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diff --git a/old/22276-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/22276-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aea48c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/22276-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,19645 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <title> + Despair's Last Journey, by David Christie Murray + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Despair's Last Journey, by David Christie Murray + +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: Despair's Last Journey + +Author: David Christie Murray + +Release Date: August 8, 2007 [EBook #22276] +Last Updated: September 16, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPAIR'S LAST JOURNEY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By David Christie Murray <br /> <br /> <br /> 1901 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> <b>INTRODUCTION<br /> HOW AND WHERE THE STORY OF + DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY WAS TOLD</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <b>THE STORY OF PAUL ARMSTRONG’S LIFE AND OF + DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION—HOW AND WHERE THE STORY OF DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY WAS + TOLD + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + A solitary passenger alighted from the train, and many people looked + curiously after him. The mulatto porter handed to the platform a + well-battered portmanteau, which was plastered thickly over with + luggage-labels and the advertising tickets of hotels in every quarter of + the globe. A great canvas bag followed, ornamented in like fashion. Then + from the baggage-van an invisible person tumbled, a canvas bale. The + coffee-coloured mulatto held out a grayish-white palm for the + quarter-dollar the passenger was ready to drop into it, and stepped back + to the platform of the car. The engine bell tolled slowly, as if it + sounded a knell, and the train wound away. The curve of the line carried + it out of sight in less than a minute, but in the clear mountain air the + quickened ringing of the bell, the pant of the engine, and the roll of the + wheels were audible for a long time. Then the engine, with a final wail of + good-bye, plunged into the tunnel of a distant snow-shed, and the whole + region seemed as quiet as a grave. + </p> + <p> + The little weatherboard railside station was void of life, and there was + not a soul in sight. The passenger had given up the ticket for his + sleeping-berth an hour before, and had announced his intention to stop + over at this lonely place. An altercation with the conductor as to the + possibility of releasing the canvas bale from the baggage-van before it + arrived at its expressed destination at Vancouver had reached the ears of + other travellers who were on duty in the observation car, painfully + conscious of the scenery and the obligations it imposed. To experience + some ecstasy, more or less, was imperative, and it was weary work for most + of them. They stuck to it manfully and woman-fully, with abysmal furtive + yawns; but the skirmish between the conductor and their fellow-passenger + came as a sort of godsend, and when the transfer of a dollar bill, + incredibly dirty and greasy and tattered, had brought warfare to a close, + they still had the voluntary exile to stare at. He was a welcome change + from scenery, and they stared hard. + </p> + <p> + He was a city man to look at, and had the garb of cities—tall silk + hat, well worn, but well brushed; frock-coat in similar condition; + dark-gray trousers, a little trodden at the heels; patent-leather boots; + high collar; silken scarf. Everything he wore was slightly shabby, except + his linen; but a millionaire who was disposed to be careless about his + dress might have gone so attired. People had a habit of looking twice at + this passenger, for he bore an air of being somebody; but the universal + stare which fastened on him as the train steamed away was the result of + his intent to deliver himself (at evident caprice) at a place so lonely, + and so curiously out of accord with his own aspect. What was a + clean-shaven man of cities, with silk hat, and frock-coat, and patent + leathers, doing at Beaver Tail, in the heart of the Rocky Mountains? Why + had he suddenly decided to stay there, of all places in the world? And why + had he made up his mind without having so much as seen the place? These + questions kept the occupants of the observation car in better talk than + scenery long after the lonely passenger had landed, and long after the + last wail of the engine had sounded in his ears. + </p> + <p> + If he had come here in search of landscape splendours, he might have had + his fill at once. The railside shanty stood at a height of some four + thousand feet above sea-level, but the mountains heaved vast shoulders and + white heads about him. + </p> + <p> + Below, in the tremendous gorge, a torrent ran recklessly, tearing at its + rocky confines with raging hands, and crying out in many voices like a + multitude bent on some deed of vengeance—hurrying, delaying, turning + on itself, maddening itself. Its bellowing seemed a part of universal + silence. Silence brooded here, alone, with those wild voices for an + emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Right and left the gorge swept out into dreadful magnificences of height + and depth, and glow and shadow. Cliffs of black basalt, scarred and riven + by the accidents of thousands of years, frowned like eyeless giant faces. + One height, with a supernal leap, had risen from the highest, and stood + poised a mile aloft, as if it were a feat to stand so for a second, with a + craggy head cut out of the sheet of blue. Mountain torrents, too far away + to bring the merest murmur to the ear, spun and plaited their quivering + ropes of silver wire. The shadows in the clefts of near hills were like + purple wine in a glass. Above and beyond they were bloomed like an + ungathered plum. The giant firs looked like orderly pin-rows of decreasing + size for half a mile along the climbing heights. Before they reached the + snow-line they seemed as smooth as the smallest moss that grows. + </p> + <p> + The passenger regarded none of these things, but stared thoughtfully at + the platform at his feet. He drew a cigarette from amongst a loose handful + in a waistcoat pocket, struck a lucifer match upon his thigh, and smoked + absently for a minute or so. Then he took the portmanteau in one hand and + the brown bag in the other, and, leaving the railway platform, crossed the + single line, and made a plunging, careless scramble through a narrow belt + of undergrowth. In a minute or less he came upon a moss-grown way cut + through the wood along the side of the mountain—the old Cariboo + Track men used before the days of the railway. Weighted as he was, he + found it warm work here, shut in from the cool breezes of the mountains + and yet exposed to the rays of the mid-day sun. He wrestled along, + however, for some quarter of a mile, and, reaching a small wooden bridge + which crossed a runnel of clear water, set his burden down and looked + about him, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + ‘This will do, I fancy,’ he said aloud, and then began to undress. + </p> + <p> + He stripped to socks, drawers, and vest before opening the brown bag, from + which he took an old black felt hat, a shirt of gray patternless flannel, + coat and trousers of gray tweed, a belt of leather, and a pair of mountain + boots. Having attired himself in these things, he lit another cigarette, + and smoked broodingly until it was finished. Then he walked back to the + railside shanty, found the canvas bale, and slowly and with great exertion + lugged it down the slope and along the trail. He panted and perspired at + this task; for though he was sturdily set, and large of limb and stature, + he was obviously unused to that kind of work, and by the time it was over + he was fain to throw himself upon the moss and rest for a full half-hour. + Being rested, he rolled over, and, stretching out a hand towards the + discarded frock-coat, drew from its inner pocket a ball of Canadian and + American notes, crushed and tangled together like papers of no value. He + smoothed them out, flattening them upon his knee one by one, and, having + counted them over, rolled them up tidily, and thrust them to the bottom of + the brown bag. Next, he began to untie the cords which fastened the canvas + bale, muttering ‘Damn the thing!’ at intervals, as the knots refused to + yield to his unskilful handling. Finally, when the work was two-thirds + done, he made search for a pen-knife, and, having found it, severed the + remaining knots, and threw the cords away into the runnel. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s emblematic,’ he said. ‘Anything’s emblematic if you’re on the + look-out for emblems.’ + </p> + <p> + The canvas bale, being unrolled, displayed a bundle of gray blankets; a + tent-pole, jointed like a fishing-rod, and in three pieces; an axe; a + leather gun-case; a small gridiron; a small frying-pan; a tin quart pot, + close-packed with loose cartridges; and a pair of folding trestles and a + folding board for the construction of a little table. The canvas in which + all these things had been packed afforded material for a tent, and the + Solitary, with a seeming custom and alertness which no man would have + argued from his aspect of an hour ago, began to set up his abiding-place + in the narrow natural clearing he had chosen. + </p> + <p> + In a while everything was tidy and ship-shape, and when he had made a + fire, and had constructed a tripod of branches from which to hang the + quart pot, newly filled with water from the sparkling runnel near at hand, + the lonely man sat down and smoked again, letting his eyes rove here and + there, and seeming to scan the scene before him with a dreamy interest. + The pot boiled over, and the hissing of the wet embers awoke him from his + contemplations. The brown portmanteau, being opened, proved to be filled + with packets of provisions of various kinds. He made tea, broke into a tin + of sardines and a packet of hard biscuits, and then sat munching and + sipping, with his feet stretched wide apart, and his back against a tree—a + picture of unthinking idleness. + </p> + <p> + A rustle near at hand awoke attention, and he rolled his head lazily on + one shoulder. The rustle drew nearer yet, and round the bend of the trail + came a man in moleskin trousers, a gray shirt, and a shapeless felt hat, + which seemed to have no colour but those lent to it by years of sun and + rain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo, mate!’ said the new man. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo!’ said the camper-out. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come here by the last train, I suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘By the last train.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Got a mate with you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + The new-comer stared, and said ‘Hm!’ doubtfully. He looked from the other + man’s pale, clean-shaven face to his white hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘New to this kind of game, ain’t you? he asked, at length. + </p> + <p> + ‘For a year or two,’ the other answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I spotted the trail you made from the platform,’ said the new-comer. ‘I + seen something had been dragged away. I was bound to follow.’ There was a + part apology in his tone, as if he knew himself unwelcome. ‘You might have + been Indians,’ he added, ‘or any kind of riff-raff.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite so,’ said the man of the camp. ‘Not many of ‘em hereabouts, I + suppose?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One or two in a year, perhaps. And harmless, what there is of ‘em; but as + thievish as a set of jackdaws.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You in charge of the station?’ asked the man of the camp, looking + composedly down the canon and sipping at his tea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I’m in charge.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Alone?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Alone? Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Fond of being alone?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So am I.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right.’ The man in the moleskin trousers and the shapeless hat + laughed, lounged indeterminately for a minute, rolled his quid in his + cheek, spat, wiped his bearded mouth with the back of a sunburnt hand, and + laughed again. ‘There’s room enough for both of us. Good-night, mate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-night’ + </p> + <p> + The keeper of the station strolled away with a backward glance, and the + man of the camp sipped his tea and stared straight before him. The sound + of the retreating footsteps had died away, when the Solitary raised a + powerful voice and cried, ‘Hillo!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo!’ came the answer, so muffled by the trees that it sounded as if + from a considerable distance. The two men walked towards each other and + met face to face. They had exchanged a greeting of good-night together, + but the sun had some two hours to travel before it set upon the plains. + Here it was out of sight already behind a monstrous hill, and although the + dome of the sky was one translucent quiet splendour, dusk lay in the + shadow of the mountain and the nearer shadows of the sombre pines. + </p> + <p> + ‘I want to ask you,’ said the camper-out, ‘if you’re a teetotaler?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the station-keeper, ‘not in particular.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Any whisky about here just now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘A gallon,’ said the station-keeper; ‘new in yesterday. Like a tot?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + The word was snapped out savagely, and the station-keeper said ‘Oh!’ like + an astonished echo. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not at all unlikely that I may ask you for some,’ the camper-out + went on. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re sweetly welcome,’ said the other; but he was waved down by an + impatient gesture. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not at all unlikely that I may come and beg for it. You’re not to + give me any. You understand?’ The station-keeper stared in the dusk, but + made no answer or sign of answer. ‘It’s not at all unlikely that I may + come and try to persuade you that this was a joke, and that I didn’t mean + it. I may offer you ten dollars for a drink—twenty, thirty, a + hundred. I’m not to have it. And if you allow yourself to be persuaded to + give me so much as one teaspoonful, no matter when or why, I’ll shoot you + next day, so sure as I am a living sinner.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you will, will you? + </p> + <p> + ‘I will, by God!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s all right,’ said the station-keeper. ‘You’re a very pretty + neighbour, you are, <i>by</i> George!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am,’ the other man assented—‘a very pretty neighbour.’ + </p> + <p> + They parted there without another word. The man of the camp went back to + his fire, and the man of the station to his shanty. Away below the camp + the cañon was dense with shade, but far off up the valley one rod of + blinding sunlight struck the most distant peak, and made its snows dazzle + on the eye. The snow-peak shone for half an hour, and then by + imperceptible changes mellowed to a clear pale gold. Then by fine + gradations it grew to a pale rose, a deep rose, a cold gray, a solemn + purple. By this time the sky beyond the peak was a fiery glory. This faded + in turn, first in a gush of liquid amber, then in soft green, then in + blue, then violet. A lone star scintillated over the for crest, went out, + relit itself, went out again, twinkled for a time, and at last shone + steadfast with a diamond lustre. + </p> + <p> + As the darkness gathered, the fire, which fora while gleamed more + brightly, sank to a dull red, fading and brightening at the falling and + rising of the wind, but growing with every minute less responsive to that + soft influence. + </p> + <p> + The stars twinkled over the sky in myriads. The man of the camp threw away + the stump of his last cigarette, entered his tent, pulled off his boots, + rolled himself in a blanket, and lay down, facing the distant peak and the + one shining speck of a world above it. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have made a hideous muddle of things.’ he said at last—‘a + hideous muddle. Nothing to fear, for everything has happened. Nothing to + hope for, for nothing can happen any more. Fortune wasted, friends wasted, + genius wasted, heart wasted, life wasted. Ah, well! I ought to sleep + to-night; I’m tired.’ + </p> + <p> + The torrent roared in the heart of the primeval silence. The peak and the + star swam apart from each other in the solemn spaces of the sky. Under the + tent, which showed ghostly in the starlight, the man lay silent for hours, + but when next he spoke his voice was choked with tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not that,’ he said—‘not that! I can endure the rest, but no + repentance. To repent would drive me mad.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Twice a day the mountains echoed to the clangour of the passing express + train, and at intervals less settled and orderly to the slower rumble of + luggage-trucks, laden or empty. The iron artery stretched from coast to + coast, and here and there touched and fed a ganglion. To one living alone + in those mountain fastnesses the roar and shriek and roll brought + insistent memories of the world. No inmate of the oubliette could have + been more lonely, and yet life was accessible, and even near. + </p> + <p> + A month went by. The solitary man of the camp fished and shot, ate, drank, + wandered, slept, and saw no face and heard no voice. He had run out of + supplies, and having pencilled a note to that effect, had slipped it, with + a five-dollar bill, under the door of the railside shanty. His wants had + been supplied—they extended to tea and biscuit only—and he had + taken care to be out of the way. Sometimes he heard a distant shot, and + knew that the man of the shanty was afoot in search of game. Within a very + little distance of the railway track sport could be had in plenty. + </p> + <p> + Loneliness was broken at last. The rustle of boughs and the sound of steps + and voices reached the Solitary’s ears one day as he sat at his favourite + outlook staring down the gorge. At the first note of one of the voices he + started and changed colour. Nobody would have taken him for a man of + cities now, with his beard of a month’s growth, and his tanned hands and + face. The open-air colour was the stronger for being new. With continued + exposure it would fade from a red tan to a yellow. Deep as it was now, it + paled at the first-heard sound of the approaching voice. The man threw a + soul of anger and hatred into his ears and listened. + </p> + <p> + ‘About a month?’ the voice said ‘Yes. I heard of his leaving Winnipeg on + the twentieth. I went on to Vancouver and found he wasn’t there. Then I + got news of a fellow stopping off here, and, of course, it couldn’t be + anybody else. He’s my brother-in-law, and I’ve got a letter for him which + I’m pledged to put into his hands.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Indeed, sir!’ + </p> + <p> + The answering voice was the voice of the man of the shanty. It sounded + very rough and uncultured after the dandified drawl it followed, but it + sounded manlier for the contrast, too. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s a queer fellow,’ said the first speaker; ‘but this is the queerest + trick I’ve known him play. Tell me, is he—is he drinking at all?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ the other answered. ‘He’s not drinking. The first day he was here he + promised to put a load of shot into me if ever I gave him liquor.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did he really? That’s Paul all over. Oh, this the tent? Nobody here, + apparently. Well, I must wait. I have a book with me, and I must spend + four-and-twenty hours here in any case. Good-afternoon. Thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + The listener was within twenty yards, but invisible beyond the crowded + undergrowth. The new arrival was perfectly attired, and handsome, in a + supercilious, brainless way. He wore a Norfolk Jacket and knickerbockers, + and his tanned boots were polished till they shone like glass. For a while + he poked about the tent and its neighbourhood, and, having satisfied his + curiosity, drew out a cigar-case from one pocket, a silver matchbox from + another, and a paper-clad novel from a third. Then he disposed himself so + as to command a view of the landscape, and began to smoke and read. + </p> + <p> + He had occupied himself in this way for perhaps half an hour, when a + sudden voice hailed him, and startled him so that he dropped his book. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo, you there! Come here!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘is that you, Paul, old fellow? Where are you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Here,’ said the voice ungraciously. + </p> + <p> + The latest arrival made his way in the direction indicated, but though the + voice had sounded not more than a score of yards away, he had to call out + twice or thrice, and wait for an answer. The brush was dense and tangled, + and he could have lost himself for a lifetime in it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, there you are, Paul! Upon my word, I shouldn’t have known you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I heard you say you had a letter for me. I’d a good deal rather not have + seen you, but since you are here you may as well discharge your + commission, and when you’ve done that you can go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve got a letter for you, Paul. It’s from poor dear Madge, and I’m bound + to say that I think she’s beastly ill-used, and very unfortunate.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Doubly unfortunate,’ said the camper-out—‘unfortunate in a brute of + a husband and a cad of a brother. Give me the letter.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Here it is, Paul. You may think what you like about me, of course, but I + have travelled something like seven or eight thousand miles to find you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On Madge’s money?’ asked the other, balancing the letter in a careless + grip between thumb and finger. ‘Nobody asks you to stop to hear yourself + described. You were a cad from your cradle; you were a liar as soon as you + could learn to lisp, and a sponge from the happy hour when you found the + first fool to lend you half a crown. You needn’t wait, George, but so long + as you are here I will do my best to tell you what you are. You are a + fruitful theme, and I could be fluent for a week or two. Going? Well, luck + go with you, of the sort you merit. I’d call you a cur, but there isn’t a + cur in all the world who wouldn’t walk himself blind and lame to bite me + in revenge for the insult I put upon him. Go—you infinitesimal! you + epitome of unpitiable little shames!’ + </p> + <p> + The bearer of the letter, who had travelled so far for so curious a + welcome, had found a beaten trail which led him back to the woodland road. + He had gone a score of yards by this time; but the voice pursued him—level, + heavy, sonorous, driven by full lungs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Put your fingers in your ears, George, or I shall find a word to scorch + you. You are the poorest thing in Nature’s bag of samples. A well-bred + woodlouse wouldn’t employ you for a scavenger. If you shrank to your + soul’s dimensions you might wander lost for a century on the point of a + cambric needle. You are the last rarefied essence of the contemptible—the + final word of the genius of the mean.’ + </p> + <p> + This was not shouted, but was sent out in a steady trumpet-note that + swelled fuller and fuller, like the voice of a great speaker in haranguing + a clamorous audience, rising steadily, as if measured just to dominate + clamour, and no more. In the pauses of his speech the camper-out had heard + the noise of running feet. The sound seemed still faintly audible, though + perhaps only fancy caught it. He sent out one clarion cry of ‘Good-bye, + George!’ and surrendered himself to a fit of uncontrolled laughter. This + coming to an end of sudden gravity, he took up the letter, which had + fallen on the moss between his outstretched legs, and looked at the + superscription. + </p> + <p> + ‘Madge!’ he said. ‘Poor little Madge!’ + </p> + <p> + He put the envelope to his bristly lips and kissed it. Then he broke the + seal and began to read: + </p> + <p> + ‘My own darling Husband, + </p> + <p> + ‘You <i>must</i> have the enclosed, and George has promised not to rest + until he finds you and lays it in your hands. The last lines your father + ever wrote in this world——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ he said aloud. ‘What? + </p> + <p> + ‘The last lines your father ever wrote in this world arrived on Saturday, + the twentieth, and news of his death reached me by wire on Monday, the + twenty-second.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a big enough dose for one day,’ he said. ‘I can’t stand any more.’ + He thrust the letter into his breast-pocket. ‘Another impossibility. No + prodigal’s return to end <i>that</i> story. Veal was never a favourite + meat of mine. Lord! I could laugh to see what a mess I have made of + things. I could cry if anybody else had made it, and had meant as well, + and hoped as blindly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Monday, the twenty-second. That was the day I came here. Strange it is—strange! + I’d have sworn he was alive that night—that first night in the tent + here. I seemed to feel him near me. We had that knack—the old + governor and I—poor old chap! He could jog my mental elbow when I + was a thousand miles away from him, and I could make him talk of me at any + time. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ghosts? No. Death is death, and there’s an end of it. Ah!’ He stood + suddenly arrested. ‘Six hours’ difference between here and England. That + explains it. His last wish was towards me. He loved nobody as he loved me, + I think. Well, I shall vex him no more. His tribulation is over. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why cant a wrong-doer have a hell of his own, and be saved from singeing + innocent people? The smoke of my torment ascendeth, and even George goes + coughing at the smell of brimstone. George would be much more comfortable + if I had been virtuous—Madge would have more to lend him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, if I had a bottle of whisky here, I’d put an end to this for an hour + or two. But I haven’t, and I must do something. I must drug this down. + Bodily labour.’ He laid his open palm on the knotted rind of the big tree + against which he had leaned his back whilst he read the first phrases of + the letter. ‘You’ll do as well as anything. It took many a score of years + to bring you here, but now you must come down. You’ll sleep in the gorge + before I have done with you, old piny monster, three hundred feet below + your roots.’ + </p> + <p> + He walked to the tent, and returning jacketless, axe in hand, fell upon + the tree with a measured frenzy. The sun was still high, and before he had + been at work ten minutes the sweat poured from his brow like rain. He + paused to breathe, and to survey the gash he had made in the side of the + tree. Compared with the girth of the forest giant, it looked the merest + trifle, but he nodded gaspingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll sleep in the gorge before I have done with you, you old goliath of + your tribe. I shall have you down.’ + </p> + <p> + He laboured with dogged fury. His hands blistered at the unaccustomed + task. The helve of the axe was stained with blood, and clung to his grasp + as if his palms were glued. His blows grew altogether ineffectual The axe + fell sideways often, and at such times the blow jarred him to the spine. + ‘You will come down,’ he said, ‘if I die for it’ He went back to the tent, + and casting himself on the turf before it, laved his hands in the ice-cold + mountain-stream. In half an hour he returned to his task, and worked at it + until he could no longer lift a hand. Even then, as he walked brokenly + away, he turned with an angry murmur: + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll have you down!’ + </p> + <p> + He built his fire, and brewed and sipped his tea and munched his rations + in great weariness that night, and it was earlier than usual when he + rolled himself in his blanket and lay down. But though he ached with + fatigue from neck to heel, there was no sleep for him. He seemed to hang + suspended over a great lake of slumber, and to hold, in spite of his own + will, to a bar which magnetized his burning palms. He had but to release + the bar to fall deep into oblivion, but his grasp was fixed, and he had no + power to loose it. So, after many hours of tumbling this way and that, he + arose, and fed his fire with dry chips until it flamed; and then, in + alternate gushes of light and darkness, he read his father’s letter. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hendricks has just left me, and I succeeded in getting from him at the + last a plain statement of his opinion. I may last a month longer, but he + thinks it unlikely. I may go in a week. A chill, or a shock, or any little + trifle may precipitate the change, and make an end at any moment. I can + write for a few minutes at a time, and I am trying for Paul’s sake to say + one or two things which will make my future task more likely of + success.... + </p> + <p> + ‘I was fifty when my father died. I had been bred in the strictest + Calvinistic school; but my heart had revolted against the creed, and from + the time when I was five-and-twenty my mind had rejected it with equal + decision and disdain. I looked for no other faith or form of faith. At the + centre of the negation in which I lived there was this one thought: There + may, for anything I can tell, be a great First Cause. I cannot know. I can + neither affirm nor deny, for the whole question is beyond my + understanding. But this at least seems clear: If there be a God at all, He + is far away. He is great beyond our dreaming—distant beyond our + dreaming. If there be a scheme in the universe, there is at least no care + for the atoms which compose it. God sits far withdrawn, beyond our + prayers, beyond our tears and fears. This fretful insect of an hour, who + cannot even measure the terms he uses, speaks of the Eternal, the + Immutable, and strives by his prayers to change Its purposes. I am writing + now by lamplight, and the agonies of the singed moths whose little bodies + encrust my lamp-glass do not move me from my purpose. I realize their + anguish at this moment with a deep pity, but I do not stay to save them. + My heavier purpose will not wait for them. Thus I dreamed it was, likening + smallest things to the greatest, with God. + </p> + <p> + ‘At my father’s death a change began to work in my opinions. I had + convinced myself that this life was all that man enjoyed or suffered, but + I began to be conscious that I was under tutelage. I began—at first + faintly and with much doubting—to think that my father’s spirit and + my own were in communion. I knew that he had loved me fondly, and to me he + had always seemed a pattern of what is admirable in man. Now he seemed + greater, wiser, milder. I grew to believe that he had survived the grave, + and that he had found permission to be my guide and guardian. The creed + which slowly grew up in my mind and heart, and is now fixed there, was + simply this: that as a great Emperor rules his many provinces, God rules + the universe, employing many officers—intelligences of loftiest + estate, then intelligences less lofty; less lofty still beneath these, and + at the last the humbler servants, who are still as gods to us, but within + our reach, and His messengers and agents. Then God seemed no longer + utterly remote and impossible to belief, and I believed. And whether this + be true or false, I know one thing: this faith has made me a better man + than I should have been without it My beloved father, wise and kind, has + seemed to lead me by the hand. I have not dared in the knowledge of his + sleepless love to do many things to which I have been tempted. I have + learned from him to know—if I know anything—that life from its + lowest form is a striving upward through uncounted and innumerable grades, + and that in each grade something is learned that fits us for the next, or + something lost which has to be won back again after a great purgation of + pain and repentance. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is three days since I began to write, and I am so weak that I can + barely hold the pen. Send this to Paul. He has gone far wrong. He will + come back again to the right. I have asked that I may guide him, and my + prayer has been granted. From the hour at which I quit this flesh until he + joins me my work is appointed me, and I shall not leave him. Goodbye, dear + child. Be at peace, for all will yet be well. + </p> + <p> + ‘When Paul sees these last words of mine, he will know that I am with + him.’ + </p> + <p> + The letter ended there, and the reader’s dazzled eyes looked into the + darkness. One flickering flame hovered above the embers of the fire and + seemed to leave them and return, to die and break to life again. At last + it fluttered upward and was gone. + </p> + <p> + The runnel, like the greater stream below, had many voices. It chattered + light-hearted trifles, lamented child-like griefs, and sobbed itself to + sleep over and over and over. In the black cañon the river bellowed its + rage and triumph and despair. The shadows of the night were deep, and + silence brooded within them, and the ears thrilled and tingled to the + monitions of its voiceless sea. + </p> + <p> + ‘Father!’ he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The night gave no response, but the answer sounded in the lonely man’s + heart: + </p> + <p> + ‘I am here.