own--and the more curious because Frank seems to have been so much +absorbed by it. Of course, from a practical point of view, it is almost +painfully obvious what is the explanation. It must have been a quartette +from the cathedral choir, returning from some festivity in the suburbs; +and it must have happened that they followed the same route, though +walking on the grass, along which Frank himself had come that evening. + + +(II) + +The second incident is even more ordinary, and once again I must declare +that nothing would have induced me to incorporate it into this story had +it not appeared, described very minutely in the sort of log-book into +which Frank's diary occasionally degenerates. + +They were within a very few miles of the outskirts of London, and +December had succeeded November. They had had a day or two of work upon +some farm or other. (I have not been able to identify the place), and +had run into, and, indeed, exchanged remarks with two or three groups of +tramps also London bound. + +They were given temporary lodgings in a loft over a stable, by the +farmer for whom they worked, and this stable was situated in a court at +the end of the village street, with gates that stood open all day, +since the yard was overlooked by the windows of the farmer's +living-house--and, besides, there was really nothing to steal. + +They had finished their work in the fields (I think it had to do with +the sheep and mangel-wurzels, or something of the kind); they had +returned to their lodgings, received their pay, packed up their +belongings, and had already reached the further end of the village on +their way to London, when Frank discovered that he had left a pair of +socks behind. This would never do: socks cost money, and their absence +meant sore feet and weariness; so he told the Major and Gertie to walk +on slowly while he went back. He would catch them up, he said, before +they had gone half a mile. He hid his bundle under a hedge--every pound +of weight made a difference at the end of a day's work--and set off. + +It was just at that moment between day and night--between four and five +o'clock--as he came back into the yard. He went straight through the +open gates, glancing about, to explain matters to the farmer if +necessary, but, not seeing him, went up the rickety stairs, groped his +way across to the window, took down his socks from the nail an which he +had hung them last night, and came down again. + +As he came into the yard, he thought he heard something stirring within +the open door of the stable on his right, and thinking it to be the +farmer, and that an explanation would be advisable, looked in. + +At first he saw nothing, though he could hear a horse moving about in +the loose-box in the corner. Then he saw a light shine beneath the crack +of the second door, beside the loose-box, that led into the farm-yard +proper; and the next instant the door opened, a man came in with a +lantern obviously just lighted, as the flame was not yet burned up, and +stopped with a half-frightened look on seeing Frank. But he said +nothing. + +Frank himself was just on the point of giving an explanation when he, +too, stopped dead and stared. It seemed to him that he had been here +before, under exactly the same circumstances; he tried to remember what +happened next, but he could not.... + +For this was what he saw as the flame burned up more brightly. + +The man who held the lantern and looked at him in silence with a +half-deprecating air was a middle-aged man, bearded and bare-headed. He +had thrown over his shoulders a piece of sacking, that hung from him +almost like a robe. The light that he carried threw heavy wavering +shadows about the stable, and Frank noticed the great head of a +cart-horse in the loose-box peering through the bars, as if to inquire +what the company wanted. Then, still without speaking, Frank let his +eyes rove round, and they stopped suddenly at the sight of yet one more +living being in the stable. Next to the loose-box was a stall, empty +except for one occupant; for there, sitting on a box with her back to +the manger and one arm flung along it to support her weight, was the +figure of a girl. Her head, wrapped in an old shawl, leaned back against +her arm, and a very white and weary face, absolutely motionless, looked +at him. She had great eyes, with shadows beneath, and her lips were half +opened. By her side lay a regular tramp's bundle. + +Frank looked at her steadily a moment, then he looked back at the man, +who still had not moved or spoken. The draught from the door behind blew +in and shook the flame of his lantern, and the horse sighed long and +loud in the shadows behind. Once more Frank glanced at the girl; she had +lowered her arm from the manger and now sat looking at him, it seemed, +with a curious intentness and expectancy. + +There was nothing to be said. Frank bowed a little, almost +apologetically, and went out. + +Now that was absolutely all that happened. Frank says so expressly in +his diary. He did not speak to them, nor they to him; nor was any +explanation given on either side. He went out across the yard in +silence, seeing nothing of the farmer, but hearing a piano begin to play +beyond the brightly lighted windows, of which he could catch a glimpse +over the low wall separating the yard from the garden. He walked quickly +up the village street and caught up his companions, as he had said, less +than half a mile further on. He said nothing to them of his +experience--indeed, what was there to say?--but he must have written it +down that same night when they reached their next lodging, and written +it down, too, with that minuteness of detail which surprised me so much +when I first read it. + + * * * * * + +For the explanation of the whole thing is as foolishly obvious as was +that of the singing that the three had heard in the suburbs of +Peterborough. Obviously a couple of tramps had turned into this stable +for shelter. Perhaps the girl was the man's daughter; perhaps his wife; +perhaps neither. Plainly they had no right there--and that would explain +the embarrassed silence of the two: they knew they were trespassing, and +feared to be turned away. Perhaps already they had been turned away from +the village inn. But the girl was obviously tired out, and the man had +determined to risk it. + +That, then, was the whole affair--commonplace, and even a little sordid. +And yet Frank thought that it was worth writing down! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +_An extract, taken by permission, from a few pages of Frank Guiseley's +diary. These pages were written with the encouragement of Dom Hildebrand +Maple, O.S.B., and were sent to him later at his own request._ + +"... He told me a great many things that surprised me. For instance, he +seemed to know all about certain ideas that I had had, before I told him +of them, and said that I was not responsible, and he picked out one or +two other things that I had said, and told me that these were much more +serious.... + +"I went to confession to him on Friday morning, in the church. He did +not say a great deal then, but he asked if I would care to talk to him +afterwards. I said I would, and went to him in the parlor after dinner. +The first thing that happened was that he asked me to tell him as +plainly as I could anything that had happened to me--in my soul, I +mean--since I had left Cambridge. So I tried to describe it. + +"I said that at first things went pretty well in my soul, and that it +was only bodily things that troubled me--getting fearfully tired and +stiff, being uncomfortable, the food, the sleeping, and so on. Then, as +soon as this wore off I met the Major and Gertie. I was rather afraid of +saying all that I felt about these; but he made me, and I told him how +extraordinarily I seemed to hate them sometimes, how I felt almost sick +now and then when the Major talked to me and told me stories.... The +thing that seemed to torment me most during this time was the contrast +between Cambridge and Merefield and the people there, and the company of +this pair; and the only relief was that I knew I _could_, as a matter of +fact, chuck them whenever I wanted and go home again. But this relief +was taken away from me as soon as I understood that I had to keep with +them, and do my best somehow to separate them. Of course, I must get +Gertie back to her people some time, and till that's done it's no good +thinking about anything else. + +"After a while, however--I think it was just before I got into trouble +with the police--I began to see that I was a conceited ass for hating +the Major so much. It was absurd for me, I said, to put on airs, when +the difference between him and me was just that he had been brought up +in one way and I in another. I hated the things he did and said, not +because they were wrong, but because they were what I called 'bad form.' +That was really the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it made me +feel miserable. I used to think that it was rather good of me to be kind +to animals and children, but I began to see that it was simply the way I +was made: it wasn't any effort to me. I simply 'saw red' when I came +across cruelty. And I saw that that was no good. + +"Then I began to see that I had done absolutely nothing of any good +whatever--that nothing had _really_ cost me anything; and that the +things I was proud of were simply self-will--my leaving Cambridge, and +all the rest. They were theatrical, or romantic, or egotistical; there +was no real sacrifice. I should have minded much more not doing them. I +began to feel extraordinarily small. + +"Then the whole series of things began that simply smashed me up. + +"First there was the prison business. That came about in this way: + +"I had just begun to see that I was all wrong with the Major--that by +giving way to my feelings about him (I don't mean that I ever showed it, +but that was only because I thought it more dignified not to!), I was +getting all wrong with regard to both him and myself, and that I must do +something that my whole soul hated if it was to be of any use. Then +there came that minute in the barn, when I heard the police were after +us, and that there was really no hope of escape. The particular thing +that settled me was Gertie. I knew, somehow, that I couldn't let the +Major go to prison while she was about. And then I saw that this was +just the very thing to do, and that I couldn't be proud of it ever, +because the whole thing was so mean and second-rate. Well, I did it, and +it did me a lot of good somehow. I felt really rolled in the dirt, and +that little thing in the post-office afterwards rubbed it in. I saw how +chock-full I must be of conceit really to mind that, as I did, and to +show off, and talk like a gentleman. + +"Then there came the priest who refused to help me. That made me for a +time perfectly furious, because I had always said to myself that +Catholics, and especially priests, would always understand. But before I +got to York I saw what an ass I had made of myself. Of course, the +priest was perfectly right (I saw that before I got ten yards away, +though I wouldn't acknowledge it for another five miles). I was a dirty +tramp, and I talked like a brazen fool. (I remember thinking my +'openness' to him rather fine and manly!) Well, that made me smaller +still. + +"Then a sort of despair came on me when the police got me turned out of +my work in York. I know it was only a little thing (though I still +think it unfair), but it was like a pebble in your boot when you're +already going lame from something else. + +"And then came Jenny's letter. (I want to write about that rather +carefully.) + +"I said just now that I was getting to feel smaller and smaller. That's +perfectly true, but there was still a little hard lump in the middle +that would not break. Things might have gone crumbling away at me for +ever, and I might have got smaller still, but they wouldn't have smashed +me. + +"Now there were two things that I held on to all this time--my religion +and Jenny. I gave them turns, so to speak, though Jenny was never +absent. When everything religious tasted flat and dull and empty, I +thought about Jenny: when things were better--when I had those two or +three times I told Father Hildebrand about (...)--I still thought of +Jenny, and imagined how splendid it would be when we were both Catholics +together and married. But I never dreamed that Jenny would ever be angry +or disappointed. I wouldn't talk about her to anybody ever, because I +was so absolutely certain of her. I knew, I thought, that the whole +world might crumble away, but that Jenny would always understand, down +at the bottom, and that she and I would remain.... + +"Well, then came her letter. + +"Honestly, I don't quite know what I was doing inside for the next week +or so. Simply everything was altered. I never had any sort of doubt that +she meant what she said, and it was as if there wasn't any sun or moon +or sky. It was like being ill. Things happened round me: I ate and drank +and walked, but the only thing I wanted was to get away, and get down +somewhere into myself and hide. Religion, of course, seemed no good at +all. I don't understand quite what people mean by 'consolations' of +religion. Religion doesn't seem to me a thing like Art or Music, in +which you can take refuge. It either covers everything, or it isn't +religion. Religion never has seemed to me (I don't know if I'm wrong) +one thing, like other things, so that you can change about and back +again.... It's either the background and foreground all in one, or it's +a kind of game. It's either true, or it's a pretense. + +"Well, all this, in a way, taught me it was absolutely true. Things +wouldn't have held together at all unless it was true. But it was no +sort of satisfaction. It seemed to me for a while that it was horrible +that it was true; that it was frightful to think that God could be like +that--since this Jenny-business had really happened. But I didn't feel +all this exactly consciously at the time. I seemed as if I was ill, and +could only lie still and watch and be in hell. One thing, however, +Father Hildebrand thought very important (he asked me about it +particularly) was that I honestly did not feel any resentment whatever +against either God or Jenny. It was frightful, but it was true, and I +just had to lie still inside and look at it. He tells me that this shows +that the first part of the 'process,' as he called it, was finished (he +called it the 'Purgative Way'). And I must say that what happened next +seems to fit in rather well. + +"The new 'process' began quite suddenly when I awoke in the shepherd's +hut one morning at Ripon. The instant I awoke I knew it. It was very +early in the morning, just before sunrise, but there was a little wood +behind me, and the birds were beginning to chirp. + +"It's very hard to describe it in words, but the first thing to say is +that I was not exactly happy just then, but absolutely content. I think +I should say that it was like this: I saw suddenly that what had been +wrong in me was that I had made myself the center of things, and God a +kind of circumference. When He did or allowed things, I said, 'Why does +He?'--_from my point of view_. That is to say, I set up my ideas of +justice and love and so forth, and then compared His with mine, not mine +with His. And I suddenly saw--or, rather, I knew already when I +awoke--that this was simply stupid. Even now I cannot imagine why I +didn't see it before: I had heard people say it, of course--in sermons +and books--but I suppose it had meant nothing to me. (Father Hildebrand +tells me that I had seen it intellectually, but had never embraced it +with my will.) Because when one once really sees that, there's no longer +any puzzle about anything. One can simply never say 'Why?' again. The +thing's finished. + +"Now this 'process' (as Father H. calls it) has gone on in a most +extraordinary manner ever since. That beginning near Ripon was like +opening a door into another country, and I've been walking ever since +and seeing new things. All sorts of things that I had believed as a +Catholic--things, I mean, which I assented to simply because the Church +said so, have, so to speak, come up and turned themselves inside out. I +couldn't write them down, because you can't write these things down, or +even put them intelligibly to yourself. You just _see that they are so_. +For instance, one morning at mass--quite suddenly--I saw how the +substance of the bread was changed, and how our Lord is united with the +soul at Communion--of course it's a mystery (that's what I mean by +saying that it can't be written down)--but I saw it, in a flash, and I +can see it still in a sort of way. Then another day when the Major was +talking about something or other (I think it was about the club he used +to belong to in Piccadilly), I understood about our Lady and how she is +just everything from one point of view. And so on. I had that kind of +thing at Doctor Whitty's a good deal, particularly when I was getting +better. I could talk to him all the time, too, or count the knobs on the +wardrobe, or listen to the Major and Gertie in the garden--and yet go on +all the time seeing things. I knew it wasn't any good talking to Doctor +Whitty himself much, though I can't imagine why a man like that doesn't +see it all for himself.... + +"It seems to me most extraordinary now that I ever could have had those +other thoughts I told Father H. about--I mean about sins, and about +wondering whether, after all, the Church was actually true. In a sort of +way, of course, they come back to me still, and I know perfectly well I +must be on my guard; but somehow it's different. + +"Well, all this is what Father H. calls the 'Illuminative Way,' and I +think I understand what he means. It came to a sort of point on All +Souls' Eve at the monastery. I saw the whole thing then for a moment or +two, and not only Purgatory. But I will write that down later. And +Father H. tells me that I must begin to look forward to a new +'process'--what he calls the 'Way of Union.' I don't understand much +what he means by that; I don't see that more could happen to me. I am +absolutely and entirely happy; though I must say that there has seemed a +sort of lull for the last day or two--ever since All Souls' Day, in +fact. Perhaps something is going to happen. It's all right, anyhow. It +seems very odd to me that all this kind of thing is perfectly well known +to priests. I thought I was the first person who had ever felt quite +like this. + +"I must add one thing. Father H. asked me whether I didn't feel I had a +vocation to the Religious Life; he told me that from everything he could +see, I had, and that my coming to the monastery was simply providential. + +"Well, I don't agree, and I have told him so. I haven't the least idea +what is going to happen next; but I know, absolutely for certain, that I +have got to go on with the Major and Gertie to East London. Gertie will +have to be got away from the Major somehow, and until that is done I +mustn't do anything else. + +"I have written all this down as plainly as I can, because I promised +Father H. I would." + + + + +PART III + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mrs. Partington was standing at the door of her house towards sunset, +waiting for the children to come back from school. + +Her house is situated in perhaps the least agreeable street--Turner +Road--in perhaps the least agreeable district of East London--Hackney +Wick. It is a disagreeable district because it isn't anything in +particular. It has neither the tragic gayety of Whitechapel nor the +comparative refinement of Clapton. It is a large, triangular piece of +land, containing perhaps a square mile altogether, or rather more, +approached from the south by the archway of the Great Eastern Railway, +defined on one side by the line, and along its other two sides, partly +by the river Lea--a grimy, depressed-looking stream--and partly by the +Hackney Marshes--flat, dreary wastes of grass-grown land, useless as +building ground and of value only for Saturday afternoon recreations of +rabbit coursing and football. The dismalness of the place is beyond +description at all times of the year. In winter it is bleak and chilly; +in summer it is hot, fly-infested, and hideously and ironically +reminiscent of real fields and real grass. The population is calculated +to change completely about every three years, and I'm sure I am not +surprised. It possesses two important blocks of buildings besides the +schools--a large jam factory and the church and clergy-house of the Eton +Mission. + +Turner Road is perhaps the most hopeless of all the dozen and a half of +streets. (It is marked black, by the way, in Mr. Booth's instructive +map.) It is about a quarter of a mile long and perfectly straight. It is +intersected at one point by another street, and is composed of tall dark +houses, with flat fronts, perhaps six or seven stories in height. It is +generally fairly silent and empty, and is inhabited by the most +characteristic members of the Hackney Wick community--quiet, white-faced +men, lean women, draggled and sharp-tongued, and countless +over-intelligent children--all of the class that seldom remain long +anywhere--all of the material out of which the real criminal is +developed. No booths or stalls ever stand here; only, on Saturday +nights, there is echoed here, as in a stone-lined pit, the cries and the +wheel-noises from the busy thoroughfare a hundred yards away round the +corner. The road, as a whole, bears an aspect of desperate and fierce +dignity; there is never here the glimpse of a garden or of flowers, as +in Mortimer Road, a stone's throw away. There is nothing whatever except +the tall, flat houses, the pavements, the lampposts, the grimy +thoroughfare and the silence. The sensation of the visitor is that +anything might happen here, and that no one would be the wiser. There is +an air of horrible discretion about these houses. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Partington was--indeed is (for I went to see her not two months +ago)--of a perfectly defined type. She must have been a handsome factory +girl--dark, slender, and perfectly able to take care of herself, with +thin, muscular arms, generally visible up to the elbow, hard hands, a +quantity of rather untidy hair--with the tongue of a venomous orator and +any amount of very inferior sentiment, patriotic and domestic. She has +become a lean, middle-aged woman, very upright and very strong, without +any sentiment at all, but with a great deal of very practical human +experience to take its place. She has no illusions about either this +world or the next; she has borne nine children, of which three survive; +and her husband is almost uninterruptedly out of work. However, they are +prosperous (for Turner Road), and have managed, so far, to keep their +home together. + +The sunset was framed in a glow of smoky glory at the end of the street +down which Mrs. Partington was staring, resembling a rather angry +search-light turned on from the gates of heaven. The street was still +quiet; but already from the direction of the Board-school came thin and +shrill cries as the swarm of children exploded in all directions. Mrs. +Partington (she would have said) was waiting for her children--Jimmy, +Maggie and 'Erb--and there were lying within upon the bare table three +thick slices of bread and black jam; as a matter of fact, she was +looking out for her lodgers, who should have arrived by midday. + +Then she became aware that they were coming, even as she looked, +advancing down the empty street _en echelon_. Two of them she knew well +enough--they had lodged with her before; but the third was to be a +stranger, and she was already interested in him--the Major had hinted at +wonderful mysteries.... + +So she shaded her eyes against the cold glare and watched them +carefully, with that same firm, resolute face with which she always +looked out upon the world; and even as, presently, she exchanged that +quick, silent nod of recognition with the Major and Gertie, still she +watched the brown-faced, shabby young man who came last, carrying his +bundle and walking a little lame. + +"You're after your time," she said abruptly. + +The Major began his explanations, but she cut them short and led the way +into the house. + + +(II) + +I find it very difficult to record accurately the impression that Frank +made upon Mrs. Partington; but that the impression was deep and definite +became perfectly clear to me from her conversation. He hardly spoke at +all, she said, and before he got work at the jam factory he went out for +long, lonely walks across the marshes. He and the Major slept together, +it seemed, in one room, and Gertie, temporarily with the children and +Mrs. Partington in another. (Mr. Partington, at this time, happened to +be away on one of his long absences.) At meals Frank was always quiet +and well-behaved, yet not ostentatiously. Mrs. Partington found no fault +with him in that way. He would talk to the children a little before they +went to school, and would meet them sometimes on their way back from +school; and all three of them conceived for him an immense and +indescribable adoration. All this, however, would be too long to set +down in detail. + +It seems to have been a certain air of pathos which Mrs. Partington +herself cast around him, which affected her the most, and I imagine her +feeling to have been largely motherly. There was, however, another +element very obviously visible, which, in anyone but Mrs. Partington, I +should call reverence.... She told me that she could not imagine why he +was traveling with the Major and Gertie, so she at least understood +something of the gulf between them. + +So the first week crept by, bringing us up to the middle of December. + + * * * * * + +It was on the Friday night that Frank came back with the announcement +that he was to go to work at the jam factory on Monday. There was a +great pressure, of course, owing to the approach of Christmas, and Frank +was to be given joint charge of a van. The work would last, it seemed, +at any rate, for a week or two. + +"You'll have to mind your language," said the Major jocosely. (He was +sitting in the room where the cooking was done and where, by the way, +the entire party, with the exception of the two men, slept; and, at this +moment, had his feet on the low mantelshelf between the saucepan and +Jimmy's cap.) + +"Eh?" said Frank. + +"No language allowed there," said the Major. "They're damn particular." + +Frank put his cap down and took his seat on the bed. + +"Where's Gertie?" he asked. ("Yes, come on, Jimmie.") + +Jimmie crept up beside him, looking at him with big black, reverential +eyes. Then he leaned against him with a quick smile and closed his eyes +ecstatically. Frank put an arm round the boy to support him. + +"Oh! Gertie's gone to see a friend," said the Major. "Did you want her?" + +Frank said nothing, and Mrs. Partington looked from one to the other +swiftly. + +Mrs. Partington had gathered a little food for thought during the last +few days. It had become perfectly evident to her that the girl was very +much in love with this young man, and that while this young man either +was, or affected to be, ignorant of it, the Major was not. Gertie had +odd silences when Frank came into the room, or yet more odd +volubilities, and Mrs. Partington was not quite sure of the Major's +attitude. This officer and her husband had had dealings together in the +past of a nature which I could not quite determine (indeed, the figure +of Mr. Partington is still a complete mystery to me, and rather a +formidable mystery); and I gather that Mrs. Partington had learned from +her husband that the Major was not simply negligible. She knew him for a +blackguard, but she seems to have been uncertain of what kind was this +black-guardism--whether of the strong or the weak variety. She was just +a little uncomfortable, therefore, as to the significance of Gertie; and +had already wondered more than once whether or no she should say a +motherly word to the young man. + + * * * * * + +There came a sound of footsteps up the street as Mrs. Partington ironed +a collar of Jimmie's on the dining-room table, and laid down the iron as +a tap fell on the door. The Major took out his pipe and began to fill it +as she went out to see who was knocking. + +"Oh! good evening, Mrs. Partington," sounded in a clear, high-bred voice +from the street door. "May I come in for a minute or two? I heard you +had lodgers, and I thought perhaps--" + +"Well, sir, we're rather upside-down just now--and--" + +"Oh! I won't disturb you more than a minute," came the other voice +again. There were footsteps in the passage, and the next instant, past +the unwilling hostess, there came a young, fresh-colored clergyman, +carrying a silk hat, into the lamplight of the kitchen. Frank stood up +instantly, and the Major went so far as to take down his feet. Then he, +too, stood up. + +"Good evening!" said the clergyman. "May I just come in for a minute or +two? I heard you had come, and as it's in my district--May I sit down, +Mrs. Partington?" + +Mrs. Partington with sternly knit lips, swept a brown teapot, a +stocking, a comb, a cup and a crumby plate off the single unoccupied +chair, and set it a little forward near the fire. Clergymen were, to her +mind, one of those mysterious dispensations of the world for which there +was no adequate explanation at all--like policemen and men's gamblings +and horse-races. There they were, and there was no more to be said. They +were mildly useful for entertaining the children and taking them to +Southend, and in cases of absolute despair they could be relied upon for +soup-tickets or even half-crowns; but the big mysterious church, with +its gilded screen, its curious dark glass, and its white little +side-chapel, with the Morris hangings, the great clergy-house, the +ladies, the parish magazine and all the rest of it--these were simply +inexplicable. Above all inexplicable was the passion displayed for +district-visiting--that strange impulse that drove four +highly-cultivated young men in black frock-coats and high hats and +ridiculous little collars during five afternoons in the week to knock at +door after door all over the district and conduct well-mannered +conversations with bored but polite mothers of families. It was one of +the phenomena that had to be accepted. She supposed it stood for +something beyond her perceptions. + +"I thought I must come in and make your acquaintance," said the +clergyman, nursing his hat and smiling at the company. (He, too, +occasionally shared Mrs. Partington's wonder as to the object of all +this; but he, too, submitted to it as part of the system.) "People come +and go so quickly, you know--" + +"Very pleased to see a clergyman," said the Major smoothly. "No +objection to smoke, sir, I presume?" He indicated his pipe. + +"Not at all," said the clergyman. "In fact, I smoke myself; and if Mrs. +Partington will allow me--" He produced a small pink and gilded packet +of Cinderellas. (I think he thought it brought him vaguely nearer the +people to smoke Cinderellas.) + +"Oh! no objection at all, sir," put in Mrs. Partington, still a little +grimly. (She was still secretly resenting being called upon at half-past +six. You were usually considered immune from this kind of thing after +five o'clock.) + +"So I thought I must just look in and catch you one evening," explained +the clergyman once more, "and tell you that we're your friends here--the +clergy, you know--and about the church and all that." + +He was an extremely conscientious young man--this Mr. Parham-Carter--an +old Etonian, of course, and now in his first curacy. It was all pretty +bewildering to him, too, this great and splendid establishment, the +glorious church by Bodley, with the Magnificat in Gothic lettering below +the roof, the well-built and furnished clergy-house, the ladies' house, +the zeal, the self-devotion, the parochial machinery, the Band of +Hope, the men's and boys' clubs, and, above all, the furious +district-visiting. Of course, it produced results, it kept up the +standards of decency and civilization and ideals; it was a weight in the +balances on the side of right and good living; the clubs kept men from +the public-house to some extent, and made it possible for boys to grow +up with some chance on their side. Yet he wondered, in fits of +despondency, whether there were not something wrong somewhere.... But he +accepted it: it was the approved method, and he himself was a learner, +not a teacher. + +"Very kind of you, sir," said the Major, replacing his feet on the +mantelshelf. "And at what time are the services on Sunday?" + +The clergyman jumped. He was not accustomed to that sort of question. + +"I ..." he began. + +"I'm a strong Churchman, sir," said the Major. "And even if I were not, +one must set an example, you know. I may be narrow-minded, but I'm +particular about all that sort of thing. I shall be with you on Sunday." + +He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter. + +"Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next Sunday, and the Holy +Eucharist at eleven--and, of course, at eight." + +"No vestments, I hope?" said the Major sternly. + +Mr. Parham-Carter faltered a little. Vestments were not in use, but to +his regret. + +"Well, we don't use vestments," he said, "but--" + +The Major resumed his pipe with a satisfied air. + +"That's all right," he said. "Now, I'm not bigoted--my friend here's a +Roman Catholic, but--" + +The clergyman looked up sharply, and for the first time became +consciously conscious of the second man. Frank had sat back again on the +bed, with Jimmie beside him, and was watching the little scene quietly +and silently, and the clergyman met his eyes full. Some vague shock +thrilled through him; Frank's clean-shaven brown face seemed somehow +familiar--or was it something else? + +Mr. Parham-Carter considered the point for a little while in silence, +only half attending to the Major, who was now announcing his views on +the Establishment and the Reformation settlement. Frank said nothing at +all, and there grew on the clergyman a desire to hear his voice. He +made an opportunity at last. + +"Yes, I see," he said to the Major; "and you--I don't know your name?" + +"Gregory, sir," said Frank. And again a little shock thrilled Mr. +Parham-Carter. The voice was the kind of thing he had expected from that +face. + + * * * * * + +It was about ten minutes later, that the clergyman thought it was time +to go. He had the Major's positive promise to attend at least the +evening service on the following Sunday--a promise he did not somehow +very much appreciate--but he had made no progress with Frank. He shook +hands all round very carefully, told Jimmie not to miss Sunday-school, +and publicly commended Maggie for a recitation she had accomplished at +the Band of Hope on the previous evening; and then went out, accompanied +by Mrs. Partington, still silent, as far as the door. But as he actually +went out, someone pushed by the woman and came out into the street. + +"May I speak to you a minute?" said the strange young man, dropping the +"sir." "I'll walk with you as far as the clergy-house if you'll let me." + + * * * * * + +When they were out of earshot of the house Frank began. + +"You're Parham-Carter, aren't you?" he said. "Of Hales'." + +The other nodded. (Things were beginning to resolve themselves in his +mind.) + +"Well, will you give me your word not to tell a soul I'm here, and I'll +tell you who I am? You've forgotten me, I see. But I'm afraid you may +remember. D'you see?" + +"All right." + +"I'm Guiseley, of Drew's. We were in the same division once--up to +Rawlins. Do you remember?" + +"Good Lord! But--" + +"Yes, I know. But don't let's go into that. I've not done anything I +shouldn't. That's not the reason I'm like this. It's just turned out so. +And there's something else I want to talk to you about. When can I come +and see you privately? I'm going to begin work to-morrow at the jam +factory." + +The other man clutched at his whirling faculties. + +"To-night--at ten. Will that do?" + +"All right. What am I to say--when I ring the bell, I mean?" + +"Just ask for me. They'll show you straight up to my room." + +"All right," said Frank, and was gone. + + +(III) + +Mr. Parham-Carter's room in the clergy-house was of the regular +type--very comfortable and pleasing to the eye, as it ought to be for a +young man working under such circumstances; not really luxurious; pious +and virile. The walls were a rosy distemper, very warm and sweet, and +upon them, above the low oak book-cases, hung school and college groups, +discreet sporting engravings, a glorious cathedral interior, and the +Sistine Madonna over the mantelpiece. An oar hung all along one ceiling, +painted on the blade with the arms of an Oxford college. There was a +small _prie-dieu_, surmounted by a crucifix of Ober-Ammergau +workmanship: there was a mahogany writing-table with a revolving chair +set before it; there were a couple of deep padded arm-chairs, a +pipe-rack, and a row of photographs--his mother in evening dress, a +couple of sisters, with other well-bred-looking relations. Altogether, +with the curtains drawn and the fire blazing, it was exactly the kind of +room that such a wholesome young man ought to have in the East of +London. + +Frank was standing on the hearth-rug as Mr. Parham-Carter came in a +minute or two after ten o'clock, bearing a small tray with a covered +jug, two cups and a plate of cake. + +"Good-evening again," said the clergyman. "Have some cocoa? I generally +bring mine up here.... Sit down. Make yourself comfortable." + +Frank said nothing. He sat down. He put his cap on the floor by his +chair and leaned back. The other, with rather nervous movements, set a +steaming cup by his side, and a small silver box of cigarettes, matches +and an ash-tray. Then he sat down himself, took a long pull at his +cocoa, and waited with a certain apprehensiveness. + +"Who else is here?" asked Frank abruptly. + +The other ran through the three names, with a short biography of each. +Frank nodded, reassured at the end. + +"That's all right," he said. "All before my time, I expect. They might +come in, you know." + +"Oh, no!" said the clergyman. "I told them not, and--" + +"Well, let's come to business," said Frank. "It's about a girl. You saw +that man to-day? You saw his sort, did you? Well, he's a bad hat. And +he's got a girl going about with him who isn't his wife. I want to get +her home again to her people." + +"Yes?" + +"Can you do anything? (Don't say you can if you can't, please....) She +comes from Chiswick. I'll give you her address before I go. But I don't +want it muddled, you know." + +The clergyman swallowed in his throat. He had only been ordained +eighteen months, and the extreme abruptness and reality of the situation +took him a little aback. + +"I can try," he said. "And I can put the ladies on to her. But, of +course, I can't undertake--" + +"Of course. But do you think there's a reasonable chance? If not, I'd +better have another try myself." + +"Have you tried, then?" + +"Oh, yes, half a dozen times. A fortnight ago was the last, and I really +thought--" + +"But I don't understand. Are these people your friends, or what?" + +"I've been traveling with them off and on since June. They belong to +you, so far as they belong to anyone. I'm a Catholic, you know--" + +"Really? But--" + +"Convert. Last June. Don't let's argue, my dear chap. There isn't time." + +Mr. Parham-Carter drew a breath. + +There is no other phrase so adequate for describing his condition of +mind as the old one concerning head and heels. There had rushed on him, +not out of the blue, but, what was even more surprising, out of the very +dingy sky of Hackney Wick (and Turner Road, at that!), this astonishing +young man, keen-eyed, brown-faced, muscular, who had turned out to be a +school-fellow of his own, and a school-fellow whose reputation, during +the three hours since they had parted, he had swiftly remembered point +by point--Guiseley of Drew's--the boy who had thrown off his coat in +early school and displayed himself shirtless; who had stolen four out of +the six birches on a certain winter morning, and had conversed affably +with the Head in school yard with the ends of the birches sticking out +below the skirts of his overcoat; who had been discovered on the fourth +of June, with an air of reverential innocence, dressing the bronze +statue of King Henry VI. in a surplice in honor of the day. And now here +he was, and from his dress and the situation of his lodging-house to be +reckoned among the worst of the loafing class, and yet talking, with an +air of complete confidence and equality of a disreputable young +woman--his companion--who was to be rescued from a yet more disreputable +companion and restored to her parents in Chiswick. + +And this was not all--for, as Mr. Parham-Carter informed me +himself--there was being impressed upon him during this interview a very +curious sensation, which he was hardly able, even after consideration, +to put into words--a sensation concerning the personality and presence +of this young man which he could only describe as making him feel +"beastly queer." + + * * * * * + +It seems to have been about this point that he first perceived it +clearly--distinguished it, that is to say, from the whole atmosphere of +startling and suggesting mystery that surrounded him. + +He looked at Frank in silence a moment or two.... + +There Guiseley sat--leaning back in the red leather chair, his cocoa +still untouched. He was in a villainous suit that once, probably, had +been dark blue. The jacket was buttoned up to his chin, and a grimy +muffler surrounded his neck. His trousers were a great deal too short, +and disclosed above a yellow sock, on the leg nearest to him, about four +inches of dark-looking skin. His boots were heavy, patched, and entirely +uncleaned, and the upper toe-cap of one of them gaped from the leather +over the instep. His hands were deep in his pockets, as if even in this +warm room, he felt the cold. + +There was nothing remarkable there. It was the kind of figure presented +by unsatisfactory candidates for the men's club. And yet there was about +him this air, arresting and rather disconcerting.... + +It was a sort of electric serenity, if I understand Mr. Parham-Carter +aright--a zone of perfectly still energy, like warmth or biting cold, as +of a charged force: it was like a real person standing motionless in +the middle of a picture. (Mr. Parham-Carter did not, of course, use such +beautiful similes as these; he employed the kind of language customary +to men who have received a public school and university education, half +slang and half childishness; but he waved his hands at me and distorted +his features, and conveyed, on the whole, the kind of impression I have +just attempted to set down.) + +Frank, then, seemed as much out of place in this perfectly correct and +suitable little room as an Indian prince in Buckingham Palace; or, if +you prefer it, an English nobleman (with spats) in Delhi. He was just +entirely different from it all; he had nothing whatever to do with it; +he was wholly out of place, not exactly as regarded his manner (for he +was quite at his ease), but with regard to his significance. He was as a +foreign symbol in a familiar language. + +Its effect upon Mr. Parham-Carter was quite clear and strong. He +instanced to me the fact that he said nothing to Frank about his soul: +he honestly confessed that he scarcely even wished to press him to come +to Evensong on Sunday. Of course, he did not like Frank's being a Roman +Catholic; and his whole intellectual being informed him that it was +because Frank had never really known the Church of England that he had +left it. (Mr. Parham-Carter had himself learned the real nature of the +Church of England at the Pusey House at Oxford.) But there are certain +atmospheres in which the intellectual convictions are not very +important, and this was one of them. So here the two young men sat and +stared at one another, or, rather, Mr. Parham-Carter stared at Frank, +and Frank looked at nothing in particular. + +"You haven't drunk your cocoa," said the clergyman suddenly. + +Frank turned abruptly, took up the cup and drank the contents straight +off at one draught. + +"And a cigarette?" + +Frank took up a cigarette and put in his mouth. + +"By the way," he said, taking it out again, "when'll you send your +ladies round? The morning's best, when the rest of us are out of the +way." + +"All right." + +"Well, I don't think there's anything else?" + +"My dear chap," said the other, "I wish you'd tell me what it's all +about--why you're in this sort of life, you know. I don't want to pry, +but--" + +Frank smiled suddenly and vividly. + +"Oh, there's nothing to say. That's not the point. It's by my own choice +practically. I assure you I haven't disgraced anybody." + +"But your people--" + +"Oh! they're all right. There's nothing the matter with them.... Look +here! I really must be going." + +He stood up, and something seemed to snap in the atmosphere as he did +so. + +"Besides, I've got to be at work early--" + +"I say, what did you do then?" + +"Do then? What do you mean?" + +"When you stood up--Did you say anything?..." + +Frank looked at him bewildered. + +"I don't know what you're talking about." + +Mr. Parham-Carter did not quite know what he had meant himself. It was a +sensation come and gone, in an instant, as Frank had moved ... a +sensation which I suppose some people would call "psychical"--a +sensation as if a shock had vibrated for one moment through every part +of his own being, and of the pleasant little warm room where he was +sitting. He looked at the other, dazed for a second or two, but there +was nothing. Those two steady black eyes looked at him in a humorous +kind of concern.... + +He stood up himself. + +"It was nothing," he said. "I think I must be getting sleepy." + +He put out his hand. + +"Good-night," he said. "Oh! I'll come and see you as far as the gate." + +Frank looked at him a second. + +"I say," he said; "I suppose you've never thought of becoming a +Catholic?" + +"My dear chap--" + +"No! Well, all right.... oh! don't bother to come to the gate." + +"I'm coming. It may be locked." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Parham-Carter stood looking after Frank's figure even after it had +passed along the dark shop fronts and was turning the corner towards +Turner Road. Then it went under the lamplight, and disappeared. + +It was a drizzling, cold night, and he himself was bareheaded; he felt +the moisture run down his forehead, but it didn't seem to be happening +to him. On his right rose up the big parish-hall where the +entertainments were held, and beyond it, the east end of the great +church, dark now and tenantless; and he felt the wet woodwork of the +gate grasped in his fingers. + +He did not quite know what was happening to him but everything seemed +different. A hundred thoughts had passed through his mind during the +last half hour. It had occurred to him that he ought to have asked +Guiseley to come to the clergy-house and lodge there for a bit while +things were talked over; that he ought, tactfully, to have offered to +lend him money, to provide him with a new suit, to make suggestions as +to proper employment instead of at the jam factory--all those proper, +philanthropic and prudent suggestions that a really sensible clergyman +would have made. And yet, somehow, not only had he not made them, but it +was obvious and evident when he regarded them that they could not +possibly be made. Guiseley (of Drew's) did not require them, he was on +another line altogether.... And what was that line? + +Mr. Parham-Carter leaned on the gate a full five minutes considering all +this. But he arrived at no conclusion. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +(I) + +The Rector of Merefield was returning from a short pastoral visitation +towards the close of an afternoon at the beginning of November. His +method and aims were very characteristic of himself, since he was one of +that numerous class of persons who, interiorly possessing their full +share of proper pride, wear exteriorly an appearance of extreme and +almost timid humility. The aims of his visiting were, though he was +quite unaware of the fact, directed towards encouraging people to hold +fast to their proper position in life (for this, after all, is only +another name for one's duty towards one's neighbor), and his method was +to engage in general conversation on local topics. There emerged, in +this way, information as to the patient's habits and actions; it would +thus transpire, for example, whether the patient had been to church or +not, whether there were any quarrels, and, if so, who were the +combatants and for what cause. + +He had been fairly satisfied to-day; he had met with good excuses for +the absence of two children from day-school, and of a young man from +choir-practice; he had read a little Scripture to an old man, and had +been edified by his comments upon it. It was not particularly +supernatural, but, after all, the natural has its place, too, in life, +and he had undoubtedly fulfilled to-day some of the duties for whose +sake he occupied the position of Rector of Merefield, in a completely +inoffensive manner. The things he hated most in the world were +disturbances of any kind, abruptness and the unexpected, and he had a +strong reputation in the village for being a man of peace. + +It sounds a hard thing to say of so conscientious a man, but a properly +preserved social order was perhaps to his mind the nearest approach to +the establishment of the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. Each person held +his proper position, including himself, and he no more expected others +to be untrue to their station than he wished to be untrue to his own. +There were, of course, two main divisions--those of gentle birth and +those not of gentle birth, and these were as distinct as the sexes. But +there were endless gradations in each respectively, and he himself +regarded those with as much respect as those of the angelic hierarchy: +the "Dominations" might, or might not be as "good" as the "Powers," but +they were certainly different, by Divine decree. It would be a species +of human blasphemy, therefore, for himself not to stand up in Lord +Talgarth's presence, or for a laborer not to touch his hat to Miss +Jenny. This is sometimes called snobbishness, but it is nothing of the +kind. It is merely a marked form of Toryism. + +It was a pleasant autumnal kind of afternoon, and he took off his hat as +he turned up past the park gates to feel the cool air, as he was a +little heated with his walk. He felt exceedingly content with all +things: there were no troubles in the parish, he enjoyed excellent +health, and he had just done his duty. He disliked pastoral visiting +very deeply indeed; he was essentially a timid kind of man, but he made +his rules and kept them, for he was essentially a conscientious man. He +was so conscientious that he was probably quite unaware that he disliked +this particular duty. + +Just as he came opposite the gates--great iron-work affairs with ramping +eagles and a Gothic lodge smothered in ivy--the man ran out and began to +wheel them back, after a hasty salute to his pastor; and the Rector, +turning, saw a sight that increased his complacency. It was just Jenny +riding with Lord Talgarth, as he knew she was doing that afternoon. + +They made a handsome, courtly kind of pair--a sort of "father and +daughter" after some romantic artist or other. Lord Talgarth's heavy +figure looked well-proportioned on horseback, and he sat his big black +mare very tolerably indeed. And Jenny looked delicious on the white +mare, herself in dark green. A groom followed twenty yards behind. + +Lord Talgarth's big face nodded genially to the Rector and he made a +kind of salute; he seemed in excellent dispositions; Jenny was a little +flushed with exercise, and smiled at her father with a quiet, friendly +dignity. + +"Just taking her ladyship home," said the old man.... "Yes; charming +day, isn't it?" + + * * * * * + +The Rector followed them, pleased at heart. Usually Jenny rode home +alone with the groom to take back her mare to the stables. It was the +first time, so far as he could remember, that Lord Talgarth had taken +the trouble to escort her all the way home himself. It really was very +pleasant indeed, and very creditable to Jenny's tact, that relations +were so cordial.... And they were dining there to-morrow, too. The +social order of Merefield seemed to be in an exceedingly sound +condition. + + +(II) + +Lord Talgarth, too, seemed to the lodge-keeper, as ten minutes later the +gates rolled back again to welcome their lord, in an unusually genial +temper (and, indeed, there was always about this old man as great a +capacity for geniality on one side as for temper on the other; it is +usually so with explosive characters). He even checked his horse and +asked after "the missus" in so many words; although two days before a +violent message had come down to complain of laxity in the gate-opening, +owing to the missus' indisposition on an occasion when the official +himself had been digging cabbages behind the Gothic lodge and the hoot +of the motor had not been heard. + +The missus, it seemed, was up and about again (indeed her husband caught +a glimpse out of the tail of his eye of a pale face that glanced and +withdrew again apprehensively above the muslin curtain beyond his +lordship). + +"That's all right," remarked Lord Talgarth heartily, and rode on. + +The lodge-keeper exchanged a solemn wink with the groom half a minute +later, and stood to watch the heavy figure ahead plunging about rather +in the saddle as the big black mare set her feet upon the turf and +viewed her stable afar off. + +It was a fact that Lord Talgarth was pleased with himself and all the +world to-day, for he kept it up even with the footman who slipped, and +all but lost his balance, as he brought tea into the library. + +"Hold up!" remarked the nobleman. + +The footman smiled gently and weakly, after the manner of a dependent, +and related the incident with caustic gusto to his fellows in the +pantry. + +After tea Lord Talgarth lay back in his chair and appeared to meditate, +as was observed by the man who fetched out the tea-things and poked the +fire; and he was still meditating, though now there was the aromatic +smell of tobacco upon the air, when his own man came to tell him that it +was time to dress. + +It was indeed a perfect room for arm-chair meditations; there were tall +book-shelves, mahogany writing-tables, each with its shaded electric +lamp; the carpet was as deep as a summer lawn; and in the wide hearth +logs consumed themselves in an almost deferential silence. There was +every conceivable thing that could be wanted laid in its proper place. +It was the kind of room in which it would seem that no scheme could +miscarry and every wish must prevail; the objective physical world +grouped itself so obediently to the human will that it was almost +impossible to imagine a state of things in which it did not so. The +great house was admirably ordered; there was no sound that there should +not be--no hitches, no gaps or cracks anywhere; it moved like a +well-oiled machine; the gong, sounded in the great hall, issued +invitations rather than commands. All was leisurely, perfectly adapted +and irreproachable. + + * * * * * + +It is always more difficult for people who live in such houses as these +to behave well under adverse fortune than for those who live in houses +where the Irish stew can be smelled at eleven o'clock in the morning, +and where the doors do not shut properly, and the kitchen range goes +wrong. Possibly something of this fact helped to explain the owner's +extreme violence of temper on the occasion of his son's revolt. It was +intolerable for a man all of whose other surroundings moved like +clockwork, obedient to his whims, to be disobeyed flatly by one whose +obedience should be his first duty--to find disorder and rebellion in +the very mainspring of the whole machine. + +Possibly, too, the little scheme that was maturing in Lord Talgarth's +mind between tea and dinner that evening helped to restore his +geniality; for, as soon as the thought was conceived, it became obvious +that it could be carried through with success. + +He observed: "Aha! it's time, is it?" to his man in a hearty kind of +way, and hoisted himself out of his chair with unusual briskness. + + +(III) + +He spent a long evening again in the library alone. Archie was away; and +after dining alone with all the usual state, the old man commanded that +coffee should be brought after him. The butler found him, five minutes +later, kneeling before a tall case of drawers, trying various keys off +his bunch, and when the man came to bring in whisky and clear away the +coffee things he was in his deep chair, a table on either side of him +piled with papers, and a drawer upon his knees. + +"You can put this lot back," he remarked to the young footman, +indicating a little pile of four drawers on the hearth-rug. He watched +the man meditatively as he attempted to fit them into their places. + +"Not that way, you fool! Haven't you got eyes?... The top one at the +top!" + +But he said it without bitterness--almost contemplatively. And, as the +butler glanced round a moment or two later to see that all was in order, +he saw his master once more beginning to read papers. + +"Good-night," said Lord Talgarth. + +"Good-night, my lord," said the butler. + +There was a good deal of discussion that night in the men's wing as to +the meaning of all this, and it was conducted with complete frankness. +Mr. Merton, the butler, had retired to his own house in the stable-yard, +and Mr. Clarkson, the valet, was in his lordship's dressing-room; so the +men talked freely. It was agreed that only two explanations were +possible for the unusual sweetness of temper: either Mr. Frank was to be +reinstated, or his father was beginning to break up. Frank was extremely +popular with servants always; and it was generally hoped that the former +explanation was the true one. Possibly, however, both were required. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Clarkson too was greatly _intrigue_ that night. He yawned about the +dressing-room till an unusually late hour, for Lord Talgarth generally +retired to rest between ten and half-past. To-night, however, it was +twenty minutes to twelve before the man stood up suddenly from the sofa +at the sound of a vibration in the passage outside. The old man came in +briskly, bearing a bundle of papers in one hand and a bed-candle in the +other, with the same twinkle of good temper in his eyes that he had +carried all the evening. + +"Give me the dispatch-box under the sofa," he said; "the one in the +leather case." + +This was done and the papers were laid in it, carefully, on the top. +Mr. Clarkson noticed that they had a legal appearance, were long-shaped +and inscribed in stiff lettering. Then the dispatch-box was reclosed and +set on the writing-table which my lord used sometimes when he was +unwell. + +"Remind me to send for Mr. Manners to-morrow," he said. (This was the +solicitor.) + + * * * * * + +Getting ready for bed that evening was almost of a sensational nature, +and Mr. Clarkson had to keep all his wits about him to respond with +sufficient agility to the sallies of his master. Usually it was all a +very somber ceremony, with a good deal of groaning and snarling in +asides. But to-night it was as cheerful as possible. + +The mysteries of it all are too great for me to attempt to pierce them; +but it is really incredible what a number of processes are necessary +before an oldish man, who is something of a buck and something of an +invalid, and altogether self-centered, is able to lay him down to rest. +There are strange doses to be prepared and drunk, strange manipulations +to be performed and very particular little ceremonies to be observed, +each in its proper place. Each to-night was accompanied by some genial +comment: the senna-pod distillation, that had been soaking since seven +p.m. in hot water, was drunk almost with the air of a toast; the +massaging of the ankles and toes (an exercise invented entirely by Lord +Talgarth himself) might have been almost in preparation for a dance. + +He stood up at last, an erect, stoutish figure, in quilted dressing-gown +and pyjamas, before the fire, as his man put on his slippers for him, +for the little procession into the next room. + +"I think I'm better to-night, Clarkson," he said. + +"Your lordship seems very well indeed, my lord," murmured that diplomat +on the hearth-rug. + +"How old do you think I am, Clarkson?" + +Clarkson knew perfectly well, but it was better to make a deprecatory +confused noise. + +"Ah! well, we needn't reckon by years ... I feel young enough," observed +the stately figure before the fire. + + * * * * * + +Then the procession was formed: the double doors were set back, the +electric light switched on; Lord Talgarth passed through towards the +great four-posted bed that stood out into the bedroom, and was in bed, +with scarcely a groan, almost before the swift Mr. Clarkson could be at +his side to help him in. He lay there, his ruddy face wonderfully +handsome against the contrast of his gray hair and the white pillow, +while Mr. Clarkson concluded the other and final ceremonies. A small +table had to be wheeled to a certain position beside the bed, and the +handle of the electric cord laid upon it in a particular place, between +the book and the tray on which stood some other very special draught to +be drunk in case of thirst. + +"Call me a quarter of an hour earlier than usual," observed the face on +the pillow. "I'll take a little stroll before breakfast." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"What did I tell you to remind me to do after breakfast?" + +"Send for Mr. Manners, my lord." + +"That's right. Good-night, Clarkson." + +"Good-night, my lord." + + * * * * * + +There was the usual discreet glance round the room to see that all was +in order; then the door into the dressing-room closed imperceptibly +behind Mr. Clarkson's bent back. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +(I) + +Winter at Merefield Rectory is almost as delightful as summer, although +in an entirely different way. The fact is that the Rectory has managed +the perfect English compromise. In summer, with the windows and doors +wide open, with the heavy radiant creepers, with the lawns lying about +the house, with the warm air flowing over the smooth, polished floors +and lifting the thin mats, with the endless whistle of bird song--then +the place seems like a summer-house. And in winter, with the heavy +carpets down, and the thick curtains, the very polished floors, so cool +in summer, seem expressly designed to glimmer warmly with candle and +fire-light; and the books seem to lean forward protectively and reassert +themselves, and the low beamed ceilings to shelter and safeguard the +interior comfort. The center of gravity is changed almost imperceptibly. +In summer the place is a garden with a house in the middle; in winter a +house surrounded by shrubberies. + +The study in one way and the morning-room in another are the respective +pivots of the house. The study is a little paneled room on the +ground-floor, looking out upon the last of the line of old yews and the +beginning of the lawn; the morning-room (once known as the school-room) +is the only other paneled room in the house, on the first floor, looking +out upon the front. And round these two rooms the two sections of the +house-life tranquilly revolve. Here in one the Rector controls the +affairs of the parish, writes his sermons, receives his men friends (not +very many), and reads his books. There in the other Jenny orders the +domestic life of the house, interviews the cook, and occupies herself +with her own affairs. They are two rival, but perfectly friendly, camps. + + * * * * * + +Lately (I am speaking now of the beginning of November) there had not +been quite so much communication between the two camps as usual, not so +many informal negotiations. Jenny did not look in quite so often upon +her father--for ten minutes after breakfast, for instance, or before +lunch--and when he looked in on her he seemed to find her generally with +rather a preoccupied air, often sitting before the wide-arched +fireplace, with her hands behind her head, looking at the red logs. + +He was an easy man, as has been seen, and did not greatly trouble his +head about it: he knew enough of the world to recognize that an +extremely beautiful girl like Jenny, living on the terms she did with +the great house--and a house with men coming and going continually, to +say nothing of lawn-tennis parties and balls elsewhere--cannot +altogether escape complications. He was reasonable enough, too, to +understand that a father is not always the best confidant, and he had +supreme confidence in Jenny's common sense. + +I suppose he had his dreams; he would scarcely have been human if he had +not, and he was quite human. The throwing over of Frank had brought him +mixed emotions, but he had not been consulted either at the beginning or +the end of the engagement, and he acquiesced. Of Dick's affair he knew +nothing at all. + +That, then, was the situation when the bomb exploded. It exploded in +this way. + +He was sitting in his study one morning--to be accurate, it was the +first Saturday in November, two days after the events of the last +chapter--preparing to begin the composition of his sermon for the next +day. They had dined up at the great house the night before quite quietly +with Lord Talgarth and Archie, who had just come back. + +He had selected his text with great care from the Gospel for the day, +when the door suddenly opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual +on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing that he must be at his +sermon; but his faint sense of annoyance was completely dispelled by his +daughter's face. She was quite pale--not exactly as if she had received +a shock, but as if she had made up her mind to something; there was no +sign of tremor in her face; on the contrary, she looked extremely +determined, but her eyes searched his as she stopped. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to you for a few minutes?" + +She did not wait for his answer, but came straight in and sat down in +his easy-chair. He laid his pen down and turned a little at his +writing-table to face her. + +"Certainly, dear. What is it? Nothing wrong?" + +(He noticed she had a note in her hand.) + +"No, nothing wrong...." She hesitated. "But it's rather important." + +"Well?" + +She glanced down at the note she carried. Then she looked up at him +again. + +"Father, I suppose you've thought of my marrying some day--in spite of +Frank?" + +"Eh?" + +"Would you mind if I married a man older than myself--I mean a good deal +older?" + +He looked at her in silence. Two or three names passed before his mind, +but he couldn't remember-- + +"Father, I'm in trouble. I really am. I didn't expect--" + +Her voice faltered. He saw that she really found it difficult to speak. +A little wave of tenderness rolled over his heart. It was unlike her to +be so much moved. He got up and came round to her. + +"What is it, dear? Tell me." + +She remained perfectly motionless for an instant. Then she held out the +note to him, and simultaneously stood up. As he took it, she went +swiftly past him and out of the door. He heard the swish of her dress +pass up the stairs, and then the closing of a door. But he hardly heeded +it. He was reading the note she had given him. It was a short, perfectly +formal offer of marriage to her from Lord Talgarth. + + +(II) + +"Father, dear," said Jenny, "I want you to let me have my say straight +out, will you?" + +He bowed his head. + +They were sitting, on the evening of the same day, over the tea-things +in his study. He had not seen her alone for one moment since the +morning. She had refused to open her door to him when he went up after +reading the note: she had pleaded a headache at lunch, and she had been +invisible all the afternoon. Then, as he came in about tea-time, she had +descended upon him, rather pale, but perfectly herself, perfectly +natural, and even rather high-spirited. She had informed him that tea +would be laid in his study, as she wanted a long talk. She had poured +out tea, talking all the time, refusing, it seemed, to meet his eyes. +When she had finished, she had poured out his third cup, and then pushed +her own low chair back so far that he could not see her face. + +Then she had opened the engagement. + + * * * * * + +To say that the poor man had been taken aback would be a very poor way +of describing his condition. The thing simply had never entered his +head. He had dreamed, in wild moments, of Archie; he had certainly +contemplated Dick; but Lord Talgarth himself, gouty and aged +sixty-five!... And yet he had not been indignant. Indignation not only +did not do with Jenny, but it was impossible. To be quite frank, the man +was afraid of his daughter; he was aware that she would do ultimately +as she wished, and not as he wished; and his extreme discomfort at the +thought of this old man marrying his daughter was, since he was human, +partly counter-balanced by the thought of who the old man was. Lastly, +it must be remembered that Jenny was really a very sensible girl, and +that her father was quite conscious of the fact. + +Jenny settled herself once more in her chair and began. + + * * * * * + +"Father, dear, I want to be quite sensible about this. And I've been +very foolish and silly about it all day. I can't imagine why I behaved +as I did. There's nothing to go and mope about, that Lord Talgarth has +been kind enough to do me this honor. Because it is an honor, you know, +however you look at it, that anyone should ask one to be his wife. + +"Well, I want to say what I have to say first, and then I want you to +say exactly what you think. I've thought it all out, so I shan't be very +long." + +(He put down his cup noiselessly, as if in the presence of a sick +person. He was anxious not to lose a word, or even an inflection). + +"First of all, let's have all the things against it. He's an old man. We +mustn't forget that for one minute. And that's a very strong argument +indeed. Some people would think it final, but I think that's +foolish.... + +"Secondly, it never entered my head for one instant." (Jenny said this +quite deliberately, almost reverently.) "Of course I see now that he's +hinted at it very often, but I never understood it at the time. I've +always thought of him as a sort of--well--a sort of uncle. And that's +another strong argument against it. If it was a right thing to do, +oughtn't it to have occurred to me too? I'm not quite sure about that. + +"Thirdly, it's unsuitable for several reasons. It'll make talk. Here +have I been engaged to Frank for ages and broken it off. Can't you +imagine how people will interpret that now? I suppose I oughtn't to mind +what people say, but I'm afraid I do. Then I'm the Rector's daughter ... +and I've been running in and out continually--dining with them, sitting +with him alone. Can't you imagine what people--Lady Richard, for +instance--will make of it?... I shall be an adventuress, and all the +rest of it. That's not worth much as an argument, but it is a ... a +consideration. One must look facts in the face and think of the future. + +"Fourthly, Lord Talgarth probably won't live very long...." (Jenny +paused, and then, with extraordinary impressiveness, continued).... "And +that, of, course, is perhaps the strongest argument of all. If I could +be of any real use to him--" She stopped again. + +The Rector shifted a little in his chair. + +It was impossible for him to conceal from himself any longer the fact +that up to now he had really been expecting Jenny to accept the offer. +But he was a little puzzled now at the admirable array of reasons she +had advanced against that. She had put into words just the sensible view +of which he himself had only had a confused apprehension; she had +analyzed into all its component parts that general sense which one side +of him had pushed before him all day--that the thing was really +abominable. And this side of him at this time was uppermost. He drew a +whistling breath. + +"Well, my dear," he began, and the relief was very apparent in his +voice. But Jenny interrupted. + +"One minute, please, father! In fairness to--to everyone I must put the +other side.... I suppose the main question is this, after all. Am I fond +of him?--fond enough, that is, to marry him--because, of course, I'm +fond of him; he's been so extraordinarily kind always.... I suppose +that's really the only thing to be considered. If I were fond enough of +him, I suppose all the arguments against count for nothing. Isn't that +so?... Yes; I want you to say what you think." + +He waited. Still he could make out nothing of her face, though he +glanced across the tea-things once or twice. + +"My dear, I don't know what to say. I--" + +"Father, dear, I just want that from you. Do you think that any +consideration at all ought to stand in the way, if I were--I don't say +for one single moment that I am--but if I were--well, really fond of +him? I'm sorry to have to speak so very plainly, but it's no good being +silly." + +He swallowed in his throat once or twice. + +"If you really were fond of him--I think ... I think that, no +consideration of the sort you have mentioned ought to ... to stand in +your way." + +"Thank you, father," said Jenny softly. + +"When did you first think of it?" + +Jenny paused. + +"I think I knew he was going to ask me two days ago--the day you met us +out riding, you know." + + * * * * * + +There was a long silence. + +They had already discussed, when Frank's affair had been before them, +all secondary details. + +The Rector's sister was to have taken Jenny's place. There was nothing +of that sort to talk about now. They were both just face to face with +primary things, and they both knew it. + +The Rector's mind worked like a mill--a mill whose machinery is running +aimlessly. The wheels went round and round, but they effected nothing. +He was completely ignorant as to what Jenny intended. He perceived--as +in a series of little vignettes--a number of hypothetical events, on +this side and that, but they drew to no conclusion in his mind. He was +just waiting on his daughter's will. + + * * * * * + +Jenny broke the silence with a slow remark in another kind of voice. + +"Father, dear, there's something else I must tell you. I didn't see any +need to bother you with it before. It's this. Mr. Dick Guiseley proposed +to me when he was here for the shooting." + +She paused, but her father said nothing. + +"I told him he must wait--that I didn't know for certain, but that I was +almost certain. If he had pressed for an answer I should have said 'No.' +Oddly enough, I was thinking only yesterday that it wasn't fair to keep +him waiting any longer. Because ... because it's 'No' ... anyhow, now." + +The Rector still could not speak. It was just one bewilderment. But +apparently Jenny did not want any comments. + +"That being so," she went on serenely, "my conscience is clear, anyhow. +And I mustn't let what I think Mr. Dick might say or think affect +me--any more than the other things. Must I?" + +"... Jenny, what are you going to do? Tell me!" + +"Father, dear," came the high astonished voice, "I don't know. I don't +know at all. I must think. Did you think I'd made up my mind? Why! How +could I? Of course I should say 'No' if I had to answer now." + +"I--" began the Rector and stopped. He perceived that the situation +could easily be complicated. + +"I must just think about it quietly," went on the girl. "And I must +write a note to say so.... Father ..." + +He glanced in her direction. + +"Father, about being fond of a man.... Need it be--well, as I was fond +of Frank? I don't think Lord Talgarth could have expected that, could +he? But if you--well--get on with a man very well, understand him--can +stand up to him without annoying him ... and ... and care for him, +really, I mean, in such a way that you like being with him very much, +and look up to him very much in all kinds of ways--(I'm very sorry to +have to talk like this, but whom am I to talk to, father dear?) Well, if +I found I did care for Lord Talgarth like that--like a sort of daughter, +or niece, and more than that too, would that--" + +"I don't know," said the Rector, abruptly standing up. "I don't know; +you mustn't ask me. You must settle all that yourself." + +She looked up at him, startled, it seemed, by the change in his manner. + +"Father, dear--" she began, with just the faintest touch of pathetic +reproach in her voice. But he did not appear moved by it. + +"You must settle," he said. "You have all the data. I haven't. I--" + +He stepped towards the door. + +"Tell me as soon as you have decided," he said, and went out. + + +(III) + +The little brown dog called Lama, who in an earlier chapter once trotted +across a lawn, and who had lately been promoted to sleeping upon Jenny's +bed, awoke suddenly that night and growled a low breathy remonstrance. +He had been abruptly kicked from beneath the bedclothes. + +"Get off, you heavy little beast," said a voice in the darkness. + +Lama settled himself again with a grunt, half of comfort, half of +complaint. + +"_Get off!