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + In the broad daylight it was not easy to believe that the experience of + the night-time was more than an excitement of the nerves. The tide of + habitual conviction set strongly against a superstitious fancy. None the + less the Solitary spent many hours in tender and remorseful musings over + the lost father, and all day long he wondered at the voice which had + seemed to answer him. + </p> + <p> + ‘It would be well for me, perhaps,’ he said, when he had spent two-thirds + of the day under the spell of these clear recollections—‘it would be + well for me, perhaps, if I could think it true.’ + </p> + <p> + An inward voice said, as if with deliberate emphasis, ‘It is true.’ + </p> + <p> + The words did not seem to be his own, and the thought was not his own, and + he was startled, almost wildly. But he had been much given to + introspection. He was accustomed to the study of his own mind’s working, + and the inward voice impressed him less than if he had been a man of + simpler intellect. The intelligence of man plays many curious tricks upon + itself, and he was ready with explanations. He pored upon these, turned + them over, criticised them, sat secure in them. + </p> + <p> + The inward voice said ‘Paul,’ and nothing more. No call had sounded on the + waking ear, and yet an echo seemed to live in the air, as if a real voice + had spoken. His heart thrilled and his breast ached with a great longing. + He subdued himself, sitting with bowed head and closed eyes, his chin sunk + upon his folded hands. There was a bitter pain in his throat. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he said half aloud, as if he had need to form his thoughts in words; + ‘it is all at an end, dear old dad It was well for you that you died with + that good hope in your mind It shed a ray of peace on your heart in the + last dark hour. It would be well for me if I could think that you were + here.. I could stand the pain of it I could bear, I think, to turn my + whole life’s stream back upon itself if that would bring you peace. I + could bear to repent if my repentance could avail But you are gone into + the great dark. You will be sad no more and glad no more. I broke your + heart, and you tried to patch it with that futile hope. And you were not + the man to ask me to be a coward, and a liar to my own soul. I will keep + what little rag of manliness I have.’ + </p> + <p> + The inward voice seemed to say ‘Wait.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It would be easy to go mad,’ he said, rising wearily. ‘“They rest from + their labours, and their works do follow them.”’ + </p> + <p> + He had wandered a mile or two from his tent, along the track, and now + turned his footsteps home again. The afternoon light was mellowing. A + great range of hills, with a line of cloud shining across the breast of it + like a baldric of silver, lifted parcel-coloured masses of white and + violet into a rolling billowy glory of cloud which half obscured and half + relieved them. The sky above was of an infinite purity. He stood and + looked, until his heart yearned. + </p> + <p> + The yearning spoke itself in words which had been familiar since + childhood: + </p> + <p> + ‘“Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at + rest!”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Old earth,’ he said, ‘why is it? You seem to long for me. You seem to + stretch out hands to me, as if you would say, “Sleep here!” We belong to + one another, I suppose. This flesh and bone, this breathing, thinking + apparatus, grew out of the slime of you, old world, and will go back to + your dust and flourish in grass and flower, and float in cloud and fall in + rain. You have hidden in your green breast all the millions who have gone + before me. Fecund mother! kind grave! And you, too, for all so green and + kisty as you look, you are dying. Your life is longer than mine, but you + are no Immortal. Your hills roll down to your valleys. Every stream that + tumbles from their heights wears away a little. The light snow and lighter + air are heavy on those heights of steel, and will make them into dust at + last. Your inward fires will cool, and the air that clothes you like a + delicate robe will shrink and vanish, and leave you naked to the sun. I + shall come to your bosom and be quiet, and you will find the bourne of + death likewise, and we shall swing together round and round And the fires + of the sun will cool, and you will go spinning in blackness, and split in + silent explosions of cold in the blind dark. Dying heart, beating strong + in full manhood! dying earth, smiling and yearning there with pity and + rest in your bosom! we are but creatures of a day—my day the + briefer. And that would matter little if I had been worthy of my day. But + I have played the fool with life, and have earned my own contempt and + creep into my hiding-place with shame.’ + </p> + <p> + He strolled back to the tent, and whether he would have it or no, and + whether he would believe it or no, the inward voice spoke now and then. + Twice in the wide daylight he stood still, and his hair crisped and his + blood tingled. The voice was there, and yet he could not guess what it had + to say to him. It was as though it spoke in a language to which he had no + key. + </p> + <p> + As he sat musing his eye fell upon the axe, and he started up and seized + it as if suddenly reminded of some forgotten urgent duty. He fell to work + at the big tree again, and laboured doggedly till nightfall. Inexperienced + as he was, he brought observation and intelligence to the task, and knew + already the kind of stroke which told most with the least expenditure of + effort. When he could see no longer, he leaned gasping on the axe, and + gave a grim nod of the head. ‘I shall have you down.’ + </p> + <p> + He was at it again next morning light and early. He toiled all day. The + great pine leaned somewhat over the cliff, and though the angle was + slight, it told as the gash deepened, and when the sun dipped over the top + of the western mountain the huge doomed thing gave its first groan and + hung a little towards its grave. At this sign the tired worker fell to + with a freshened vigour. He was still striking when the royal head bowed, + and then swept downward with a rush. He sprang to one side just in time to + avoid the backward kick and the enormous flying splinters. Ten feet from + its base and a hundred from its lowest branch the trunk caught the edge of + the rock. The leverage and the weight of the fall snapped the two or three + square feet of stanch fibre the axe had spared. That last strong anchorage + broke, and the tree flashed into the rapids. The churning, shooting waters + made a plaything of it. + </p> + <p> + The next day he fell into deep ennui, and to beguile himself he rummaged + out of the canvas bag an old note-book and a pencil, and began a clumsy + and uninstructed effort to sketch the scene before him. The effort proving + quite abortive, he began to scrawl beneath it, ‘Paul Armstrong.’ ‘Yours + very truly, Paul Armstrong.’ ‘Disrespectfully yours, Paul Armstrong.’ + ‘Sacred to the memory of Paul Armstrong, who died of boredom in the Rocky + Mountains.’ ‘Paul Armstrong: the Autobiography of an Ass.’ + </p> + <p> + He was in the very act of throwing the book away from him when he felt + suddenly arrested. Why not ‘Paul Armstrong: an Autobiography? It would + fill the time. But the idea was no sooner formed than it began to pain. + What sort of a record would it have to be if it were honest? What a + confession of folly, of failure! + </p> + <p> + But as he sat his thoughts shaped themselves— + </p> + <p> + Thus. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORY OF PAUL ARMSTRONG’S LIFE AND OF DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + The first hint of memory showed a hearth, a fire, and a woman sitting in a + chair with an outstretched finger. An invisible hand bunched his + petticoats behind, and at his feet was a rug made of looped fragments of + cloth of various colours. He lurched across the rug and caught the finger + with a sense of adventure and triumph. Somebody clapped hands and laughed. + Memory gave no more. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a long, narrow, brick-paved yard, a kind of oblong well, + with one of the narrower sides broken down. The bricks of the pavement + were of many colours—browns, purples, reds. They were full of + breakages and hollows, and in rainy weather small pools gathered in the + petty valleys. The loftiest boundary wall had once been whitewashed, but + was now streaked green and yellow with old rains. A pump with a worn + trough of stone stood half-way up the yard, and near it was a boy—a + very little boy, in petticoats, and a yellow straw hat with ribbons. The + frock he wore was of some tartan pattern, with red and green in it He had + white thread socks, and shoes with straps across the instep. The straps + were fastened with round glass buttons, and the child, with his feet + planted close together, was looking down at the buttons with a flush of + pride. He was conscious of being prettily attired, and this was his first + remembered touch of personal vanity. + </p> + <p> + He was walking and crying in an old-fashioned village street, crying + because his fat small thighs were chafing one another. It was Sunday, or a + holiday, for his father was in a tall silk hat and black broadcloth and + high collar, and a satin stock which fastened with a shiny buckle high up + in the neck behind. His father stooped and lifted him, and carried him all + the way to an old house with three front-doors, and porches over the + doors, and a cage with two doves in it hanging on the lichened wall. There + was a hedged garden opposite the house, with four poplars in the hedgerow. + Their tops went right into the blue. Inside the old house was an old + gentleman who was called Uncle. Round the room he sat in were hung a + number of fiddles in green-baize bags. How he had learned what the bags + held the child could not tell, but he knew. The old gentleman took him on + his knee, and allowed him to touch his whiskers, which were crisp and + soft, and snipped pieces of white paper into the shapes of trees and + animals and houses, with a little pair of scissors. He had blue veins on + the back of his white hands, and little cords the like of which were not + on the child’s, as examination proved. This was his first memory of any + house which was not home. + </p> + <p> + There he first saw a piano. It was open, and he beat the keys, sounding + now one note at a time and now two or three together. This was a + fascinating exercise, but he was bidden to desist from it, and was given a + picture-book to look at It was full of wiry-looking steel plates of men in + cauldrons, and on crucifixes, and on racks, and bound to stakes in fires. + He remembered it as Foxe’s ‘Book of Martyrs,’ but by a later knowledge. + </p> + <p> + There was a well in a yard, with a rope and a windlass, and an old wooden + bucket all over trailing green mosses. Off the yard there was a + blacksmith’s shop, with a disused anvil and disused tools in it, and a + cold hearth covered with scattered slack and iron filings. A dog, whose + chain allowed him to come within a yard of the door of this workshop, woke + up at the clank of the tools and barked. The child cried until his mother + came and took him away with some show of angry impatience, not with his + father’s gentleness. He knew her for his mother, of course, but this was + his first remembrance of her. + </p> + <p> + It was baking-day, and so it could not have been a Sunday. In a big ‘jowl’ + of earthenware—that was the local word for it—a batch of dough + was set before a fire to rise. It had a clean cloth spread over it, and + the dough had been slashed across and across with a knife. Somebody said + the sign of the cross was made to keep the devil out of the bread. There + was a vague wonder at that, but it soon died. A portion of the dough was + used to make what were called ‘rough-and-ready cakes.’ Dripping was rolled + into the dough, and it was sprinkled with sugar and currants. Then it was + pulled into all manner of rough shapes, so as to bake with crisp edges, + and was put on a greased dripping-pan into an oven. The cakes were served + hot with new milk, and made a regal feast. + </p> + <p> + It grew dark, which for summer-time was a new experience. The child, + tired, but wakeful, stood at the door in fear of the dog. Suddenly he + roused the household with screams of joy. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother! mother! Look what I’ve found!’ + </p> + <p> + There was a rush and a swirl of petticoats. The infant had seen the stars + for the first time, and had some trouble in explaining the nature of his + find. When it was known that he had discovered the solar system and its + neighbouring fragment of the universe, there was a laugh, and he was left + alone, humiliated. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have made many equally valuable and original discoveries since then,’ + said Paul Armstrong, and so went on staring down the canon, seeing nothing + of what lay before him, but beholding his child-self so clearly that he + seemed to be living over again the life of forty years ago. + </p> + <p> + The child was shy, dreamy, sensitive, inventive, and a liar. He and his + brother Dick were together walking in the shabby High Street, and talking + about cricket. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll bet you haven’t seen what I’ve seen,’ said Paul. He was seven years + old by now, breeched in corduroys, which had had time to grow rusty. The + middle-aged man, sitting at his tent-door, smelt the odour of the new + cords, and heard their disgusting whistle as he moved his limbs in them + for the first time. Only the poorest boys went clothed in corduroy, and + Paul and brother Dick were bitterly lowered in their own esteem when they + were forced by motherly economy into that badge of social servitude. ‘I’ll + bet you haven’t seen what I’ve seen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What have you seen? asked Dick. + </p> + <p> + He was rather a fatuous boy, with round, innocent eyes, easily opening at + tales of marvel, and a temptation to a liar. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, when I was in Scotland three years ago with father,’ Paul began, ‘I + saw the Highlanders play cricket.’ He had never in his life been a mile + away from his native parish, and Dick knew that as well as he did, but it + made no difference. ‘They wore kilts, and father wore a kilt, and had a + feather in his bonnet, and top-boots like Robin Hood, all loose about the + tops, and a bow and arrow. And he smoked a cigar, and gave me a whole lot + of vesuvians to strike by myself behind a tent. You could smell vesuvians + and cigars and sunshiny trod-on grass everywhere.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell us about the Highlanders,’ said Dick. + </p> + <p> + ‘They was all ten foot high,’ said Paul. ‘They wouldn’t have ‘em in the + eleven without they was ten foot high.’ + </p> + <p> + Dick said that stood to reason. + </p> + <p> + ‘And they played in their kilts, and they didn’t wear pads, and they had + their bats all made of iron, and the ball was iron, too. It was a + cannon-ball, and they fired it out of a cannon, and the wickets was a mile + and a half apart—no, a mile and a quarter—and one man hit the + ball, and the other men shouted, “Run it out!” and he ran sixty-four runs. + Then he dropped down stone-dead, and Mr. Murchison read the funeral + service.’ + </p> + <p> + Then the talk drifted. Next Sunday the Rev. Roderic Murchison, M.A., read + out from the pulpit a text which gave over all liars to fire and + brimstone. Paul went quaking all day. Dick and he slept together in a + gaunt attic chamber. Mary, their sister, twenty years Paul’s elder, saw + them to bed, put them through a rough form of prayer, and took away the + candle. Dick, with nothing on his conscience, went to sleep. Paul lay and + sweated, dreading fire, and wondering with open-eyed horror, ‘Why + brimstone?’ and imagining extraordinary terrors from its addition. At last + conscience would have no Nay, and brimful of fear and contrition—for + the one was as real as the other—he woke up Dick in the black hollow + of the night This was hard work, but he was bent on self-purgation, and + would not confess until Dick was really wide awake. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dick!’ he said, gripping his brother in the dark and straining him in his + childish arms. ‘Dick! Oh, Dick, I’ve been a liar, and I daresn’t go to + sleep. Do you remember what I said about the Highlanders last Thursday?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Blow the Highlanders!’ said Dick. ‘What did ye wake <i>me</i> up for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It wasn’t true, Dick,’ the penitent whimpered. ‘I never saw a Highlander, + and father didn’t take me to Scotland with him. It was all made up.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know that,’ said Dick. ‘You <i>are</i> a fool to wake a chap up in the + dark to tell him that.’ + </p> + <p> + That was the child’s first remembered penitence and confession. The man + remembered how he had sobbed himself to sleep. Why had he lied, and <i>was</i> + a portion his in the lake of fire and brimstone, and what was the good of + being repentant and confessing, and being called a fool for one’s pains? + </p> + <p> + When the childish Paul came out of the kitchen-door into that three-sided + well of a brick-paved yard, and walked towards the printing-office at the + far end of the narrow strip of garden, the first door beyond the + pump-trough led him to a flight of stairs. The flight of stairs, dirty and + littered, mounted to a lumber-room, where there were great piles of + waste-paper, refuse from the shop and office. There were many torn and + battered old books here, and most of them were deserving of the neglect + into which they had fallen. The father had bought old books literally by + the cart-load at auction, and had weeded from the masses of rubbish such + things as promised to be saleable. The rest were Paul’s prey, and there + were scraps of romance here and there, and fugitive leaves of Hone’s + ‘Everyday Book,’ and the <i>Penny Magazine</i>, with dingy woodcuts. One + inestimable bundle of leaves unbound held the greater part of ‘Peregrine + Pickle,’ the whole of ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and part of ‘The Devil on Two + Sticks.’ Brother Bob, dead and gone these many years, had once kept + pigeons in that lumber-room, and had driven a hole in the wall, so that + the birds might have free going out and in. This was one of the family + remembrances. Before there had been so many mouths to fill and so many + small figures to be clothed, there had been room in the Armstrong + household for some things which were not wholly utilitarian. This keeping + of pigeons was, as it were, a link with a golden past, a bright thread in + the tapestry of the bygone, which hung on the eye of imagination in + contrast with the sordid present, where few of the threads were bright + except to the inexhaustible fancy of a child, who can see brightness + almost anywhere. + </p> + <p> + The lumber-room had many memories for the dreamer in the tent-door. He was + often banished there for punishment, and he sometimes confessed to faults + which were not his, if they were not of too dark a dye, in the hope of + being sent thither. There he would grub amongst the mouldy refuse of the + place, and would find treatises of forgotten divines on Daniel and the end + of the world, and translations of Ovid on the Art of Love sadly mutilated + by rats, and nautical almanacs of a long bygone date, and much other + doubtful treasure. + </p> + <p> + The mother came into the brick-paved yard and shrilled ‘Paul! Paul lay + quiet. The voice called up and down, and was lost in the recesses of the + heaped timber in the yard which lay beside the ill-kempt strip of garden. + The hedge which had once divided the neighbouring domains was broken down + in many places, and Paul and his brother played often on the + timber-stacks, and in the aromatic groves of sawn planks which inclined + towards each other in row on row, making an odorous cloistered shade, + excellent for enacted memories of Chingachgook and Uncas and the + Pathfinder. There was a sawpit in the yard, a favourite hiding-place for + the boys, and the turpentiny scent of fresh sawdust had always been a + thing to conjure with in the Solitary’s memory. The smell of printer’s ink + which hung about the dowdy, untidy, bankrupt printing-office had a hint of + it. Years afterwards and years ago in the studio of the President of the + Belgian Academy, when Paul was famous and on easy terms with famous + people, a servant uncorked a tin of turpentine to clean his master’s + palette, and the sawpit yawned again, and every broken brick in the floor + of the old office showed so clear that he could have drawn the finest + crevice. The odour was in his nostrils now as he sat at the tent-door, and + he did not dream that it sweated from the sun-smitten pines. It was all + memory to his fancy, and the voice went shrilling ‘Paul!’ among the + timber-stacks, and was lost in the cavernous shed at the far-end of the + yard. Then everything went quiet for an hour, and Paul made acquaintance + with the poverty-stricken artist who could not take his mistress to the + ball because she had no stockings fit to go in, and who hit on the + expedient of painting stockings on her legs. How simply and innocently + comic the episode was to the child’s mind, to be sure! and how harmless + were the naughtiest adventures exposed under the lifted roofs when the + lame devil waved his crutch from the top of the steeple! + </p> + <p> + But in the full tide of this retired joy Paul hears a step at the bottom + of the lumber-room stairs, and knows it for his mother’s. She is coming + here, and there is no hiding-place for anything bigger than a rat. The + motherly temper is sharp, and the motherly hand is heavy. He has been + called and has not answered—a crime deserving punishment, and sure + to earn it. The step grows nearer and trouble more assured. Suddenly a ray + of hope darts through him, and he feigns sleep. His heart labours, but he + keeps his breath regular by a great effort. Mother gazes for a minute, and + goes away on tiptoe. There is quiet for five minutes, and Paul is back in + fairyland. But mother is here again on tiptoe, and the voice of doom + sounds on his ear. + </p> + <p> + ‘I thought you was foxing, you little beast!’ + </p> + <p> + Then Paul takes his thrashing as well as he can, aiming to receive most of + it on his elbows, and is in bitter disgrace for days and days. The + phenomenally guilty and degraded young ruffian who <i>acted</i> a lie!—-a + far viler thing, it would seem, than to speak one! + </p> + <p> + This is the worst of the household, to the Solitary’s mind, that all + combine in prolonged reprobation for any crime of his. He has no memory + for Dick’s offences or Jack’s or David’s; but Dick and Jack and David are + unforgetting, and the girls sniff unutterable holiness and contempt. He + knows he is a liar, and he knows that liars have their portion in that + awful lake, but he is high-spirited and fanciful, and he forgets, sealing + his doom weekly at the least, and making it more sure. This reputation of + liar began when Wombwell’s Menagerie of Wild Beasts first visited the + parish, and the neighbourhood of lions and tigers so flushed his + imagination that he saw them everywhere. He came home one day with a story + of a tiger running away with the shop-shutters of a neighbouring grocer on + his back. He was chastised for this gratuitous unwarrantable yarn, and + stuck to it Perhaps he had dreamed it and believed it true, but on that + point memory was silent. Anyway it was fixed and decided that he was a + liar, and ‘A liar we can ne’er believe, though he should speak the thing + that’s true.’ So nobody believed Paul under any conditions, not even when + truth was crystalline. + </p> + <p> + He was a little older, a very little older, and he lay in bed one + moonlight night in summer. He had been to chapel that Sunday evening, and + the Rev. Roderic Murchison had preached a sermon from the text, ‘To depart + and to be with Christ, which is far better.’ Paul’s small soul was filled + to the brim with a sort of yearning peace. The moon yearned at him through + the uncurtained window of the bare attic chamber, and he longed back to + it. Oh how sweet, how sweet to pass to peace for ever, to lie asleep for + ever, with the grass and the daisies for a counterpane, and yet to be + somewhere and wideawake and happy! ‘Suffer little children to come unto + Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ Paul was + of the kingdom for a time, but he had the blundering ill-luck to mention + it. He put his arms round Dick, who lay awake there, and he cried and said + good-bye, and told Dick that he was going to die and be an angel. And in + his heart he forgave Dick—nebulously but with sincerity—not + particularizing things, but offering plenary grace for all offences. And + Dick took fright and ran with bare legs projecting from his scanty + nightshirt, and blubbered that Paul was dying—that he said so, that + he was sure of it. And Paul, listening at the top of the stairs, heard the + news given and forgave everybody, and went back to bed again and was + filled with inexpressible joy of assured longing. The good mother came + upstairs carrying Dick, who had been solaced with unaccustomed supper of + bread and treacle—he was sticky and crumby with it hours afterwards + when Paul still lay crying—and she gave Paul such a hiding for his + heartless wickedness as he had never had in all his days till then. It was + not the pain of the flogging, though he had been chastened with a liberal + hand, that kept him in tears throughout that wretched night. It was the + bitter sense of injustice, for Paul had imputed his dream to himself for + holiness, and had believed so truly and had meant so well. + </p> + <p> + And the matter did not end there Paul had slept on his trouble and had + forgotten it, as children can. He was stripped to the waist, and was + taking his morning wash at the sink in the back-kitchen when his father + came, carrying in his left hand an instrument called the ‘tawse,’ a broad + flat leathern strap, cut into strips at one end. The strips had been + hardened in the fire, and the ‘tawse ‘was a holy horror to the boys, who + saw it often and were threatened with it sometimes, but who had felt it + never. Armstrong the father came in pale and gray, his hands quivering, + and he gave Paul a little sermon. The ineradicable Ayrshire accent shook + out in his voice more strongly than common, for he was an idle dreamer, + and a man who hated to see pain, and to whom it was an agony to inflict + it. + </p> + <p> + ‘This will hurt me far more than it will hurt you, my lad, said Armstrong + senior; and Paul, by a swift, sidelong movement of the mind, decided that + he had been born a liar because his father was one before him. + </p> + <p> + Then the father expanded upon the enormity of his wickedness, and told him + how he had shamefully trifled with the thought of death, which was the + most serious of all things, and how in his vanity he had tried to alarm + his brother, and how this evil lying spirit must be beaten out of him. + Paul was silent, for how could he explain? And the kindly father, who had + had to work himself up to this cold-blooded severity, went half hysterical + when he had once begun, and overdid the thing. Paul’s flesh ached and + stung and quivered on his bones for days. A fortnight afterwards, when he + went to bathe, having forgotten his flogging, his stripes were seen, and a + schoolmate christened him Tiger on account of them. To that day there were + people who knew him as Tiger Armstrong, though they had forgotten the + reason of the nickname. + </p> + <p> + This was one of the inconveniences of having a reputation. There were more + such doleful comedies in the lonely man’s mind as he looked down the + gorge. + </p> + <p> + The scenes came back as if they were enacted before him. The old eight-day + dock ticked in its recess; the fire rustled and dropped a cinder; the cat + purred on the hearth; Paul sat reading, absorbed, and yet in memory he + knew of the cat and the dock and the fire, and even of a humming fly + somewhere, and a gleam of sunshine on the weather-stained whitewash of the + wall outside. + </p> + <p> + In came Mrs. Armstrong, with the little household servant at her heels, + and laid something on the ledge of the old clock face. She was an + uncommonly tall woman, and had a knack of putting things on high out of + other people’s reach. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s for the potatoes,’ she said; ‘run and get ‘em as soon as ever + you’ve peeled the turnips.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the girl; and they both went out together. + </p> + <p> + Two or three minutes later Paul went out. His father sat behind the + counter of the shop, and Paul was afraid that if he went that way he would + be seized upon and compelled to take his place. So he ran up the garden, + climbed a wall or two, and dropped into Badger’s field. He had not gone + twenty yards when he found a halfpenny lying on the grass. He laid hands + on it, and made for the confectioner’s, where he expended it on a sickly + sweet called ‘paper-suck’—a treacly, sticky abomination with a + spiral of old newspaper twined about it Brother Dick appeared by chance, + and shared the treat. Paul at this time had taken to making verses on his + own account, incited by a great deal of miscellaneous reading. This was an + exercise which demanded quiet and retirement, and he got away into the + fields, and, lying face downwards on the grass, gave himself over hand and + foot to fancy. It was quite late in the afternoon when appetite brought + him to himself. He had forgotten his dinner, but relying on his ability to + filch something, he walked home with a light heart He marched innocently + through the open door of the shop. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul!’ His father stopped him, his spectacles tipped up into his white + hair, and his gray eyes half hidden under eyebrows like a shaggy Scotch + deer-hound’s. The portrait of Sir Walter’s ‘Maida’ had a strong suggestion + of the Scottish face, wistful, affectionate, and full of simple sagacity. + Just now the gray eyes looked doom. Paul knew he had done something awful, + and felt guilty, though he knew nothing as yet of the charge against him. + ‘What ha’ ye dune wi’ the threepenny-bit ye stole this morning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What threepenny-bit?’ said Paul. ‘I haven’t seen no threepenny-bit, + father.’ + </p> + <p> + The verse he hammered out in his lonely moments was grammatical, because + his exemplars would have it so; but to have been grammatical in common + speech would have seemed like a pedantry. + </p> + <p> + ‘The threepenny-bit your mother put on the clock-ledge, ye pelferin’ + vag’bond!’ said his father sternly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I never seen it,’ Paul declared. + </p> + <p> + ‘There, there!’ said Armstrong; ‘it comes natural to lie, and I’ll not + tempt ye. Not another word. Ye’ll go to your chamber, and ye’ll stop there + till ye’re in the mind to confess. There’s the fruits of your crime marked + on your lips this minute, and Dick saw ye at the sweet-stuff shop. Away + with ye, before I lay hands on ye!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul’s hob-nailed boots went lingeringly up the uncarpeted stairs to the + attic room, and there he spent the long, long afternoon. There was nothing + to do, nothing to think about, nothing to read. He stared at the tinman’s + shop opposite, and at the cheesemonger’s fat widow, and at the window of + the Berlin wool shop next door to the cheesemonger’s, and when a customer + went in he speculated idly on his purchase. He was very hungry and lonely + and dull, and the three other attic rooms which were open to him were as + uninteresting as his own. Evening came on, and he seemed to be forgotten. + He took off his boots, and crept to the lower flight of stairs and + listened. Everything was going on just as it would have done if he had not + been alone and miserable and martyred Well, he could starve and die and go + to heaven, and then perhaps they would all be sorry, and discover some + little good in him. Evening deepened into night, and still he sat there. A + little insect behind the wall-paper against which he leaned his + disconsolate head ticked and ticked like a watch. Paul had heard of the + death-watch, and this, of course, was it, and its token was, of course, of + his own untimely end. He wept luxuriously. + </p> + <p> + By-and-by he got up, and crept on tiptoe past the door of the best + bedroom, which stood a little open, and invited him inwards by the + mysterious gleam on the ceiling and the thrilling shadows of the great + four-poster with its dusky hangings—a family heirloom, hint of + far-off family prosperity, big enough for a hearse and quite as gloomy to + look at. A heavy, solid mahogany chest of drawers stood near the window, + and Paul, aided by the gaslights glistening amongst the polished tinware + in the shop opposite, went through every drawer. His hands lighted on + something done up in tissue-paper—an oblong parcel. He investigated + it, and it turned out to be a big sponge loaf. He had seen one like it + before, and guessed that it came as a gift from the old-maid cousins at + the farm. He pinched off a bit from one of the bottom corners, and nibbled + it He had not known till then how hungry he was, and the cake was more + than delicious. He pinched off more, and was frightened to find how much + he had taken. Detection was sure, and who but he could be suspected? + Nothing could save him now, and though he had never heard either proverb, + he acted on both—‘In for a penny, in for a pound,’ and ‘As well be + hanged for a sheep as a lamb.’ A voice and a footstep below startled him, + and he fled guiltily. Now he was a thief, and then he was a beleaguered + citizen, forced to make excursions by night, and live at risk of life on + the provisions of the foe. He lay on the bed, and watched the lights on + the ceiling until the cheesemonger’s shop and the tinman’s were closed; + then he went to sleep, and in a while Dick came and awoke him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll get nothing to eat till you confess,’ said Dick, ‘and then you’ll + get a licking.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I shall die,’ said Paul. ‘I shan’t confess what I never done.’ + </p> + <p> + He undressed and got into bed, and was more of a Christian martyr than he + had ever been before. He slept fairly well, all things considered; but + when in the morning his father’s deep, asthmatic cough sounded on the + stairs, he felt as if his heart had slipped through his spine and had + dropped upon the floor. He sat up in bed as his father entered the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, sir, are ye in any mind to tell the truth yet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I didn’t take it, father; I never seen it’ ‘Vary good; yell just stay + there.’ + </p> + <p> + Dick, with his hair staring from his head in all directions, pulled on his + boots and trousers, and, gathering his other belongings in both arms, went + off to make his toilet in the back-kitchen. The heavy day began for Paul, + and when he had dressed he prowled disconsolately about his prison limits. + In the ceiling of one of the back rooms there was a trap-door, and he + began to wonder if he could open it There was a crippled three-legged + table in the next apartment, and two old chairs, the rush bottoms of which + had given way. He lugged these beneath the trap and mounted. He had two or + three tumbles, and anything but a cat or a boy would have broken its neck + several times over; but at last he succeeded in forcing the trap, and + scrambled up. The joists of the roof and the rough inside of the slates + were all he saw at first; but in a while he discerned a solid-looking + shadow in the near distance, and made towards it. It proved to be a small + table, and on it, covered thick with dust, were a broken jug, a broken + cup, and a broken table-knife. What brought these things in so curious a + place Paul never knew; but there they were, and the spot in an instant was + a robber’s cave, and full of the most palpitating and delicious fears. He + seized the broken table-knife as a weapon, and dashed back towards the + trap-door. His movement towards the table must have taken him over some + protected place—some region where a wall or beam made the + lath-and-plaster flooring sound beneath his feet. But in his backward dash + he missed this. The thin and fragile stuff gave way beneath him, and he + came through with a tearing crash, and fell on the floor of the room + beneath with a shock which snapped his teeth together and left him dizzy + and half stunned. There was a big rent in the ceiling, and the floor was + covered for a square yard or two with hairy plaster and fragments of wood. + </p> + <p> + Paul thought at first that he was broken all over, but, coming to gather + himself together, found himself whole. He transferred the crippled table + and the chairs to their original places, and stowed away the knife between + the cords and the mattress of his bed. Then he listened dreadfully to + discover if the noise of his fall had awakened any answering commotion + below stairs. Growing easy on this point, he began to be aware that he was + hungry again, and bethought him of the remnant of the sponge loaf. Nothing + much worse than had already happened could befall him, and after brief + temptation he kicked off his unlaced hobnails and stole downstairs. With + some such vague idea of disguising crime as a thievish monkey might have + had, he packed up a pair of neatly folded towels in the paper which had + once held the loaf, and so retreated to his prison. All day long the + familiar noises of the house, exaggerated into importance by his own + loneliness, went on. Feet travelled here and there, voices called, the + tingling shop-bell rang. The little servant came to make the bed, and + treated him with the disdain which befitted a convicted criminal. In a + while she went away, and left him lonelier than before. Even disdain had + something of human companionship in it. + </p> + <p> + And now, hunger’s pangs having been fairly well appeased by the remnant of + the sponge loaf, Paul had time to surrender himself to the thought of + impending starvation. He convinced himself that a boy could die of + starvation in two days. Morrow at noontide would see him stark and cold. + He grew newly holy at this reflection, and forgave everybody afresh with + flattering tears. It became a sort of essential that he should leave a + memorial on the wall of the cell in which he was about to perish, and so + he got out the broken knife from under the mattress, and carved a big + cross in the papered plaster of the wall. It was less artistic in its + outline than he could have hoped; but its symbolism, at least, was clear, + and he wept and exulted as he worked at it. + </p> + <p> + The heavy day went by and the heavy night, and he began to be really + hollow, and to believe with less than his original sense of comfort that + his end was near. With the morning came his father with yesterday’s + question. Paul broke into wild tears and protests. He wasn’t, wasn’t, + wasn’t guilty. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vary good. Yell just stay there.’ + </p> + <p> + Dick, touched by the agony of despair with which Paul threw himself upon + the bed, advised surrender. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s a lickin’?’ said Dick. ‘Have it over.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Dick,’ cried Paul, clipping at the air between them, ‘plead for me!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not me,’ said Dick, who was less literary than Paul, and misunderstood + the unfamiliar word—‘bleed for yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + And again the heavy day went on, and Paul wept and wept alone. But it + happened that this was scouring day; and a sort of wooden fender which + fenced in the foot of the eight-day clock being moved, the missing bit of + silver was found behind it, and the martyr was released. There were no + apologies; but Paul was told to clean himself, and was whispered by Dick + that there was a tea-party that afternoon, and that he was to be allowed + to be present at it. + </p> + <p> + Then fell misery. He knew why the sponge loaf had been saved, and though + everybody was kind now, and seemed to feel in an unspeaking way that he + had been ill-used, he foresaw the near future and trembled. + </p> + <p> + He had been made to black his Sunday boots, he had been washed with such + desperate earnestness that his face and neck tingled, and he diffused an + atmosphere of yellow soap as he walked. He was in his best clothes, which + fitted him as a sausage is fitted by its skin; he was guillotined in a + white collar with a serrated inside edge, and guilt filled every crevice + of his soul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fanny Ann,’ said Mrs. Armstrong, putting the last finishing touches to + the tea-table, ‘fetch the sponge loaf.’ + </p> + <p> + A rollicking shout of laughter rose from the tent door, and went rolling + down the gorge, and the dream was over for the time. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + It was mid-July, and even at an altitude of four thousand feet the sun + could scorch at noonday. The lonely man sat at his outlook, gazing down + the valley. There was a faint haze abroad, a thickening of the air so + apparently slight, and in itself so imperceptible, that he would not have + noticed it but for the fact that it blotted out many familiar distant + peaks, and narrowed his horizon to some four or five miles. He waited for + the sun to pierce this impalpable fog, but waited in vain. The sun itself + was red and angry in colour, and shrunk to half its common size. Even at + noontide the eye could look on it for a second or two without being + unbearably dazzled. + </p> + <p> + The shade in which he sat moved slowly eastward, and had almost deserted + him, when his hand felt a sudden fierce pang of pain as if an insect had + stung him. He moved hastily and examined the mark of what he took for a + sting. It was round, small, and red, as if the end of a hot + knitting-needle had been pressed upon the skin. Whilst he sat sucking at + the place to draw the pain away, and looking round in search of the insect + foe, the same quick burning pang struck him on the cheek. He moved hastily + again, and stared and listened keenly. There was not a buzz of wings + anywhere near at hand, and not an insect in sight. But as he looked and + harkened he was enlightened. A great tear of resinous gum had caught and + hardened in a fork of the branches, and the sun’s rays falling on and + through this were concentrated as if by a burning-glass. The fiery point + had stung him. + </p> + <p> + He broke away the cause of mischief, and then looked about him with a new + understanding. The forest fires had begun, and it was the smoke which so + closed in the view. He could detect now a faintly aromatic smell of + burning, and wondered that he had not noticed it before. + </p> + <p> + There was not a breath of air stirring, and not a hint of flame in all the + haze which on every side blotted out the far-off hills, and changed to a + dull tint of smoke those which still loomed upon him. At night the moon + hung in the starless sky like a globe of blood, and day by day the dimness + of the air increased. The cloud took no form of cloud, and not a sound + came through it except for the voice of the water, and the occasional roll + and clangour of the trains. The distances in view grew briefer and more + brief, and within a week of the date of his discovery the nearest peaks + were obliterated, and the air had grown pungent with its charge of + invisible burned atoms. + </p> + <p> + He sat in the midst of this narrowed and darkened world, this world of + silence and solitude, as he sat in the middle of his own despairs. His + life had fallen away to this—an aching heart in a world where no man + came. Had it not been for pride, he could have wept for pity of himself. + Had it not been for a sense of rebellion against fate and the world, he + could have died of his own disdain. He had played the fool, but the world + had taken an unjust advantage of his folly. He loathed himself and it. + </p> + <p> + Thus trebly banished—from friends, from the world, from Nature—he + dreamed his dreams. The past came back again. + </p> + <p> + Paul was keeping shop. The door, rarely passed by the foot of a customer, + stood open to invite the world at large. Armstrong came in with his + spectacles resting on his shaggy brows. Paul, who had been wool-gathering, + went back to nominative, dative, and ablative. He hated the Eton Latin + grammar as he had not learned to hate anything else in life. + </p> + <p> + ‘Any custom?’ asked the father. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul, lad,’ said Armstrong, after a lengthy pause. He cleared his throat, + and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Yell reach your twalth birthday + next week. It’s time ye were doing something in the warld.’ He pulled down + his glasses and looked at the lad gravely. ‘I’ve tauld Mester Reddy ye’ll + not be going back to school after the holidays. There’s over-many mouths + to keep, and over-many backs to clothe, lad. Ye’ll have to buckle to, like + the rest of us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, father,’ said Paul. The prospect looked welcome, as almost any + change does to a boy. + </p> + <p> + ‘What would ye like to be?’ his father asked + </p> + <p> + ‘I dunno,’ said Paul, rubbing his nose hard with the back of one freckled + hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I’ll thenk it over. Ye can get away to your plays now, but the + serious purpose o’ life’s beginnin’ for ye.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul needed no further leave. He snatched his cap and was away up the High + Street before anybody could find time to tell him that his neck was + unwashed, his boots unblacked or unlaced, or his collar disarranged. These + reminders were an unfailing grievance to him when they came, and they + seemed to hail upon him all day long. With the thought that he was + entering the world and beginning his career in earnest, he thrust his + hands into his corduroy pockets, swaggering in his walk, and so absorbed + that he forgot to touch the street lamp-posts for two or three hundred + yards. He stood overcome by this discovery, retraced his steps almost to + the shop-door, in spite of his fear of being recalled, and then raced on + his original way, laying a hand on each lamp-post as he passed it In this + fashion he arrived at the gate of an unpretentious little house which had + many reasons for looking glorious and palatial in his eyes. For one thing, + it was a private house. No business of any sort was done there, and its + inhabitants lived on their own money. Then it stood back from the road, + behind iron railings, and had a gravel pathway leading to the front door, + and a little bit of orderly garden with one drooping laburnum in it, which + in its season hung clear gold blossoms over the roadway. There was a small + coach-house beside the main building. It held no vehicle of any sort, but + it was a coach-house all the same. Inside the house everything was neat + and clean, and to Paul’s mind luxurious. There were carpets in all the + living-rooms and bedrooms. There was a piano, there were marble + mantelpieces with gold-framed mirrors over them, one to each front-room, + and the chambers which held these splendours were familiarly used, and not + merely kept for show. Paul had the run of this house, for the orphan + children of his mother’s second cousin lived there, and the relationship + was recognised. + </p> + <p> + He rang the bell, and a fresh-coloured, prettyish girl in a smart cap came + to the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it’s you, is it! Come to see the young ladies, are you?’ + Paul nodded with his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re in pretty fettle!’ said the girl. ‘Look at your boots! Look at + your hair! Look at the smut on your nose!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul looked at his boots, tried to look at his hair, squinted downwards in + search of the smut, and said: ‘Bother!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ the girl responded. ‘You’ll find ‘em in the garden. They’ll + be rare and proud to see you.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul, somewhat shamefaced, took the familiar way into the garden, and + stood rooted. A small striped tent of pink and white had been set up on + the unshaven grass-plot, and five or six girls, all in white dresses, were + seated near it round a tea-table. One, who had black hair and dark eyes, + wore a crimson sash, and the rest had blue sashes with prodigious bows. + Paul knew them all with one exception, but after the first glance he had + eyes for the exception only. She was a lackadaisical young person of + eighteen, with pale sandy ringlets and a cold-boiled-veal complexion; but + he thought her a creature of another sphere, and his heart shivered with a + strange, delicious sense of worship. He stood and stared, and his inward + thoughts were poorly translated by his aspect, as happens with most people + How long the dream held him he did not know, but the Vision turned, and he + met the young person’s eye. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is that dirty boy? asked the Vision. ‘I suppose he wants to speak to + you, Zillah.’ + </p> + <p> + Zillah, who was the elder of the two orphan girls, turned, and blushed + till she looked the colour of her sash. But she rose from her seat and + came to Paul and whispered to him: + </p> + <p> + ‘You mustn’t come here to-day, Paul We’ve got company. And goodness + gracious, child, how untidy you are to be sure!’ + </p> + <p> + Then shame fell like an avalanche, and Paul went altogether dizzy and + silly under the shock of it How he got home he never knew, but an hour + later he was in the back-kitchen, standing on a mat in his stocking-feet, + with his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, and was polishing his + boots until the leather grew hot beneath the brush. He washed himself in a + frenzy of remorse and resolve, and scoured his hands with yellow soap, + silver sand, and a stubbly scrubbing-brush until they tingled. Then he + fell upon the family stock of hair-oil, which was kept in a + medicine-bottle in the kitchen cupboard, and, except on Sundays, was held + sacred to the girls. Then he put on a clean collar (which was a daring and + outrageous defiance of authority, which allowed but two a week), and + prepared to face consequences. The family brush and comb were kept in a + small bag which hung on a nail beside the scratched and defaced old family + looking-glass, and Paul was artistically at work upon his hair when his + mother entered the kitchen. The excellent woman sat down to laugh, and + Armstrong came in with his customary vague air of patient thinking. + </p> + <p> + ‘William,’ said Mrs. Armstrong, ‘look at our Paul. Niver tell me the hage + of merricles is past Why, I believe he’s fell in love!’ + </p> + <p> + It was the perpetual astonishment of Paul’s life that his mother always + knew and understood the things he would not have her know and understand. + Even now, at his tent-door, seeing all these dead hours so clearly that he + forgot his present existence altogether, he thought of her half-malicious, + wholly-humorous intuition with wonder. Why had she never understood the + things he would have given so much to have her understand? + </p> + <p> + Armstrong smiled with a melancholy, tired sweetness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Larn to be tidy, lad,’ he said. ‘I like a self-respecting fellow that + honours his own person.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘M’m,’ said Mrs. Armstrong. ‘You’ve got a five days’ beard on, William.’ + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, stroking his own bristly chin. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay,’ he said. ‘This’ll be Thursday. Paul, just be getting me my razor and + the brush and soap-box, there’s a good lad.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed, and then betook himself to the timber-grove, where he sat + rapt into meditations on the Vision. He had read whatever came within his + reach, good, bad, or indifferent, and his conscious thoughts were always a + patchwork of phrases. When he was put to mind the shop he read the penny + weeklies. He was fresh from one of the works of J. F. Smith, the + un-remembered prose laureate of the <i>London Journal</i>, who would have + been reckoned a giant of invention if he had lived in these days, and a + sentence from his latest chapter got into Paul’s head and went round and + round: ‘There lay the fair, gifted, almost idolized girl.’ In Mr. Smith’s + moving page the fair, gifted, almost idolized girl was dying, and Paul did + not as yet know enough of the story-teller’s craft of that day to be sure + that she would recover in the next chapter. She mixed herself with the + lady of the sandy ringlets who had described him as a dirty boy, and the + pathos of the situation lent an added anguish to his thoughts. How + beautiful was the lady of the ringlets, how ethereal in aspect, how far + removed, how worshipful, how adorable! How refined was her voice, how + elegant her accent! She had spoken of him as a b’y, but that was a local + fashion, and Paul knew no better. She was far and far away—a being + of the skies, at once an aristocrat and an angel. He began to make verses + about her, of course—ghastly, fustian stuff, at the recollection of + which the Solitary shuddered, and then laughed. But from that day forward + Paul had spasmodic rages of personal cleanliness and adornment. + </p> + <p> + There was a jar of goose-oil always kept on the top of the baking-oven in + the back-kitchen, and, learning that goose-oil was an unfailing specific + for the growth of whiskers and moustache, he began to rub his lip and + cheeks with this unguent Many a time when he was left alone he lit a + candle, and getting his face between it and the mirror, tried to trace on + the outline a fringe of hair. He found an occasional momentary + satisfaction in burned cork, but the joy was futile, and impermanent. + </p> + <p> + He met the Vision in the street one day when he was carrying a parcel, and + the shame of his menial employment, and the sense of the coarseness of his + clothes made him long for the earth to open. The fact that the young + person did not know him, or look at him, or think about him, made no + difference. The young head was filled with absurd dreams. Sometimes he was + a prince in disguise. He was being bred up to know nothing of his + princedom, so that he might be splendidly and properly astonished when the + revelation came. At other times he recognised his lowly origin, and went + away into the boy’s Somewhere—a noble country full of beneficent + chances—and came back great and glorious, in gloves and + patent-leather boots, and a hat and moustache, and conquered the Vision + and married her. At other times he died, with his great heart unspoken, + and was buried in the parish churchyard. + </p> + <p> + But whilst he was full of all manner of ambitions and yearnings, and + dreams which nobody else in the wide world dreamed about, a family + conclave was held to decide what Paul should be. One Simmons, a dapper, + perky draper in the High Street, wanted a shop-boy, and Mrs. Armstrong was + for asking the place for Paul There was not a grain of ambition in the + household, and the melancholy fact was that there was no money to bind + Paul apprentice anywhere. But Paul would have none of the draper. He was + cuffed in corners by the maternal hand, but he held his own. He would run + away, he declared, he would drown himself, he would do anything rather + than submit to that. So finally he was turned into the ramshackle old + printing-office, where all his elder brothers had been before him, and + learned to sort pie, and to roll at press, and to sweep the floors, and to + blow old dusty type-cases clean. He wore a brown-paper apron tied about + his waist with string, and lived so obscured in printer’s ink, for which + he seemed to have a natural affinity, that he hardly looked like a white + boy at all. + </p> + <p> + He was still a liar, but he told his lies on paper now, and hid them. He + told them in prose and verse—prose which was measled with ‘Oh’s,’ + and ‘Alas’s,’ and full of great windblown phrases of bombast, like + inflated bladders, each with one little parched pea of meaning to rattle + inside it The verse was mainly such as might have been written by a + moderately illiterate absurd old man who had found life a vanity, and had + deserved his discovery. + </p> + <p> + There was one idle and worthless journeyman in the ramshackle office, and + one only. He kept the place like a pigsty, and the floor was littered with + boards on which unlocked formes of type fell about into confusion. Paul + could pick his way through these blindfold, and many and many a night in + the dark he raged out his verses, marching to and fro with the four big + dim windows staring dully at him, wall-eyed with countless paper patches, + seen as darker blots on the darkness. + </p> + <p> + One night he was there in hiding. He had played truant from Sunday-school + and chapel, and had been all day in the fields, hungry, but happy beyond + all dreaming. And, oh! the Sundays! the dreary, bestial days, with + Sunday-school at half-past nine and chapel at eleven, and Sunday-school at + half-past two and chapel at half-past six and family prayers at nine, and + bed at half-past nine, and books forbidden, and speech a crime, and + whistling a felony. Paul had broken loose, and knew not what to look for, + and cared little for the hour. For his head was full of verses, and his + heart was full of the summer day, and for the first time in his life he + had gone to Nature, and forgotten his thrice-thirty-times copied emotions, + and had dared to speak in his own voice. The lines he had made that day + were unutterably sacred and sweet to him. The dreaming Solitary, staring + down the gorge, heard the boy’s awestruck whisper, and, forgetting all the + rest of the verses, remembered this one only: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Why, all is happy! Not a worm that crawls, + Or grasshopper that chirps about the grass, + Or beetle basking on the sunny walls, + Or mail-clad fly that skims the face of glass + The river wears in summer;—not a bird + That sings the tranquil glory of the fields, + Or single sight is seen or sound is heard, + But some new pleasure to my full soul yields!’ +</pre> + <p> + Paul, standing there in the darkness, whispered this many times as if + struck with awe by it, and indeed the boy wondered, and thought it an + inspiration. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is poetry,’ said Paul ‘I am a poet—a poet—a poet!’ + </p> + <p> + He fell on his knees, with his face on his hands in the open quoin drawer, + feeling as if he had uttered a blasphemy. How long he was there he never + knew, but he was disturbed by the grating of a door below, and his + father’s voice called up the stairs: + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul! Where are ye?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Here, father,’ Paul answered + </p> + <p> + A sob met his voice half-way, and Armstrong came stumbling up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the matter, lad?’ he asked, in a tone between concern and + impatience. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why is’t ye’re here alaun?’ his father demanded ‘And whaur have ye been + the livelong day? And what are ye cryin’ for? + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing,’ said Paul again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re not such a fule,’ said Armstrong, ‘as to be cryin’ an’ hidin’ for + naething, an’ I’m not such a fule as to believe it.’ + </p> + <p> + He paused, but Paul made no reply. The old man struck a lucifer match and + lit the gas. The boy stood blinking in the light, his face stained with + tears, his eyelids red and a little swollen. To the father’s eye he looked + sullen and defiant Of course he was neither, but he was entirely hopeless + of being understood, and therefore helpless to explain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Noo, Paul,’ said Armstrong, with a severity which he felt to be + justified, ‘I’m goin’ to the bottom o’ this business. Ye’ve absented + yourself the haul day from the House o’ God. Ye’ve not been seen since + morning’s light, and it’s nigh-hand on midnight Whaur <i>have</i> ye been? + Answer me that at once, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the Hoarstone Fields,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘And wha’s been with ye, helping ye to desecrate God’s day?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody, father. I’ve been by myself all the while.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And what’s been your work, my lad?’ There was silence, and the silence + began to have a threat in it ‘I’m goin’ to the bottom o’ this affeer, + Paul,’ said the father. He meant that honestly, but he was not taking the + right way. ‘I’m not to be put off by ony lies or inventions. Ye’ve been + alaun in the Hoarstone Fields all day? What took ye there? And hoo have ye + passed the time? I’ll know!’ he added, after another long pause. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps there was nobody in the world who stood less chance of knowing, + but how should Armstrong have guessed that? He was a just man, and as + kind-hearted a father as might have been found within a hundred miles. If + he could have known the truth, he would not only have been disarmed, but + proud and glad. But Paul at this time had a holy terror of him. It grew to + a close and reverent affection later on, and there was such a confidence + between this pair as is not often found. But now? Paul would have suffered + anything rather than tell the truth. It was not that he would not. He + could not His tongue was fettered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Noo, Paul,’ said Armstrong. ‘Let’s have a luik at this. Ye’re not + supposin’ in your inmost mind that I’m in the least small degree likely to + believe the yarn ye’ve tauld me. Ye’ve been in the lonely fields all day, + doing naething and speaking to naebody. And for that ye’ve stayed away + from your meals, an’ noo ye’re in hiding like a creminal? It hasn’t an air + o’ pro-babeelity, Paul; it has <i>no</i> air o’ pro-babeelity. You see + that? + </p> + <p> + Paul saw it—quite as clearly as his father. But how was it to be + explained? Could Paul say, ‘My good sir, I am a boy of genius. I have been + filled with the Divine afflatus, and have been driven into solitude by my + own thoughts. I have been so held by dreams of beauty that I have + forgotten everything’? Could Paul offer that intolerable cheeky boast? And + yet to offer to explain was to do that, and nothing less than that. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vary well,’ said Armstrong. ‘Ye’ll go to your bed, and I’d advise ye to + thenk the matter over. I’ll gev ye till morning. But I’ll have the truth, + or I’ll know the reason why.’ + </p> + <p> + The gas went out under Armstrong’s thumb and finger on the tap, and in the + sudden darkness the gray, patient, reproachful face still burned in the + boy’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Father!’ said Paul, and stretching out both hands, he caught hold of him + by the sleeve. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well!’ answered Armstrong sternly. + </p> + <p> + He thought it his duty to be stern, but the tone killed the rising impulse + of courage in Paul’s heart He could have stammered a hint of the truth + then, and the darkness would have been friendly to him. A caress, a hand + on head or shoulder, would have done the business, but caresses were not + in fashion in the Armstrong household. There was another silence, and + Armstrong said: + </p> + <p> + ‘I gev ye till morning, and then Paul, my lad, ye’ll have yourself to + thank for what may happen. I’ll be at the bottom o’ this matter, or I’ll + know the reason why. I’m no friend to the rod, but I’ll not stand by + open-eyed an’ see you walkin’ straight to the deevil without an effort to + turn ye. An’ I’ll have naething less than a full confession. Ye may luik + for a flogging if I don’t get it, and a daily flogging till I do. For, my + lad, if I flay your back, and break my heart to do it, I’ll win at the + truth.’ + </p> + <p> + They went down the long dark garden together, and at the kitchen-door + Armstrong paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a sore thing,’ he said, ‘for a man to have to misuse his ain flesh + an’ blood. But ye’re not of an age to understand that. Remember, Paul, + this is not my seeking; but I’ll have the truth by foul means or fair. And + it’s just you to choose.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul entered the kitchen, and his mother was for instant justice, as she + saw it, but Armstrong intervened. + </p> + <p> + ‘This matter is in my hands,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + He was a very quiet and yielding man in many things, but when he chose to + speak in that way he made his word law. + </p> + <p> + Then came the lonely night. The wretched poet, a weedy lad who had + overgrown his strength, lay in bed and cried in anguish. He topped his + father by a head already, though he was but three months beyond his + fifteenth birthday, and if he had chosen to fight he might perhaps have + held his own. But a thought so impious never entered his mind. He was + helpless, and he lay blubbering, undignified, with a breaking heart. He + did not think much or often of the coming pain, but he brooded on the + indignity and injustice until he writhed with yelps of wrath and hatred + and agony of heart, and awoke Dick, who wanted to know what was the + matter, and was roughly sympathetic for a time, until, finding he could + make out nothing, he turned and went to sleep again. + </p> + <p> + There were black looks in the morning everywhere, for Paul was known to be + in deep disgrace again. He swallowed a cup of the thin, washy coffee—its + flavour of chicory and coarse brown sugar was nauseous on the palate of + the man at the tent door—and then his father, pale as himself, rose + amidst the affrighted boys and girls, and motioned him silently to the + sitting-room. This was a sort of family vault, with its scanty furniture + in grave-clothes, and a smell of damp disuse about it always, even in + summer-time. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are ye ready with the truth?’ asked Armstrong. Paul looked at him like a + dumb thing in a trap, but said never a word. ‘Very well,’ The gray man’s + hands shook and his voice, and his face was of the colour of gray paper. + ‘Go to the back-kitchen and strip.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul, dry-eyed, gloomy, and desperate, walked before, and his father + followed. The girls clung to each other. There had been no such scene as + this in the house for years. The tawse had hung idle even for Paul for + many and many a day. Armstrong took the instrument of justice from its + hook, and laid it on the table He took off his coat, and rolled up his + left shirt-sleeve. He was left-handed. The arm he bared was corded and + puny. It shook as if he had the palsy. His wife had a sudden pity for him, + and ran at him with a gush of tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘William,’ she said, ‘don’t break your heart for the young vil’in; he + isn’t worth it Oh, God! I wish he was no child o’ mine.’ + </p> + <p> + She dropped into a chair and cried. Armstrong passed out of the kitchen. + The girls listened, and Dick, chalky white, with his mouth open, as Paul + had seen him on his way through. They heard the swish, swish, swish of the + tawse, and not another sound but hard breathing for a full minute; then + Paul began to groan, and then to shriek. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ panted Armstrong, ‘shall I have the truth?’ + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, and he fell to again; but Paul turned and caught his + arm, and after an ineffectual struggle, the old man dropped the tawse and + walked into the kitchen. Paul dressed and sat on the table, quivering all + over. He sat there for hours, and nobody approached him until at last the + servant, with frightened eyes, came to make ready for dinner; then he got + up and went to his old refuge in the lumber-room. One of his sisters + brought him food after the family dinner-hour, but he refused it + passionately. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Paul,’ she said, clinging to him till he shook her from his writhing + shoulders, ‘why don’t you confess?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Confess what? snarled Paul. ‘Confess I was born into a family of fools + and nincompoops? That’s all I’ve got to confess.’ + </p> + <p> + He was left to himself all day, and at night he went un-chidden to the + larder, and helped himself to bread and cheese. He took a jug to the pump, + and coming back, ate his meal, standing amongst his people like an outlaw. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, Paul,’ said his father, ‘are ye in the mind to make a clean breast + of it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, ‘I’m not.’ + </p> + <p> + The defiance fell like a thunderbolt, and eyes changed with eyes all round + the room in horror and amazement. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ll see in the morning,’ Armstrong said. + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ answered Paul; and so finished his meal, and took his cap + from its hook behind the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are you going?’ cried his mother. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s my business,’ said Paul, breaking into sudden passionate defiance. + ‘What am <i>I</i> flogged like a dog for? <i>You</i> don’t know. There + isn’t one of you, from father down to George, who knows what I’ve been + doing. I can’t remember an hour’s fair play from the day that I was born. + Look here, father: you may take another turn at me to-morrow and next day, + you can come on every morning till I’m as old as you are, but you’ll never + get a word out of me. I’ve done no harm, and anybody with an ounce of + justice in him would prove something before he served his own flesh and + blood as you’ve served me.’ + </p> + <p> + He was in a rage of tears again, and every word he spoke was tuned to the + vulgar accent of his childhood. ‘Father’ was ‘feyther’ and ‘born’ was + ‘boorn.’ He did not speak like a poet, or look like one to whose full soul + all things yielded pleasure. These thoughts hit Paul, and he laughed loud + and bitterly, and went his way into the street. + </p> + <p> + The upshot of it was that Paul was flogged no more. Armstrong sickened of + the enterprise, and gave it up. + </p> + <p> + The lonely man was thinking of it all, seeing it all. Suddenly a voice + seemed to speak to him, and the impression was so astonishingly vivid that + before he knew he had answered it aloud. He started awake at the sound of + his own voice, and his skin crisped from head to heel. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no rancour, Paul, lad?’ the voice had said, or seemed to say. + </p> + <p> + ‘Rancour?’ he had answered, with a queer tender laugh. ‘You dear old dad!’ + </p> + <p> + For the first time the sense of an actual visitation rested with him, and + continued real. He felt, he knew, or seemed to know, that his father’s + soul was near. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Paul was standing in a room in the old house in Church Vale, the room in + which the fiddles hung around the wall in their bags of green baize. A + sound of laughter drew him to the kitchen, and he had to make his way + through a darkened narrow passage, with the up-and-down steps of which he + was not familiar. At the turn of the passage he came upon a picture. + </p> + <p> + To the man at the tent door it was as clear as if the bodily eye yet + rested upon it. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen floor was of cherry-red square bricks; the door was open to + the June sunlight, framing its scrap of landscape, with the windlass of + the well and the bucket overgrown with mosses and brimming with water + crystal clear, and there were flowering plants in the window, with leaves + and blossoms all translucent against the outer dazzle. The whole family + was gathered there: Uncle Dan, with his six feet of yeoman manhood, bald + and rufous-gray; Aunt Deborah, with her child’s figure and the kind old + face framed in the ringlets of her younger days; the girls and the boys, a + houseful of them, ranging in years from six-and-twenty to four or five, + and every face was puckered with laughter, and every hand and voice + applauded. In their midst was a stranger to Paul, a girl of eighteen, who + marched up and down the room with a half-flowered foxglove in her hand. + She carried it like a sabre at the slope, and her step was a burlesque of + the cavalry stride. She issued military orders to an imaginary contingent + of troops, and her contralto voice rang like a bell. Her upper lip was + corked in two dainty black lines of moustache, and on her tumbled and + untidy curls she had perched a shallow chip strawberry-pottle, which sat + like a forage-cap. + </p> + <p> + ‘Carry—so! she sang out; and at that instant, discerning a stranger, + she turned, with bent shoulders and a swift rustle of skirts, and skimmed + into the back garden. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you silly!’ cried one of the girls; ‘it’s only Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + She came back, and as she passed the old moss-grown bucket she bent to it + and scooped up a palmiul of water, and washed away the moustache of burnt + cork; then, with a coquettish lingering in her walk, she came in, patting + her lips with her apron, her roguish head still decorated with the + strawberry-pottle. Her eyes sparkled with an innocent baby devilry, but + the rest of her face was as demure as a Quakeress’s bonnet Her hair was of + an extraordinary fineness and plenty, and as wayward as it was fine, so + that with the shadow of the doorway round her, and the bright sunlight in + every thread of it, it burned like a halo. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul?’ she said, pausing in front of him, and looking from a level right + into his eyes, whilst her rosy little hands smoothed her apron. ‘Is Paul a + cousin, too?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course he is,’ said the girl who had called her back; ‘he’s our first + cousin, Paul is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is he,’ she asked, with demure face and dancing eye—’ is he—in + a kissing relationship?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Try him, my wench,’ said Paul’s uncle. + </p> + <p> + She bunched her red lips for a kiss, like a child, and advanced her head. + Paul’s face was like a peony for colour, but he pouted his lips also, and + bent to meet hers. When they had almost met, she drew her head back with a + demure shake and a look of doubt The kitchen rang with laughter at Paul’s + hangdog discomfiture. The innocent, wicked, tantalizing eye mocked him, + and he was awhirl with shame; but he found in the midst of it a desperate + courage, and, throwing one arm around her neck, he kissed her full on the + lips with a loud rustic smack. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, with a face of horrified rebuke, all but the eyes, which + fairly danced with mirth and mischief, ‘if that’s Castle Barfield manners, + I’d better go home again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Quite right, Paul,’ said Paul’s uncle. ‘Stand none o’ their nonsense, + lad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, but, uncle,’ said she, ‘you <i>would</i> think him milder to look at + him—now, wouldn’t ee?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul knew the speech of the local gentry, he knew his father’s Ayrshire + accent, and his own yokel drawl; but this new cousin spoke an English + altogether strange to his ears, and it sounded fairylike. He stared in + foolish worship. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d better know who you be,’ said Paul’s uncle, ‘and shake hands. This + is your grand-uncle’s grand-niece, Paul. May Gold her name is. May, my + darlin’, this is Paul Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand, and Paul took it shyly in his own. He had very + rarely touched a hand which was not roughened more or less by labour. The + warm, soft pressure tightened on his own hard palm for an instant only, + but he tingled from head to foot as if he had touched something electric. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’-she said, ‘this is Uncle Armstrong’s little boy? She was by two + years his senior, and for a girl she was tall; but he was more than on a + level with her so far as mere height went, and the phrase cut him at the + heart. She took the strawberry-pottle from her head with both hands, as if + it had been a crown, and laid it on the kitchen dresser. ‘I’ve heard my + father talk of his father five hundred times. My father thinks no end of + Uncle Armstrong. He says that for a man of learning he never met anybody + one half so sensible.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul fell head over heels in love with the pretty cousin from Devonshire. + That is to say, he fell in love with his own dreams about her, and they + were sweet enough for any lad to fall in love with. She sang and she + played, she brimmed over with accomplishment, which was all rustic enough, + no doubt, but angel-fine to Paul, and exotic, and not like anything within + his knowledge. She played and she sang that afternoon, and never again had + Paul’s ears drunk in such tones of heaven. + </p> + <p> + He went home in an ecstasy of delight and anguish. How beautiful she was! + what a grace enveloped her! Her very name was a ravishment—a name of + spring and flowers and pure bright skies. May! He dared to whisper it, and + he tingled from head to heel. His heart fondled it: May! May! May! and, + with inexpressible vague, sweet longing, May! once more. Then her hair! + then her voice! then the rosy softness of her hand! then, with hideous + revulsion, from her perfections to himself! The gulf of shame! His boots + were an epic of despair, his necktie was a tragedy. Then back to her with + all the graces of the heavens upon her! Then back to himself again, and + the deep damnation of the button which was missing from his waistcoat Paul + was a poet, and should have had a soul above buttons; but before the + phantom of that missing button his soul grovelled, until it sprang up once + more to hover round her foot, her hand, her eyes, her voice, her name of + May! May! May! and, with shudders of frostiest self-reproach and richest + pleasure, round the memory of that kiss! + </p> + <p> + In a week or two Paul had grown devoutly religious, and had no idea of the + real why. The Church Vale cousins were ardent churchgoers, for the girls + were at the time of life for ardour, and both the Vicar and his Curate + were unmarried. Paul, whose proper place of Sabbath boredom was Ebenezer, + was welcome as a proselyte, and had a seat in the family pew, and the + rapture of walking homeward sometimes by the side of the feminine magnet. + </p> + <p> + So the dweller at the tent door sees himself at church, a pious varier + from chapel. The July sunbeams are falling through stained glass; the + roof-beams of the nondescript old building are half visible in shadow. The + windows are open, and a warm, spiced wind flutters through in pleasantly + successful disputation with odours of dry-rot and chilly earth and stone. + The sheep are bleating amongst the mounded graves, and the curate is + bleating at the lectern. A yearning peace is in Paul’s heart, and the + pretty distant cousin is near at hand, with a smell of dry lavender in her + dress. The first twining of feeling and belief is here, the earliest of + many of those juggleries of Nature which make a fool of reason. Oh, sweet + hour! oh, happy world! oh, holy place, where she is! Oh, harmless, + innocent calf-love! A jolly old throstle is singing away in the elm which + overhangs the parson’s gate. There is a disembodied skylark voice + somewhere high up in the mare’s-tail clouds which veil the earth from too + much heat and brightness; and the young heart is unhardened and unspotted + from the world. + </p> + <p> + And oh! oho! the elysium of the summer mornings, when Dick and Paul, and + the cousins, male and female, rose at four and strayed with their Devonian + angel through lanes and fields as far as Beacon Hargate, gathering wild + flowers and calling at the farm for milk. There are no more such flowers, + there is no more such air, no more such merry sunshine; there is no such + nectar any more as foamed in the shining pail. + </p> + <p> + On the way from Church Vale to Beacon Hargate there is a brook, which now + runs ink and smells of evil, and in those days flowed so clear that you + could count the parcel-coloured pebbles at the bottom, through water which + was sometimes pellucid as diamond, and sometimes of a cairngorm colour. + The arched pathway over it, with its weather-stained, square-cut timber + guards at either side, was called June Bridge, and above and below the + bridge, in curved hollows of the banks where the bed of the brook was + earthy, water-lilies floated, sliding with the stream, and tugging back on + their oozy anchorage. Paul found his goddess leaning on this bridge, + watching the lilies, and began to hum whilst he was yet out of hearing, + </p> + <p> + ‘May, on June bridge, in July weather,’ and to make a song in his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can ee swim, Paul?’ asked his goddess. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ said Paul, ‘I can swim right enough. Want them lilies?’ She + nodded, smiling. ‘I’ll get ‘em for you.’ + </p> + <p> + He climbed the bridge, and dropped into the meadow. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll wait for ee,’ said May, and sauntered on out of sight. + </p> + <p> + Paul stripped and dived, came up with a shake of the head, and swam + down-stream. He reached the water-lilies in a dozen strokes, laid a hand + on the stalk of one in passing, and tugged at it. The stem proved to be + tougher than he had guessed, and he dropped his feet to find bottom. He + was out of his depth, but he set both hands low and twisted at the stem. + This took him under water, but he came up smiling triumph, threw his prize + into the meadow, and paddled round the group on an outlook for the finest + blooms. One in the very middle of the floating bed was fresh and flawless, + and he swam for it. A number of cold weedy things were round his legs at + once, and before he knew it he was thickly meshed. The slimy touch sent an + unpleasant thrill through him, but he had no sense of fear as yet He + wrenched off the bloom he had aimed for, and again he went under water. + Then he found he could not rise, and a sudden spasm of terror shook him. + He struggled madly, and the pulses in his head beat like bells. Just when + the case seemed desperate, and he felt as if he must take breath or die, + something gave way. He surged upward, and got one great gulp of air. His + senses came back to him, and the terror died away. He threw himself upon + his back and paddled, and, keeping his face above water thus, he tried + artrully and slowly to extricate his legs from the net which held them. A + minute went by, and he was bound as fast as ever. Instinct told him that + another struggle meant ruin, and yet instinct bade him struggle. He set + his teeth and paddled softly. How long could he last like this? he asked + himself; and at that instant he seemed to find an answer. The attitude in + which he floated was becoming rapidly more and more upright. There was a + sinking weight upon his feet. + </p> + <p> + At this he shrieked for help, but he paddled softly and without hurry all + the same. He listened as well as he could for the beating in his ears. The + fields seemed deserted, but he called again. He closed his eyes and + listened, paddling softly, with set teeth. He was nearly upright in the + water now, and the weight still dragged But there was yet an inch or two + to spare, and he was resolved to make the most of his chances. He called + for help again, and a voice answered him petulantly from the bank. + </p> + <p> + ‘You silly toad!’ said the pretty cousin. ‘What do you want to frighten me + like that for?’ ‘I’m drowndin’!’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not you!’ said the pretty cousin. She made a movement of disdain, and + turned away; but Paul yelled at her with a fear so vivid that she turned + again with a white face, and fell upon her knees. ‘Oh, Paul,’ she cried, + ‘are ee really drownin’?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I am,’ said Paul doggedly. ‘These blasted weeds is pullin’ me down. + Be quick! Tie that there lace thing to your parasawl, and shy it to me. + Look slippy, or it’ll be all up with me. Hold your end tight. Now, shy! + Pull now! Gently—gently.’ + </p> + <p> + He reached the bank, and gripped it with both hands. There was no need to + say that he had had a fright. His wide eyes and the colour of his face + said that. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can ee get out now?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul; ‘I’m anchored.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll pull ee out,’ said she, rising to her feet; and Paul thrust one hand + towards her. She took him by the wrist, stuck both heels in the crisp + turf, and pulled. Paul set an elbow on the brink, and strained upwards + with all his might Something sucked out of the stream-bed, and the waters + went muddy. ‘You’re coming!’ cried May, and gave a haul which was meant to + be victorious; but Paul still hung like a log. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s about a ton of it,’ said Paul. ‘It’s tied like ropes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Gimme t’other hand,’ returned young Devon. ‘I’ll pull ee out if I dies + for’t.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul surrendered the other hand, and she pulled. There was another suck at + the bottom of the stream, and Paul came up by a foot. She went backwards + for a new vantage-ground, and pulled again, and Paul came to bank, clothed + from the waist downward in water-lily leaf and weed, and lay face + downwards helpless on the turf at her feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ she said tartly, ‘you’re not goin’ to faint, I hope!’ Paul said + nothing. ‘Like a girl,’ she added, with disdain. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not me,’ answered Paul, with his nose in the turf. ‘What have I got to + feint for?’ + </p> + <p> + He asked the question with feeble scorn, and fainted. + </p> + <p> + May Gold stooped to a basket which lay near her, and, taking from it a + pair of garden scissors, knelt beside Paul, and began to snip his bonds. + He woke to find her thus engaged, and a virginal sweet sense of shame + filled him. Her fingers touched his skin at times, and he tingled with a + soft fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nobody’d think it from they grimy paws,’ said May Gold to herself; ‘but + he’ve got a skin as fair as a maid’s.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul heard the words, and shuddered exquisitely as she laid her soft warm + hand on his shoulder, leaning over him, and slicing away at the withes in + a business-like fashion. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll finish that,’ he said tremulously. + </p> + <p> + ‘La,’ she cried, ‘the child’s awake all the time! There’s the scissors; + I’ll go and wait in the lane.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul lay still for a moment listening to the rustle of her dress; and when + it had gone out of hearing he rolled over, and with a shaking hand began + to free himself of the remnant of his bonds. He had not, so far, had time + to think of the imminent peril from which he had escaped. He had been near + death. Death! What a grip at the heartstrings! He had had his second of + terror in the fact, but the fact was nothing like the looking back on it + There was no urgent fear now to compel him to the restraint of cowardice, + and at this instant he was coward from scalp to sole—from heart to + skin coward. The peril escaped was a thousand times more horrible than the + peril endured, and he quailed now that the danger was over. + </p> + <p> + All his thoughts and half his feelings had hurried for weeks past towards + prayer. In his extremity he had not prayed or thought of praying. A cool, + self-centred, self-preserving something in his mind had taught him to + command all his own forces for one purpose. Would he have been damned if + he had lost the power to pray before that cunning mentor of the flesh + deserted him? + </p> + <p> + He dressed lingeringly and feebly, and when he had done so he went back to + the tangle of water-weeds he had left on the river-bank. There were a + dozen of the lovely waxlike blooms amongst them, uninjured. He snipped + them away with the scissors, and, climbing the stile with heavy feet, + surrendered them to May. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she said shrilly, ‘take ‘em away! I couldn’t bear to look at ‘em!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Take ‘em,’ said Paul. ‘They jolly nigh cost me my life.’ + </p> + <p> + Before he answered (or before she caught the meaning of his answer) she + had flung them into the roadway; but at the instant when she understood + him she made a dart at them, gathered them all together in her hands, and + sped to the brookside. There she lay at length upon the turf, and washed + the blooms in the flowing water. Then she gathered long tough grasses, and + looped them together until she had made a cord, with which she bound the + waxen posy. Paul followed and sat near, languidly propped on one hand to + watch her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul Armstrong,’ said May, and he knew at once by this manner of address + that she was going to be severe with him, ‘I’d no idea you was so wicked.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ Paul answered defensively, ‘I ain’t wicked—not over and + above.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re a very wicked boy indeed,’ she said. ‘You was in danger of your + life—there’s no mistake about that, though at first I didn’t believe + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s nothing wicked in that,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah 1’ she cried, her little white teeth gripping one end of the grassy + cord whilst she wound the other about the stems of the water-lilies, ‘I + can see you know what I mean. Using bad language in the very face of death + and danger! I wonder you wasn’t drowned for a judgment.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, come,’ Paul answered. ‘I didn’t use bad language.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, yes, you did, though,’ she retorted. ‘And I’m not going to be friends + with a boy as talks like that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not friends!’ said Paul. ‘Why, May?’ He spoke in an accent of incredulous + reproach. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m properly shocked, I tell ee. I’m never going to be + friends again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If I thought that was goin’ to be true,’ said Paul, ‘do you know what I’d + do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, I don’t,’ she answered, ‘and I don’t want to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d hull myself into that brook this minute and never come out again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d do what? she asked. + </p> + <p> + To ‘hull’ is to hurl in the dialect Paul spoke in youth. The word was + strange to her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d throw myself into that brook this minute, and never come out again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you wicked boy!’ she cried, but her eyes sparkled with triumph. She + quenched the sparkle. ‘It <i>is</i> true; and after that piece of + wickedness, it’s truer than ever.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul rose to his feet; his face was white, and his eyes stared as they had + done when she had just rescued him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye, May,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye,’ she answered coolly. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re never goin’ to be friends any more, May?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said, but rose to her feet with a shriek, for Paul had taken two + swift paces, and had plunged back into the brook, clothes and all. ‘Paul!’ + she shrilled after him. ‘Paul! Don’t ee drown. Don’t ee now. Don’t, don’t, + don’t, don’t, don’t ee!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul stood shoulder-deep in the stream, and she besought him from the bank + with clasped hands and frightened eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Goin’ to be friends,’ said Paul grimly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ she cried. ‘Come out, do, there’s a dear!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul reached the bank in a stroke, and climbed back into the meadow. The + instant he gained his feet she rushed at him and boxed his ears furiously. + Paul laughed with pleasure. He had had his head punched by every fighting + peer within a mile of home, and the soft little hands fell like a sort of + fairy snowflakes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you wicked, wicked, wicked boy!’ she raged, stamping her foot at him. + ‘You can go in again as soon as ee want to. <i>I</i> won’t be so fullish + as to call ee out.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘D’ye mean it?’ asked Paul, suddenly grim again. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said, fawning on him with her hands, but doing it at a distance + for fear of his wet clothes. ‘But, Paul, child, you’ll catch your death. + Run home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not a child,’ said Paul. ‘I’m within two years as old as you are, + May. I say, May———’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, do run home!’ she coaxed him. ‘Do ee, now, Paul, for my sake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m off,’ said Paul. ‘Ask me anything like that, and I’ll walk into fire + <i>or</i> water.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, Paul,’ said the little Vanity, turning her face down, and looking up + at him past her beautiful lashes and arched brows, ‘whatever makes you + talk like that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because it’s the simple truth,’ said Paul ‘You try me, May.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But why is it the simple truth?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Because——’ said Paul fiercely, and then stopped dead. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, that’s no answer,’ she said, with a little sway of her hips. She kept + her eye upon him, but turned her head slightly aside. She might have + practised glance and posture all her life and made them no more telling. + But Paul’s teeth were beginning to chatter, and she was alarmed. ‘Don’t + stop to tell me now,’ she said, and seeing that he was about to protest, + she added swiftly: ‘Come and tell me to-night, Paul, won’t ee, now? And + run home now, Paul, do, there’s a dear. Run, and then you won’t catch cold—to + please me, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + So Paul ran, and ran himself into a glow, and felt as if the fire of + comfort in his heart would have warmed the Polar regions. Until time and + experience taught him better, he always wanted a big word for even the + least of themes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Man,’ said old Armstrong once (but that was years later), ‘ye’d borrow + the lungs of Gargantua to sing the epic of a house-fly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, dad,’ said Paul; ‘that’s a capital imitation of my style,’ and they + both chuckled affectionately. + </p> + <p> + But now his mind was a mere firework of interjections—squibs, bombs, + and rockets of ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ah!’ and ‘Now!’ and ‘She’ll listen! and ‘She’ll + despise me!’ He was within a month of sixteen, and he was in receipt of + sixpence a week as pocket-money, but the second fact was to be no more + durable than the first. He could neither stay at sixteen nor at the + sixpence. Time would take care of the one event, and Paul of the other. An + immediate marriage, perhaps even an early marriage, was out of question. + It might be necessary to wait for years. There was a fortune to be made, + of course, and though it might come by some rare chance to-morrow, it + might, on the other hand, take time. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve got to be practical,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + Whether Paul were a greater ass than most imaginative boys of his years + may be a question, but he was as serious about this matter as if he had + been eight-and-twenty, and when he reached home he had been rejected and + had died of it, and accepted and married many times over. He got into his + working clothes after a thorough rub down, and, except for a touch of + languor, was none the worse for his morning’s adventure. Armstrong was out + on business for the day, and in the drowsy afternoon Paul laid an old + press blanket on the office floor, took a ream of printing-paper for a + pillow, and slept like a top. This made an end of languor, and when the + hour of freedom struck, he ran down the weedy garden and raced upstairs to + his attic-chamber, and there attired himself in his best. These were days + when the cheapest of cheap dandies wore paper cuffs and collars, then + newly discovered, and Paul made himself trim in this inexpensive fashion. + He had spent half an hour at his ablutions before leaving the office, and + walked towards his rendezvous all neat and shining. + </p> + <p> + May met him at the door with a finger on her lips and a pretty air of + mystery. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve had to fib about ee. Uncle Dan saw you run past all wet this + morning, and he asked. I had to tell him something. I said you fell in + trying to reach them watter-lilies. I didn’t want your own uncle to know + your wickedness.’ + </p> + <p> + There was not time for more, for Uncle Dan himself appeared at this + moment. + </p> + <p> + ‘None the worse for your duckin’, eh, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re goin’ to have a bit of music, lad. Come in and sit down, if you’ve + a mind to it.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul half welcomed and half resented the putting off of the decisive + moment He was in a dreadful nervous flutter, his hopes alternately flying + like a flag in a high wind, and drooping in a sick abandonment of + everything. And May was more ravishing than ever. She had stuck the stem + of a rose in one little ear like a pen, and the full flower itself nestled + drooping at her cheek. There was never anything in the world more demure + than her face and her manner, but the frolic eye betrayed her mood now and + then, and Paul was half beside himself at every furtive smile she shot at + him. A local tenor, the pride of the church choir, was there, and May and + he sang duets together, amongst them ‘Come where my love lies dreaming.’ + Paul’s heart obeyed the call with a virgin coyness, and his thoughts stole + into some dim-seen shadowed sanctuary, some place of silence where the + feet fell soft, and a pale curtain gleamed, and where behind the curtain + lay something so sacred that he dared not draw the veil, even in fancy. + ‘Her beauty beaming,’ sang the local tenor. ‘Her beauty beaming,’ May’s + voice carolled. Heaven, how it beamed! The boy’s emotion choked him. If + shame had not lent him self-control, he would have broken into tears + before them all. + </p> + <p> + The musical hour wore away, and the local tenor had a supper engagement, + and must go. May slid from the room, and soon after her voice was heard + calling ‘Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come here a minute,’ she said. ‘I want to speak to ee.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul stumbled out, blind and stupid. She was standing at the open door + with some gauzy white stuff loosely folded over her hair and drawn over + her bosom. The July moon was at the full, and low in the heavens. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look at that,’ she said, and Paul looked. + </p> + <p> + The four poplars clove the intense dark blue, but not so loftily as in his + first remembrance of them. The street was quiet Not a sound disturbed the + humming spicy silence of the summer night Paul turned from that sweet + intoxication to her face. She smiled at him, and his heart seemed to + swoon. He did not know till later, but she suffered from some very slight + tenderness of the eyes which made them shrink from too much light, and he + had never seen her in her full beauty until this moment, when they seemed + so large and deep that he could scarcely bear to look at them. She had a + hat in her hand, and she held it out to him, still smiling, but so + dreamily, so unlike herself, that he could but look and tremble and + wonder. He took the hat mechanically, and saw that it was his own. He + thought himself dismissed, and his heart changed from a soft ethereal fire + to cold lead. + </p> + <p> + ‘Auntie!’ she called—‘Aunt Deb ‘Me and Paul’s goin’ to take a bit of + a walk. I’ve got to give him a lecture.’ + </p> + <p> + Some affectionate assenting answer came, and May floated into the + moonlight, across the street, and into a shady alley which lay between two + high-hedged gardens; then into moonlight again, across another road, + through a clinking turnstile, and into a broad field, where Paul had + played many a game of cricket before and after working hours. From here + the open country gleamed, mystic and strange; every hill and dale + familiar, and all unlike themselves, as a friend’s ghost might be unlike + the living friend. + </p> + <p> + Her first words jarred his dream to pieces. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re a funny boy, Paul. After all that fullishness of yours this + morning I met your brother Dick. He gave me something. I’ve got it here + this minute. I want to know if it belongs to you—really. Dick says + it’s all your very own, but I don’t more’n half believe him. I say you + must have copied it out of some book. Now, di’n’t ee?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Paul huskily. ‘What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a piece of poetry,’ she said. ‘Can you make poetry?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I try sometimes,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + It cost an effort to answer. He wanted her to know, and he shrank from her + knowing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you make this?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll tell it.’ + </p> + <p> + She spoke the lines prettily, and put away her rustic accent, all but the + music: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Down in the West dwells my lady Clare: + Blow, O balmy wind, from the West! + Bathe me in odours of her hair, + Bring me her thoughts ere she fell to rest! + + ‘“Beam, O moon, through her casement bars; + Bathe in thy glory her glorious hair: + Keep guard over her, sentinel stars; + Watch her and keep her, all things fair!”’