_" came the voice again, and again his ribs were heaved at by +a foot. + +He considered it a moment or two, and even shifted nearer the wall, +still blind with sleep; but the foot pursued him, and he awoke finally +to the conviction that it would be more comfortable by the fire; there +was a white sheepskin there, he reflected. As he finally reached the +ground, a scratching was heard in the corner, and he was instantly +alert, and the next moment had fitted his nose, like a kind of +india-rubber pad, deep into a small mouse-hole in the wainscoting, and +was breathing long noisy sighs down into the delicious and +gamey-smelling darkness. + +"Oh! be quiet!" came a voice from the bed. + +Lama continued his investigations unmoved, and having decided, after one +long final blow, that there was to be no sport, returned to the +sheepskin with that brisk independent air that was so characteristic of +him. He was completely awake now, and stood eyeing the bed a moment, +with the possibility in his mind that his mistress was asleep again, +and that by a very gentle leap--But a match was struck abruptly, and he +lay down, looking, with that appearance of extreme wide-awakedness in +his black eyes that animals always wear at night, at his restless +mistress. + +He could not quite understand what was the matter. + +First she lit a candle, took a book from the small table by the bed and +began to read resolutely. This continued till Lama's eyes began to blink +at the candle flame, and then he was suddenly aware that the light was +out and the book closed, and all fallen back again into the clear gray +tones which men call darkness. + +He put his head down on his paws, but his eyebrows rose now and again as +he glanced at the bed. + +Then the candle was lighted again after a certain space of time, but +this time there was no book opened. Instead, his mistress took her arms +out of bed, and clasped them behind her head, staring up at the +ceiling.... + +This was tiresome, as the light was in his eyes, and his body was just +inert enough with sleep to make movement something of an effort.... + +Little by little, however, his eyebrows came down, remained down, and +his eyes closed.... + +He awoke again at a sound. The candle was still burning, but his +mistress had rolled over on to her side and seemed to be talking gently +to herself. Then she was over again on this side, and a minute later was +out of bed, and walking to and fro noiselessly on the soft carpet. + +He watched her with interest, his eyes only following her. He had never +yet fully understood this mysterious change of aspect that took place +every night--the white thin dress, the altered appearance of the head, +and--most mysterious of all--the two white things that ought to be feet, +but were no longer hard and black. He had licked one of them once +tentatively, and had found that the effect was that it had curled up +suddenly; there had been a sound as of pain overhead, and a swift slap +had descended upon him. + +He was observing these things now--to and fro, to and fro--and his eyes +moved with them. + + * * * * * + +After a certain space of time the movement stopped. She was standing +still near a carved desk--important because a mouse had once been +described sitting beneath it; and she stood so long that his eyes began +to blink once more. Then there was a rustle of paper being torn, and he +was alert again in a moment. Perhaps paper would be thrown for him +presently.... + +She came across to the hearth-rug, and he was up, watching her hands, +while his own short tail flickered three or four times in invitation. +But it was no good: the ball was crumpled up and thrown on to the red +logs. There was a "whup" from the fire and a flame shot up. He looked at +this carefully with his head on one side, and again lay down to watch +it. His mistress was standing quite still, watching it with him. + +Then, as the flame died down, she turned abruptly, went straight back to +the bed, got into it, drew the clothes over her and blew the candle out. + + * * * * * + +After a few moments steady staring at the fire, he perceived that a part +of the ball of paper had rolled out on to the stone hearth unburned. He +looked at it for some while, wondering whether it was worth getting up +for. Certainly the warmth was delicious and the sheepskin exquisitely +soft. + +There was no sound from the bed. A complete and absolute silence had +succeeded to all the restlessness. + +Finally he concluded that it was impossible to lie there any longer and +watch such a crisp little roll of paper still untorn. He got up, stepped +delicately on to the wide hearth, and pulled the paper towards him with +a little scratching sound. There was a sigh from the bed, and he paused. +Then he lifted it, stepped back to his warm place, lay down, and +placing his paws firmly upon the paper, began to tear scraps out of it +with his white teeth. + +"Oh, _be quiet_!" came the weary voice from the bed. + +He paused, considered; then he tore two more pieces. But it did not +taste as it should; it was a little sticky, and too stiff. He stood up +once more, turned round four times and lay down with a small grunt. + +In the morning the maid who swept up the ashes swept up these fragments +too. She noticed a wet scrap of a picture postcard, with the word +"Selby" printed in the corner. Then she threw that piece, too, into the +dustpan. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +(I) + +Mrs. Partington and Gertie had many of those mysterious conversations +that such women have, full of "he's" and "she's" and nods and becks and +allusions and broken sentences, wholly unintelligible to the outsider, +yet packed with interest to the talkers. The Major, Mr. Partington +(still absent), and Frank were discussed continually and exhaustively; +and, so far as the subjects themselves ranged, there was hardly an +unimportant detail that did not come under notice, and hardly an +important fact that did. Gertie officially passed, of course, as Mrs. +Trustcott always. + +A couple of mornings after Frank had begun his work at the jam factory, +Mrs. Partington, who had stepped round the corner to talk with a friend +for an hour or so, returned to find Gertie raging. She raged in her own +way; she was as white as a sheet; she uttered ironical and +unintelligible sentences, in which Frank's name appeared repeatedly, and +it emerged presently that one of the Mission-ladies had been round +minding other folks' business, and that Gertie would thank that lady to +keep her airs and her advice to herself. + +Now Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie was not the Major's wife, and +Gertie knew that she knew it; and Mrs. Partington knew that Gertie knew +that she knew it. Yet, officially, all was perfectly correct; Gertie +wore a wedding-ring, and there never was the hint that she had not a +right to it. It was impossible, therefore, for Mrs. Partington to +observe out loud that she understood perfectly what the Mission-lady had +been talking about. She said very little; she pressed her thin lips +together and let Gertie alone. The conversations that morning were of +the nature of disconnected monologues from Gertie with long silences +between. + +It was an afternoon of silent storm. The Major was away in the West End +somewhere on mysterious affairs; the children were at school, and the +two women went about, each knowing what was in the mind of the other, +yet each resolved to keep up appearances. + +At half-past five o'clock Frank abruptly came in for a cup of tea, and +Mrs. Partington gave it him in silence. (Gertie could be heard moving +about restlessly overhead.) She made one or two ordinary remarks, +watching Frank when he was not looking. But Frank said very little. He +sat up to the table; he drank two cups of tea out of the chipped enamel +mug, and then he set to work on his kippered herring. At this point Mrs. +Partington left the room, as if casually, and a minute later Gertie came +downstairs. + + * * * * * + +She came in with an indescribable air of virtue, rather white in the +face, with her small chin carefully thrust out and her eyelids drooping. +It was a pose she was accustomed to admire in high-minded and +aristocratic barmaids. Frank nodded at her and uttered a syllable or two +of greeting. + +She said nothing; she went round to the window, carrying a white cotton +blouse she had been washing upstairs, and hung it on the clothes-line +that ran inside the window. Then, still affecting to be busy with it, +she fired her first shot, with her back to him. + +"I'll thank you to let my business alone...." + +(Frank put another piece of herring into his mouth.) + +"... And not to send round any more of your nasty cats," added Gertie +after a pause. + +There was silence from Frank. + +"Well?" snapped Gertie. + +"How dare you talk like that!" said Frank, perfectly quietly. + +He spoke so low that Gertie mistook his attitude, and, leaning her +hands on the table, she poured out the torrent that had been gathering +within her ever since the Mission-lady had left her at eleven o'clock +that morning. The lady had not been tactful; she was quite new to the +work, and quite fresh from a women's college, and she had said a great +deal more than she ought, with an earnest smile upon her face that she +had thought conciliatory and persuasive. Gertie dealt with her +faithfully now; she sketched her character as she believed it to be; she +traced her motives and her attitude to life with an extraordinary wealth +of detail; she threw in descriptive passages of her personal appearance, +and she stated, with extreme frankness, her opinion of such persons as +she had thought friendly, but now discovered to be hypocritical parsons +in disguise. Unhappily I have not the skill to transcribe her speech in +full, and there are other reasons, too, why her actual words are best +unreported: they were extremely picturesque. + +Frank ate on quietly till he had finished his herring; then he drank his +last cup of tea, and turned a little in his chair towards the fire. He +glanced at the clock, perceiving that he had still ten minutes, just as +Gertie ended and stood back shaking and pale-eyed. + +"Is that all?" he asked. + +It seemed it was not all, and Gertie began again, this time on a +slightly higher note, and with a little color in her face. Frank waited, +quite simply and without ostentation. She finished. + +After a moment's pause Frank answered. + +"I don't know what you want," he said. "I talked to you myself, and you +wouldn't listen. So I thought perhaps another woman would do it +better--" + +"I did listen--" + +"I beg your pardon," said Frank instantly. "I was wrong. You did listen, +and very patiently. I meant that you wouldn't do what I said. And so I +thought--" + +Gertie burst out again, against cats and sneaking hypocrites, but there +was not quite the same venom in her manner. + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then I won't make the mistake again. I am very +sorry--not in the least for having interfered, you understand, but for +not having tried again myself." (He took up his cap.) "You'll soon give +in, Gertie, you know. Don't you think so yourself?" + +Gertie looked at him in silence. + +"You understand, naturally, why I can't talk to you while the Major's +here. But the next time I have a chance--" + +The unlatched door was pushed open and the Major came in. + + +(II) + +There was an uncomfortable little pause for a moment. It is extremely +doubtful, even now, exactly how much the Major heard; but he must have +heard something, and to a man of his mind the situation that he found +must have looked extremely suspicious. Gertie, flushed now, with emotion +very plainly visible in her bright eyes, was standing looking at Frank, +who, it appeared, was a little disconcerted. It would have been almost +miraculous if the Major had not been convinced that he had interrupted a +little private love-making. + +It is rather hard to analyze the Major's attitude towards Gertie; but +what is certain is that the idea of anyone else making love to her was +simply intolerable. Certainly he did not treat her with any great +chivalry; he made her carry the heavier bundles on the tramp; he behaved +to her with considerable disrespect; he discussed her freely with his +friends on convivial occasions. But she was his property--his and no one +else's. He had had his suspicions before; he had come in quietly just +now on purpose, and he had found himself confronted by this very +peculiar little scene. + +He looked at them both in silence. Then his lips sneered like a dog's. + +"Pardon me," he said, with extreme politeness. "I appear to be +interrupting a private conversation." + +No one said anything. Frank leaned his elbow on the mantelpiece. + +"It was private, then?" continued the Major with all the poisonous +courtesy at his command. + +"Yes; it was private," said Frank shortly. + +The Major put his bowler hat carefully upon the table. + +"Gertie, my dear," he said. "Will you be good enough to leave us for an +instant? I regret having to trouble you." + +Gertie breathed rather rapidly for a moment or two. She was not +altogether displeased. She understood perfectly, and it seemed to her +rather pleasant that two men should get into this kind of situation over +her. She was aware that trouble would come to herself later, probably in +the form of personal chastisement, but to the particular kind of +feminine temperament that she possessed even a beating was not wholly +painful, and the cheap kind of drama in which she found herself was +wholly attractive. After an instant's pause, she cast towards Frank what +she believed to be a "proud" glance and marched out. + +"If you've got much to say," said Frank rapidly, as the door closed, +"you'd better keep it for this evening. I've got to go in ... in two +minutes." + +"Two minutes will be ample," said the Major softly. + +Frank waited. + +"When I find a friend," went on the other, "engaged in an apparently +exciting kind of conversation, which he informs me is private, with one +who is in the position of my wife--particularly when I catch a sentence +or two obviously not intended for my ears--I do not ask what was the +subject of the conversation, but I--" + +"My dear man," said Frank, "do put it more simply." + +The Major was caught, so to speak, full in the wind. His face twitched +with anger. + +Then he flung an oath at Frank. + +"If I catch you at it again," he said, "there'll be trouble. God damn +you!" + +"That is as it may be," said Frank. + +The Major had had just one drink too much, and he was in the kind of +expansive mood that changes very rapidly. + +"Can you tell me you were not trying to take her from me?" he cried, +almost with pathos in his voice. + +This was, of course, exactly what Frank had been trying to do. + +"You can't deny it!... Then I tell you this, Mr. Frankie"--the Major +sprang up--"one word more from you to her on that subject ... and ... +and you'll know it. D'you understand me?" + +He thrust his face forward almost into Frank's. + +It was an unpleasant face at most times, but it was really dangerous +now. His lips lay back, and the peculiar hot smell of spirit breathed +into Frank's nostrils. Frank turned and looked into his eyes. + +"I understand you perfectly," he said. "There's no need to say any more. +And now, if you'll forgive me, I must get back to my work." + +He took up his cap and went out. + + * * * * * + +The Major, as has been said, had had one glass too much, and he had, +accordingly, put into words what, even in his most suspicious moments, +he had intended to keep to himself. It might be said, too, that he had +put into words what he did not really think. But the Major was, like +everyone else, for good or evil, a complex character, and found it +perfectly possible both to believe and disbelieve the same idea +simultaneously. It depended in what stratum the center of gravity +happened to be temporarily suspended. One large part of the Major knew +perfectly well, therefore, that any jealousy of Frank was simply +ridiculous--the thing was simply alien; and another part, not so large, +but ten times more concentrated, judged Frank by the standards by which +the Major (_qua_ blackguard) conducted his life. For people who lived +usually in that stratum, making love to Gertie, under such +circumstances, would have been an eminently natural thing to do, and, +just now, the Major chose to place Frank amongst them. + +The Major himself was completely unaware of these psychological +distinctions, and, as he sat, sunk in his chair, brooding, before +stepping out to attend to Gertie, he was entirely convinced that his +suspicions were justified. It seemed to him now that numberless little +details out of the past fitted, with the smoothness of an adjusted +puzzle, into the framework of his thought. + +There was, first, the very remarkable fact that Frank, in spite of +opportunities to better himself, had remained in their company. At +Barham, at Doctor Whitty's, at the monastery, obvious chances had +offered themselves and he had not taken them. Then there were the small +acts of courtesy, the bearing of Gertie's bundles two or three times. +Finally, there was a certain change in Gertie's manner--a certain silent +peevishness towards himself, a curious air that fell on her now and then +as she spoke to Frank or looked at him. + +And so forth. It was an extraordinarily convincing case, clinched now +by the little scene that he had just interrupted. And the very +irregularity of his own relations with Gertie helped to poison the +situation with an astonishingly strong venom. + +Of course, there were other considerations, or, rather, there was +one--that Frank, obviously, was not the kind of man to be attracted by +the kind of woman that Gertie was--a consideration made up, however, of +infinitely slighter indications. But this counted for nothing. It seemed +unsubstantial and shadowy. There were solid, definable arguments on the +one side; there was a vague general impression on the other.... + +So the Major sat and stared at the fire, with the candle-light falling +on his sunken cheeks and the bristle on his chin--a poor fallen kind of +figure, yet still holding the shadow of a shadow of an ideal that might +yet make him dangerous. + +Presently he got up with a sudden movement and went in search of Gertie. + + +(III) + +There are no free libraries in Hackney Wick; the munificences of Mr. +Carnegie have not yet penetrated to that district (and, indeed, the +thought of a library of any kind in Hackney Wick is a little +incongruous). But there is one in Homerton, and during the dinner-hour +on the following day Frank went up the steps of it, pushed open the +swing-doors, and found his way to some kind of a writing-room, where he +obtained a sheet of paper, an envelope and a penny stamp, and sat down +to write a letter. + +The picture that I have in my mind of Frank at this present time may +possibly be a little incorrect in one or two details, but I am quite +clear about its main outlines, and it is extremely vivid on the whole. I +see him going in, quietly and unostentatiously--quite at his ease, yet a +very unusual figure in such surroundings. I hear an old gentleman sniff +and move his chair a little as this person in an exceedingly shabby blue +suit with the collar turned up, with a muffler round his neck and large, +bulging boots on his feet, comes and sits beside him. I perceive an +earnest young lady, probably a typist in search of extra culture, look +at him long and vacantly from over her copy of Emerson, and can almost +see her mind gradually collecting conclusions about him. The attendant, +too, as he asks for his paper, eyes him shrewdly and suspiciously, and +waits till the three halfpence are actually handed across under the +brass wire partition before giving him the penny stamp. These +circumstances may be incorrect, but I am absolutely clear as to Frank's +own attitude of mind. Honestly, he no longer minds in the very least +how people behave to him; he has got through all that kind of thing long +ago; he is not at all to be commiserated; it appears to him only of +importance to get the paper and to be able to write and post his letter +without interruption. For Frank has got on to that plane--(I know no +other word to use, though I dislike this one)--when these other things +simply do not matter. We all touch that plane sometimes, generally under +circumstances of a strong mental excitement, whether of pleasure or +pain, or even annoyance. A man with violent toothache, or who has just +become engaged to be married, really does not care what people think of +him. But Frank, for the present at least, has got here altogether, +though for quite different reasons. The letter he wrote on this occasion +is, at present, in my possession. It runs as follows. It is very short +and business-like: + + "DEAR JACK, + + "I want to tell you where I am--or, rather, where I can be got + at in case of need. I am down in East London for the present, + and one of the curates here knows where I'm living. (He was at + Eton with me.) His address is: The Rev. E. Parham-Carter, The + Eton Mission, Hackney Wick, London, N.E. + + "The reason I'm writing is this: You remember Major Trustcott + and Gertie, don't you? Well, I haven't succeeded in getting + Gertie back to her people yet, and the worst of it is that the + Major knows that there's something up, and, of course, puts the + worst possible construction upon it. Parham-Carter knows all + about it, too--I've just left a note on him, with instructions. + Now I don't quite know what'll happen, but in case anything + does happen which prevents my going on at Gertie, I want you to + come and do what you can. Parham-Carter will write to you if + necessary. + + "That's one thing; and the next is this: I'd rather like to + have some news about my people, and for them to know (if they + want to know--I leave that to you) that I'm getting on all + right. I haven't heard a word about them since August. I know + nothing particular can have happened, because I always look at + the papers--but I should like to know what's going on + generally. + + "I think that's about all. I am getting on excellently myself, + and hope you are. I am afraid there's no chance of my coming to + you for Christmas. I suppose you'll be home again by now. + + "Ever yours, + "F.G." + + "P.S.--Of course you'll keep all this private--as well as where + I'm living." + +Now this letter seems to me rather interesting from a psychological +point of view. It is extremely business-like, but perfectly unpractical. +Frank states what he wants, but he wants an absurd impossibility. I like +Jack Kirkby very much, but I cannot picture him as likely to be +successful in helping to restore a strayed girl to her people. I suppose +Frank's only excuse is that he did not know whom else to write to. + +It is rather interesting, too, to notice his desire to know what is +going on at his home; it seems as if he must have had, some faint +inkling that something important was about to happen, and this is +interesting in view of what now followed immediately. + +He directed his letter, stamped it, and posted it in the library +post-box in the vestibule. Then, cap in hand, he pushed open the +swing-doors and ran straight into Mr. Parham-Carter. + +"Hullo!" said that clergyman--and went a little white. + +"Hullo!" said Frank; and then: "What's the matter?" + +"Where are you going?" + +"I'm going back to the jam factory." + +"May I walk with you?" + +"Certainly, if you don't mind my eating as I go along." + +The clergyman turned with him and went beside him in silence, as Frank, +drawing out of his side-pocket a large hunch of bread and cheese, +wrapped up in the advertisement sheet of the _Daily Mail_, began to fill +his mouth. + +"I want to know if you've had any news from home." + +Frank turned to him slightly. + +"No," he said sharply, after a pause. + +Mr. Parham-Carter licked his lips. + +"Well--no, it isn't bad news; but I wondered whether--" + +"What is it?" + +"Your governor's married again. It happened yesterday. I thought perhaps +you didn't know." + +There was dead silence for an instant. + +"No, I didn't know," said Frank. "Who's he married?" + +"Somebody I never heard of. I wondered whether you knew her." + +"What's her name?" + +"Wait a second," said the other, plunging under his greatcoat to get at +his waistcoat pocket. "I've got the paragraph here. I cut it out of the +_Morning Post_. I only saw it half an hour ago. I was coming round to +you this evening." + +He produced a slip of printed paper. Frank stood still a moment, leaning +against some area-railings--they were in the distinguished quarter of +Victoria Park Road--and read the paragraph through. The clergyman +watched him curiously. It seemed to him a very remarkable situation that +he should be standing here in Victoria Park Road, giving information to +a son as to his father's marriage. He wondered, but only secondarily, +what effect it would have upon Frank. + +Frank gave him the paper back without a tremor. + +"Thanks very much," he said. "No; I didn't know." + +They continued to walk. + +"D'you know her at all?" + +"Yes, I know her. She's the Rector's daughter, you know." + +"What! At Merefield? Then you must know her quite well." + +"Oh! yes," said Frank, "I know her quite well." + +Again there was silence. Then the other burst out: + +"Look here--I wish you'd let me do something. It seems to me perfectly +ghastly--" + +"My dear man," said Frank. "Indeed you can't do anything.... You got my +note, didn't you?" + +The clergyman nodded. + +"It's just in case I'm ill, or anything, you know. Jack's a great friend +of mine. And it's just as well that some friend of mine should be able +to find out where I am. I've just written to him myself, as I said in my +note. But you mustn't give him my address unless in case of real need." + +"All right. But are you sure--" + +"I'm perfectly sure.... Oh! by the way, that lady you sent round did no +good. I expect she told you?" + +"Yes; she said she'd never come across such a difficult case." + +"Well, I shall have to try again myself.... I must turn off here. Good +luck!" + + +(IV) + +Gertie was sitting alone in the kitchen about nine o'clock that +night--alone, that is to say, except for the sleeping 'Erb, who, in a +cot at the foot of his mother's bed, was almost invisible under a pile +of clothes, and completely negligible as a witness. Mrs. Partington, +with the other two children, was paying a prolonged visit in Mortimer +Road, and the Major, ignorant of this fact, was talking big in the bar +of the "Queen's Arms" opposite the Men's Club of the Eton Mission. + +Gertie was enjoying