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘You didn’t make that up out of your own head, did ee, Paul? + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + Here was his divinity reciting the lines with which she herself had + inspired him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, couldn’t ee make a piece of poetry about me?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + Paul’s heart gave one great thump at his breast and stopped. + </p> + <p> + ‘That was about you,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, you silly boy,’ she said, ‘you’ve got the name wrong. But oh, Paul, + ain’t ee beginning very young? Askin’ for maids’ thoughts afore they go to + sleep! Mine, too! You’ll be a regular gallows young reprobate afore you’re + much older. That I’m sure of.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a trembling wish deep down in his heart that she had left this + unsaid, but how could he be so disloyal as to let it float to the surface? + He drowned it deep, but it was there. She had misunderstood. She read him + coarsely, not as the May of his dreams had read him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, you write something about me, will ee, Paul?—something in my + own name. Will ee?’ Paul made no answer for the moment, for the request + fairly carried him off his balance. ‘Will ee, now?’ she asked, bringing + her face in front of his. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he half sighed, half panted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here’s a stile,’ she said, springing forward with a happy gurgle of a + laugh. The laugh to Paul’s ear was as musical as the sad chuckle of the + nightingale, and as far from sorrow as its one rival is from mirth. There + was <i>camaraderie</i> in it, sympathy, a touch even of something + confidential. ‘Now, well sit down here together, and you shall make it + up.’ + </p> + <p> + She perched on the stile as light as a perching bird, and drew her lithe + figure on one side to make room for Paul. The stile was narrow, and there + was barely room for two. Paul hesitated shyly, but she patted the seat in + a pretty assumption of impatience, and he obeyed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she said, sliding an arm behind him, and taking hold of the + side-post. ‘What was it ee wanted to tell this morning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This morning?’ said Paul stupidly. It is one thing to resolve to be + courageous in battle. It may be another thing when the fight begins. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, I’m sure you haven’t forgot already,’ she said. ‘Here! You catch + hold of the post on my side. Then we shall be comfortable.’ She swayed + forward to make easier for him the movement she advised, and her whole + figure from ankle to shoulder touched him lightly. He obeyed, and she + swung back again, nestling into the curve of his arm. ‘That’s nice, isn’t + it? Now, what was ee going to tell?’ Paul had not a word to say for + himself. If he had ever had the audacity to picture anything in his own + mind like this present truth, he would have thought it certain to be + deliriously happy; but as a matter of fact he was miserable, and felt + himself at the clumsiest disadvantage. ‘You said,’ she murmured, half + reproachfully, you’d go through fire <i>or</i> water for me, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘So I would,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why? she asked, nestling a little nearer. ‘Why, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I would,’ said he, rather sulkily than otherwise. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why?’ She swayed forward again, and looked into his face. Her breath + fanned his cheek. Her eyes were wide open and looked into his almost + mournfully. ‘Why?’ Her glance hypnotized him. ‘Why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I love you,’ he said, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do ee? she cooed. ‘Oh, you silly Paul! What for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘There never was anybody as lovely as you are.’ + </p> + <p> + The words seemed to slide from him, apart from his will. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you silly Paul Am I lovely?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lovely? sighed Paul, and tangled his eyes in hers more and more. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll make up that piece of poetry about me, won’t ee, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + The word was just audible, a breath, no more. + </p> + <p> + ‘You dear!’ she said; and, leaning nearer and yet nearer to him, she laid + her lips on his. They rested there for one thrilling instant, and then she + drew back an inch or two only. ‘Make it up about that,’ she said, looking + point blank into his eyes. Paul drooped his head and the lips met again, + and fastened. A delicate fire burned him, and he curled his arm about her + waist, and drew her to him. She yielded for one instant, and then slipped + away with a panting laugh. ‘Oh, Paul?’ she said; ‘you really are too + dreadful for anything! Fancy! A mere child like you. I should like to know + what Mr. Filmer’d say if ever he knew I’d let ee do that.’ + </p> + <p> + By one of those curious intuitions to which the mind is open at times of + profound excitement, Paul knew what her answer would be, but he asked the + question. At first his voice made no sound; but he cleared his throat and + spoke dryly, and in a tone of commonplace: + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is Mr. Filmer?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Filmer’s the gentleman I’m going to be married to,’ said May. ‘He’s a + very jealous temper, and I shouldn’t like him to know I’d been flirting, + even with a child like you.’ + </p> + <p> + It was all over. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Paul survived. He left the church, and returned with a doubtful allegiance + to Ebenezer. He joined the singing-class there, for his voice had suddenly + grown harsh and deep, and he conceived himself to be a basso. The parish + swarmed with vocal celebrities, and he would be one of them. He made his + first visit to the class, and got there early. + </p> + <p> + Came in two young ladies in hoops, with pork-pie hats and hair done up in + bags of chenille. The like figures may be seen in the drawings of John + Leech, <i>circa</i> 1860. Each young lady had a curved nose. One nose + curved inward at the bridge, and the other outward at the bridge, and if + the curves had been set together they would have fitted with precision. + Came in a lean lady with a purse mouth, rather open—looking like an + empty voluntary-bag. Came in a stout lady, like a full voluntary-bag, the + mouth close shut with a clasp. Came in a gentleman with shining rabbit + teeth, smiling as if for a wager. Came in a gentleman with a deep bass + voice consciously indicated in the carriage of his head—the voice + garrotting him, as it were, rather high up in the collar. Came in a + gentleman with heavy movable eyebrows, which looked too big for the + limited playground a very small forehead afforded. Came in a small + apoplectic man, bald and clean-shaven, and red and angry in the face, like + an ill-conditioned baby. Came in ladies and gentlemen who smirked and + slid; ladies and gentlemen who loitered, and were sheepish when by hazard + they caught an eye; ladies and gentlemen crammed to suffocation with a + sense of their own importance; ladies and gentlemen miserably overwhelmed + with a sense of the importance of other people. + </p> + <p> + Paul knew every one of them, and had known them from childhood; and + somehow they were all transformed from commonplace, and dignified into a + comedy which was at once sympathetic and exquisitely droll. His narrow + world had widened; his neighbours had sprung alive. His heart was tickled + with a genial laughter, and his mirth tasted sweet to him, like a mellow + apple. He could have hugged the crowd for sheer delight. + </p> + <p> + The conductor of the singing-class weeded Paul out at the close of the + first glee, and brought his musical ambitions to an end. + </p> + <p> + ‘Theer are at least twelve notes in an ordinary singin’ voice,’ said the + conductor, ‘and theer ought to be eight half-tones scattered in among ‘em, + somewheer. You’ve got two notes at present, and one’s a squeak and + t’other’s a grumble. I think you might find a more advantageous empl’yment + for your time elsewheer.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul submitted to this verdict with high good-humour. He retired to the + far end of the schoolroom, and sat out ‘the practice’ with a growing sense + of pleasure. He exulted in the possession of a new sense which made all + these people lovable. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now I’ve found this out,’ said Paul to himself, ‘I shall never be lonely + any more. There’ll always be summat to think about—summat with a + relish in it.’ + </p> + <p> + He must needs, of course, try to get the relish on paper, and he wrote a + great deal of boyish stuff in flagrant imitation of Dickens, and hid it, + jackdaw-like, in such places as he could find. In the slattern old office + where Paul was learning more or less to be a workman at his trade there + was no such thing as a ceiling. Frayed mortar, with matted scraps of + cow-hair in it, used to fall frequently into the type-cases whenever a + high wind shook the crazy slates, and, to obviate this, some contriving + person had nailed a number of sheets of brown paper to the rafters. Paul’s + hiding-place for his literary work was above these sheets of paper, and + one day when old Armstrong stood by his side, a tintack gave way beneath + the superincumbent weight, and the whole bundle of scraps in verse and + prose fell at the author’s feet Armstrong stooped for it, and Paul went + red and white, and his legs shook beneath him. There was an upturned box + by the side of the cracked and blistered old stove which warmed the room + in winter, and Armstrong went to it and sat down to untie his bundle. The + author had never had any confidences with anybody, and his father was one + of the last people in the world to whom he would have dared to make appeal + for advice or help. In his agitation he went on pecking at the case of + type before him, and setting the stamps on end at random, inside out and + upside down, and in any progression chance might order. The old man + coughed, and Paul dropped his composing-stick into the space-box with a + clatter, and spilt its contents there. Armstrong slipped the string which + bound the roll of papers, and began to glance over his discovery. Paul + felt as if the ramshackle building had been out at sea. + </p> + <p> + ‘M’m,’ said Armstrong, with the merest dry tick of a tone which seemed to + express inquiry and surprise. Paul started as if an arrow had gone through + him, and dropped his composing-stick a second time. ‘Ye’re very clumsy, + there, my lad,’ said the old man. ‘What’s happening?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul made no answer, and the father went back to his papers. + </p> + <p> + ‘“Bilsby,”’ the old man hummed, half aloud, ‘“Bilsby is fat—fat with + the comfortable fatness which has grown about him in the course of + five-and-forty years of perfect self-approval. Bilsby is not great, or + good, or magnanimous, or wise, or wealthy, or of long descent, or + handsome, or admired; but he is happy. He gets up with Bilsby in the + morning, has breakfast, dinner, tea and supper with him, and goes to bed + with him at night. If Bilsby had a choice—and Bilsby hasn’t—he + would make no change. He has himself to feed on—an immortal feast He + sits at that eternal board, before that unfailing dish, which grows the + more he ruminates upon it. Fat of the fat, sweet of the sweet is Bilsby to + Bilsby’s palate. What will become of Bilsby when he dies? There can be no + heaven for Bilsby, for he would have to hymn another glory there; There + can be no fate of pain, for even if the Devil take him, there will still + be Bilsby, and that fact alone would keep him happy.” + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s all this rampant wickedness, y’ irreverent dog?’ asked Armstrong. + ‘This is your writing, isn’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir,’ said Paul, feeling his throat harsh and constricted like a + quill. + </p> + <p> + Armstrong said no more, but rolling up the bundle and sliding the knotted + string once more about it, put it in his pocket and walked downstairs. + Paul hardly dared to meet him at the mid-day dinner, but he put the best + face he could upon the matter—a very pale and disturbed face it was—and + presented himself at table. Nothing was said. The gray man sat with his + book propped up against the bread-basket, as usual, and ate without + knowing what passed his lips. The meal over, he took his arm-chair by the + kitchen fire, and lit his pipe, and read with the cat perched on his + shoulder. Mrs. Armstrong went to mind the shop, the rest of the family + dispersed to their various avocations, and Paul sat still, listening to + the ticking of the clock, and awaiting the stroke of two to take him back + to work. He felt as if it would be cowardice to go earlier, but he was + unhappy, and would willingly have been elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Armstrong reached out his hand towards the table and set down his + book. Then from the coat-pocket where Paul had plainly seen it bulging he + drew the roll of manuscript. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ said the old man, ‘I’ve been readin’ this farrago, and the less + that’s said about it the better. I obsairve that the main part of it’s + devoted to the exaggerated satire of your neighbours. That’s a spirit I’m + sorry to notice in ye, and I regret to see that ye’re already looking + sulky at rebuke. The vairse,’ pursued Armstrong, ‘is mainly sickly, + whining, puling stuff, as far away from Nature and experience as it’s + easily possible to be. Now, I invite ye. Listen to this.’ + </p> + <p> + He began to read with a fine disdain: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Come not when I am dead + To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave.”’ +</pre> + <p> + Paul averted his head, and set one hand before his face. Months ago, when + May Gold’s perfidy was a new thing, and the whole world was darkened, he + had copied these lines from the Poet Laureate with tears, and they had + seemed to him a perfect expression of himself. The old man ground out the + lines with increasing scorn, and Paul began to grin, and then to shake + with suppressed laughter. Armstrong went on to the end unyieldingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not denying,’ he said, a moment later, ‘that I’ve found here and + there a salt sprinkle o’ common-sense. But <i>that</i>, my lad,’ banging a + hand on the manuscript page before him, ‘is simply unadulterated rubbish. + It’s the silliest thing in the haul collection.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul’s reverence for his father’s judgment in such matters was a tradition + and a religion. ‘Old Armstrong’ was the parish pride as scholar and + critic. The Rev. Roderic Murchison, who was a Master of Arts of Aberdeen, + sat at the gray little man’s feet like a pupil. Armstrong had none of the + minister’s Greek and Latin, but he was his master in English letters. In + spite of this awful prescription of authority Paul spirted laughter. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s Tennyson!’ he spluttered. ‘It’s the Poet Laureate!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then,’ said Armstrong, ‘the Poet Laureate’s a drivelling idiot, like his + predecessor.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ Paul asked, underneath his breath. He had never listened to such + blasphemy. + </p> + <p> + ‘In my day,’ said Armstrong, ‘a poet laid a table for men to eat and drink + at. We’d Sir Walter’s beef and bannocks, and puir young Byron’s Athol + brose. Wha calls this mingling o’ skim milk an’ treacle the wine o’ the + soul a poet ought to pour? + </p> + <p> + ‘Scott and Byron!’ cried Paul, amazed out of all reverence. ‘Why, there’s + more poetry in Tennyson’s little finger than in both their bodies.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hoots, man! hauld your silly tongue,’ cried his father. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you read “In Memoriam”?’ cried Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ returned Armstrong curtly, ‘I have not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then,’ Paul stormed, ‘what’s your opinion good for?’ + </p> + <p> + The old man’s eyes flashed, and he made a motion as if to rise. He + controlled himself, however, and reached out a hand to the hob for the + clay he had relinquished a minute or two before. + </p> + <p> + ‘The question’s fair,’ he said; ‘the question’s fair—pairfectly + fair, Paul. I misliked the manner of it, but the question’s fair.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + He could have knelt to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘They’ll be having Tennyson at the Institute Library?’ the old man asked. + ‘I’ll walk over for him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Paul, ‘but Tennyson——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay!’ said Armstrong, ‘age fossilizes. It’s like enough the man has a + word to say. I’ll look at him.’ + </p> + <p> + He took his rusty old silk hat from its hook beside the eight-day clock, + and went out quietly. + </p> + <p> + For the first minute in his life Paul truly loved him. + </p> + <p> + ‘It would ha’served me right,’ he mourned, ‘if he’d ha’ knocked me down. + It’s a lot better as it is, though; but it’s hard to bear.’ + </p> + <p> + That afternoon, and for many a morning and afternoon for months, old + Armstrong shuffled swiftly along the weedy garden, and took his seat on + the upturned box beside the stove, and there studied his Tennyson and + smoked his pipe. These were halcyon days for Paul, for the old man was not + long obdurate, and began to halve the delight of his own reading. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay!’ he said, by way of making his first admission, ‘“in My Father’s + house are many mansions.” This chap has the key to the organ-loft’ Then, a + little later: ‘It’s clean thinking, and a bonny music’ Later still, with a + long, slow sigh on the word: ‘Eh!’ and then, unconsciously: ‘Deep waters, + lad, deep waters.’ + </p> + <p> + He read slowly, for the dialect was new, and he was bent on mastering it. + His occasional difficulties seemed strange to the boy, but then, Paul had + been suckled at this fountain, and could make no allowances for the + prepossessions of age, and the distaste of an old palate for a new + flavour. An occasional question startled him, the answer was so obvious + and simple. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“Or where the kneeling hamlet drains + The chalice of the grapes of God,”’ +</pre> + <p> + Armstrong read out ‘D’ye find the meaning of that, Paul, lad,’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Village church,’ said Paul ‘Holy Communion.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To be sure,’ said the old man, ‘to be sure. It’s tight packed, but it’s + simple as A B C.’ + </p> + <p> + There were questions Paul could not answer, and he and the old man puzzled + them out together. They drew closer and closer. The boy dared to reveal + his mind, and the father began to respect his opinion. By the time the + warm weather was round again they were fast friends. They tramped up and + down the path of the neglected garden arm-in-arm, and talked of literature + and politics and the world at large. Paul had dreams, and sometimes he + gave his father a glimpse of them. Armstrong preached humility. + </p> + <p> + ‘L’arn, my lad,’ he would say, almost sternly, ‘l’arn before ye try to + teach.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had turned public instructor already, but that was his secret There + was a sort of treason in it, for Armstrong’s rival, a young and pushing + tradesman, had started a weekly paper, and Paul was an anonymous + contributor to its pages. This journal was called the <i>Barfield + Advertiser, and Quarry-moor, Church Vale, and Heydon Hay Gazette</i>; but + it was satirically known in the Armstrong household as the <i>Crusher</i>, + and its leading articles (which were certainly rather turgid and pompous) + were food for weekly mirth. But one day this was changed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, William,’ cried Mrs. Armstrong, ‘this fellow’s turned quite + sensible. You might ha’ wrote this yourself. It’s simply nayther more nor + less than you was sayin’ last Wednesday at this very table.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul’s coffee went the wrong way, and his cough caused a momentary + diversion. But when Dick had vigorously thumped him on the back, and he + had resumed his seat at table, Armstrong read the article aloud. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay!’ he said at the close, ‘it’s certainly my own opinion, and vary + cleanly put.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul’s coffee went the wrong way again, and again Dick thumped him on the + back. When the paper had gone the round of the household the anonymous + writer stole it, and carried it, neatly folded beneath his waistcoat, to + the office. He knew it by heart already, but he read it insatiably over + and over again. He was in print, and to be in print for the first time is + to experience as fine a delirium as is to be found in love or liquor. The + typed column ravished his senses, and the editorial ‘we’ looked imperial. + He was ‘we’ in spite of shirt-sleeves and ink-smeared apron of herden. In + those days the <i>Times</i> could uproot a Ministry, but its editor in his + proudest hour would have been a dwarf if he had measured himself by Paul’s + self-appreciation. Sweet are the uses of a boy’s vanity, sweeter than + honey and the honeycomb. + </p> + <p> + The dreamer in his mountain eyrie felt his heart warm with a sort of + fatherly pity over these bumpkin raptures. The lad blows a bubble of + foolery, and it glitters and floats and bursts, and who is the worse for + it? The man carves folly in brass, and breaks his head on his own + monument; or forges it in steel, and stabs his own heart with it. The + vanities of youth are yeast in wholesome ale. The follies of later life + are mildew in the cask. The lad who never tasted Paul’s intoxication may + make a worthy citizen, but he will never set the Thames afire. + </p> + <p> + Paul went on writing, and thundered from the editorial pulpit weekly. He + gave the <i>Crusher</i> a policy. Castle Barfield was to be a borough at + the next redistribution of seats. Its watchwords were ‘Peace, + Retrenchment, and Reform.’ It was to uphold the traditions of Manchester + in a curious blend with the philosophy, or the want of it, of Thomas + Carlyle. It assailed the Vicar of All Saints’ for the introduction of a + surpliced choir, and it showed a bared arm and a clenched fist to Popery. + </p> + <p> + The Jovian wielder of the <i>Crusher’s</i> lightnings got used to being + discussed at the Saturday morning table, and encountered praise and blame + there with an equal countenance. In his own unplummeted depths he was + Scott before the discovery of the authorship of the Waverley series; he + was Junius; he was S. G. O. And not a soul ever guessed at the truth, for + just as Paul had resolved to reveal his identity and claim his fame the <i>Crusher</i> + died. + </p> + <p> + Then for a long time he was voiceless, and, having no paper balloon to + float him, he went about in his own thoughts, quite like a common person. + A year later, routing out the whole series of printed articles from one of + his jackdaw hiding-places, he was inspired by an intense disdain, and + burned them in the office stove. + </p> + <p> + All the time the world he lived in was the world he took least heed of. + Until Ralston crossed him—Ralston, his man of men, and king, and + deity—the only real creature was the gray old man who had begotten + him. Father and son had grown to a curious sympathy, in which age never + domineered because of age, or youth presumed because of youth. Armstrong + the elder was a poet, though he had never printed a line; and he and Paul + brought their verses to each other. They used to print at times the + productions of the local bard, and their first bond of genial and equal + laughter (which is one of the best bonds in life) came of their joint + reading of one of his effusions. Paul had given it the dignity of type. + Armstrong was his own proof-reader, and Paul read the MS. aloud, whilst + his father, with balanced pen, ticked off the lines. They were headed + ‘Lines on a Walk I once took in the Country,’ and they opened thus: + </p> + <p> + ‘It was upon a day in May When through the field I took my way, It was + delightful for to see The sheep and lambs—they did agree. + </p> + <p> + ‘And as I went forth on that day I met a stile within my way, That stile + which did give rest to me Again I may not no more see. + </p> + <p> + ‘As on my way I then did trod, The lark did roar his song to God.’ + </p> + <p> + There they laughed, with tears, for this was not a jest of anybody’s + purposed making, but a pinch from Nature’s pepper-castor, and it tickled + the lungs to madness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul, lad,’ said Armstrong, coming to a sudden serious end of laughter, + and wiping his eyes, ‘it’s not an ungentle heart that finds it delightful + to see the fleecy, silly people o’ the fields in harmony. And the + reflection on the stile’s a fine bit o’ pathetics. “I’ve been happy + there,” says the poor ignorance; “and I may never see it more.” It’s the + etairnal hauntin’ thoct o’ man in all ages. “We’ve no abiding city here.” + “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth.” “Never, never more,” says poor + Poe’s raven. Listen, m’n! Ye’ll hear Shakespeare’s immortal thunder. The + cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces dissolve with the great globe + itself and all that it inherits. It’s all there, Paul. It’s in the + hiccoughing throat of him. Puir felly! Well just put him into decent + English, and see that naebody else shall laugh at him.’ + </p> + <p> + So they trimmed the local bard, and made him sober, and even mildly sweet; + and when, with their joint amendments, they sent the poem home, the bard + refused to be edited, declined the parcel, and took his trade elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + But the tinkering of the poor verses brought Paul and his father finally + together, and from that hour onward they were friends. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + And now the mind of the Exile turned to the episode of Norah MacMulty—grotesque, + pitiable, laughable. + </p> + <p> + Paul had pssed his seventeenth birthday, and reckoned himself a man. He + was in love again, but tentatively. He had read ‘Don Juan,’ and had + learned a thing or two. He conceived that he had rubbed off the first soft + bloom of youth, and the idea, natural to his time of life, that he was + aged and experienced had taken full hold of him. + </p> + <p> + He was not wholly certain that he adored the pretty girl at the + bonnet-shop. He had never spoken to her, for one thing, and had only seen + her from a distance, but she did well enough to moon about, and made an + excellent peg to hang verses on. + </p> + <p> + He had been away on a lovely summer evening’s ramble into the quiet of the + country. He had been verse-making or verse-polishing, and was in a high + state of mental exaltation when he reached the darkened main street of the + town about ten o’clock. He turned the corner, and walked straight into the + arms of a woman, who hugged him with a drunken ardour. Her breath was + fiery with gin, and the coarsely-sweet scent of it filled him with an + impulse of loathing. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let go,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + ‘Deed I’ll not let go,’ the woman answered, in a drunken voice. ‘Ye’re + just sent here be Providence to see a poor lonely little craychure home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let go,’ said Paul again; but she clung and laughed, and, in a sudden + spasm of downright horror, he put out more strength than he guessed, and + wrenched himself free. The woman tottered backwards, swayed for an + instant, and then fell. The back of her head came into sharp contact with + the corner of the wall. She lay quite still, and Paul grew frightened. + ‘Here,’ he said, ‘take my hand. Let me help you up.’ He had not expected + her to answer, but her continued silence seemed dreadful. He kneeled to + look closely into her face. She was quite young—not more than two or + three and twenty at the outside—and she had a quantity of light + auburn hair, which, though untidy, had a soft beauty of its own. Her eyes + were closed, and her face was white. ‘Now, don’t lie there pretending to + be killed,’ said Paul, in an unsteady voice. She made no movement, and he + rose and looked about him in dismay. + </p> + <p> + There was not a creature in the street, and the public lamps were never + lighted in the summer-time. A long way off the windows of a gin-shop cast + a light upon the road, and nearer, on the opposite side, a red lamp + burned. With a lingering glance of fear and pity at the recumbent figure, + Paul sped towards the red lamp as fast as he could lift a leg. In his + agitation he gave such a tug at the bell that it clanged like a + fire-alarm. The doctor’s assistant, a dashing young gentleman whom Paul + knew from afar, and who was remarkable to him chiefly for an expensive + taste in clothing, came briskly to the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s a woman at the corner,’ said Paul, ‘badly hurt; I thought it best + to let you know.’ + </p> + <p> + The assistant snatched a hat from the hall table, and came out at once. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where is she?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul pointed, and they ran together. The assistant had the quicker turn of + speed, and reached the corner first. He was kneeling beside the woman when + Paul reached him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Got a handkerchief?’ he asked + </p> + <p> + Paul lugged half a square yard of turkey-red cotton from his pocket. + ‘That’s the ticket,’ said the assistant. He folded the handkerchief.. + ‘Now, hold her head up whilst I get this under it.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed again, but the hair was all in a warm wet mesh of blood. + </p> + <p> + ‘What are you shaking at?’ the assistant asked him. ‘You’re a pretty poor + plucked un,’ he added, as he tied the bandage tight across the woman’s + forehead. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not used to it,’ said Paul, choking with nausea and pity. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s pretty evident,’ returned the other. ‘Now, get her shawl round her + head whilst I hold her up. That’ll do. We must get her down to the + surgery. Take her by her shoulders; there. Get your arms well under her. + Heave ho! Wait a minute till I settle her dress and get a good hold of her + knees. Upsy daisy; march!’ + </p> + <p> + They went staggeringly, not because of the weight, but by reason of the + giddiness which assailed Paul. He thought it had suddenly grown foggy, for + there was a mist between him and all the dimly visible objects of the + night There were coloured sparks in the mist by-and-by, and when once they + had got their burden through the open hall and had laid it on a plain + straight couch in the surgery, Paul was glad to sit down uninvited. + </p> + <p> + ‘Take a sniff at that,’ said the assistant, pressing an un-stoppered + bottle into his hand. + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed him. The pungent ammonia brought the tears to his eyes and + took his breath away, but it dispersed the fog and stilled the wheel which + had been whirling in his head The assistant had taken off his coat and + rolled up his shirtsleeves, and was going about his task with professional + dexterity and coolness. + </p> + <p> + ‘How did this happen?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + He was Paul’s senior by three years at most, but he had as magisterial and + assured a manner as if he had been fifty. + </p> + <p> + Paul told the story just as it happened. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the assistant, ‘this is a pretty grave old case, and so I + tell you. You may find yourself in trouble over this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Find myself in trouble?’ said Paul. ‘Me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said the assistant; ‘you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve got better work in hand than talkin’ rubbish,’ Paul retorted; + ‘stick to it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah,’ said the budding surgeon, ‘well wait till the woman’s conscious, if + ever she is, and see what sort of a tale she has to tell.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s the simple truf he’s tould ye,’ said the patient, in a feeble voice. + ‘What do ye be tryin’ to frighten him for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you’re coming round, are you? asked the assistant; ‘didn’t expect it. + That’s a pretty nasty crack you’ve got.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Twill take more than that to kill Norah MacMulty,’ said the young woman, + struggling into a sitting posture, and beginning mechanically to arrange + her disordered dress. ‘The MacMultys is a fine fightin’ famly, and it runs + in the blood to take a cracked skull quite kindly. I’ll be takin’ a glass + at the Grapes, and then I’ll be goin’ home, but not till I’ve thanked ye + kindly. Has anybody seen me bonnut?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t allow you to go to the Grapes to-night, my good woman,’ said the + assistant. ‘Where do you live?’ + </p> + <p> + She named her address, a wretched little row of tenement houses some ten + score yards away. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s your trade?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Me trade, is it?’ she answered, with a feeble, good-humoured laugh. ‘Tis + not much of a trade, anyhow; I’m a street-walker.’ + </p> + <p> + She made the statement wholly commonplace in tone, and gave it with as + little reluctance or embarrassment as if she had laid claim to the most + respectable calling in the world. + </p> + <p> + The assistant stared and laughed, but she caught Paul’s look of amazed + horror. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, ‘why wouldn’t I be? I’ll go to hell for it, av coorse, + for that’s God’s will on all of us. Tis hard lines, too, for ‘tis none so + fine a life when ye’ve tried ut. Thank ye kindly, both of yez. I’d pay ye + for ut, but ye’d not be takin’ a poor girl’s last shillin’, I know, from + the good-tempered purty face of ye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re sweetly welcome,’ said the assistant, busily washing his hands at + the sink, and looking sideways at her. ‘You’re a queer fish, any way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Tis a queer fish I am,’ she answered, ‘an’ by-an’-by they’ll have the + cookin’ of me. Fried soul,’ she said, with a faint laugh. ‘Begobs! that’s + funny; I never thought o’that before. Fried soul!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How old are you?’ the assistant asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Faith,’ she said, ‘I’m just past two-an’-twinty. ‘Tis an agein’ life, an’ + I look more; but ‘tis God’s truf I’m tellin’ ye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very likely,’ said the assistant, towelling his hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll go now,’ said Norah MacMulty. ‘I’m a trifle unsteady with the + shakin’, but the drink’s out of me, worse luck! and I’ll be able to walk.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No calling at the Grapes, mind you,’ said the assistant ‘You’d better + look in at the infirmary about eleven o’clock to-morrow.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll do that,’ she answered. ‘Will ye be lendin’ me your shoulder as far + as the dure, young man? I’ll be better in a minute.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul did as she requested, but he crawled with repulsion beneath her hand. + The touch inspired him with loathing. He had lived a sheltered life, and + had never seen an open abandonment to shame. He wondered why God allowed + the degraded thing to live, and his heart ached with pity at the same + time. He led her to the door, and then across the road. The assistant sent + a curt ‘Good-night’ after him. He answered it, and the door dosed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can you walk alone now?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll try,’ she said, and made a staggering attempt at it. + </p> + <p> + Paul caught her, or she would have fallen. + </p> + <p> + ‘Take my arm,’ he said to her, hardening his heart with an effort. + </p> + <p> + He blessed the darkness and the quiet of the street, but before they had + gone a score of yards a door opened in a house he knew, and Armstrong came + out of it. + </p> + <p> + In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the old man would have gone by + dreaming, but he was alert enough at odd moments, and this chanced to be + one of them. He saw Paul arm-in-arm with a bandaged drunken woman, and as + he recognised his son the pair reeled together. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul!’ he cried. ‘Good God!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m glad it’s you, father,’ said Paul. ‘This poor creature fell at the + corner yonder and cut her head terribly. I fetched young Marley to her + from Dr. Hervey’s, and he has seen to her. She wants to get home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll take the other side,’ said Armstrong, and the three lurched slowly + along in the dimness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re good people,’ Norah MacMulty said when they had brought her to her + door. + </p> + <p> + A slattern woman answered Armstrong’s knock, heard the news with no + discernible emotion, and helped the arrival in as if she had been a sack + of coals. Armstrong and Paul went home with few words. ‘Don’t be startled + when you see me,’ Paul said at the door. ‘I helped to carry her to the + doctor’s, and she bled horribly.’ + </p> + <p> + It was not meant for an exaggeration, but he was unused to such scenes, + and the woman’s language more than anything else had helped to scare him + from his self-possession. The hour was late already, reckoning by his + custom. He washed, and went upstairs, but not to bed. He threw the window + open and let in the soft, heavy night-air. Strange thoughts made a jumble + in his mind. From his attic he could see, over the roofs of the houses + opposite, the outlines of the Quarrymore Hills, clearly defined in the + light of the rising moon. Half way between him and them the air was dimly + red with the glow of the unseen furnaces in the valley. He heard the loud + roar of the invisible fires, and now and then the clank of iron. His + thoughts were not on these things, but he was vaguely conscious of them. + </p> + <p> + He had taken his earliest look at the real tragedy of life. The peril of + the woman’s soul was the first thing to emerge clearly from the chaos of + his thoughts. Her flippant, reckless acceptance of the certainty of her + own damnation horrified him. Out of the streets, out of the bestial + degradation of that life of shame and drink, into sheer hell? No chance? + No hope? Surely Christ had died! But only for those who owned Him, and + called upon Him! No, no, and a thousand times no! It was not to be + believed, not to be borne. It was hateful, horrible, monstrous. The poor + degraded thing had punishment enough already. She was in hell already. + </p> + <p> + The bruised reed, the smoking flax! He fell upon his knees, and his soul + seemed to melt in a flood of anguished pity. He wept passionately, with an + incoherent clamour in his heart of ‘God—God—God!’ + </p> + <p> + The storm wore itself out, but he knelt there long, with his hands on the + window-sill, and his face buried in them. He had been too agitated to find + words, and now he was too tired and empty even to wish for them. His eyes + were dry, and his lips were harsh and salt with his tears. + </p> + <p> + He looked up, and the whole night had changed. The moon rode high, and was + nearly at the full. The skies were spangled with thousands on thousands of + glittering stars. He thrust out his head and looked upward into the vast + blue of the night Out from the stainless sky fell one warm, heavy drop + full on his upturned forehead. To his worn thoughts it was like an angel’s + tear. He nestled beside the open window, and gazed from star to star, + seeming idly to trace an intricate winding road of blue amongst them. + Peace came back to him, an empty peace, no more than a mental languor. He + slept at last, and awoke stiff and chill to find the light of morning + creeping along a clouded east. + </p> + <p> + All that day one purpose was present to his mind. When the day’s work was + over and he was free, he dressed and walked into the street He roamed up + and down it from end to end, and several times he diverged from it to pace + the road in which Norah MacMulty lived, and to linger about the house into + which he had helped her. He had something to say to Norah MacMulty, but he + caught no sight of her. He went home, and to bed. Next evening he paced + the streets again. There was still no sign of her, but he encountered the + assistant, who nodded to him in passing. Paul stopped him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘Is there any news of that poor woman?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said the assistant. ‘She’s in for a touch of erysipelas. They kept + her at the Infirmary to-day. If they’d left her at large she’d have killed + herself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How?’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Drink,’ returned the assistant, and went his own way. + </p> + <p> + So Paul ceased his wanderings for a while, and a fortnight had passed + before he saw the woman again. + </p> + <p> + It was a Sunday afternoon, and he was off for his customary lonely ramble. + Armstrong always went upstairs for a nap after Sunday’s dinner, and Paul + was left without companionship. + </p> + <p> + The woman was a mile away from her home, and was sitting on the lower + steps of a stile by the side of the highway. She was tidily attired, and + sober. Her recent illness had left a pensive look upon her face. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re better?’ said Paul, stopping in front of her. + </p> + <p> + She looked up in some surprise. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she answered. ‘’Tis you? I’m better, thank ye kindly. There’s not + many cares to ask.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember,’ Paul demanded, with a face whiter than her own, ‘what + you said at the doctor’s the night you were hurt?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she replied. ‘What was it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The doctor asked you what your trade was,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said; ‘I mind it now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you mean it?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re a trifle over-young to turn parson,’ she responded. ‘Go your ways, + child, and don’t be bothering.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t ask me to go yet,’ said Paul ‘I’ve something I want to say to you.’ + His voice stuck in his throat, and she turned her glance towards him in a + new surprise. ‘You said,’ he went on with difficulty, ‘that you were sure + to go to hell.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m that,’ she answered dryly, drawing her shawl about her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘you shan’t. I’m not going to let you.’ She laughed + oddly with a mere ejaculation, and stared along the road. ‘Do you ever + think what hell is like?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Would I drink if I didn’t?’ she answered without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You can’t put it away by drinking.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know that,’ she answered, with a sudden sullen fierceness. Then, ‘Ye + mean well, I dare say, but ye’re wastin’ time. Go your ways.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no use asking,’ said Paul; ‘I can’t do it.’ She looked up at him + again, and he hurried on, with a dry husk in his throat: ‘I can’t rest for + thinking of it I can’t eat I can’t sleep. I can’t think of anything else.’ + </p> + <p> + A slight spasm contorted her lips for a mere instant, but she looked down + the road again, and answered drearily: + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a pity.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a tone of tired scorn in her words, but this, as it were, was + only on the surface. There was something else below, and the sense of it + urged him on. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have a good face,’ he said. ‘You were not meant——’ + </p> + <p> + He checked himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Me poor boy,’ she answered, with another motion to arrange her shawl, ‘ye + can’t tell me anything I don’t know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can tell you something you’ve forgotten,’ said Paul. ‘I don’t care what + you’ve done; you’re God’s child, and while there’s life there’s hope.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re not a man yet,’ said Norah MacMulty; ‘but if ever ye mean to be + one, hould your tongue an’ go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind hurting you if I can do you any good by it.’ ‘Ye can do me + no good, nor yourself neither. Here’s people coming along the road, and + it’s ten to one they’ll know ye. Ye’ve no right to be seen talkin’ to the + likes of me at your age.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t care for the people,’ he answered. ‘I don’t care for anything but + what I’ve got to say.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, ‘if you don’t care, I’m sure I don’t. ‘Tis no odds to me + what anybody thinks.’ + </p> + <p> + The people who approached were strangers, two men and two women of the + working class. They passed the pair without notice, talking of their own + affairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m only two days from the hospital,’ said the girl when they were out of + hearing, ‘and me legs gives way underneath me. If ‘twas not for that, I’d + not stay here. Go now; I’m tired of ye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ said Paul, with the dry husk in his throat again, ‘you don’t + like your life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Faith, then,’ she answered, ‘I do not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then why not leave it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re talking like a child. How the divvle <i>can</i> I leave it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Leave it with me,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + That was what he had meant to say from the first, and now that he had + spoken his word his difficulties seemed to fall away. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t earn full wages yet, but I can get two-thirds anywhere. I can + make eighteen shillings a week, and I can live on half of it. You can have + the other half, and there will be no need, then—— You will + find something to do in time—sewing, or ironing, or something—and + then it will be easier for us both.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re mad!’ said Norah MacMulty. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, ‘I’m not mad. I’m going to save your soul, Norah.’ + </p> + <p> + She looked at him fixedly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye mean it?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I mean it,’ he answered. ‘I mean it in God’s hearing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m mightily obliged to ye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re coming, Norah?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s your name?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Armstrong—Paul Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll remember that,’ she said. ‘Good-bye to ye, Paul Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, ‘you will come to me. I shall go to look for work + to-morrow, and as soon as I have found it I shall send for you, and you + will come.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘D’ye want me to live with ye?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he answered with a strong shudder. She saw that clearly, and her + colour changed. The swift distortion showed itself about her lips again. + It passed away in an instant, but it left the mouth trembling. ‘I want you + to be away somewhere where nobody can say a word against you. I want to + see you and talk to you sometimes, and know that you are going on + prosperously.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m mightily obliged to ye,’ she said again. ‘Ye’re a good little fool, + but a fool you are.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not a fool for this, Norah. Nobody is a fool who tries to do God’s + work.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anybody’s a fool that tries to do God’s work that way,’ she answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘You say you are going to hell, Norah.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And so I am, but not for ruinin’ a child that’s got hysterics. I can face + the divvle without havin’ that on my conscience. And I’ll tell ye + somethin’ that’ll maybe turn out useful when ye grow older. Ye think + because I folly a callin’ that no decent woman can think of and because ye + know that I drink, that I’ve no pride of me own. Ye’re mistaken, Paul + Armstrong. If ye were ten years older, and I me own woman, I’d set these + in your face. D’ye mind me now?’ She shook her hands before her for an + instant, and withdrew them under her shawl again. ‘Ye mean well, I think, + but ye’re just in-sultin’ past bearin’, an’ so you are! Would I live on + the ‘arnin’s of a child? Oh, Mary, Mary, Mother o’ God!’ ‘she burst out, + ‘look down an’ see how I’m trodden in the mud. Go away, go away; go away, + I tell ye! I know what I am. Right well I know what I am. But d’ye think + I’m that? + </p> + <p> + Black misery on your—— No. Ill not curse ye, for I believe ye + meant well. But if ye’re not gone, I’ve a scissors here, an’ I’ll do + meself a mischief.’ + </p> + <p> + The outburst overwhelmed him. The man of the world who could have stood + unmoved against it would have needs been brave and cool. The torrent of + her passion swept him like a straw. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ he stammered; ‘I beg your pardon with all my heart + and soul.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Go!’ she said. + </p> + <p> + He obeyed her, and the episode of Norah MacMulty came to a close. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ said the Solitary, waking for a moment from the dream in which + these old things acted themselves again before him, ‘you were always a + fool, but the folly of that time was better than to-day’s.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Ralston was on the scene—Ralston in ripe middle age, massive and + short of stature, with a square head and a billowy, sable-silvered head of + hair; full lips, richly shadowed by his beard; an eye which twinkled like + some bland star of humour at one minute and pierced like a gimlet at the + next; a manner suavely dogged, jovially wilful, calmly hectoring, winning + as the wiles of a child; a voice of husky sweetness, like a fog-bound + clarion at times; a learning which, if it embraced nothing wholly, had + squeezed some spot of vital juice out of well-nigh everything; wise, + loquacious, masterful, <i>bon-vivant</i>; the most perfect talker of his + day in England; half parson and half journalist; loyal to the bone; + courageous to the bone; not an originating man, but original; a receiver, + and, through his own personality, a transmitter of great thoughts to the + masses; a fighting theologian; a fighting politician; a howling scoff to + orthodoxy; a flying flag and peal of trumpet and tuck of drum to freedom + everywhere. This was Ralston. + </p> + <p> + What should bring Paul from the inky apron, and the dusty type-cases, and + the battered old founts of metal, and the worm-eaten old founts of wood, + and the slattern bankrupt office into the society of such a man as this? + </p> + <p> + The Exile dreamed his dream, and a year was gone in a breath. + </p> + <p> + The Armstrong household was asleep. It was one o’clock—noon of the + slumberous hours. Paul slipped downstairs in his stocking-feet, struck a + match, lit the kitchen gas, and drew on his boots. Then back came the + creaking bolts of the door which led to the garden. Out went the gas, and + Paul, matchbox in hand, sped stealthily to the office, the summer dews + falling and the weeds smelling sweet. The battered padlock on the staple + of the door had been a pure pretence for years past. It locked and opened + as well without the aid of a key as with it Paul lifted the outer edge of + the door in both hands and swung it back cautiously, to avoid the shriek + it gave when merely thrust open, and then lifted it to its former place. + He mounted the stairs—there was not a nail in his boots which did + not know each shred of fraying timber in them—thridded an unerring + way through the outspread lumber on the floor to the stand at which he + commonly worked, set the gas-bracket blazing there, and began to stack + type as if for dear life, but without a copy. The clock at Trinity struck + the hours half a mile away. The clock at Christ’s followed a second or two + later, nearer and clearer. Then a mile off, soft and mellow, but unheard + unless the ear waited for them, the bells of the Old Church chimed. Three + o’clock was sounding, and the summer dark was at its deepest, when Paul + secured a first proof of the work on which he had been engaged, and hid + away the forme in a hollow beneath the stairs. + </p> + <p> + In this wise he stole two hours from sleep nightly for a month; and at the + end of that time, lo! a printed poem, molten and cast, and re-molten and + re-cast, chiselled and fined and polished, and all in Paul’s + brain-factory, without a guiding touch of pen or pencil—the work of + a year. + </p> + <p> + The night after the completion of this task Ralston lectured for the Young + Men’s Christian Institute, and Paul was there. He was there right early, + and secured a seat in the front row. The theme was ‘In Memoriam.’ Ralston + talked and Paul listened. In five minutes Ralston was talking to Paul. + Even now, in this strange review of the things that had helped or daunted + him in all his days, the self-exiled Solitary, perched alone in his eyrie + in the Rocky Mountains, encompassed by amorphous smoke-cloud, whilst the + unseen river gnashed on its rocky teeth and howled—even now he felt + the controlling magic of the voice and manner, even now he felt the + triumph which sprang from the knowledge that this man chose him from the + throng, played on him with splendid improvisations, made him the receptive + and distributive instrument for his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know,’ said the living Paul Armstrong, looking back on the dead + aspiring creature he had been. ‘Not a self-accusing thought! Pure worship + in the eyes. And the visage! not this battered mask, but the face of + eighteen! Not an ounce of alcohol ever fired his blood from his cradle + till now. A meagre table all his life through—enough and barely + enough. Clean hands and a pure heart, and burning ardour in the eyes. <i>I</i> + could talk to a lad like that. Eh, me!’ + </p> + <p> + The lecture was over; the audience had drained away; the great man and the + Secretary were closeted for a minute; there was a chinking sound of gold. + Ralston came out with a cheery ‘Good-night,’ and Paul was waiting at the + head of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Ralston,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oho!’ said Ralston in his sounding bass, hoarse like the deeper notes of + a reed. ‘My audience!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Will you read this, sir?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul offered a paper-roll. The orator made a sideway skip out of the range + of the tube, as if it had held an explosive. Paul’s face fell woefully, + and the great man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Walk to the station,’ he said, and rolled downstairs, Paul after him, and + in seventh heaven. ‘What have you there?’ asked Ralston, as they reached + the street. ‘Prose? verse? print? manuscript?—what?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s in type,’ said Paul. ‘It is a poem, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What will you bet on that?’ asked Ralston. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll take odds, sir,’ said Paul ‘It’s never even betting.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ha!’ The orator turned and stopped and looked at him. ‘You are in my + debt, young gentleman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For years past, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What? Eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For years past.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I never saw your face before to-night’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, sir. I walk in on Sunday nights to hear you, but I go to the back of + the gallery.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You tramp twelve miles of a Sunday night to hear me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Summer-time, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Any weather.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Present the deadly tube. I’ll stand the charge.’ He thrust Paul’s poem + into the pocket of a loose alpaca overcoat ‘I was saying that you were in + my debt. You made me talk ten minutes longer than I ought to have done, + and I’ve lost my train. There’s not another for forty minutes. Come and + march the platform.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s your name?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul Armstrong, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Armstrong? Armstrong? Father’s house here in the High Street? Printer and + stationer? Ah! Old Bill Armstrong. Ayrshire Scotch. Anti-Corn Law. + Villiers’ Committee. I know him. How do you get on together—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My father, sir? He’s the dearest friend I have in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s as it should be. Tell me about yourself. What are you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I work in the office.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Compositor?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Compositor and pressman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Many a nugget has come out of that pocket What do you read? Tennyson, I + know. Whom else?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Anything I can get, Mr. Ralston.9 + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me. You’re eighteen at a guess. Tell me last year’s love and this + year’s love, and I’ll prophesy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It was Hazlitt at the beginning of last year, sir. Then it was Hunt, and + Lamb. Now it’s Thackeray.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Keats anywhere?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! Keats?9 The tone was enough. + </p> + <p> + ‘Favourite bit of Keats now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, sir, you can’t have favourite bits of Keats.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come! <i>The</i> darling.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘“St Agnes,”’ said Paul; ‘Chapman’s Homer, “The Nightingale,” “Hyperion.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! One love at a time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wordsworth?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s easier, Mr. Ralston. “The Intimations.”’ ‘Byron?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! “The Don”—miles and miles, sir.’ ‘Where’s Shakespeare—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the bosom of God Almighty.’ + </p> + <p> + So cheerily the talk had gone, so rapidly, he had no taint of shyness + left. Here was the man of his worship since he had first dared to play the + pious truant from chapel, the one man of the whole world he esteemed the + greatest and the wisest. They had talked for three minutes and he was at + home with his deity, and yet had lost no tremor of the adoring thrill. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good!’ said Ralston. ‘Dickens?’ Paul’s answer was nothing more than an + inarticulate gurgle of pleasure, neither a laugh nor an exclamation. + ‘Carlyle?’ Paul was silent, and Ralston asked in a doubtful voice: ‘Not + read Carlyle?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’d go,’ said Paul in a half whisper, ‘from here to Chelsea on my hands + and knees to see him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The best of magnets won’t draw lead,’ said Ralston, and at the time Paul + was puzzled by the phrase, but he blushed with pleasure when he recalled + it later on. ‘And Browning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ugh!’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well, that’s natural. But, mind you, Mr. Armstrong, in a year or two + you’ll feel humiliated to think of your present position.’ + </p> + <p> + They talked, marching up and down the platform, until the train came. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have been very kind, sir,’ said Paul when at last the dreaded bell + rang and the distant engine screamed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have I?’ asked Ralston. ‘Remember it as a debt you’ll owe to some + aspiring youngster thirty years hence.’ + </p> + <p> + The train came up before anything further was said. They shook hands and + parted. + </p> + <p> + Then for days and weeks Paul waited for a letter, waylaying the postman + every morning at the door. The letter came at last, brief and to the + point: + </p> + <p> + ‘Have read your poem. A bright promise—not yet an achievement. + Command of language more evident than individual thought. Be more + yourself, but go on in hope. Let nothing discourage. Remember that + personal character reveals itself in art Lofty conduct breeds the lofty + ideal.’ + </p> + <p> + The last phrase hit Paul hard. He was in search of the lofty ideal, and if + lofty conduct would bring it, he meant to have it. + </p> + <p> + He was strolling on the next Saturday afternoon, with Ralston’s letter in + his pocket Saturday was a half-holiday, and he was free to do with it what + he pleased. His feet took him by an unfrequented way, and in the course of + an hour’s devious ramble he found himself on the canal spoil-bank. The + cutting was perhaps a hundred feet deep, and the artificial mounds were + old enough to be covered by turf and gorse. They bore here and there a + tree, and in any hollow of the hills, where the chimneys and furnace-fires + were hidden, it needed no special gift of the imagination to make a + rolling prairie of the scene, or at least a grouse-peopled moor. + </p> + <p> + Paul sat down in such a hollow and read Ralston’s letter for the + thousandth time, and resolved anew on lofty conduct Suddenly he was aware + of an approaching noise of voices, and in a little while a rabble of some + twenty men and youths came charging down the slope to where he lounged in + communion with his own fancies. The small crowd was noisy and excited, and + Paul noticed some pallid, staring faces as it hurried by. The whole + contingent, wrangling and cursing unintelligibly, came to a sudden halt in + the bend of the hollow. Here a man in corduroys and a rabbit-skin + waistcoat called in a stentorian voice for order, and the babel gradually + died down. + </p> + <p> + ‘These are the draws,’ said the man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat, waving a + dirty scrap of paper in a dirtier hand—‘these are the draws for the + first encounter.’ + </p> + <p> + He began to read a list of names. The first was answered in a tone of + bullying jocundity. The second and the third name each elicited a growl At + the call of the fourth name there was no response. + </p> + <p> + ‘Blades!’ called the man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat—‘Ikey Blades + of Quanymoor!’ + </p> + <p> + Everybody turned to stare at Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s him,’ said one. ‘Course it is,’ said another. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bin yo Ikey Blades from Quarrymoor?’ asked the man with the list. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + The man cursed, devoting himself and Paul to unnameable penalties. He + wound up by asking Paul what he was doing. He wrapped this simple inquiry + in a robe of blasphemies. ‘Nothing particular,’ Paul answered. ‘What’s the + matter?’ ‘Tak’ it easy with him,’ said a burly, hoarse-voiced man. ‘Beest + thee i’ the Major’s pay?’ ‘Major?’ asked Paul. ‘What Major?’ ‘Why—Major + Fellowes!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, laughing. ‘I’ve got no more to do with the police than + thee hast. What is it, lads? A bit of a match, eh? Goo along. Need’st ha’ + no fear o’ me.’ + </p> + <p> + He had been fighting his way out of the local dialect for half a dozen + years, but it was expedient not to forget it here. + </p> + <p> + ‘I dunno about that,’ said the man with the waistcoat. ‘Who bist?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Armstrong’s my naäm,’ said Paul. ‘I’ve lived i’ the Barfield Road all my + life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can ye put ‘em up?’ was the next query. ‘Why, yes,’ said Paul. ‘I can put + ‘em up if I see rayson for it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right We’ll tak’ yo on in place of Ikey Blades. This is the fust chap + yo’n ha’ to tackle. Billy Tunks he is—comes from Virgin’s End.’ + </p> + <p> + Billy Tunks (or Tonks, more probably) carried one of the pale and staring + faces Paul had already noticed. He and Paul surveyed each other. + </p> + <p> + The man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat, having arranged preliminaries, + explained to Paul. This was ‘a little bit of a friendly turn-up with the + weepons of Natur’,’ intended to settle the disputed qualities of the youth + of eight local parishes. Paul’s presence, it appeared, was entirely + providential, for, with the exception of the seven candidates here in + search of glory, there was nobody present who had not at one time or + another ‘fowt’ for money. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose,’ said Paul’s informant, ‘you’ve never fowt for money?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ Paul answered, ‘I’ve never fowt for money. Mek yourself easy on that + score.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the other, ‘I wasn’t castin’ no suspicion. But it’s just a + quiet bit o’ fun like for them as ain’t been blooded in a reg’lar way. + It’s a bit o’ fun for the young uns. Billy an’ yov comes second.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + He thought of Ralston’s letter, and laughed. Lofty conduct breeds the + lofty ideal. What would Ralston say to this, he wondered? Not that the + thing had a touch of barbarism to his mind. It was rough, of course, but + it was inspiring, and he was used to it. He had seen a great deal of this + peculiar sport, and had a warm liking for it. Being in it was better than + looking on, but even looking on was pleasant. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, lads,’ said the master of the ceremonies, ‘get to your corners. An’, + gentlemen-sports all, no shoutin’.’ + </p> + <p> + The business of the afternoon began in earnest A brace of lads stood up, + stripped to the waist They shook hands, and set to work. The men were mere + clowns, but the exhibition was anything but clownish. In that part of the + world, at least, the traditions of the game were kept alive, and there was + plenty of sound scientific fighting to be seen. Paul knew enough to + recognise it when he saw it, and he had not watched two minutes before he + knew that in this instance he was hopelessly outclassed. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m in for a hiding,’ he said to himself. ‘A chap in search of the lofty + ideal will have to make up his mind to a pretty good hiding, too. If + you’re eating for honour, you mustn’t leave anything on the trencher.’ He + watched the fight keenly, but he watched it with a heart that danced + unevenly. ‘Yes,’ he thought; ‘I shall have to take a bellyful.’ + </p> + <p> + The combat was brief and decisive. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sivin an’ a quarter minutes of a round,’ said the master of the + ceremonies; ‘an’ a pretty bit o’ fightin.’ Theed’st best get ready,’ + turning to Paul. ‘The little un’s pumped. He’ll ask for a second helpin’, + but that’ll finish him.’ + </p> + <p> + The prophecy was realized, and Paul found himself in a brief space of time + standing hand in hand with Master Tonks, and looking him squarely in the + eye. The fist Paul held in his own was like a mason’s mallet, but its + owner was of a clumsy and shambling build. Paul silently breathed the one + word ‘tactics,’ and he and his opponent fell back from each other. He + thought Master Tonk’s attitude curiously awkward, but he had no guess as + to what lay behind it. He sparred for an opening. It looked all opening, + and he wondered, and half dropped his hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘Goo in!’ said somebody, in a jeering voice. ‘Goo in, one or t’other on + ye!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul went in, and Master Tonks went down. He was picked up, and knocked + down again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, what is it,’ asked Paul. ‘You’ve got no guard, lad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I told thee how it ud be,’ said one of the onlookers, addressing Master + Tonks, as he sat upon the turf nursing his nose in the hollow of his arm. + ‘Ye see, lads,’ he continued, ‘it’s like this: This is Turn Tunks, this is—Billy’s + brother. They’m my nevews, the pair on ‘em. Billy’s laid up with a broken + leg, and Turn’s come here to show for him for the honour o’ the family. I + thought he knowed a bit about it, or I wouldn’t ha’ suffered him to come.’ + </p> + <p> + So this part of the contest ended in fiasco, but the next combat and the + next were spirited and skilful The four victors in the first bout drew + straws for the second. The winner of the first fight fell to Paul’s share. + </p> + <p> + ‘Lofty conduct!’ said Paul to himself, with a little rueful grin. ‘I’m in + for it, and I must make the best of it.’ + </p> + <p> + He made the best of it for one fast five minutes, and all on a sudden he + found himself looking at the sky, his opponent and the little crowd clean + vanished. He was dreamy and quiet, and had no opinions about anything, and + no interest in anything. Somebody picked him up and set him on somebody + else’s knee, where he was sponged and fanned. There was a faint suggestion + in his mind to the effect that somebody, somewhere, had a shocking + headache. Then he knew that one or two men were roughly helping him to + dress. He himself mechanically aided this work, and by-and-by found + himself watching a new encounter, aware by this time that the headache was + his own. He handled nose, and upper-lip, and eye delicately, and came to + the conclusion that he presented a picture to the gaze of man. Then, + gradually pulling himself together, he watched the business of the day + with tranquil interest. + </p> + <p> + Four had had it out with four, and then two with two; and now the + survivors of the match were engaged for the final prize of honour. Each + man had fought twice already, and they were both too tired to do much + execution upon each other; but at last Paul’s late antagonist won, and the + simple game was over. The man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat thanked Paul + for having preserved the symmetry of the day. + </p> + <p> + ‘Eight’s a shapely little handful,’ this authority said. ‘It’s the pick of + the basket for a number, eight is. Sixteen’s on-widdy, and it knocks a + hole in a long summer’s day. Four’s a flash in the pan; but eight’s a + pretty little number.’ He added genially: ‘We’m all very much obliged to + you, young man.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said Paul, ‘I like to be neighbourly.’ + </p> + <p> + The muscles of his face were stiffening, and his inclination to laugh cost + him a twinge. + </p> + <p> + The man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat said his sentiment did him credit, + and shook hands with him on the strength of it. The crowd went away as it + had come, and left him where it found him. He was not going to walk home + in broad daylight with such a visage as he carried. He paced about the + trampled hollow to keep his blood in circulation, and in a little while + the friendly darkness began to gather. Then he set out for home at + leisure, choosing unlighted ways; and after a circuitous journey, climbed + a gate and a garden wall or two, and landed at the office. There he made + his toilet with the aid of a piece of yellow soap, a bucket of water, and + a jack-towel, and then walked down the darkened garden to the house. He + paced the paved yard on tiptoe, and peeping through the kitchen-window, + saw his father seated alone at the fireside Armstrong looked up with his + customary mild, abstracted gaze. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, Paul, lad!’ he cried. ‘Who’s handled ye like that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no harm done, sir,’ said Paul ‘I’ve been putting a precept of Mr. + Ralston’s into effect in a way he never dreamt of.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’ve been fighting,’ said his father, with a voice of reproof. ‘Unless + ye’ve a vera guid reason for it, that’s a blackgyard way of settling + differences.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m like Othello, sir,’ Paul answered: “Nought I did in hate, but all in + honour.” I had no difference with the gentleman who did this for me. We + met and parted on the most excellent terms.’ + </p> + <p> + But even when Paul had told his story, Armstrong was un-appeased, and + declined to see any form of humour in it. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s just a wanton defacing of the Divine image,’ he said, ‘and a return + upon the original beast.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was constrained to let the incident rest there, but he comforted + himself by fighting the battle over again in fancy. In this wise he beat + the champion of the afternoon hands down, and came off without a scar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Armstrong and Paul were keeping house alone, and were playing chess + together. The big eight-day clock ticked, the cat purred noisily on + Armstrong’s shoulder, the clear burning fire made slight crisp sounds in + the grate, and now and then slack fell from the bars. The two sat in + silence, poring over the board. Paul made a move. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s vile play,’ said Armstrong. ‘Mate in four.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Go on, sir,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Chick,’ said Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + ‘But you lose your castle.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do I so? But I get a pawn for it, and chick again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul, ‘I see.’ He turned down his king and sat absent-eyed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’re falling off, Paul,’ said Armstrong, ‘or else your mind’s not on the + game.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To tell you the truth, sir,’ Paul returned, sitting up with a sudden + sprightliness, ‘my mind’s not on the game.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where is it, lad?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, sir, it’s in London.’ ‘London?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘London, sir. I can’t stop here all my days. I want to see the world.’ + </p> + <p> + Armstrong rose to light his pipe at the gas. He dropped into his seat + slowly, took the cat from his shoulder, and set it on his knees. The purr + rose louder as he stroked lingeringly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay!’ he said after a long pause; ‘ay, ay!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t like it, sir,’ said Paul ‘I’m not misliking it, + lad,’ his father answered. ‘I’m not misliking it What’s your proposition, + Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know, sir. I’ve formed no plans. I don’t know how to go about + things. I’m stifling here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s natural,’ said Armstrong; ‘I’ve stifled here for twenty years, lad. + But then,’ he added, with his own dry, wistful twinkle of a fleeting + smile, ‘I was born to stifle. What’ll you do in the world, Paul, when ye + get into it, if ye’re out of it here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know, sir. I shall try to do something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay!’ said Armstrong again; ‘ay, ay!’ + </p> + <p> + His gray-blue eyes dreamed behind his grizzled brows, and Paul sat + watching him. There was a touching something in the gray, bowed figure and + the gray patience of his face. Paul seemed to see him alone, thus + dreaming. + </p> + <p> + ‘I won’t go, dad, unless you like.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s best, Paul; it’s best.’ + </p> + <p> + A knock sounded at the front-door, and Paul walked down the long narrow + passage which lay alongside the sitting-room and the shop, and admitted + the major part of the household. They had been to a tea-meeting and + concert at Ebenezer, and they all trooped chattering into the big kitchen, + bringing a smell of frost and night air in their raiment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mary,’ said Armstrong, at the first gap of silence, ‘Paul is going to + London.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul’s heart swelled at this unlooked-for acceptance of his plans, but the + household stood in wonder. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s Paul got to go to London for?’ asked Mrs. Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve talked it over within the last few minutes,’ returned Armstrong. + ‘The lad’s coming to discretion. He wants to see the world. I’ll find + something for him to do there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘William,’ said his wife, ‘you’re mad.’ + </p> + <p> + Armstrong lit his pipe and said nothing, but the wife uplifted her voice + and spoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you’ve got your proper look on, as if you were half a + million miles away, and me a insect, crawling about somewhere in another + planet and not worthy of a thought I know your ways—I’ve got a right + to know ‘em after nine-and-thirty ‘ears o’ married life, I reckon. You’ve + spoke your word, and you’ll sooner die than go back on it. Another man ‘ud + give some sort of a why an’ a wherefore. But you! You’re Sir Horacle, you + are. You’ve opened your lips, and other folks’ talk is just no more than + so many dogs a-chelpin’! What’s our Paul want to go to London for? Answer + me that, if you please, William Armstrong. If it was in me, William, to be + a downright vulgar woman, I’d take the poker to you.’ + </p> + <p> + Armstrong looked up with his swift, dry twinkle, and she laughed. She + tried to make the laugh sound angry, but the effort was useless. Armstrong + twinkled again, and she burst into a peal. + </p> + <p> + ‘Children,’ she said, wiping her eyes with the fringe of her shawl, + ‘remember what I tell you. That’s the best man in the world, but I hope to + gracious goodness as none of you will ever grow up like him. He’s enough + to break the patience of a saint. If Job’d ha’ lived with him, he’d ha’ + broke his head with one of his potsherds.’ + </p> + <p> + Then the household laughed at large, for of late years this was the + fashion—this, or something very like it—in which all combative + disputes had ended. It had not always been so. In the earlier years, which + Paul could well remember, before the gray little man had achieved his + triumph of speechless mastery, there had been scenes which bordered on the + terrible. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now,’ said Mrs. Armstrong, ‘what’s our Paul to go to London for?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He’ll finish learning his business there,’ said Armstrong. ‘In two or + three years’ time he ought to be able to come back and take charge of the + place. There’s the nucleus of a good trade here, if it had energy and + knowledge brought to bear on it.’ + </p> + <p> + There was an end of spoken opposition, and the fact that Paul was going to + London was accepted. A month went by, and all arrangements were made. The + Rev. Roderic Murchison had left Barfield, and had accepted a call from + some congregation in the outskirts of the great city. He held a salaried + post as well as Metropolitan secretary to his sect, and had become a + person of importance. He was in association with a firm of printers who + worked mainly for the big Nonconformist bodies, and an odour of sanctity + was supposed, by the Armstrong household at least, to rest upon the + labours upon which Paul was about to enter in their office. Paul had + examples of the office craftsmanship set before him. Technically they were + excellent, but their literary form was not of the highest order. He + learned that a hundred and odd workmen were engaged, and he pictured them + as a set of square-toes whose talk would be guarded and pious and narrow, + for in his innocence he imagined the men who translated good books into + type were necessarily good, and the men who translated into type the + goody-goody were of that spiritual complexion. + </p> + <p> + Paul and his father travelled up to London together on a Thursday. They + found lodgings in Charterhouse Square at the house of a sprightly + black-eyed lady, whose husband, long deceased, had been a Nonconformist + minister. She was very smiling and gracious, and Paul thought her a + charming woman, but he got out of her good books very early, and never + knew how for years after. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said at the Sunday dinner, ‘anybody would + know you were from the country.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘By your hair,’ said the lady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, well,’ said Paul, ‘I must get it cut London fashion.’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bryne bit her lips and flashed a look at him. The boarders tittered, + but Paul sat unconscious. He knew that ignorant people misplaced their + aspirates at times, but Mrs. Bryne was a lady, and wore silk dresses on + week-days. + </p> + <p> + But he had sown a seed of misliking, and it had opportunity to ripen. + Armstrong the elder, with that wholesale want of worldly wisdom which + distinguished him, had arranged that Paul should have a room in Mrs. + Bryne’s house, with breakfast and supper on week-days and whole board on + Sundays, on terms which fitted accurately with his earnings. He gave Paul + a pound for pocket-money, and went away without a thought as to what the + lad was to do for his daily dinner. This admirable business arrangement + bore fruit, of course. + </p> + <p> + At eight o’clock on a February morning Paul presented himself at the + office. The day was foggy and bitter. The street-lamps were alight, and + all the shops yet open were dull yellow with gas-lamps in the fog. He had + to ask his way several times, and only one passenger in four or five took + any notice of him, but he reached his destination as some neighbouring + church clock boomed the hour out of the nowhere of the upper air. He + announced himself by name to a man in a glass-case at the head of the + stairs. The man gave him a surly side-way nod, and Paul, not + understanding, waited for something more. + </p> + <p> + ‘Upstairs, ye fool!’ said the man. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a cold mornin’,’ said Paul. That nose o’ yours looks a bit pinched + with it. I’ve half a mind to warm it for you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the surly man, ‘how often do you want to be spoken to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Once is enough,’ said Paul. ‘Come outside and I’ll gi’ thee a lesson in + manners.’ + </p> + <p> + The surly man declined this invitation, and slid down the glass in front + of him. Paul mounted wrathfully. He was more grieved at himself than at + the other fellow, because he had made up his mind to be civil to + everybody, and above all things to put away the Barfield accent, which he + could do quite easily when he thought about it. + </p> + <p> + In the great room he entered there were rows on rows of compositors’ + frames, all dimly illuminated by a single gas-jet, and the air was thick + with fog. One prematurely sharp-looking small boy was performing a sort of + rhythmic dance with a shrill whistle for accompaniment. He had a big can + of water, which he swung like a censer as he danced. The can had a small + hole pierced in the bottom, and the boy was laying the dust When the can + had yielded its last drop he took up a big broom and swept the place + rapidly, keeping up his shrill whistle meanwhile. + </p> + <p> + ‘Isn’t it time somebody was here?’ Paul asked at length. + </p> + <p> + ‘Manday’s a saint’s day,’ said the boy. ‘You a-comin’ to work ‘ere?’ he + asked. Paul nodded. ‘You’ll know better next taime. Why, even the “O.” + doesn’t come before naine on a Manday.’ + </p> + <p> + That was the fashionable Cockney dialect of the time. It is dead, as are + the many fashions of Cockney speech which have followed it until now, and + as the present accent will be in a year or two. It tickled Paul’s ear, and + to get more of it he beguiled the boy to talk. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who’s the “O.”?’ he asked + </p> + <p> + ‘“O.”?’ said the boy sharply. ‘Overseer.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why are they late on Monday?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose,’ said the boy, ‘they stop too late at church on Sanday. They + are a pretty old ikey lot as works ‘ere, and so I tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul began to revise his opinion as to the probable character of his + associates. But perhaps the boy was purposely misleading him. He thought + it worth while to wait and see. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, by way of keeping the conversation going. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tom Ketling,’ said the boy, ‘but they calls me “Tat” for short, because I + used to hang about outside Tattersall’s and run errands. I picked up most + of my education there. There ain’t many of ‘em as can teach me anything.’ + He broke off short in his confidences at the sound of a heavy shuffling + footstep on the stairs. ‘Oh, my!’ he cried, ‘this is a marble, and no + error! How are you, Forty?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You here?’ said the man thus hailed. ‘Why, how you <i>are</i> reforming!’ + His voice had a deep chuckling husk in it, as if he had just finished an + exhausting laugh, and his lungs still panted. His face and figure were + vague in the fog and dimness of the place, but as he rolled and chuckled + nearer Paul stared at him, not without reason. He was respectably attired + at the first glance in a heavy overcoat of milled cloth, with facings of + some sort of cheap imitation fur, and a silk-hat which, though creased in + many places, was flatteringly oiled, and shone with a lustre to which its + age bequeathed no right. He had a high collar which rose to the + cheek-bone, and was severely starched, though yellow and serrated at the + edges. His face was a flame of high colour, and his nose was a burlesque + on the nose of Bardolph. It was not merely huge; it was portentous. It was + of the size and shape of a well-grown winter pear, and it wagged as he + walked, touching now one bloated cheek and now the other. It was garnished + with many dark bosses, as if it were ornamented by round nails of a purple + tone, and when once the owner had carried it fairly under the gas-jet it + seemed as if it were the nose which shed such light as there was to + struggle with the fog. ‘You see it,’ he cried, with the same short-winded + chuckle. ‘Everybody sees it Br-r-r-r-r-r-r!’ He shook his head rapidly + from side to side, and the amazing nose tapped either cheek in turn with + an actual audible sound like the faintest clapping of hands. Apart from + this deformity and the sanguine colour of his face he was a jolly-looking + fellow, and his brown eyes twinkled as if they had been transparent, with + a flickering light behind them. ‘I got that,’ he said, rubbing die nose + with the palm of one hand, ‘from my highly respectable grandfather. He was + a great landowner, so I’m told, down Guildford way, and drank more port + and brandy-punch than any man in England. This’—he fondled the nose + again—‘this skipped a generation. My highly respectable father’s + proboscis was pure Greek—Greek so pure, sir, that the late President + of the Royal Academy has been known to follow him about London in a + hansom-cab from dawn to dewy eve in the hope of catching its outline. + Br-r-r-r-r-r-r!’ He wagged the monstrous feature again. He stopped short + with a ludicrous solemnity. ‘Your highly respectable name is Armstrong?’ + he said with a voice and attitude of courtesy. ‘I judged so. You are a + turnover apprentice from the establishment of your highly respectable + father in the country? Exactly. My highly respectable name is Warr, sir. I + am sometimes known as Forty in recognition of a little feat of mine, in + respect of which “let other lips,” et cetera. I suppose that I have never + told you——’ He was in an attitude of extremest confidence, but + he changed it with a flourish, ‘I was told, sir, to be here to meet you. + It is mine to initiate you into the highly respectable mysteries. I + suppose I never told you ‘—the air of confidence was back again—‘that + I am the owner of an heirloom?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t remember that you ever did,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘An heirloom,’ the man with the nose exclaimed, ‘an heirloom which—in + short, a highly respectable heirloom—a work of art. This is + varnishing day. Would you like to see the work of art varnished? Then come + with me.’ He laid aside the burlesque air, and said seriously: ‘There will + be nothing done here for an hour.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul followed him down the stairs and into the street, where the fog + seemed thicker than before. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it often like this in the City?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said his companion; ‘I regret to say it isn’t We get very little + open weather in the City at this time of year. As a rule, in February you + find the City clouded.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This is quite clouded enough for my taste,’ said Paul, coughing and + weeping. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear sir,’ said Mr. Warr, ‘this is merely Italian! Ah! I forgot You + are fresh from the country. You think this foggy! Well, perhaps it is not + quite so bright as we get it some days. But a real fog in London is a very + different thing from this. In ‘the great fog of January, ‘68, it happened + very fortunately for me that the partner of my highly-respectable joys and + sorrows had asked me to purchase a meat-axe. I hewed my way home by its + aid, sir. When I reached London Bridge I was so fatigued that I was + compelled to sit down, and to beguile the time I cut a portion of the fog + in strips, and modelled the strips into a very handsome set of hat-pegs. + They would have made a highly superior souvenir of an interesting + occasion, but they were, unfortunately, stolen. By the way, if you happen + to have sixpence about you I needn’t ask for credit for the varnish. I + hate debt as I hate the devil. Thank you, sir. This way.’ He rolled into a + gin-shop, and called for ‘a quartern and two outs,’ tendering Paul’s coin + in payment. + </p> + <p> + Paul declined any share in the liquor. He was watchful, and as full of + interest as a child. The battered pewter counter, with little pools of + dirty liquid in its hollows; the green-painted, flat-bellied barrels with + bands of faded gilding; the moist and filthy sawdust on the floor, with + last week’s odours in it and a mere sprinkling of clean sawdust on top, + offering its hint of the timber-stacks in the yard next door to home; the + winking gas with the fog-halo round it; the shirt-sleeved barman; the + female habitual drunkard here for a dram thus early, and holding her glass + in both shaking palms as if she warmed her hands at it; the ceiling, + cobwebbed and clouded with gas-smoke; the gaping door, like a dead jaw + that would have dropped but for the straps that held it—all these + things beat themselves in on his intelligence as if they would make an + eternal pressure there. It was as if the place had a moral physiognomy of + its own, and as if through countless details he absorbed an instinct as to + its daily life. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose,’ said Paul, ‘you varnish that work of art pretty often?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As often as I can,’ Mr. Warr responded. ‘But the varnish is costly, my + credit is nowhere worth a tinker’s damn, and I live in a chronic + impecuniosity.’ + </p> + <p> + He varnished the work of art with a genuine relish, and, the process being + over, he and Paul returned to the office, where signs of life were + beginning to show themselves. The flare of some thirty or forty lighted + gas-brackets made an inroad on the fog, and knots of men were laughing and + talking. It very soon became clear to Paul’s intelligence that the daily + work and conversation of his new companions were not in any marked degree + ruled or moulded by the influence of that religious literature with which + they helped to furnish the world. They were neither better nor worse than + the average British workman; but they certainly cursed a good deal, and a + stiffish breeze of indecency blew through all their speech. + </p> + <p> + In ten minutes every man was at his case, and silence reigned. The + overseer—a dyspeptic, long-haired man, who looked like a dejected + tragedian—interviewed the new-comer, supplied him with a certain + amount of ‘copy,’ and left him to his devices. Mr. Warr worked by his + side. That gentleman without the silk-hat came out bald, and without the + fur-trimmed overcoat came out shabby, in a very threadbare old black rock. + He wore a portentous pair of cuffs to match the antiquated collar, and + these being slipped off and the coat-sleeves turned up for convenience in + working, Paul wondered if any shirt or other under-garment kept them + company. Any doubt he may have had on that point was dissipated early in + the day, for Mr. Warr chancing to stoop with his head towards Paul, gave + the young man a clear view of his bare back, between which and the world + at large there was nothing but the threadbare coat. + </p> + <p> + About half-past twelve o’clock the small boy whom Paul had encountered on + his arrival began to move about from man to man with a strip of paper. + Each man looked at the paper and spoke a single word. Then the boy + invariably pronounced a word which sounded like ‘vedge,’ and the man + either shook his head or nodded. Paul wondered what this might mean, until + his turn came, when he found a choice of viands written in a scrawling + hand upon the scrap of paper: + </p> + <p> + ‘Boiled beef and carrots. + </p> + <p> + ‘Boiled pork and pease-pudding.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s sixpence-halfpenny if you have it here, sixpence if you go out for + it.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul made his choice, and the boy said ‘Vedge?’ in an accent of inquiry. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s “vedge”?’ + </p> + <p> + The boy looked up in a momentary wonder, and then grinned knowingly, and + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean by “vedge”?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said the boy, ‘you don’t get over me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not trying to get over you. I want to know what you mean.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ said the boy; ‘of course you do! They don’t eat greens and + taters where you come from! Oh dear no; not at all!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s it, is it? Then, I take vedge.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If s an extra penny, mind you. You pays on Saturday.’ + </p> + <p> + The boy turned to Mr. Warr, who made his choice also. + </p> + <p> + A little later a voice said ‘Halt!’ and there was a clatter of + composing-sticks laid smartly down on the cases. Almost at the same + instant the small boy came in with a pyramid of plates with flat tin + covers. ‘Beef and vedge,’ shrilled the boy, and, setting down his burden, + charged out again, returning instantly with another cry of ‘Beef, no + vedge.’ He was out and in again with a cry of ‘Pork and vedge,’ and out + and in again with a cry of ‘Pork, no vedge.’ Then a shock-headed youth + appeared with a basket foil of tin measures and a big can of black beer. + He was met with an instant storm of chaff, and allusions of a Rabelaisian + sort were made to one Mary for whom he would seem to have had a kindness. + He departing, the men set themselves to the serious business of dinner, + and, the meal being over, they gathered into groups, and smoked and + talked, whilst the small boy cleared away. + </p> + <p> + An aproned man in a very old skull cap of black silk, and a shabby + frock-coat like Mr. Warr’s, approached Paul and announced himself as ‘the + Father of the Chapel.’ He welcomed the young man with a curious formal + courtesy, and aired scraps of Latin with which Paul was familiar from many + years of study of the specimen-books of the type-founders, who used to + exhibit the most exquisite specimens of the printers’ art in quotations + from Cicero. Mr. Warr borrowed sixpence on the plea of sudden and severe + internal pains, and went out to varnish the work of art. He returned with + a moist eye, and in the course of the afternoon twice or thrice dipped his + bulbous nose into the letter ‘e’ box, and snored for a minute at a time + among the types. + </p> + <p> + Day followed day, and one day was like another. Saturday came, and Paul + received his wages. He paid his first weekly bill at his boarding-house by + aid of the remnant of the sovereign left for pocket-money. Next week saw + him in debt. The third week saw him dinnerless. He knew the mistake his + father had made, but it did not occur to him to take any active steps to + remedy it Any lad of his years with a farthing’s-worth of business faculty + would have written home to explain his case, and would have gone into + cheaper lodgings. Paul chose to do nothing, but to wander hungrily and + vacantly through the city in the dinner-hour. He found no more varnish for + the work of art, and his working comrade was less amiable than he had + been. The week’s end found him a little further in debt, in spite of + abstention. His landlady, who thought he had been impertinent in that + unconscious matter of the aspirate, was not disposed to be friendly. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can tell by your looks,’ she said, ‘that you have been dissipating, and + I know that you are wasting your money. I shall write and tell your father + so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + He was voracious at the supper-table, and that made the landlady no kinder + to him. He ate like a wolf at every meal on Sunday, and his + fellow-boarders chaffed him; but the lady of the house looked as if she + would fain have poisoned him. + </p> + <p> + She asked Paul into her private sitting-room after supper, and he accepted + her invitation. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall expect a satisfactory settlement at the end of this week, Mr. + Armstrong,’ she said icily. ‘Unless I get it from you I shall write to + your home for it, and in any case I shall be obliged if you will leave.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + He thought all this rather unprosperous for a beginning of a free life, + but he cared astonishingly little. If he had looked at the prospect, he + might have begun to think it in a small way very serious. Recalling the + time as he sat in his mountain eyrie, he found in it the first indication + of his own irresponsibility, a knack of blinding himself to consequences. + </p> + <p> + Monday came, and he dined. It did not seem worth while to deny himself any + further. Tuesday came, and in the middle of the morning’s work a man + rapped on his case with a composing-stick, and said aloud, ‘I call a + Chapel.’ Mr. Warr turned on Paul, and told him he must go outside and wait + until such time as the meeting thus summoned was over. He and three + apprentices clustered on the landing. The doors were closed, and they + waited for half an hour. + </p> + <p> + At the end of that time they were re-admitted, and Paul was solemnly + escorted to the old man with the skull-cap. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have a question to ask you, Mr. Armstrong,’ the old gentleman began. + ‘Were you properly indentured to this business.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul. ‘I picked up what I know about it in my father’s office.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You were never bound apprentice?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you, Mr. Armstrong, that will do.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul went back to his case, and fell to work there, not caring to + speculate much as to what had happened. The Father of the Chapel, + accompanied by two or three of his companions, left the composing-room, + were absent for some twenty minutes, and then filed solemnly back again. + Shortly afterwards a clerk came in, with a pen behind his ear. He stood by + Paul’s side, and pronounced his name in a tone of question. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here,’ said Paul, looking round at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Just give your hands a bit of a rinse,’ said the clerk, ‘and put on your + things and come down into the manager’s office, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul nodded, and went off to the sink and the jack-towel, wondering a + little. When in due time he presented himself before the manager he was at + once enlightened. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is your week’s money, Armstrong, and your services will not be + required here further.