herself just now, on the whole. It is true that she +had received some chastisement yesterday from the Major; but she had the +kind of nature that preferred almost any sensation to none. And, indeed, +the situation was full of emotion. It was extraordinarily pleasant to +her to occupy such a position between two men--and, above all, two +"gentlemen." Her attitude towards the Major was of the most simple and +primitive kind; he was her man, who bullied her, despised her, dragged +her about the country, and she never for one instant forgot that he had +once been an officer in the army. Even his blows (which, to tell the +truth, were not very frequent, and were always administered in a +judicial kind of way) bore with them a certain stamp of brilliance; she +possessed a very pathetic capacity for snobbishness. Frank, on the other +side, was no less exciting. She regarded him as a good young man, almost +romantic, indeed, in his goodness--a kind of Sir Galahad; and he, +whatever his motive (and she was sometimes terribly puzzled about his +motives), at any rate, stood in a sort of rivalry to the Major; and it +was she who was the cause of contention. She loved to feel herself +pulled this way and that by two such figures, to be quarreled over by +such very strong and opposite types. It was a vague sensation to her, +but very vivid and attractive; and although just now she believed +herself to be thoroughly miserable, I have no doubt whatever that she +was enjoying it all immensely. She was very feminine indeed, and the +little scene of last night had brought matters to an almost exquisite +point. She was crying a little now, gently, to herself. + + * * * * * + +The door opened. Frank came in, put down his cap, and took his seat on +the bench by the fire. + +"All out?" he asked. + +Gertie nodded, and made a little broken sound. + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then I'm going to talk to you." + +Gertie wiped away a few more tears, and settled herself down for a +little morbid pleasure. It was delightful to her to be found crying over +the fire. Frank, at any rate, would appreciate that. + +"Now," said Frank, "you've got the choice once more, and I'm going to +put it plainly. If you don't do what I want this time, I shall have to +see whether somebody else can't persuade you." + +She glanced up, a little startled. + +"Look here," said Frank. "I'm not going to take any more trouble myself +over this affair. You were a good deal upset yesterday when the lady +came round, and you'll be more upset yet before the thing's over. I +shan't talk to you myself any more: you don't seem to care a hang what I +say; in fact, I'm thinking of moving my lodgings after Christmas. So now +you've got your choice." + +He paused. + +"On the one side you've got the Major; well, you know him; you know the +way he treats you. But that's not the reason why I want you to leave +him. I want you to leave him because I think that down at the bottom +you've got the makings of a good woman--" + +"I haven't," cried Gertie passionately. + +"Well, I think you have. You're very patient, and you're very +industrious, and because you care for this man you'll do simply anything +in the world for him. Well, that's splendid. That shows you've got grit. +But have you ever thought what it'll all be like in five years from +now?" + +"I shall be dead," wailed Gertie. "I wish I was dead now." + +Frank paused. + +"And when you're dead--?" he said slowly. + +There was an instant's silence. Then Frank took up his discourse again. +(So far he had done exactly what he had wanted. He had dropped two tiny +ideas on her heart once more--hope and fear.) + +"Now I've something to tell you. Do you remember the last time I talked +to you? Well, I've been thinking what was the best thing to do, and a +few days ago I saw my chance and took it. You've got a little +prayer-book down at the bottom of your bundle, haven't you? Well, I got +at that (you never let anyone see it, you know), and I looked through +it. I looked through all your things. Did you know your address was +written in it? I wasn't sure it was your address, you know, until--" + +Gertie sat up, white with passion. + +"You looked at my things?" + +Frank looked her straight in the face. + +"Don't talk to me like that," he said. "Wait till I've done.... Well, I +wrote to the address, and I got an answer; then I wrote again, and I got +another answer and a letter for you. It came this morning, to the +post-office where I got it." + +Gertie looked at him, still white, with her lips parted. + +"Give me the letter," she whispered. + +"As soon as I've done talking," said Frank serenely. "You've got to +listen to me first. I knew what you'd say: you'd say that your people +wouldn't have you back. And I knew perfectly well from the little things +you'd said about them that they would. But I wrote to make sure.... + +"Gertie, d'you know that they're breaking their hearts for you?... that +there's nothing, in the whole world they want so much as that you +should come back?..." + +"Give me the letter!" + +"You've got a good heart yourself, Gertie; I know that well enough. +Think hard, before I give you the letter. Which is best--the Major and +this sort of life--and ... and--well, you know about the soul and God, +don't you?... or to go home, and--" + +Her face shook all over for one instant. + +"Give me the letter," she wailed suddenly. + +Then Frank gave it her. + + +(V) + +"But I can't possibly go home like this," whispered Gertie agitatedly in +the passage, after the Major's return half an hour later. + +"Good Lord!" whispered Frank, "what an extraordinary girl you are, to +think--" + +"I don't care. I can't, and I won't." + +Frank cast an eye at the door, beyond which dozed the Major in the chair +before the fire. + +"Well, what d'you want?" + +"I want another dress, and ... and lots of things." + +Frank stared at her resignedly. + +"How much will it all come to?" + +"I don't know. Two pounds--two pounds ten." + +"Let's see: to-day's the twentieth. We must get you back before +Christmas. If I let you have it to-morrow, will it do?--to-morrow +night?" + +She nodded. A sound came from beyond the door, and she fled. + + * * * * * + +I am not sure about the details of the manner in which Frank got the two +pounds ten, but I know he got it, and without taking charity from a +soul. I know that he managed somehow to draw his week's money two days +before pay-day, and for the rest, I suspect the pawnshop. What is quite +certain is that when his friends were able to take stock of his +belongings a little later, the list of them was as follows: + +One jacket, one shirt, one muffler, a pair of trousers, a pair of socks, +a pair of boots, one cap, one tooth-brush, and a rosary. There was +absolutely nothing else. Even his razor was gone. + +Things, therefore, were pretty bad with him on the morning of the +twenty-second of December. I imagine that he still possessed a few +pence, but out of this few pence he had to pay for his own and Gertie's +journey to Chiswick, as well as keep himself alive for another week. At +least, so he must have thought. + +It must have been somewhere in Kensington High Street that he first had +a hint of a possibility of food to be obtained free, for, although I +find it impossible to follow all his movements during these days, it is +quite certain that he partook of the hospitality of the Carmelite +Fathers on this morning. He mentions it, with pleasure, in his diary. + +It is a very curious and medieval sight--this feeding of the poor in the +little deep passage that runs along the outside of the cloister of the +monastery in Church Street. The passage is approached by a door at the +back of the house, opening upon the lane behind, and at a certain hour +on each morning of the year is thronged from end to end with the most +astonishing and deplorable collection of human beings to be seen in +London. They are of all ages and sizes, from seventeen to seventy, and +the one thing common to them all is extreme shabbiness and poverty. + +A door opens at a given moment; the crowd surges a little towards a +black-bearded man in a brown frock, with an apron over it, and five +minutes later a deep silence, broken only by the sound of supping and +swallowing, falls upon the crowd. There they stand, with the roar of +London sounding overhead, the hooting of cars, the noise of innumerable +feet, and the rain--at least, on this morning--falling dismally down the +long well-like space. And here stand between two and three hundred men, +pinched, feeble, and yet wolfish, gulping down hot soup and bread, +looking something like a herd of ragged prisoners pent in between the +high walls. + +Here, then, Frank stood in the midst of them, gulping his soup. His van +and horses, strictly against orders, remained in Church Street, under +the care of a passer-by, whom Frank seems to have asked, quite openly, +to do it for him for God's sake. + +It is a dreary little scene in which to picture him, and yet, to myself, +it is rather pleasant, too. I like to think of him, now for the second +time within a few weeks, and all within the first six months of his +Catholic life, depending upon his Church for the needs of the body as +well as for the needs of the soul. There was nothing whatever to +distinguish him from the rest; he, too, had now something of that lean +look that is such a characteristic of that crowd, and his dress, too, +was entirely suitable to his company. He spoke with none of his hosts; +he took the basin in silence and gave it back in silence; then he wiped +his mouth on his sleeve, and went out comforted. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +(I) + +Dick Guiseley sat over breakfast in his rooms off Oxford Street, +entirely engrossed in a local Yorkshire paper two days old. + +His rooms were very characteristic of himself. They were five in +number--a dining-room, two bedrooms, and two sitting-rooms divided by +curtains, as well as a little entrance-hall that opened on to the +landing, close beside the lift that served all the flats. They were +furnished in a peculiarly restrained style--so restrained, in fact, that +it was almost impossible to remember what was in them. One was just +conscious of a sense of extreme comfort and convenience. There was +nothing in particular that arrested the attention or caught the eye, +except here and there a space or a patch of wall about which Dick had +not yet made up his mind. He had been in them two years, indeed, but he +had not nearly finished furnishing. From time to time a new piece of +furniture appeared, or a new picture--always exceedingly good of its +kind, and even conspicuous. Yet, somehow or other, so excellent was his +taste, as soon as the thing was in place its conspicuousness (so to +speak) vanished amidst the protective coloring, and it looked as if it +had been there for ever. The colors were chosen with the same superfine +skill: singly they were brilliant, or at least remarkable (the ceilings, +for instance, were of a rich buttercup yellow); collectively they were +subdued and unnoticeable. And I suppose this is exactly what rooms ought +to be. + +The breakfast-table at which he sat was a good instance of his taste. +The silver-plate on it was really remarkable. There was a delightful +Caroline tankard in the middle, placed there for the sheer pleasure of +looking at it; there was a large silver cow with a lid in its back; +there were four rat-tail spoons; the china was an extremely cheap +Venetian crockery of brilliant designs and thick make. The coffee-pot +and milk-pot were early Georgian, with very peculiar marks; but these +vessels were at present hidden under the folded newspaper. There were +four chrysanthemums in four several vases of an exceptional kind of +glass. It sounds startling, I know, but the effect was not startling, +though I cannot imagine why not. Here again one was just conscious of +freshness and suitability and comfort. + + * * * * * + +But Dick was taking no pleasure in it all this morning. He was feeling +almost physically sick, and the little spirit-heated silver dish of +kidneys on his Queen Anne sideboard was undisturbed. He had cut off the +top of an egg which was now rapidly cooling, and a milky surface +resembling thin ice was forming on the contents of his coffee-cup. And +meanwhile he read. + +The column he was reading described the wedding of his uncle with Miss +Jenny Launton, and journalese surpassed itself. There was a great deal +about the fine old English appearance of the bridegroom, who, it +appeared, had been married in a black frock-coat and gray trousers, with +white spats, and who had worn a chrysanthemum in his button-hole (Dick +cast an almost venomous glance upon the lovely blossom just beside the +paper), and the beautiful youthful dignity of the bride, "so popular +among the humble denizens of the country-side." The bride's father, it +seemed, had officiated at the wedding in the "sturdy old church," and +had been greatly affected--assisted by the Rev. Matthieson. The wedding, +it seemed, had been unusually quiet, and had been celebrated by special +license: few of the family had been present, "owing," said the discreet +reporter, "to the express wish of the bridegroom." (Dick reflected +sardonically upon his own convenient attack of influenza from which he +was now completely recovered.) Then there was a great deal more about +the ancient home of the Guiseleys, and the aristocratic appearance of +Viscount Merefield, the young and popular heir to the earldom, who, it +appeared, had assisted at the wedding in another black frock-coat. +General Mainwaring had acted as best man. Finally, there was a short +description of the presents of the bridegroom to the bride, which +included a set of amethysts, etc.... + + * * * * * + +Dick read it all through to the luxuriant end, down to the peals of the +bells and the rejoicings in the evening. He ate several pieces of dry +toast while he read, crumbling them quickly with his left hand, and when +he had finished, drank his coffee straight off at one draught. Then he +got up, still with the paper, sat down in the easy-chair nearest to the +fire and read the whole thing through once more. Then he pushed the +paper off his knee and leaned back. + + * * * * * + +It would need a complete psychological treatise to analyze properly all +the emotions he had recently gone through--emotions which had been, so +to say, developed and "fixed" by the newspaper column he had just read. +He was a man who was accustomed to pride himself secretly upon the speed +with which he faced each new turn of fortune, and the correctness of the +attitude he assumed. Perhaps it would be fair to say that the Artistic +Stoic was the ideal towards which he strove. But, somehow, those +emotions would not sort themselves. There they all were--fury, +indignation, contempt, wounded pride, resignation, pity--there were no +more to be added or subtracted; each had its place and its object, yet +they would not coalesce. Now fury against his uncle, now pity for +himself, now a poisonous kind of contempt of Jenny. Or, again, a +primitive kind of longing for Jenny, a disregard of his uncle, an +abasement of himself. The emotions whirled and twisted, and he sat quite +still, with his eyes closed, watching them. + +But there was one more emotion which had made its appearance entirely +unexpectedly as soon as he had heard the news, that now, greatly to his +surprise, was beginning to take a considerable place amongst the +rest--and this was an extraordinarily warm sense of affection towards +Frank--of all people. It was composed partly of compassion, and partly +of an inexplicable sort of respect for which he could perceive no +reason. It was curious, he thought later, why this one figure should +have pushed its way to the front just now, when his uncle and Jenny and, +secondarily, that Rector ("so visibly affected by the ceremony") should +have occupied all the field. Frank had never meant very much to Dick; he +had stood for the undignified and the boyish in the midst of those +other stately elements of which Merefield, and, indeed, all truly +admirable life, was composed. + +Yet now this figure stood out before him with startling distinctness. + +First there was the fact that both Frank and himself had suffered +cruelly at the hands of the same woman, though Frank incomparably the +more cruelly of the two. Dick had the honesty to confess that Jenny had +at least never actually broken faith with himself; but he had also the +perspicuity to see that it came to very nearly the same thing. He knew +with the kind of certitude that neither needs nor appeals to evidence +that Jenny would certainly have accepted him if it had not been that +Lord Talgarth had already dawned on her horizon, and that she put him +off for a while simply to see whether this elderly sun would rise yet +higher in the heavens. It was the same consideration, no doubt, that had +caused her to throw Frank over a month or two earlier. A Lord Talgarth +in the bush was worth two cadets in the hand. That was where her +sensibleness had come in, and certainly it had served her well. + +It was this community of injury, then, that primarily drew Dick's +attention to Frank; and, when once it lead been so drawn, it lingered on +other points in his personality. Artistic Stoicism is a very satisfying +ideal so long as things go tolerably well. It affords an excellent +protection against such misfortunes as those of not being appreciated or +of losing money or just missing a big position--against all such ills as +affect bodily or mental conveniences. But when the heart is touched, +Artistic Stoicism peels off like rusted armour. Dick had seriously began +to consider, during the last few days, whether the exact opposite of +Artistic Stoicism (let us call it Natural Impulsiveness) is not almost +as good an equipment. He began to see something admirable in Frank's +attitude to life, and the more he regarded it the more admirable it +seemed. + +Frank, therefore, had begun to wear to him the appearance of something +really moving and pathetic. He had had a communication or two from Jack +Kirkby that had given him a glimpse of what Frank was going through, and +his own extremely artificial self was beginning to be affected by it. + + * * * * * + +He looked round his room now, once or twice, wondering whether it was +all worth while. He had put his whole soul into these rooms--there was +that Jacobean press with the grotesque heads--ah! how long he had +agonized over that in the shop in the King's Road, Chelsea, wondering +whether or not it would do just what he wanted, in that space between +the two doors. There was that small statue of a Tudor lady in a square +head-dress that he had bought in Oxford: he had occupied at least a week +in deciding exactly from what point she was to smile on him; there was +the new curtain dividing the two rooms: he had had half a dozen +patterns, gradually eliminated down to two, lying over his sofa-back for +ten days before he could make up his mind. (How lovely it looked, by the +way, just now, with that patch of mellow London sunlight lying across +the folds!) + +But was it all worth it?... He argued the point with himself, almost +passively, stroking his brown beard meditatively; but the fact that he +could argue it at all showed that the foundations of his philosophy were +shaken. + +Well, then ... Frank ... What about him? Where was he? + + +(II) + +About eleven o'clock a key turned in his outer door and a very +smart-looking page-boy came through, after tapping, with a telegram on a +salver. + +Dick was writing to Hamilton's, in Berners Street, about a question of +gray mats for the spare bedroom, and he took the telegram and tore open +the envelope with a preoccupied air. Then he uttered a small +exclamation. + +"Any answer, sir?" + +"No. Yes.... Wait a second." + +He took a telegraph-form with almost indecent haste, addressed it to +John Kirkby, Barham, Yorks, and wrote below: + + "_Certainly; will expect you dinner and sleep_.--RICHARD + GUISELEY." + +Then, when the boy had gone, he read again the telegram he had received: + + "_Have received letter from Frank; can probably discover + address if I come to town. Can you put me up + to-night?_--JACK KIRKBY, Barham." + +He pondered it a minute or so. Then he finished his note to Hamilton's, +but it was with a distracted manner. Then for several minutes he walked +up and down his rooms with his hands in his jacket-pockets, thinking +very deeply. He was reflecting how remarkable it was that he should hear +of Frank again just at this time, and was wondering what the next move +of Providence would be. + +The rest of Dick's day was very characteristic of him; and considering +my other personages in this story and their occupations, I take a +dramatic sort of pleasure in writing it down. + +He went out to lunch with a distinguished lady of his +acquaintance--whose name I forbear to give; she was not less than +seventy years old, and the two sat talking scandal about all their +friends till nearly four o'clock. The Talgarth affair, even, was +discussed in all its possible lights, and Dick was quite open about his +own part in the matter. He knew this old lady very well, and she knew +him very well. She was as shrewd as possible and extremely experienced, +and had helped Dick enormously in various intricacies and troubles of +the past; and he, on the other hand, as a well-informed bachelor, was of +almost equal service to her. She was just the least bit in the world +losing touch with things (at seventy you cannot do everything), and Dick +helped to keep her in touch. He lunched with her at least once a week +when they were both in town. + +At four he went to the Bath Club, ordered tea and toast and cigarettes, +and sat out, with his hat over his eyes, on the balcony, watching the +swimmers. There was a boy of sixteen who dived with surprising skill, +and Dick took the greatest possible pleasure in observing him. There was +also a stout man of his acquaintance whose ambition it had been for +months to cross the bath by means of the swinging rings, and this +person, too, afforded him hardly less pleasure, as he always had to let +go at the fourth ring, if not the third, whence he plunged into the +water with a sound that, curiously enough, was more resonant than +sibilant. + +At six, after looking through all the illustrated papers, he went out to +get his coat, and was presently in the thick of a heated argument with a +member of the committee on the subject of the new carpet in the front +hall. It was not fit, said Dick (searching for hyperboles), for even the +drawing-room of the "Cecil." + +This argument made him a little later than he had intended, and, as he +came up in the lift, the attendant informed him, in the passionless +manner proper to such people, that the Mr. Kirkby who had been mentioned +had arrived and was waiting for him in his rooms. + + +(III) + +Shortly before midnight Dick attempted to sum up the situation. They had +talked about Frank practically without ceasing, since Dick's man had set +coffee on the table at nine o'clock, and both had learned new facts. + +"Well, then, wire to go down to this man, Parham-Carter," said Dick, +"the first thing after breakfast to-morrow. Do you know anything about +the Eton Mission?" + +"No. One used to have a collection for it each half, you know, in the +houses." + +"How do we go?" + +"Oh! railway from Broad Street. I've looked it up. Victoria Park's the +station." + +Dick drew two or three draughts of smoke from his cigar-butt, and laid +it down in a small silver tray at his elbow. (The tray was a gift from +the old lady he had lunched with to-day.) + +"All you've told me is extraordinarily interesting," he said. "It really +was to get away this girl that he's stopped so long?" + +"I expect that's what he tells himself--that's the handle, so to speak. +But it's chiefly a sort of obstinacy. He said he would go on the roads, +and so he's gone." + +"I rather like that, you know," said Dick. + +Jack snorted a little. + +"Oh, it's better than saying a thing and not doing it. But why say it?" + +"Oh! one must do something," said Dick. "At least, some people seem to +think so. And I rather envy them, you know. I'm afraid I don't." + +"Don't what?" + +"Don't do anything. Unless you can call this sort of thing doing +something." He waved his hand vaguely round his perfectly arranged +room. + +Jack said nothing. He was inclined to be a little strenuous himself in +some ways, and he had always been conscious of a faint annoyance with +Dick's extreme leisureliness. + +"I see you agree," went on Dick. "Well, we must see what can be done." + +He stood up smiling and began to expand and contract his fingers +luxuriously before the fire behind his back. + +"If we can only get Frank away," murmured Jack. "That's enough for the +present." + +"And what do you propose to do with him then?" + +"Oh, Lord! Anything. Go round the world if he likes. Come and stay at my +place." + +"And suppose he thinks that's a bit too near to ... to Lady Talgarth.". + +This switched Jack back again to a line he had already run on for an +hour this evening. + +"Yes, that's the ghastly part of it all. He's sure not to have heard. +And who the devil's to tell him? And how will he take it?" + +"Do you know," said Dick, "I'm really not frightened about that? All +you've told me about him makes me think he'll behave very well. Funny +thing, isn't it, that you know him so much better than I do? I never +dreamed there was so much in him, somehow." + +"Oh, there's a lot in Frank. But one doesn't always know what it is." + +"Do you think his religion's made much difference?" + +"I think it's done this for him," said Jack slowly. "(I've been thinking +a lot about that). I think it's fixed things, so to speak ...." He +hesitated. He was not an expert in psychological analysis. Dick took him +up quickly. He nodded three or four times. + +"Exactly," he said. "That's it, no doubt. It's given him a center--a hub +for the wheel." + +"Eh?" + +"It's ... it's joined everything on to one point in him. He'll be more +obstinate and mad than ever before. He's got a center now.... I suppose +that's what religion's for," he added meditatively. + +This was Greek to Jack. He looked at Dick uncomprehendingly. + +Dick turned round and began to stare into the fire, still contracting +and expanding his fingers. + +"It's a funny thing--this religion," he said at last. "I never could +understand it." + +"And what about Archie?" asked Jack with sudden abruptness. (He had no +continuity of mind.) + +Dick brought his meditations to a close with equal abruptness, or +perhaps he would not have been so caustic as regards his first cousin. + +"Oh, Archie's an ass!" he said. "We can leave him out." + +Jack changed the subject again. He was feeling the situation very +acutely indeed, and the result was that all its elements came tumbling +out anyhow. + +"I've been beastly uncomfortable," he said. + +"Yes?" said Dick. "Any particular way?" + +Jack shifted one leg over the other. He had not approached one element +in the situation at all, as yet, with Dick, but it had been simmering in +him for weeks, and had been brought to a point by Frank's letter +received this morning. And now the curious intimacy into which he had +been brought with Dick began to warm it out of him. + +"You'll think me an ass, too, I expect," he said. "And I rather think +it's true. But I can't help it." + +Dick smiled at him encouragingly. (Certainly, thought Jack, this man was +nicer than he had thought him.) + +"Well, it's this--" he said suddenly. "But it's frightfully hard to put +into words. You know what I told you about Frank's coming to me at +Barham?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, there was something he said then that made me uncomfortable. And +it's made me more and more uncomfortable ever since ..." (He paused +again.) "Well, it's this. He said that he felt there was something going +on that he couldn't understand--some sort of Plan, he said--in which he +had to take part--a sort of scheme to be worked out, you know. I suppose +he meant God," he explained feebly. + +Dick looked at him questioningly. + +"Oh! I can't put it into words," said Jack desperately. "Nor did he, +exactly. But that was the kind of idea. A sort of Fate. He said he was +quite certain of it.... And there were lots of little things that fitted +in. He changed his clothes in the old vestry, you know--in the old +church. It seemed like a sort of sacrifice, you know. And then I had a +beastly dream that night. And then there was something my mother said.... +And now there's his letter: the one I showed you at dinner--about +something that might happen to him.... Oh! I'm a first-class ass, aren't +I?" + +There was a considerable silence. He glanced up in an ashamed sort of +way, at the other, and saw him standing quite upright and still, again +with his back to the fire, looking out across the room. From outside +came the hum of the thoroughfare--the rolling of wheels, the jingle of +bells, the cries of human beings. He waited in a kind of shame for +Dick's next words. He had not put all these feelings into coherent form +before, even to himself, and they sounded now even more fantastic than +he had thought them. He waited, then, for the verdict of this quiet man, +whom up to now he had deemed something of a fool, who cared about +nothing but billiards and what was called Art. (Jack loathed Art.) + +Then the verdict came in a surprising form. But he understood it +perfectly. + +"Well, what about bed?" said Dick quietly. + + +(IV) + +It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was +summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two +gentlemen. She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with +the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby. He got up very +quickly, and went downstairs two at a time. A minute later he brought +them both upstairs and shut the door. + +"Sit down," he said. "I'm most awfully glad you've come. I ... I've been +fearfully upset by all this, and I haven't known what to do." + +"Now where is he?" demanded Jack Kirkby. + +The clergyman made a deprecatory face. + +"I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. "And you know--" + +"But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose to fetch him away. It +simply mustn't go on. That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter +on to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by the way), and he +asked me to come up to town. I got to town last night, and we've come +down here at once this morning." + +Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who +sat opposite. + +"But you know I promised," he said. + +"Yes," burst in Jack; "but one doesn't keep promises one makes to +madmen. And--" + +"But he's not mad in the least. He's--" + +"Well?" + +"I was going to say that it seems to me that he's more sane than anyone +else," said the young man dismally. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but--" + +Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped. + +"I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle drawl. "And I quite +understand." + +"But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. "He must be mad. You don't +know Frank as I do--neither of you. And now there's this last +business--his father's marriage, I mean; and--" + +He broke off and looked across at Dick. + +"Go on," said Dick; "don't mind me." + +"Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it or not; but he must hear +sooner or later, and then--" + +"But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergyman. "I showed him the +paragraph myself." + +"He's heard of it! And he knows all about it!" + +"Certainly. And I understood from him that he knew the girl: the +Rector's daughter, isn't it?" + +"Knows the girl! Why, he was engaged to her himself." + +"_What_?" + +"Yes; didn't he tell you?" + +"He didn't give me the faintest hint--" + +"How did he behave? What did he say?" + +Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence. + +"What did he say?" snapped out Jack impatiently. + +"Say? He said nothing. He just told me he knew the girl, when I asked +him." + +"Good God!" remarked Jack. And there was silence. + +Dick broke it. + +"Well, it seems to me we're rather in a hole." + +"But it's preposterous," burst out Jack again. "Here's poor old Frank, +simply breaking his heart, and here are we perfectly ready to do +anything we can--why, the chap must be in hell!" + +"Look here, Mr. Parham-Carter," said Dick softly. "What about your going +round to his house and seeing if he's in, and what he's likely to be +doing to-day." + +"He'll be at the factory till this evening." + +"The factory?" + +"Yes; he's working at a jam factory just now." + +A sound of fury and disdain broke from Jack. + +"Well," continued Dick, "(May I take a cigarette, by the way?), why +shouldn't you go round and make inquiries, and find out how the land +lies? Then Kirkby and I might perhaps hang about a bit and run up +against him--if you'd just give us a hint, you know." + +The other looked at him a moment. + +"Well, perhaps I might," he said doubtfully. "But what--" + +"Good Lord! But you'll be keeping your promise, won't you? After all, +it's quite natural we should come down after his letter--and quite on +the cards that we should run up against him.... Please to go at once, +and let us wait here." + +In a quarter of an hour Mr. Parham-Carter came back quickly into the +room and shut the door. + +"Yes; he's at the factory," he said. "Or at any rate he's not at home. +And they don't expect him back till late." + +"Well?" + +"There's something up. The girl's gone, too. (No; she's not at the +factory.) And I think there's going to be trouble." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +(I) + +The electric train slowed down and stopped at the Hammersmith terminus, +and there was the usual rush for the doors. + +"Come on, Gertie," said a young man, "here we are." + +The girl remained perfectly still with her face hidden. + +The crowd was enormous this Christmas Eve, and for the most part laden +with parcels; the platforms surged with folk, and each bookstall, +blazing with lights (for it was after seven o'clock), was a center of a +kind of whirlpool. There was sensational news in the evening papers, and +everyone was anxious to get at the full details of which the main facts +were tantalizingly displayed on the posters. Everyone wanted to know +exactly who were the people concerned and how it had all happened. It +was a delightful tragedy for the Christmas festivities. + +"Come on," said the young man again. "They're nearly all out." + +"I can't," moaned the girl. + +Frank took her by the arm resolutely. + +"Come!" he said. + +Then she came, and the two passed out together into the mob waiting to +come in. + +"We shall have to walk," said Frank. "I'm sorry; but I've got to get +home somehow." + +She bowed her head and said nothing. + +Gertie presented a very unusual appearance this evening. Certainly she +had laid out the two-pound-ten to advantage. She was in a perfectly +decent dark dress with a red stripe in it; she had a large hat and some +species of boa round her neck; she even carried a cheap umbrella with a +sham silver band and a small hand-bag with one pocket-handkerchief +inside it. And to her own mind, no doubt, she was a perfect picture of +the ideal penitent--very respectable and even prosperous looking, and +yet with a dignified reserve. She was not at all flaunting, she must +have thought; neither was she, externally, anything of a disgrace. It +would be evident presently to her mother that she had returned out of +simple goodness of heart and not at all because her recent escapade had +been a failure. She would still be able to talk of "the Major" with +something of an air, and to make out that he treated her always like a +lady. (When I went to interview her a few months ago I found her very +dignified, very self-conscious, excessively refined and faintly +reminiscent of fallen splendor; and her mother told me privately that +she was beginning to be restless again and talked of going on to the +music-hall stage.) + +But there is one thing that I find it very hard to forgive, and that is, +that as the two went together under the flaming white lights towards +Chiswick High Street, she turned to Frank a little nervously and asked +him if he would mind walking just behind her. (Please remember, however, +in extenuation, that Gertie's new pose was that of the Superior Young +Lady.) + +"I don't quite like to be seen--" murmured this respectable person. + +"Oh, certainly!" said Frank, without an instant's hesitation. + + * * * * * + +They had met, half an hour before, by appointment, at the entrance to +the underground station at Victoria. Frank's van-journeyings would, he +calculated, bring him there about half-past six, and, strictly against +the orders of his superiors, but very ingeniously, with the connivance +of his fellow-driver of the van, he had arranged for his place to be +taken on the van for the rest of the evening by a man known to his +fellow-driver--but just now out of work--for the sum of one shilling, to +be paid within a week. He was quite determined not to leave Gertie alone +again, when once the journey to Chiswick had actually begun, until he +had seen her landed in her own home. + +The place of meeting, too, had suited Gertie very well. She had left +Turner Road abruptly, without a word to anyone, the instant that the +Major's military-looking back had been seen by her to pass within the +swing-doors of the "Queen's Arms" for his usual morning refreshment. +Then she had occupied herself chiefly by collecting her various things +at their respective shops, purchased by Frank's two-pound-ten, and +putting them on. She had had a clear threepence to spare beyond the few +shillings she had determined to put by out of the total, and had +expended it by a visit to the cinematograph show in Victoria Street. +There had been a very touching series of pictures of the "Old Home in +the Country," and the milking of the cows, with a general atmosphere of +roses and church-bells, and Gertie had dissolved into tears more than +once, and had cried noiselessly into her new pocket-handkerchief drawn +from her new hand-bag. But she had met Frank quite punctually, for, +indeed, she had burned her boats now entirely and there was nothing else +left for her to do. + + * * * * * + +At the entrance to Chiswick High Street another brilliant thought struck +her. She paused for Frank to come up. + +"Frankie," she said, "you won't say anything about the two-pound-ten, +will you? I shouldn't like them to think--" + +"Of course not," said Frank gravely, and after a moment, noticing that +she glanced at him again uneasily, understood, and fell obediently to +the rear once more. + + * * * * * + +About a quarter of a mile further on her steps began to go slower. Frank +watched her very carefully. He was not absolutely sure of her even now. +Then she crossed over the street between two trams, and Frank dodged +after her. Then she turned as if to walk back to Hammersmith. In an +instant Frank was at her side. + +"You're going the wrong way," he said. + +She stopped irresolutely, and had to make way for two or three hurrying +people, to pass. + +"Oh, Frankie! I can't!" she wailed softly. + +"Come!" said Frank, and took her by the arm once more. + +Five minutes later they stood together half-way down a certain long lane +that turns out of Chiswick High Street to the left, and there, for the +first time, she seems to have been genuinely frightened. The street was +quite empty; the entire walking population was parading up and down the +brightly-lit thoroughfare a hundred yards behind them, or feverishly +engaged in various kinds of provision shops. The lamps were sparse in +this lane, and all was comparatively quiet. + +"Oh, Frankie!" she moaned again. "I can't! I can't!... I daren't!" + +She leaned back against the sill of a window. + +Yet, even then, I believe she was rather enjoying herself. It was all so +extremely like the sort of plays over which she had been accustomed to +shed tears. The Prodigal's Return! And on Christmas Eve! It only +required a little snow to be falling and a crying infant at her +breast.... + +I wonder what Frank made of it. He must have known Gertie thoroughly +well by now, and certainly there is not one sensible man in a thousand +whose gorge would not have risen at the situation. Yet I doubt whether +Frank paid it much attention. + +"Where's the house?" he said. + +He glanced up at the number of the door by which he stood. + +"It must be a dozen doors further on," he said. + +"It's the last house in the row," murmured Gertie, in a weak voice. "Is +father looking out? Go and see." + +"My dear girl," said Frank, "do not be silly. Do remember your mother's +letter." + +Then she suddenly turned on him, and if ever she was genuine she was in +that moment. + +"Frankie," she whispered, "why not take me away yourself? Oh! take me +away! take me away!" + +He looked into her eyes for an instant, and in that instant he caught +again that glimpse as of Jenny herself. + +"Take me away--I'll live with you just as you like!" She took him by his +poor old jacket-lapel. "You can easily make enough, and I don't ask--" + +Then he detached her fingers and took her gently by the arm. + +"Come with me," he said. "No; not another word." + +Together in silence they went the few steps that separated them from the +house. There was a little garden in front, its borders set alternately +with sea-shells and flints. At the gate she hesitated once more, but he +unlatched the gate and pushed her gently through. + +"Oh! my gloves!" whispered Gertie, in a sharp tone of consternation. "I +left them in the shop next the A.B.C. in Wilton Road." + +Frank nodded. Then, still urging her, he brought her up to the door and +tapped upon it. + +There were footsteps inside. + +"God bless you, Gertie. Be a good girl. I'll wait in the road for ten +minutes, so that you can call me if you want to." + +Then he was gone as the door opened. + + +(II) + +The next public appearance of Frank that I have been able to trace, was +in Westminster Cathedral. Now it costs an extra penny at least, I think, +to break one's journey from Hammersmith to Broad Street, and I imagine +that Frank would not have done this after what he had said to Gertie +about the difficulty connected with taking an omnibus, except for some +definite reason, so it is only possible to conclude that he broke his +journey at Victoria in an attempt to get at those gloves. + +It seems almost incredible that Gertie should have spoken of her gloves +at such a moment, but it really happened. She told me so herself. And, +personally, on thinking over it, it seems to me tolerably in line +(though perhaps the line is rather unusually prolonged) with all that I +have been able to gather about her whole character. The fact is that +gloves, just then, were to her really important. She was about to appear +on the stage of family life, and she had formed a perfectly consistent +conception of her part. Gloves were an integral part of her +costume--they were the final proof of a sort of opulence and refinement; +therefore, though she could not get them just then, it was perfectly +natural and proper of her to mention them. It must not be thought that +Gertie was insincere: she was not; she was dramatic. And it is a fact +that within five minutes of her arrival she was down on her knees by her +mother, with her face hidden in her mother's lap, crying her heart out. +By the time she remembered Frank and ran out into the street, he had +been gone more than twenty minutes. + + * * * * * + +One of the priests attached to Westminster Cathedral happened to have a +pause about half-past nine o'clock in his hearing of confessions. He had +been in his box without a break from six o'clock, and he was extremely +tired and stiff about the knees. He had said the whole of his office +during intervals, and he thought he would take a little walk up and down +the south aisle to stretch his legs. + +So he unlatched the little door of his confessional, leaving the light +burning in case someone else turned up; he slipped off his stole and +came outside. + +The whole aisle, it seemed, was empty, though there was still a +sprinkling of folks in the north aisle, right across the great space of +the nave; and he went down the whole length, down to the west end to +have a general look up the Cathedral. + +He stood looking for three or four minutes. + +Overhead hung the huge span of brickwork, lost in darkness, incredibly +vast and mysterious, with here and there emerging into faint light a +slice of a dome or the slope of some architrave-like dogmas from +impenetrable mystery. Before him lay the immense nave, thronged now with +close-packed chairs in readiness for the midnight Mass, and they seemed +to him as he looked with tired eyes, almost like the bent shoulders of +an enormous crowd bowed in dead silence of adoration. But there was +nothing yet to adore, except up there to the left, where a very pale +glimmer shone on polished marble among the shadows before the chapel of +the Blessed Sacrament. There was one other exception; for overhead, +against the half-lighted apse, where a belated sacristan still moved +about, himself a shadow, busy with the last preparations of the High +Altar--there burgeoned out the ominous silhouette of the vast hanging +cross, but so dark that the tortured Christ upon it was invisible.... +Yet surely that was right on this night, for who, of all those who were +to adore presently the Child of joy, gave a thought to the Man of +Sorrows? His Time was yet three months away.... + + * * * * * + +As the priest stood there, looking and imagining, with that strange +clarity of mind and intuition that a few hours in the confessional gives +to even the dullest brain, he noticed the figure of a man detach itself +from one of the lighted confessionals on the left and come down towards +him, walking quickly and lightly. To his surprise, this young man, +instead of going out at the northwest door, wheeled and came towards +him. + +He noticed him particularly, and remembered his dress afterwards: it was +a very shabby dark blue suit, splashed with mud from the Christmas +streets, very bulgy about the knees; the coat was buttoned up tightly +round a muffler that had probably once been white, and his big boots +made a considerable noise as he came. + +The priest had a sudden impulse as the young man crossed him. + +"A merry Christmas," he said. + +The young man stopped a moment and smiled all over his face, and the +priest noticed the extraordinary serenity and pleasantness of the +face--and that, though it was the face of a Poor Man, with sunken cheeks +and lines at the corners of the mouth. + +"Thank you, Father," he said. "The same to you." + +Then he went on, his boots as noisy as ever, and turned up the south +aisle. And presently the sound of his boots ceased. + + * * * * * + +The priest still stood a moment or two, looking and thinking, and it +struck him with something of pleasure that the young man, though +obviously of the most completely submerged tenth, had not even hesitated +or paused, still less said one word, with the hope of a little something +for Christmas' sake. Surely he had spoken, too, with the voice of an +educated man. + +He became suddenly interested--he scarcely knew why, and the impression +made just by that single glimpse of a personality deepened every +moment.... What in the world was that young man doing here?... What was +his business up in that empty south aisle? Who was he? What was it all +about? + +He thought presently that he would go up and see; it was on his way back +to the clergy-house, too. But when he reached the corner of the aisle +and could see up it, there seemed to be no one there. + +He began to walk up, wondering more than ever, and then on a sudden he +saw a figure kneeling on the lower step of the chapel on the right, +railed off and curtained now, where the Crib was ready to be disclosed +two hours later. + +It all seemed very odd. He could not understand why anyone should wish +to pray before an impenetrable curtain. As he came nearer he saw it was +his friend all right. Those boots were unmistakable. The young man was +kneeling on the step, quite upright and motionless, his cap held in his +hands, facing towards the curtain behind which, no doubt, there stood +the rock-roofed stable, with the Three Personages--an old man, a maid +and a new-born Child. But their time, too, was not yet. It was two hours +away. + +Priests do not usually stare in the face of people who are saying their +prayers--they are quite accustomed to that phenomenon; but this priest +(he tells me) simply could not resist it. And as he passed on his +noiseless shoes, noticing that the light from his own confessional shone +full upon the man, he turned and looked straight at his face. + +Now I do not understand what it was that he saw; he does not understand +it himself; but it seems that there was something that impressed him +more than anything else that he had ever seen before or since in the +whole world. + +The young man's eyes were open and his lips were closed. Not one muscle +of his face moved. So much for the physical facts. But it was a case +where the physical facts are supremely unimportant.... At any rate, the +priest could only recall them with an effort. The point was that there +was something supra-physical there--(personally I should call it +supernatural)--that stabbed the watcher's heart clean through with one +over whelming pang.... (I think that's enough.) + + * * * * * + +When the priest reached the Lady chapel he sat down, still trembling a +little, and threw all his attention into his ears, determined to hear +the first movement that the kneeling figure made behind him. So he sat +minute after minute. The Cathedral was full of echoes--murmurous +rebounds of the noises of the streets, drawn out and mellowed into long, +soft, rolling tones, against which, as against a foil, there stood out +detached, now and then, the sudden footsteps of someone leaving or +entering a confessional, the short scream of a slipping chair--once the +sudden noise of a confessional-door being opened and the click of the +handle which turned out the electric light. And it was full of shadows, +too; a monstrous outline crossed and recrossed the apse behind the High +Altar, as the sacristan moved about; once a hand, as of a giant, +remained poised for an instant somewhere on the wall beside the throne. +It seemed to the priest, tired and clear-brained as he was, as if he sat +in some place of expectation--some great cavern where mysteries moved +and passed in preparation for a climax. All was hushed and confused, yet +alive; and the dark waves would break presently in the glory of the +midnight Mass. + +He scarcely knew what held him there, nor what it was for which he +waited. He thought of the lighted common-room at the end of the long +corridor beyond the sacristy. He wondered who was there; perhaps one or +two were playing billiards and smoking; they had had a hard day of it +and would scarcely get to bed before three. And yet, here he sat, tired +and over-strained, yet waiting--waiting for a disreputable-looking young +man in a dirty suit and muffler and big boots, to give over praying +before a curtain in an empty aisle. + +A figure presently came softly round the corner behind him. It was the +priest whom he had heard leaving his confessional just now. + +"Haven't you done yet?" whispered the new-comer, pausing behind his +chair. + +"Coming in a minute or two," he said. + +The figure passed on; presently a door banged like muffled thunder +somewhere beyond the sacristy, and simultaneously he heard a pair of +boots going down the aisle behind. + +He got up instantly, and with long, silent steps made his way down the +aisle also. The figure wheeled the corner and disappeared; he himself +ran on tip-toe and was in time to see him turning away from the +holy-water basin by the door. But he came so quickly after him that the +door was still vibrating as he put his hand upon it. He came out more +cautiously through the little entrance, and stood on the steps in time +to see the young man moving off, not five yards away, in the direction +of Victoria Street. But here something stopped him. + +Coming straight up the pavement outside the Art and Book Company depot +was a newsboy at the trot, yelling something as he came, with a poster +flapping from one arm and a bundle of papers under the other. The priest +could not catch what he said, but he saw the young man suddenly stop and +then turn off sharply towards the boy, and he saw him, after fumbling in +his pocket, produce a halfpenny and a paper pass into his hands. + +There then he stood, motionless on the pavement, the sheet spread before +him flapping a little in the gusty night wind. + +"Paper, sir!" yelled the boy, pausing in the road. "'Orrible--" + +The priest nodded; but he was not thinking much about the paper, and +produced his halfpenny. The paper was put into his hand, but he paid no +attention to it. He was still watching the motionless figure on the +pavement. About three minutes passed. Then the young man suddenly and +dexterously folded the paper, folded it again and slipped it into his +pocket. Then he set off walking and a moment later had vanished round +the corner into Victoria Street. + + * * * * * + +The priest thought no more of the paper as he went back through the +Cathedral, wondering again over what he had seen.... + +But the common-room was empty when he got to it, and presently he spread +the paper before him on the table and leaned over it to see what the +excitement was about. There was no doubt as to what the news was--there +were headlines occupying nearly a third of a column; but it appeared to +him unimportant as general news: he had never heard of the people +before. It seemed that a wealthy peer who lived in the North of England, +who had only recently been married for the second time, had been killed +in a motor smash together with his eldest son. The chauffeur had escaped +with a fractured thigh. The peer's name was Lord Talgarth. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +(I) + +On the morning of the twenty-fourth a curious little incident +happened--I dug the facts out of the police news--in a small +public-house on the outskirts of South London. Obviously it is no more +than the sheerest coincidence. Four men were drinking a friendly glass +of beer together on their way back to work from breakfast. Their +ecclesiastical zeal seems to have been peculiarly strong, for they +distinctly stated that they were celebrating Christmas on that date, and +I deduce from that statement that beer-drinking was comparatively +infrequent with them. + +However, as they were about to part, there entered to them a fifth, +travel-stained and tired, who sat down and demanded some stronger form +of stimulant. The new-comer was known to these four, for his name was +given, and his domicile was mentioned as Hackney Wick. He was a small +man, very active and very silent and rather pale; and he seems to have +had something of a mysterious reputation even among his friends and to +be considered a dangerous man to cross. + +He made no mystery, however, as to where he had come from, nor whither +he was going. He had come from Kent, he said, and humorously added that +he had been hop-picking, and was going to join his wife and the family +circle for the festival of Christmas. He remarked that his wife had +written to him to say she had lodgers. + +The four men naturally stayed a little to hear all this news and to +celebrate Christmas once more, but they presently were forced to tear +themselves away. It was as the first man was leaving (his foreman +appears to have been of a tyrannical disposition) that the little +incident happened. + +"Why," he said, "Bill" (three out of the five companions seemed to have +been usually called "Bill"), "Bill, your boots are in a mess." + +The Bill in question made caustic remarks. He observed that it would be +remarkable if they were not in such weather. But the other persisted +that this was not mud, and a general inspection was made. This resulted +in the opinion of the majority being formed that Bill had trodden in +some blood. Bill himself was one of the majority, though he attempted in +vain to think of any explanation. Two men, however, declared that in +their opinion it was only red earth. (A certain obscurity appears in the +evidence at this point, owing to the common use of a certain expletive +in the mouth of the British working-man.) There was a hot discussion on +the subject, and the Bill whose boots were under argument seems to have +been the only man to keep his head. He argued very sensibly that if the +stains were those of blood, then he must have stepped in some--perhaps +in the gutter of a slaughter-house; and if it was not blood, then it +must be something else he had trodden in. It was urged upon him that it +was best washed off, and he seems finally to have taken the advice, +though without enthusiasm. + +Then the four men departed. + +The landlady's evidence was to the same effect. She states that the +new-comer, with whose name she had been previously unacquainted, though +she knew his face, had remained very tranquilly for an hour or so and +had breakfasted off bacon and eggs. He seemed to have plenty of money, +she said. He had finally set off, limping a little, in a northward +direction. + +Now this incident is a very small one. I only mention it because, in +reading the evidence later, I found myself reminded of a parallel +incident, recorded in a famous historical trial, in which something +resembling blood was seen on the hand of the judge. His name was Ayloff, +and his date the sixteenth century. + + +(II) + +Mrs. Partington had a surprise--not wholly agreeable--on that Christmas +Eve. For at half-past three, just as the London evening was beginning to +close in, her husband walked into the kitchen. + +She had seen nothing of him for six weeks, and had managed to get on +fairly well without him. I am not even now certain whether or no she +knows what her husband's occupation is during these absences of his--I +think it quite possible that, honestly, she does not--and I have no idea +myself. It seemed, however, this time, that he had prospered. He was in +quite a good temper, he was tolerably well dressed, and within ten +minutes of his arrival he had produced a handful of shillings. Five of +these he handed over to her at once for Christmas necessaries, and ten +more he entrusted to Maggie with explicit directions as to their +expenditure. + +While he took off his boots, his wife gave him the news--first, as to +the arrival of the Major's little party, and next as to its unhappy +dispersion on that very day. + +"He will 'ave it as the young man's gone off with the young woman," she +observed. + +Mr. Partington made a commentatory sound. + +"An' 'e's 'arf mad," she added. "'E means mischief if 'e can manage it." + +Mr. Partington observed, in his own particular kind of vocabulary, that +the Major's intentions were absurd, since the young man would scarcely +be such a peculiarly qualified kind of fool as to return. And Mrs. +Partington agreed with him. (In fact, this had been her one comfort all +day. For it seemed to her, with her frank and natural ideas, that, on +the whole, Frank and Gertie had done the proper thing. She was pleased, +too, to think that she had been right in her surmises as to Gertie's +attitude to Frank. For, of course, she never doubted for one single +instant that the two had eloped together in the ordinary way, though +probably without any intentions of matrimony.) + +Mr. Partington presently inquired as to where the Major was, and was +informed that he was, of course, at the "Queen's Arms." He had been +there, in fact, continuously--except for sudden excursions home, to +demand whether anything had been heard of the fugitives--since about +half-past eleven that morning. It was a situation that needed comfort. + +Mrs. Partington added a few comments on the whole situation, and +presently put on her bonnet and went out to supplement her Christmas +preparations with the extra five shillings, leaving her husband to doze +in the Windsor chair, with his pipe depending from his mouth. He had +walked up from Kent that morning, he said. + + * * * * * + +She returned in time to get tea ready, bringing with her various +"relishes," and found that the situation had developed slightly since +her departure. The Major had made another of his infuriated returns, and +had expanded at length to his old friend Mr. Partington, recounting the +extraordinary kindness he had always shown to Frank and the confidence +he had reposed in him. He had picked him up, it seemed, when the young +man had been practically starving, and had been father and comrade to +him ever since. And to be repaid in this way! He had succeeded also by +his eloquence, Mrs. Partington perceived, in winning her husband's +sympathies, and was now gone off again, ostensibly to scour the +neighborhood once more, but, more probably, to attempt to drown his +grieved and wounded feelings. + +Mrs. Partington set her thin lips and said nothing. She noticed also, as +she spread the table, a number of bottles set upon the floor, two of +them with yellow labels--the result of Maggie's errand--and prepared +herself to face a somewhat riotous evening. But Christmas, she reflected +for her consolation, comes but once a year. + +It was about nine o'clock that the two men and the one woman sat down to +supper upstairs. The children had been put to bed in the kitchen as +usual, after Jimmie had informed his mother that the clergyman had been +round no less than three times since four o'clock to inquire after the +vanished lodger. He was a little tearful at being put to bed at such an +unusually early hour, as Mr. Parham-Carter, it appeared, had promised +him no less than sixpence if he would come round to the clergy-house +within five minutes after the lodger's return, and it was obviously +impossible to traverse the streets in a single flannel shirt. + +His mother dismissed it all as nonsense. She told him that Frankie was +not coming back at all--that he wasn't a good young man, and had run +away without paying mother her rent. This made the situation worse than +ever, as Jimmie protested violently against this shattering of his +ideal, and his mother had to assume a good deal of sternness to cover up +her own tenderness of feeling. But she, too--though she considered the +flight of the two perfectly usual--was conscious of a very slight sense +of disappointment herself that it should have been this particular young +man who had done it. + +Then she went upstairs again to supper. + + +(III) + +The famous archway that gives entrance to the district of Hackney Wick +seems, especially on a rainy night, directly designed by the Great +Eastern Railway as a vantage ground for observant loafers with a desire +to know every soul that enters or leaves Hackney Wick. It is, of course, +possible to, enter Hackney Wick by other ways--it may be approached by +the marshes, and there is, I think, another way round about half a mile +to the east, under the railway. But those ways have nothing whatever to +do with people coming from London proper. You arrive at Victoria Park +Station; you turn immediately to the right and follow the pavement down, +with the park on your left, until you come to the archway where the road +unites with that coming from Homerton. One is absolutely safe, +therefore, assuming that one has not to deal with watchful criminals, in +standing under the arch with the certitude that sooner or later, if you +wait long enough, the man whom you expect to enter Hackney Wick will +pass within ten yards of you. + +Mr. Parham-Carter, of course, knew this perfectly well, and had, +finally, communicated the fact to the other two quite early in the +afternoon. An elaborate system of watches, therefore, had been arranged, +by which one of the three had been on guard continuously since three +o'clock. It was Jack who had had the privilege (if he had but known it) +of observing Mr. Partington himself returning home to his family for +Christmas, and it was Dick, who came on guard about five, who had seen +the Major--or, rather, what was to him merely a shabby and excited +man--leave and then return to the "Queen's Arms" during his hour's +watch. + + * * * * * + +After the amazing and shocking news, however, of the accident to Lord +Talgarth and Archie, the precautions had been doubled. It was the +clergyman who had first bought an evening paper soon after five o'clock, +and within five minutes the other two knew it also. + +It is of no good to try to describe the effect it had on their minds, +beyond saying that it made all three of them absolutely resolute that +Frank should by no possible means escape them. The full dramatic +situation of it all they scarcely appreciated, though it soaked more and +more into them gradually as they waited--two of them in the Men's Club +just round the corner, and the third, shivering and stamping, under the +arch. (An unemployed man, known to the clergyman, had been set as an +additional sentry on the steps of the Men's Club, whose duty it would +be, the moment the signal was given from the arch that Frank was +coming, to call the other two instantly from inside. Further, the +clergyman--as has been related--had been round three times since four +o'clock to Turner Road, and had taken Jimmie into his pay.) + +The situation was really rather startling, even to the imperturbable +Dick. This pleasant young man, to whom he had begun to feel very +strangely tender during the last month or two, now tramping London +streets (or driving a van), in his miserable old clothes described to +him by the clergyman, or working at the jam factory, was actually no one +else at this moment but the new Lord Talgarth--with all that that +implied. Merefield was his, the big house in Berkeley Square was his; +the moor in Scotland.... It was an entire reversal of the whole thing: +it was as a change of trumps in whist: everything had altered its +value.... + +Well, he had plenty of time, both before he came off guard at seven and +after he had joined the clergyman in the Men's Club, to sort out the +facts and their consequences. + + * * * * * + +About half-past ten the three held a consultation under the archway, +while trains rumbled overhead. They attracted very little attention +here: the archway is dark and wide; they were muffled to the eyes; and +there usually is a fringe of people standing under shelter here on rainy +evenings. They leaned back against the wall and talked. + +They had taken further steps since they had last met. Mr. Parham-Carter +had been round to the jam factory, and had returned with the news that +the van had come back under the charge of only one of the drivers, and +that the other one, who was called Gregory (whom Mr. Parham-Carter was +inquiring after), would certainly be dismissed in consequence. He had +taken the address of the driver, who was now off duty--somewhere in +Homerton--with the intention of going to see him next morning if Frank +had not appeared. + +There were two points they were discussing now. First, should the police +be informed? Secondly, was it probable that Frank would have heard the +news, and, if so, was it conceivable that he had gone straight off +somewhere in consequence--to his lawyers, or even to Merefield itself? + +Dick remembered the name of the firm quite well--at least, he thought +so. Should he send a wire to inquire? + +But then, in that case, Jack shrewdly pointed out, everything was as it +should be. And this reflection caused the three considerable comfort. + +For all that, there were one or two "ifs." Was it likely that Frank +should have heard the news? He was notoriously hard up, and the name +Talgarth had not appeared, so far, on any of the posters. Yet he might +easily have been given a paper, or picked one up ... and then.... + +So the discussion went on, and there was not much to be got out of it. +The final decision come to was this: That guard should be kept, as +before, until twelve o'clock midnight; that at that hour the three +should leave the archway and, in company, visit two places--Turner Road +and the police-station--and that the occupants of both these places +should be informed of the facts. And that then all three should go to +bed. + + +(IV) + +At ten minutes past eleven Dick moved away from the fire in the Men's +Club, where he had just been warming himself after his vigil, and began +to walk up and down. + +He had no idea why he was so uncomfortable, and he determined to set to +work to reassure himself. (The clergyman, he noticed, was beginning to +doze a little by the fire, for the club had just been officially closed +and the rooms were empty.) + +Of course, it was not pleasant to have to tell a young man that his +father and brother were dead (Dick himself was conscious of a +considerable shock), but surely the situation was, on the whole, +enormously improved. This morning Frank was a pauper; to-night he was +practically a millionaire, as well as a peer of the realm. This morning +his friends had nothing by which they might appeal to him, except common +sense and affection, and Frank had very little of the one, and, it would +seem, a very curious idea of the other. + +Of course, all that affair about Jenny was a bad business (Dick could +hardly even now trust himself to think of her too much, and not to +discuss her at all), but Frank would get over it. + +Then, still walking up and down, and honestly reassured by sheer reason, +he began to think of what part Jenny would play in the future.... It was +a very odd situation, a very odd situation indeed. (The deliberate and +self-restrained Dick used an even stronger expression.) Here was a young +woman who had jilted the son and married the father, obviously from +ambitious motives, and now found herself almost immediately in the +position of a very much unestablished kind of dowager, with the jilted +son reigning in her husband's stead. And what on earth would happen +next? Diamonds had been trumps; now it looked as if hearts were to +succeed them; and what a very remarkable pattern was that of these +hearts. + +But to come back to Frank-- + +And at that moment he heard a noise at the door, and, as the clergyman +started up from his doze, Dick saw the towzled and becapped head of the +unemployed man and his hand beckoning violently, and heard his hoarse +voice adjuring them to make haste. The gentleman under the arch, he +said, was signaling. + +The scene was complete when the two arrived, with the unemployed man +encouraging them from behind, half a minute later under the archway. + +Jack had faced Frank fairly and squarely on the further pavement, and +was holding him in talk. + +"My dear chap," he was saying, "we've been waiting for you all day. +Thank the Lord you've come!" + +Frank looked a piteous sight, thought Dick, who now for the first time +saw the costume that Mr. Parham-Carter had described with such +minuteness. He was standing almost under the lamp, and there were heavy +drooping shadows on his face; he looked five years older than when Dick +had last seen him--only at Easter. But his voice was confident and +self-respecting enough. + +"My dear Jack," he was saying, "you really mustn't interrupt. I've only +just--" Then he broke off as he recognized the others. + +"So you've given me away after all," he said with a certain sternness to +the clergyman. + +"Indeed I haven't," cried that artless young man. "They came quite +unexpectedly this morning." + +"And you've told them that they could catch me here," said Frank "Well, +it makes no difference. I'm going on--Hullo! Dick!" + +"Look here!" said Dick. "It's really serious. You've heard about--" His +voice broke. + +"I've heard about it," said Frank. "But that doesn't make any difference +for to-night." + +"But my dear man," cried Jack, seizing him by the lapel of his coat, +"it's simply ridiculous. We've come down here on purpose--you're killing +yourself--" + +"One moment," said Frank. "Tell me exactly what you want." + +Dick pushed to the front. + +"Let him alone, you fellows.... This is what we want, Frank. We want you +to come straight to the clergy-house for to-night. To-morrow you and +I'll go and see the lawyers first thing in the morning, and go up to +Merefield by the afternoon train. I'm sorry, but you've really got to go +through with it. You're the head of the family now. They'll be all +waiting for you there, and they can't do anything without you. This +mustn't get into the papers. Fortunately, not a soul knows of it yet, +though they would have if you'd been half an hour later. Now, come +along." + +"One moment," said Frank. "I agree with nearly all that you've said. I +quite agree with you that"--he paused a moment--"that the head of the +family should be at Merefield to-morrow night. But for to-night you +three must just go round to the clergy-house and wait. I've got to +finish my job clean out--and--" + +"What job?" cried two voices simultaneously. + +Frank leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets. + +"I really don't propose to go into all that now. It'd take an hour. But +two of you know most of the story. In a dozen words it's this--I've got +the girl away, and now I'm going to tell the man, and tell him a few +other things at the same time. That's the whole thing. Now clear off, +please. (I'm awfully obliged, you know, and all that), but you really +must let me finish it before I do anything else." + +There was a silence. + +It seemed tolerably reasonable, put like that--at least, it seemed +consistent with what appeared to the three to be the amazing unreason of +all Frank's proceedings. They hesitated, and were lost. + +"Will you swear not to clear out of Hackney Wick before we've seen you +again?" demanded Jack hoarsely. + +Frank bowed his head. + +"Yes," he said. + +The clergyman and Dick were consulting in low voices. Jack looked at +them with a wild sort of appeal in his face. He was completely +bewildered, and hoped for help. But none came. + +"Will you swear--" he began again. + +Frank put his hand suddenly on his friend's shoulder. + +"Look here, old man. I'm really rather done up. I think you might let me +go without any more--" + +"All right, we agree," said Dick suddenly. "And--" + +"Very good," said Frank. "Then there's really no more--" + +He turned as if to go. + +"Frank, Frank--" cried Jack. + +Frank turned and glanced at him, and then went on. + +"Good-night," he cried. + +And so they let him go. + +They watched him, in silence, cross the road by the "Queen's Arms" and +pass up the left-hand pavement. As he drew near each lamp his shadow +lay behind him, shortened, vanished and reappeared before him. After +the third lamp they lost him, and they knew he would a moment later pass +into Turner Road. + +So they let him go. + + +(V) + +Mr. Parham-Carter's room looked very warm and home-like after the +comfortlessness of the damp lamp-lit streets. It was as has already been +related: the Madonna, the prints, the low book-cases, the drawn +curtains, the rosy walls, the dancing firelight and the electric lamp. + +It was even reassuring at first--safe and protected, and the three sat +down content. A tray with some cold meat and cheese rested on the table +by the fire, and cocoa in a brown jug stood warming in the fender. They +had had irregular kinds of refreshments in the Men's Club at odd +intervals, and were exceedingly hungry.... + +They began to talk presently, and it was astonishing how the sight and +touch of Frank had cheered them. More than one of the three has +confessed to me since that a large part of the anxiety was caused by his +simple absence and by imaginative little pictures of street accidents. +It would have been so extremely ironical if he had happened to have +been run over on the day on which he became Lord Talgarth. + +They laid their little plans, too, for the next day. Dick had thought it +all out. He, Jack and Frank were to call at the lawyers' office in +Lincoln's Inn Fields, and leave a message, as the office would be closed +of course, immediately after the wanderer had been dressed properly in +ready-made clothes. Then they would catch the early afternoon train and +get to Merefield that night. The funeral could not possibly take place +for several days: there would have to be an inquest. + +Then they read over the account of the smash in the _Star_ +newspaper--special edition. It seemed to have been nobody's fault. The +brake had refused to act going down a steep hill; they had run into a +wall; the chauffeur had been thrown clean over it; the two passengers +had been pinned under the car. Lord Talgarth was dead at once; Archie +had died five minutes after being taken out. + +So they all talked at once in low voices, but in the obvious excitement +of relief. It was an extraordinary pleasure to them--now that they +looked at it in the sanity conferred by food and warmth--to reflect that +Frank was within a quarter of a mile of them--certainly in dreary +surroundings; but it was for the last time. To-morrow would see him +restored to ordinary life, his delusions and vagaries plucked from him +by irresistible circumstance, and the future in his hands. + + * * * * * + +Midnight still found them talking--alert and cheerful; but a little +silence fell as they heard the chiming of bells. + +"Christmas Day, by George!" said the clergyman. "Merry Christmas!" + +They shook hands, smiling shamefacedly, as is the custom of Englishmen. + +"And to think of old Frank--" mused Jack half aloud. "I told you, +Guiseley, about his coming to me in the autumn?" (He had been thinking a +great deal about that visit lately, and about what Frank had told him of +himself--the idea he had of Something going on behind the scenes in +which he had passively to take his part; his remark on how pleasant it +must be to be a squire. Well, the play had come to an end, it seemed; +now there followed the life of a squire indeed. It was curious to think +that Frank was, actually at this moment, Lord Talgarth!) + +Dick nodded his head, smiling to himself in his beard. Somehow or +another the turn things had taken had submerged in him for the present +the consciousness of the tragedy up at Merefield, and his own private +griefs, and the memory of Jenny. + +Jack told it all again briefly. He piled it on about the Major and his +extreme repulsiveness, and the draggled appearance of Gertie, and +Frank's incredible obstinacy. + +"And to think that he's brought it off, and got the girl home to her +people.... Well, thank the Lord that's over! We shan't have any more of +that sort of thing." + +Dick got up presently and began to walk about, eyeing the pictures and +the books. + +"Want to turn in?" asked the cleric. + +"Well, I think, as we've an early start--" + +The clergyman jumped up. + +"You've a beastly little room, I'm afraid. We're rather full up. And +you, Mr. Kirkby!" + +"I'll wait till you come back," he said. + + * * * * * + +The two went out, after good-nights, and Jack was left staring at the +fire. + +He felt very wide-awake, and listened contentedly to the dying noises of +the streets. Somewhere in that hive outside was Frank--old Frank. That +was very good to think of.... + +During these last months Frank's personality had been very persistently +before him. It was not that he pretended to understand him in the very +least; but he understood enough now to feel that there was something +very admirable in it all. It was mad and quixotic and absurd, but it +had a certain light of nobility. Of course, it would never do if people +in general behaved like that; society simply could not go on if everyone +went about espousing the cause of unhappy and badly-behaved individuals, +and put on old clothes and played the Ass. But, for all that, it was not +unpleasant to reflect that his own friend had chosen to do these things +in despite of convention. There was a touch of fineness in it. And it +was all over now, thank God.... What times they would have up in the +north! + +He heard a gate clash somewhere outside. The sound just detached itself +from the murmur of the night. Then a late train ran grinding over the +embanked railway behind the house, and drew up with the screaming of +brakes at Victoria Park Station, and distracted him again. + +"Are you ready, Mr. Kirkby?" said the clergyman, coming in. + +Jack stood up, stretching himself. In the middle of the stretch he +stopped. + +"What's that noise?" he asked. + +They stood listening. + +Then again came the sharp, prolonged tingle of an electric bell, +followed by a battering at a door downstairs. + +Jack, looking in the other's face, saw him go ever so slightly pale +beneath his eyes. + +"There's somebody at the door," said Mr. Parham-Carter. "I'll just go +down and see." + +And, as Jack stood there, motionless and breathless, he could hear no +sound but the thick hammering of his own heart at the base of his +throat. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +(I) + +At half-past eleven o'clock Mrs. Partington came upstairs to the room +where the two men were still drinking, to make one more suggestion that +it was time to go to bed. + +It was a dreary little room, this front bedroom on the first floor, +where Frank and the Major had slept last night in one large double bed. +The bed was pushed now close against the wall, the clothes still tumbled +and unmade, with various articles lying upon it, as on a table. A chair +without a back stood between it and the window. + +The table where the two men still sat was pulled close to the fire that +had been lighted partly in honor of Mr. Partington and partly in honor +of Christmas, and was covered with a _debris_ of plates and glasses and +tobacco and bottles. There was a jam-jar filled with holly obtained from +the butcher's shop, in the middle of the table. There was very little +furniture in the room; there was a yellow-painted chest of drawers +opposite the door, and this, too, held a little regiment of bottles; +there was a large oleograph of Queen Victoria hanging above the bed, +and a text--for some inscrutable reason--was permitted to hang above the +fireplace, proclaiming that "The Lord is merciful and long-suffering," +in Gothic letters, peeping modestly out of a wealth of painted +apple-blossoms, with a water-wheel in the middle distance and a stile. +On the further side of the fireplace was a washhand-stand, with a tin +pail below it, and the Major's bowler hat reposing in the basin. There +was a piece of carpet underneath the table, and a woolly sort of mat, +trodden through in two or three places, beside the bed. + + * * * * * + +Mrs. Partington coughed as she came in, so tremendous was the reek of +tobacco smoke, burning paraffin and spirits. + +"Bless the men!" she said, and choked once more. + +She was feeling comparatively light-hearted; it was a considerable +relief to her that Frank actually had not come back, though she never +had for one instant expected him to do so. But she didn't want any more +disturbances or quarrels, and, as she looked at the Major, who turned in +his chair as she came in, she felt even more relieved. His appearance +was not reassuring. + +He had been drinking pretty steadily all day to drown his grief, and had +ended up by a very business-like supper with his landlord. There were +four empty beer bottles and one empty whisky bottle distributed on the +table or floor, and another half-empty whisky bottle stood between the +two men on the table. And as she looked at the Major (she was completely +experienced in alcoholic symptoms), she understood exactly what stage he +had reached.... + + * * * * * + +Now the Major was by no means a drunkard--let that be understood. He +drank whenever he could, but a tramp cannot drink to very grave excess. +He is perpetually walking and he is perpetually poor. But this was a +special occasion; it was Christmas; he was home in London; his landlord +had returned, and he had lost Gertie. + +He had reached, then, the dangerous stage, when the alcohol, after +having excited and warmed and confused the brain, recoils from it to +some extent, leaving it clear and resolute and entirely reckless, and +entirely conscious of any idea that happens to be dominant (at least, +that is the effect on some temperaments). The maudlin stage had passed +long ago, at the beginning of supper, when the Major had leaned his head +on his plate and wept over the ingratitude of man and the peculiar +poignancy of "old Frankie's" individual exhibition of it. A noisy stage +had succeeded to this, and now there was deadly quiet. + +He was rather white in the face; his eyes were set, but very bright, and +he was smoking hard and fast. + +"Now then," said Mrs. Partington cheerfully, "time for bed." + +Her husband winked at her gravely, which was his nearest approach to +hilarity. He was a quiet man at all times. + +The Major said nothing. + +"There! there's 'Erb awake again," said the mother, as a wail rose up +the staircase. "I'll be up again presently." And she vanished once more. + + * * * * * + +Two of the children were awake after all. + +Jimmie lay, black-eyed and alert, beside his brother, and looked at his +mother reflectively as she came in. He was still thinking about the +sixpence that might conceivably have been his. 'Erb's lamentation +stopped as she came in, and she went to the table first to turn down the +smoking lamp. + +She was quite a kindly mother, a great deal more tender than she seemed, +and 'Erb knew it well enough. But he respected her sufficiently to stop +crying when she came in. + +"Now then," she said with motherly sternness. "I can't 'ave--" + +Then she stopped abruptly. She had heard steps on the pavement outside +as she came into the room, and now she heard the handle of the street +door turned and someone come into the passage. She stood wondering, and +in that pause she missed her chance, for the steps came straight past +the door and began to go upstairs. It might, of course, conceivably be +one of the lodgers on the top-floor, and yet she knew it was not. She +whisked to the door a moment later, but it was too late, and she was +only just in time to see the figure she knew turn the corner of the four +stairs that led to the first-floor landing. + +"Is that Frankie?" asked Jimmie, suddenly sitting up in bed. "Oh! +mother, let me--" + +"You be quiet!" snapped the woman, and stood listening; with parted +lips. + + +(II) + +From that point Mrs. Partington seems to have been able to follow very +closely what must have taken place upstairs. + +It was a very quiet night, here in Turner Road: the roysterers were in +the better-lighted streets, and the sober folk were at home. And there +was not a footstep on the pavements outside to confuse the little drama +of sound that came down to her through the ill-fitting boards overhead. +She could not explain afterwards why she did not interfere. I imagine +that she hoped against hope that she was misinterpreting what she heard, +and also that a kind of terror seized her which she found it really +impossible to shake off. + +First, there was the opening and closing of the door; two or three +footsteps, and then dead silence. + +Then she heard talking begin, first one voice, then a crescendo, as if +two or three clamored together; then one voice again. (It was +impossible, so far, to distinguish which was which.) + +This went on for a minute or two; occasionally there was a crescendo, +and once or twice some voice rose almost into a shout. + +Then, without warning, there was a shuffling of feet, and a crash, as of +an overturned chair; and, instant upon the noise, 'Erb set up a +prolonged wail. + +"You be quiet!" snapped the woman in a sharp whisper. + +The noises went on: now the stamp of a foot; now the scraping of +something overhead and a voice or two in sharp deep exclamation, and +then complete silence once more. 'Erb was sobbing now, as noiselessly as +he could, terrified at his mother's face, and Jimmie was up, standing +on the floor in his flannel shirt, listening like his mother. Maggie +still slept deeply on the further side of the bed. + +The woman went on tip-toe a step nearer the door, opened it, and peeped +out irresolutely. But the uncarpeted stairs stretched up into the +darkness, unlit except for the glimmer that came from the room at whose +door she was standing.... + +There was a voice now, rising and falling steadily, and she heard it +broken in upon now and again by something that resembled a chuckle. +Somehow or another this sickened her more than all else; it was like her +husband's voice. She recoiled into the room, and, as she did so, there +came the sound of blows and the stamping of feet, and she knew, in a way +that she could not explain, that there was no fight going on. It was +some kind of punishment, not a conflict.... + +She would have given the world to move, to run to the street door and +scream for help; but her knees shook under her and her heart seemed to +be hammering itself to bits. Jimmie had hold of her now, clinging round +her, shaking with terror and murmuring something she could not +understand. Her whole attention was upstairs. She was wondering how long +it would go on. + +It must be past midnight now, she thought: the streets seethed still as +death. But overhead there was still movement and the sound of blows, +and then abruptly the end came. + +There was one more crescendo of noise--two voices raised in dispute, one +almost shrill, in anger or expostulation; then one more sudden and heavy +noise as of a blow or a fall, and dead silence. + + +(III) + +The next thing that Mrs. Partington remembered afterwards was that she +found herself standing on the landing upstairs, listening, yet afraid to +move. + +All was very nearly silent within: there was just low talking, and the +sound of something being moved. It was her husband's voice that she +heard. + +Beyond her the stairs ran up to the next story, and she became aware +presently that someone else was watching, too. An untidy head of a woman +leaned over the banisters, and candle-light from somewhere beyond lit up +her face. She was grinning. + + * * * * * + +Then the sharp whisper came down the stairs demanding what was up. + +Mrs. Partington jerked her thumb towards the closed door and nodded +reassuringly. She was aware that she must be natural at all costs. The +woman still hung over the banisters a minute longer and then was gone. + +Jimmie was with her too, now, still just in his shirt, perfectly quiet, +with a face as white as paper. His big black eyes dwelt on his mother's +face. + +Then suddenly she could bear the suspense no more. She stole up to the +door, still on tip-toe, still listening, and laid her fingers on the +handle. There were more gentle movements within now, the noise of water +and a basin (she heard the china clink distinctly), but no more words. + +She turned the handle resolutely and looked in. + + * * * * * + +The Major was leaning in the corner by the window, with his hands in his +pockets, staring with a dull, white, defiant kind of face at the bed. +The lamp on the mantelpiece lighted him up clearly. On his knees by the +bedside was her husband, with his back to her, supporting a basin on the +bed and some thing dark that hung over it. Then she saw Frank. It was he +who was lying on the bed almost upon his face; one boot dangled down on +this side, and it was his head that her husband was supporting. She +stared at it a moment in terror.... Then her eyes wandered to the floor, +where, among the pieces of broken glass, a pool of dark liquid spread +slowly over the boards. Twigs and detached leaves of holly lay in the +midst of it. And at that sight her instinct reasserted herself. + +She stepped forward and took her husband by the shoulder. He turned a +face that twitched a little towards her. She pushed him aside, took the +basin from him, and the young man's head.... + +"Clear out of this," she whispered sharply. "Quick, mind! You and the +Major!... Jimmie!" The boy was by her in an instant, shaking all over, +but perfectly self-controlled. + +"Jimmie, put your things on and be off to the clergy-house. Ring 'em up, +and ask for Mr. Carter. Bring him round with you." + +Frank's head slipped a little in her hands, and she half rose to steady +it. When she had finished and looked round again for her husband, the +room was empty. From below up the stairs came a sudden draught, and the +flame leaped in the lamp-chimney. And then, once more unrestrained, rose +up the wailing of 'Erb. + + +(IV) + +A little after dawn on that Christmas morning Mr. Parham-Carter sat +solitary in the kitchen. The children had been packed off to a +neighbor's house before, and he himself had been to and fro all night +and was tired out--to the priest's house at Homerton, to the doctor's, +and to the parish nurse. All the proper things had been done. Frank had +been anointed by the priest, bandaged by the doctor, and settled in by +the nurse into the middle of the big double bed. He had not yet +recovered consciousness. They were upstairs now--Jack, Dick and the +nurse; the priest and the doctor had promised to look in before +nine--there was nothing more that they could do for the present, they +said--and Mrs. Partington was out at this moment to fetch something from +the dispensary. + +He had heard her story during one of the intervals in the course of the +night, and it seemed to him that he had a tolerably accurate theory of +the whole affair--if, that is to say, her interpretation of the noises +she had heard was at all correct. + +The Major must have made an unexpected attack, probably by a kick that +had temporarily disabled Frank, and must then, with Mr. Partington's +judicial though amused approval, have proceeded to inflict chastisement +upon Frank as he lay on the floor. This must have gone on for a +considerable time; Frank seemed to have been heavily kicked all over his +body. And the thing must have ended with a sudden uncontrolled attack on +the part of the Major, not only with his boots, but with at least one of +the heavy bottles. The young man's head was cut deeply, as if by glass, +and it was probably three or four kicks on the head, before Mr. +Partington could interfere, that had concluded the punishment. The +doctor's evidence entirely corroborated this interpretation of events. +It was, of course, impossible to know whether Frank had had the time or +the will to make any resistance. The police had been communicated with, +but there was no news yet of the two men involved. + + * * * * * + +It was one of those bleak, uncomfortable dawns that have no beauty +either of warmth or serenity--at least it seemed so here in Turner Road. +Above the torn and dingy strip of lace that shrouded the lower part of +the window towered the black fronts of the high houses against the +steely western sky. It was extraordinarily quiet. Now and then a +footstep echoed and died suddenly as some passer-by crossed the end of +the street; but there was no murmur of voices yet, or groups at the +doors, as, no doubt, there would be when the news became known. + +The room, too, was cheerless; the fire was long ago gone out; the +children's bed was still tumbled and disordered, and the paraffin lamp +had smoked itself out half an hour ago. Overhead the clergyman could +hear now and again a very gentle footstep, and that was all. + +He was worn out with excitement and a kind of terror; and events took +for him the same kind of clear, hard outline as did the physical objects +themselves in this cold light of dawn. He had passed through a dozen +moods: furious anger at the senseless crime, at the hopeless, miserable +waste of a life, an overwhelming compassion and a wholly unreasonable +self-reproach for not having foreseen danger more clearly the night +before. There were other thoughts that had come to him too--doubts as to +whether the internal significance of all these things were in the least +analogous to the external happenings; whether, perhaps, after all, the +whole affair were not on the inner side a complete and perfect event--in +fact, a startling success of a nature which he could not understand. +Certainly, exteriorly, a more lamentable failure and waste could not be +conceived; there had been sacrificed such an array of advantages--birth, +money, education, gifts, position--and for such an exceedingly small and +doubtful good, that no additional data, it would appear, could possibly +explain the situation. Yet was it possible that such data did exist +somewhere, and that another golden and perfect deed had been done--that +there was no waste, no failure, after all? + +But at present these thoughts only came to him in glimpses; he was +exhausted now of emotion and speculation. He regarded the pitiless +facts with a sunken, unenergetic attention, and wondered when he would +be called again upstairs. + +There came a footstep outside; it hesitated, then the street door was +pushed open and the step came in, up to the room door, and a small face, +pinched with cold, its eyes all burning, looked at him. + +"Come in, Jimmie," he whispered. + + * * * * * + +And so the two sat, huddled one against the other, and the man felt +again and again a shudder, though not of cold, shake the little body at +his side. + + +(V) + +Ten minutes later a step came down the stairs, a little hurriedly, +though on tip-toe; and Mrs. Partington, her own thin face lined with +sleeplessness and emotion, and her lips set, nodded at him emphatically. +He understood, and went quickly past her, followed closely by the child, +and up the narrow stairs.... He heard the street-door close behind him +as the woman left the house. + +It seemed to him as he came into the room as if he had stepped clean out +of one world into another. And the sense of it was so sudden and abrupt +that he stood for an instant on the threshold amazed at the transition. + +First, it was the absolute stillness and motionlessness of the room that +impressed him, so far as any one element predominated. There were +persons in the room, but they were as statues. + +On the farther side of the bed, decent now and arranged and standing out +across the room, kneeled the two men, Jack Kirkby and Dick Guiseley, but +they neither lifted their eyes nor showed the faintest consciousness of +his presence as he entered. Their faces were in shadow: behind them was +the cold patch of the window, and a candle within half an inch of +extinction stood also behind them on a table in the corner, with one or +two covered vessels and instruments. + +The nurse kneeled on this side, one arm beneath the pillow and the other +on the counterpane. + +And then there was Frank. + + * * * * * + +He lay perfectly still upon his back, his hands clasped before him (and +even these were bandaged). His head lay high on three or four pillows, +and he wore what looked like a sort of cap, wholly hiding his hair and +ears. His profile alone showed clear-cut and distinct against the gloom +in the corner behind. His face was entirely tranquil, as pale as ivory; +his lips were closed. His eyes alone were alive. + +Presently those turned a little, and the man standing at the door, +understanding the look, came forward and kneeled too by the bed. + + * * * * * + +Then, little by little, he began, in that living stillness, to +understand rather better what it was that he was witnessing.... It was +not that there was anything physical in the room, beyond the things of +which his senses told him; there was but the dingy furniture, the white +bed, august now with a strange dignity as of a white altar, and the four +persons beside himself--five now, for Jimmie was beside him. But that +the physical was not the plane in which these five persons were now +chiefly conscious was the most evident thing of all.... There was about +them, not a Presence, not an air, not a sweetness or a sound, and yet it +is by such negatives only that the thing can be expressed. + + * * * * * + +And so they kneeled and waited. + + * * * * * + +"Why, Jack--" + +It shook the waiting air like the sound of a bell, yet it was only +whispered. The man nearest him on the other side shook with a single +spasmodic movement and laid his fingers gently on the bandaged hands. +And then for a long while there was no further movement or sound. + +"Rosary!" said Frank suddenly, still in a whisper.... "Beads...." + +Jack moved swiftly on his knees, took from the table a string of beads +from where they had been laid the night before, and put them into the +still fingers. Then he laid his own hands over them again. + + * * * * * + +Again there was a long pause. + +Outside in the street a footstep came up from the direction of Mortimer +Road, waxed loud and clear on the pavement, and died again down towards +the street leading to the marshes. And, but for this, there was no +further sound for a while. Then a cock crew, thin and shrill, somewhere +far away; a dray rumbled past the end of the street and was silent. + +But the silence in the room was of a different quality; or, rather, the +world seemed silent because this room was so, and not the other way. It +was here that the center lay, where a battered man was dying, and from +this center radiated out the Great Peace. + +It was no waste then, after all!--this life of strange unreason ending +in this very climax of uselessness, exactly when ordinary usefulness was +about to begin. Could that be waste that ended so? + +"Priest," whispered the voice from the bed. + +Then Dick leaned forward. + +"He has been," he said distinctly and slowly. "He was here at two +o'clock. He did--what he came for. And he's coming again directly." + +The eyes closed in sign of assent and opened again. + +He seemed to be looking, as in a kind of meditation, at nothing in +particular. It was as a man who waits at his ease for some pleasant +little event that will unroll by and by. He was in no ecstasy, and, it +seemed, in no pain and in no fierce expectation; he was simply at his +ease and waiting. He was content, whatever those others might be. + +For a moment it crossed the young clergyman's mind that he ought to pray +aloud, but the thing was dismissed instantly. It seemed to him +impertinent nonsense. That was not what was required. It was his +business to watch, not to act. + +So, little by little, he ceased to think actively, he ceased to consider +this and that. At first he had wondered how long it would be before the +doctor and the priest arrived. (The woman had gone to fetch them.) He +had wished that they would make haste.... He had wondered what the +others felt, and how he would describe it all to his Vicar. Now, little +by little, all this ceased, and the peace grew within and without, till +the balance of pressure was equalized and his attention floated at the +perfect poise. + +Again there was no symbol or analogy that presented itself. It was not +even by negation that he thought. There was just one positive element +that included all: time seemed to mean nothing, the ticks of the clock +with the painted face were scarcely consecutive; it was all one, and +distance was nothing, nor nearness--not even the nearness of the dying +face against the pillows.... + + * * * * * + +It was so, then, that something of that state to which Frank had passed +communicated itself to at least one of those who saw him die. + +A little past the half hour Frank spoke again. + +"My love to Whitty," he said.... "Diary.... Tell him...." + + * * * * * + +The end came a few minutes before nine o'clock, and it seems to have +come as naturally as life itself. There was no drama, no dying speech, +not one word. + +Those who were there saw him move ever so slightly in bed, and his head +lifted a little. Then his head sank once more and the Failure was +complete. + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of None Other Gods, by Robert Hugh Benson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NONE OTHER GODS *** + +***** This file should be named 17627.txt or 17627.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/6/2/17627/ + +Produced by Geoff Horton, Geetu Melwani, Josephine Paolucci +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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