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No fault of yours,’ the manager answered; ‘but we find that you have not + been regularly apprenticed to the trade. This is a Union house, and we are + under Union rules.’ Paul took up the half-sovereign and the small mound of + silver the manager pushed towards him, and dropped it into his pocket coin + by coin. ‘I don’t know your circumstances,’ the manager continued, ‘but if + you’re in want of work, I can put you in the way of it at once. There’s a + non-Union house close by, where I happen to know they’re short of hands. I + have written the address in case you care to try there. You needn’t make + it known to any of our men that I sent you there. Good-morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not going home,’ said Paul to himself, as he walked into the street + ‘I’m not going home, whatever happens.’ + </p> + <p> + He consulted the address he held in his hand, and walked towards it. His + dinnerless wanderings of last week had taught him something of the + intricacies of the City, if not much, and he chanced to know his way. The + place he sought was high up at the top of a ramshackle old house in a + narrow court, and a score of dispirited-looking men and youths were at + work there. A tired dyspeptic, with a dusty patch of hair and rabbit + teeth, approached him when he entered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he said, when Paul had explained his business; ‘you can start in at + once, and if you’re any good you’re safe for a month or two. I hope you’re + a steady worker,’ he went on despondingly, as if he were quite hopeless. + ‘They’re not a dependable lot here—not a dependable lot at all.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul took his place amongst the depressed little crowd at two o’clock that + afternoon, and worked away among them until two o’clock on the following + Saturday. A little before that hour it became evident that something was + wrong. An excited little man ran into the dingy room, and began a + whispered conversation with the tired dyspeptic. + </p> + <p> + ‘But, my God!’ said the latter, in a tearful voice; ‘I <i>must</i> have it + I’ve got my men to pay.’ + </p> + <p> + At this everybody pricked an ear. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all right, old man,’ said the other. ‘Here’s the cheque, and it’s as + good as the Bank of England. But I’ve only just this minute got it. It’s + after one o’clock, and it’s Saturday, and the Bank’s closed. What am I to + do? + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t care what you do. Get somebody to cash it for you, I suppose. + I’ve got to have the money. Here’s all the bills made out, and in ten + minutes the men’ll be waiting.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the man, I’ll try. It ain’t my fault, Johnny.’ + </p> + <p> + He ran out as excitedly as he had entered, and the men stopped work by + common consent, and struggled into their coats. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s bad enough,’ said one of them, ‘to work for two-thirds money even + when you get it.’ + </p> + <p> + Nobody else said anything. The dyspeptic foreman drew a case out of a rack + near the wall, and sat down upon it. The rest hung about dispiritedly, and + waited for what might transpire. + </p> + <p> + Two or three gathered round the imposing-surface. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have a jeff?’ said one. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you like,’ said another. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come along,’ said a third, turning up the sleeves of his coat + </p> + <p> + Paul drew near, moved by curiosity. + </p> + <p> + One of the men picked up three em quadrats from a case near at hand. An em + quadrat is an elongated cube of type-metal, on which three of the + elongated surfaces are plain, whilst the fourth bears grooved marks which + indicate the fount of type to which it belongs. The cubes were used as + dice. The men started with a halfpenny pool, and the first thrower cast + three plain surfaces. He paid in three-halfpence. The second man threw + with equal effect, and put in three-pence. The third man threw three + nicked surfaces, and took the pool. + </p> + <p> + Two or three more of the men who were waiting for the messenger’s return + rose and drew near. Then others came, and, at last, all but Paul were + playing. The rules were simple enough: Any man who turned up three blanks + paid the whole of the pool. One nicked surface took a third, two nicked + surfaces two-thirds, three nicked surfaces the whole. Somebody cleared the + whole, and the game started afresh. Paul threw down a halfpenny and joined + in. As last comer he was last to play. The first throw cleared the pool. + It was renewed, and the next throw took fourpence. Twopence remained. + Three blanks doubled it—fourpence. Three blanks doubled it again—eightpence. + Again three blanks doubled it—sixteenpence. A throw of one by common + consent took sixpence. Three blanks made the shilling two. Three more + blanks made two shillings four. Three more made it eight, and three more + sixteen. Faces began to pale and hands to tremble. A single took six + shillings after a good deal of wrangling, and ten shillings were left Paul + threw for the ten shillings and swept the pool In all his life he had + never known such a sensation, though the money as yet was mainly of paper + slips. + </p> + <p> + The cashier had negotiated his cheque somehow and somewhere, and was busy + with the money. The men received their meagre wages, debts were paid, and + the game went on. The stakes never again rose so high as at the first + round in which Paul found himself engaged, but he still won heavily in + proportion to the game, and continued to win until the end. He was then + the only winner, and one of the losers asked him to pay for drinks. Paul, + with a certain feeling of splendour and magnanimity, threw down half a + sovereign. + </p> + <p> + ‘Take it out of that,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + One of the despoiled poor devils clutched it, and they all went off + together, leaving Paul to struggle into his overcoat and follow, if he + pleased. + </p> + <p> + ‘You made a pretty good thing out of that,’ said the pockmarked cashier, + swinging the key with which he waited to lock the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll see,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + He emptied his pockets on the imposing-surface, and counted the pile. He + had some fifty shillings over and above the week’s wages. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve been up their shirts to the tune of about six bob a man,’ said the + cashier. ‘They’ll be sorry before the week’s out.’ + </p> + <p> + The winner was not affected by any consideration of that sort. He pouched + the money, and took his way with a farewell nod. He had tasted a novel + excitement, and the thrill was still in his blood He walked rapidly + through the winter air towards his lodgings, dressed there in his best, + and sallied out again, making straight for the Cock tavern. What suggested + the idea to him he never knew, but he meant to take a pint of port with + Will Waterproof at that famous hostel, which then stood on its own classic + ground. The old Cock was not a palatial house, but it was splendid to the + raw country lad, and he was half afraid to enter. He strode in looking as + mannish and as townlike as he could, and seated himself in one of the + boxes alone. A waiter approached him, a rotund man, in gouty-looking + slippers, with a napkin across his arm. Was this, he wondered, the steward + of the can, ‘a shade more plump than common ‘? + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me a chop,’ said Paul, ‘and a pint of port’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Chop, sir,’ said the waiter; ‘yes, sir. And a pint of——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Port,’ said Paul, and, being ignorant of the ways of such places, pulled + out a handful of silver and asked ‘How much?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bring the bill in due course, sir,’ said the water gravely, and moving + away, called the order for the chop up the chimney, as it seemed to the + visitor, and then rolled off stealthily in the gouty slippers in search of + the port. He brought it in a small decanter, which he polished assiduously + as he walked along. Paul thought it looked very little for a pint, but + made no comment. The waiter poured out a glass and retired. The + experimenter had tasted elderberry once, but he knew no more of wine. The + draught had relish fiery new, and it seemed to warm him everywhere at + once. His mind grew exquisitely bright, and his thoughts were + astonishingly vivid. He began to improvise verses, and they came with an + ease which was quite startling. They seemed to unroll themselves before + him, to reveal themselves line by line as if they had been in existence + long ago, and some spell had suddenly made them visible to his + intelligence. It was a moment of singular triumph, and it lasted until the + grave waiter laid his chop before him. He ate keenly, and finished his + pint of port A sort of beatific indolence was upon him, and he had no wish + to move, but he thought the waiter looked at him, and he was uncertain as + to whether he had a right to stay. He summoned the man and paid him, and + gave him sixpence for himself. Then he walked into the street, but the + exercise was not like walking. His step was quite firm and steady, but his + whole frame felt light, as if he could have spurned the pavement with a + foot, and have leaped the roadway at an easy bound. He thought of young + Hotspur, and ‘methinks it were an easy leap to pluck bright honour from + the pale-faced moon.’ He walked erect with his chin in the air, and + regarded the men and women who passed him with a strange sense of being + able to understand them all. There seemed to be a story in every face, and + he felt vaguely and yet positively that he could read it if he chose. He + found himself for the first time in Oxford Street without knowing either + by what route he had reached it or what was the name of the thoroughfare. + The crowds, the lights, the movement and the din of traffic were in + themselves an intoxication. It gave him a sense of strength to be alone + among them. Then all his thoughts trembled into a sudden swimming laxity, + and his mood changed to one of deep sadness. He set himself to analyse an + inward dumb reproach which filled him—to ask a reason for it—to + trace it to some source. It seemed to form itself definitely on a sudden, + and his winnings began to gall him bitterly. He had never gambled before, + and now he felt the passion of greed into which he had been betrayed + disgusting. He was ashamed of having played at all, and still more ashamed + of the callousness of triumph in which he had walked away with his gains. + He had pitied his associates. He had seen the misery of their estate quite + clearly. And yet he had stooped to profit by their folly, and slattern + wives and dirty little neglected children would be cold and hungry because + of him before a week was over. He would return the money on Monday, every + penny. He might have to pinch himself for a week or two, but he would do + it. + </p> + <p> + His mood sank lower and lower, and self-reproach grew at once more + insistent and more urgent He felt homesick, and the populous street was + like a desert. All the people who had seemed so warmly near to him were + aloof and cold. He would have welcomed any companionship. The ebbing + forces of the wine left him comfortless. + </p> + <p> + In his complete ignorance and inexperience he supposed the pint of port to + have had no effect on him. This up-and-down play of the emotions was not + what he had read of as the result of wine on an unaccustomed drinker. His + step was steady, his eye was clear, there was no confusion in his + thoughts. It would be a perfectly safe thing to have another glass of wine + and then go home. If he had been asked why he wished for more, he could + not have given a reason. It was enough for the moment that he desired it. + </p> + <p> + He found himself outside a flaring house, with the words ‘Wine Shades ‘in + a blaze of wind-fluttered gas above the door, and painted placards in the + window: ‘Wines from the Wood. Fine old Sherry, 10d., 8d., and 6d. per dock + glass.’ He had never tasted sherry. Sherry surely was the drink of many + heroes. Shakespeare and Jonson drank it at the Mermaid. He entered the + place, called for his wine—‘Your best,’ he said, as he threw his + shilling on the counter—and sat down on a high stool to drink it. + Before his glass was empty he had flashed back into high spirits again. He + resumed his walk in a new exultation, and this time he knew enough to + attribute it to the wine. What a superb boon it conferred upon the mind! + How easy it seemed to soar out of sadness and loneliness into these + exalted regions of friendship with all created things. He walked through + the winter night with no knowledge of the route he took and with no care. + He could ask his way home at any time. + </p> + <p> + He came to the Metropolitan Music Hall in the Edgware Road, and suffered + himself to be borne in by the crowd at the doors. The place and its like + were strange to him. The performance seemed wholly contemptible and + absurd. Men and women screamed with laughter and roared applause at jests + which were either inane or hateful. A noisy man in a long-waisted + overcoat, whose skirts swept the stage, a blonde wig, flying yellow + whiskers, and a white hat at a raking angle, sang an idiotic song with + patter interspersed between the verses. He described a visit received from + Lord Off-his-Chump, Lady Off-her-Chump, and all the honourable Misses + Off-their-Chumps. The witticisms convulsed Paul’s neighbours and left him + saturnine. He conceived a loathing and despite for the creature on the + stage which he had never felt before for any living thing. The popular + laughter and applause fed his personal hatred and disdain. He made an + involuntary sound of contempt as the ‘lion comique’ went off. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said a voice beside him. ‘You don’t like that?’ Paul turned and + looked at the man who had accosted him. He was evidently a foreigner, and + his complexion was so jaundiced that he was the colour of a guinea. What + should have been the whites of his eyes were of a deep yellow. His nose + had a hook, high up, right between the eyes, and his lofty forehead, + narrowing to a peak, was ridged like a ploughed field. His hair and beard + and moustache were all crisp and curling, and their blackness was faintly + streaked with gray. + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t like that?’ said the stranger again. ‘No,’ said Paul. I don’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The cruel thing about it,’ said the stranger, ‘is that other people do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul; ‘that is the cruel thing about it.’ + </p> + <p> + He had the suspicion of strangers which is natural to most rustic folk in + London, and his manner was purposely dry. + </p> + <p> + ‘It strikes me,’ said the yellow man, ‘that you and I are about the only + sensible people here. Come and have a drink.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ Paul returned, ‘I don’t drink with strangers.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, well,’ said the other, ‘that’s a wise thing, too. Have a cigar?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t smoke, thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And that again is a very sensible thing,’ said the stranger, laughing. ‘I + am a slave to tobacco. Smoking has ceased to be a pleasure since it became + a necessity.’ + </p> + <p> + The man’s speech had a faintly foreign sound, but his English was + faultless. The very slight peculiarity which marked it was rather a level + flatness in the tone than an accent It suggested a time when it had cost + him an effort to speak the language, though the time had long passed away. + The good-nature with which he accepted Paul’s rebuff lulled the + youngster’s suspicions, and lulled it the more completely that the man + turned away with a smiling nod and made no further attempt to enter into + conversation. + </p> + <p> + The lion comique was followed by a juggler, who appeared in the guise of a + hotel waiter, and laid a table as if for breakfast. The table arranged, he + began to perform the most extraordinary tricks with the things he had + placed upon it Eggs, egg-cups, teapot, cream-jug, sugar-basin, breakfast + bacon, loaf, bread-trencher, table-napkins, plates, knives, forks, and + spoons spouted in a fountain from his hands. They seemed to be thrown into + the air at random, and the man darted hither and thither about the stage + to catch them. Then he was back at the table again amidst a storm of + crockeryware, cutlery, and provisions, and each article as it descended + was caught with an astonishing dexterity and set in its proper place with + a swift exactness which looked like magic. The artist had a perfect + aplomb, and he put off the catching of each article till the last fraction + of the inevitable second, so that he seemed secure in perfect triumph and + yet on the edge of instant failure. The house howled with excited laughter + and applause, and Paul roared as loud as any. He was as sober as a judge + so far as balance of body and clearness of speech and thought were + concerned, but the wine was in his blood. He stamped, clapped hands, and + shouted until the performer left the stage, and had twice returned and + bowed He felt that the applause would not cease until he ceased to lead + it. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s better, eh?’ said the man at Paul’s side when the tumult was over. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, by Jingo!’ said Paul ‘It <i>was</i> better. Look here, I’m afraid I + was rather rude to you a little while ago. Come and have a drink with me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘With all the pleasure in life,’ the stranger answered. + </p> + <p> + They rose and pushed their way to the bar together. The stranger would + like a brandy-and-soda. Paul would take a brandy-and-soda. They talked, + and Paul thought his chance-found companion a remarkably agreeable fellow. + He seemed to have been everywhere. He spoke familiarly of many European + countries and of the United States. But somehow he faded away in a sort of + mist, and Paul’s last remembrance of him was that he was laughingly + pulling at his arm and advising him to go home. He seemed to be blotted + out suddenly in that very act. + </p> + <p> + The Exile flashed back from his memories to himself, and awoke with a + faint, gasping cry, for his mind had led him to the hour of the lost + innocence. There are thousands on thousands of men who have lived purer + lives than he who would yet deride the shaft which struck him, and laugh + to think of its poignant power to wound. For the pure soul in the frail + body, for the high hope and the will of burned cord, for the passion which + hurries the senses and has no power to blind the conscience, there is a + lasting purgatory open. How many a time since that hour of loss he had + groaned in the silence of the night to think of it, and had taken his + pillow in his teeth! To live the purer for the shame which bit so deep and + keen? Ah, no; to overlay it with new shames, to groan over in new vigils. + </p> + <p> + Easy for the callous good, who know neither sin nor virtue in extremes, + who live somewhere about the level of a passable rectitude, and neither + sink nor soar far from it—easy for them to dismiss this bitter truth + for a mere sentimentalism; but there <i>is</i> a virginity of the soul + which evil custom cannot deflower. Woe to him who knows it, the chaste in + wish and the unchaste in act, the rogue who values honour, the poltroon + who would fain be brave! Ah, the goat-hoofed Satyr dancing there, drunk + and leering, goatish in odour, unwashed and foul! Is it I? Is it I? And + the anguished angel who weeps to look upon him. Is it I? Woe, woe is me, + for I am each and both of these! + </p> + <p> + Oh, goat-hoofed devil in man, and buffeted aspirant soul! Oh, divine + God-man, who art myself, and whom I with my own hands do hourly crucify, + whom I do scourge and crown with thorns and spit upon! + </p> + <p> + Shall a man think thus but once only—shall he feed this burning iron + in his breast but one sole time, and then go gaily afield in search of + fresh agonies? Even so, and not once again only, but his lifetime through. + This is why it is written that though you bray a fool in a mortar among + bruised wheat with a pestle, yet will not his folly depart from him. + </p> + <p> + Bowed earthward, with garments that stink of rain-soaked dye drying in the + sunshine, with swollen features and boots that suck at the flagstones, + bristled and bloated and bleared, I go by you. Had I never a concupiscence + for honour? Is there no Christ-half that walks within me towards the place + of rottenness and dead men’s bones? + </p> + <p> + Back to the vision again, not merely remembering, but living it all. + </p> + <p> + Sick nausea, rising faintly yet heavily on the senses, swimming upward, as + it were, along with a half-drowned rebeginning of life and the cognizance + of things; deep loathing, and eyes like new-cast musket-balls for heat and + weight; a frowsy air; a mouth like burned leather lined with vile odours. + Forget it all in a mere instinct of distaste. Sink down with the sick + wave. Swim down the sick wave in floating circles. Sway here and swing + there at the bottom of the whirlpool, and up again towards the light which + heaves slowly on the eye as it used to do at the upward turn after a dive, + when the sunlight shone through the yellow water of the lock. Then on a + sudden—daylight; and then, like a bursting shell on the brain, the + truth. + </p> + <p> + No use for the incredulous oath that the truth is false. + </p> + <p> + ‘My God! it isn’t—it can’t be!’ + </p> + <p> + It can be—and it is. It <i>has</i> been, and no mere episode of an + eternity will wipe it out or can undo it There is the dirty blind torn + away from one corner of the roller; there is the peeling paper on the + wall, and the wall leprous where the paper has fallen away from it. Here, + under his cheek, is the yellow malodorous pillow. + </p> + <p> + The sick brain cannot think; the foul mouth seems to taste of his own + soiled soul. + </p> + <p> + And the woman, when he turns his leaden head, lying there, flushed—a + girl of the bestial-handsome sort, with a smear of wet black hair on her + brow, and a sensuous mouth, spurting breath like the lips of a swimmer + half under water. + </p> + <p> + Out of this—anywhere. Feverish haste in dressing. Robbed, too—penniless. + </p> + <p> + What does that matter? + </p> + <p> + It matters greatly, it would seem, for here is a hulking, pock-marked + villain demanding money, and a shrieking, night-gowned virago hauling the + fugitive back up the stairs with obscenities which match the place and + himself and her. + </p> + <p> + Then a flash in the heart, as if Hell’s flame of shame and Heaven’s + lightning of righteous wrath lit it together. The pock-marked rascal is + lying quiet on the ruddled bricks at the foot of the stairs. The woman’s + Voice curses until the corner is turned. A door slams. He is hatless and + unwashed and dishevelled, standing in the Blackfriars Road. + </p> + <p> + Never to be forgotten the taste of the morning river air; never to be + forgotten the grain of the stone on which his elbows leaned, or the tawny + coil of the waters below him; never to be forgotten the purple dome and + dark cross of Paul’s, with its edge of gold on one side and the rosy east + away and away beyond it. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts were the gasps of a devil’s agony. He felt in gushes, like + the welling of heart’s blood. His soul clamoured ‘Beast, beast, beast!’ at + him; ‘how dare you foul my dwelling-place!’ + </p> + <p> + A warm trickle on his left hand, which had some dim associations of + physical pain, bade him look at it; there was a yellow splinter of tooth + sticking there. He warmed to think he had struck home, and then chilled as + he asked: ‘Wasn’t the poor devil at his proper trade?’ He pulled out the + jagged splinter, and bound the wound with his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + To be twenty hours younger! To be only ten hours younger! + </p> + <p> + Ting, ting, clang, clang ‘Ting, ting, dang, clang! Ting, ting, clang, + clang! Ting, ting, clang, clang! The bells of the clock-tower at + Westminster. He made a fool’s rhyme to them: + </p> + <p> + ‘Down—In—my—home—‘neath—-the—clear—sky—No—thing—they—know + —and—naught—care—I.’ + </p> + <p> + The big bell said ‘Doom ‘eight times. + </p> + <p> + ‘Doom’ the big bell seemed to say a ninth time, sweet and far. The Dreamer + started, awoke, and knew his surroundings again. The ninth sound was the + deep call of an engine whistle, rolled on river and rock and forest, and + mellowed on many miles of smoky air. He sat with his chin on his hands, + his heart yet tingling. + </p> + <p> + ‘Was that how it happened, Paul? + </p> + <p> + In his soul the question sounded, not in his ear. He answered the voice + with a sighing ‘Yes,’ and then looked up and wondered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dad,’ he said aloud, ‘am I making confession? Do you follow these + memories? Have I only to glass things in my mind for you to see them?’ + </p> + <p> + He waited in a sudden awe. He would make no answer of his own; he would + lend the aid of no obscure mechanism of the brain to any tricking of + himself. No answer came, and he sat disheartened, staring at the one + visible hill which peered like a shadow from the other shadows in the + midst of which he dwelt. + </p> + <p> + A minute later he was ten years forward. He was seated in the smoking-room + of the Victoria Hotel at Euston, and he and Ralston were alone. Ralston + was talking. + </p> + <p> + ‘The soul,’ he said, ‘makes experiments. It writes its notes on the body, + and, having learned its own lesson, it throws the paper away. We lose to + learn value. We shall know better next time. We have to sample our cargo, + and we waste most of it, but we shall be refound for the next voayge. + Bless God for an open-air penitence, but let us have no foul air of the + cloister to turn repentance sour. So big a thing as the soul can afford to + forgive so small a thing as the body.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘After divorce, perhaps,’ said Paul; and fell to his dream again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + The damp, river-scented earth slipped under his feet. The blare of a steam + clarion, and the bang of a steam-driven drum, sounded, and the naphtha + lamps of the merry-go-round and the circus gleamed through the fog. The + infernal noise jigged on his brain-pan as if every flying crotchet and + quaver stamped like the hoof of a little devil in the surface of his + brain. The smell of the lamps was in his nostrils, and with it odours of + tar and stables and orange-peel. + </p> + <p> + Six-and-thirty hours had gone by since he had turned his back on + Blackfriars Bridge. It was more than fifty hours since he had tasted food, + and he had spent two days and a night in the open in fog and rain. He had + been hungry, but the pangs of hunger had passed, and he was conscious of + little but a cold nausea. He drew towards the light and the music + mechanically. In front of him, illuminated by flaring lamps (which + sparkled, he thought, as an apple of Sodom might have done when newly + cut), was a placard fixed in an iron frame, with clamps which pierced the + turf. ‘One night only in Reading,’ said the placard. Until then he had not + known his whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + There was no more custom for the merry-go-round, and its noisy organ + ceased to play. He could hear the band within the circus now, the dull + thud of hoofs on sawdusted earth, and the crack of a whip. A mirthless + voice, with an intention of mirth in it, said, ‘Look out! Catch her! + She’ll tumble!’ A laugh spouted up from the spectators within, and was + half smothered by the canvas of the show. Not far from him was a slit in + the canvas wall, with a pale yellow spirit of light in it. A man came into + the gleam. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, where,’ the man asked, in a voice of anger, ‘is that boy? + </p> + <p> + The voice of some invisible person responded in an alternation between a + hoarse bass and a shrill falsetto: + </p> + <p> + ‘Perchance he wanders with the paling moon, where Delos’ tower awaits the + lagging dawn, which fronts not yet her summit, or perchance——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, go to ‘ell!’ said the voice that had first spoken. ‘Where <i>is</i> + that boy?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You might,’ began the invisible person, in a cracked soprano, and + concluded in a tone three octaves lower, ‘have let me finish.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let you finish!’ said the other. ‘Would you finish? <i>Can</i> you + finish? He stood comically silhouetted—a balloon propped by two + monstrous sausages and topped by a football. ‘Billy,’ he said, in a grave + voice, after a minute’s pause, ‘where is that boy? Miriam can’t do three + turns. If Pauer isn’t here in five minutes, the fat’s in the fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said the falsetto voice, ‘why don’t you’—the hoarse basso + carried on the phrase—‘send somebody else?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who am I to send? asked the man in view. ‘I’d give five bob,’ he added, + ‘to get him here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me where he is,’ said Paul, ‘and I’ll get him for half the money, if + I have to carry him.’ + </p> + <p> + The man to whom he spoke turned round and stared at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who are you?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘A hungry vagabond,’ said Paul, ‘willing to earn a meal.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know the town?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No; I’m a stranger.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That,’ said the fat man, pointing, ‘leads to the gate. Turn to the right, + run three hundred yards, and there’s a pub on the left. You can’t mistake + it. Tell Herr Pauer he’s waited for. Sixpence if you’re smart.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shilling!’ said Paul, half on the run already. The fat man hung fire. + ‘Shilling!’ said Paul again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Shilling if he’s here in ten minutes,’ said the other. + </p> + <p> + Paul ran. The fatigue which had weighed upon his limbs seemed gone. Once + free of the clogging and slippery mire which had been wrought out of the + wet turf by many travelling feet, he raced along the firm high-road at his + best speed. He made a leap into the entrance-hall of the house which had + been indicated to him, and narrowly escaped collision with a man who was + moving smartly towards the street. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo!’ said the man, slipping nimbly on one side, and staring at him as + he suddenly arrested himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo!’ said Paul. He was face to face with the jaundiced man of + Saturday. ‘Are you Herr Pauer? + </p> + <p> + He was guided to the question by the man’s attire. He was in some sort of + circus uniform, and in act to button a huge shaggy overcoat above it. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s my name,’ said the other. ‘What brings you here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re wanted at the circus,’ Paul answered, flushing and turning pale + again. + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ said Herr Pauer, ‘I’m going there. But what is up with you, + my young friend?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing much,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘No?’ said Herr Pauer, buttoning himself from throat to toes, and looking + at him with a glittering eye. ‘I should have thought quite differently. + Come along with me.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul hung back, but he remembered the earned shilling. There was a smell + of cooking in the house, and he was suddenly ravenous at the mere thought + of food. The two turned into the road together, and walked smartly side by + side. They reached the circus, and Herr Pauer motioned to Paul to enter. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in,’ he said, seeing that the youngster lingered. + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed again, and was ushered into a small turfy space boxed in with + canvas. A few loose boards were laid upon the ground by way of flooring. + There was a table at one side, on which lay a small circular shaving + mirror, a comb, a stick of cosmetic, and two open pots of porcelain, the + larger one containing chalk, and the smaller half-filled with rouge. + </p> + <p> + ‘Three minutes,’ said the fat man, thrusting his head round the canvas + partition; ‘and short at that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ returned Herr Pauer. + </p> + <p> + He unbuttoned the overcoat, and let it slip to the ground, drew off a huge + pair of rubber boots, and stood revealed in buckled pumps and stockings, + silk breeches, a white waistcoat with gilt buttons, and a cut-away coat of + light-blue cloth slashed with gold braid. He dipped his fingers in the + powdered chalk, and rubbed his face, looking hard at Paul meanwhile, and + growing ghastlier every second as the white obscured the yellow of his + face. He stooped to the fallen overcoat, took an old hare’s-foot from one + of his pockets, and, dipping it in the rouge-pot, took the shaving-glass + in hand, and, with many facial contortions, pursued his toilet, looking + from his own reflection to Paul’s face and back again with swift + alternation. He pinched a bit of the cosmetic between thumb and finger, + and dressed his eyelashes with it. Then he carefully drew an arched + eyebrow, and paused to look at Paul again. The single brow gave him a + comically elfin look, and Paul grinned; Herr Pauer drew another eyebrow, + touched up his moustache, obliterated the gray upon his temples, and + combed and twisted moustache and hair to his own satisfaction. Then he sat + down on the table, and looked once more at his companion. Paul looked back + at him, but felt his very eyeballs redden. The band beyond the screen + played louder and louder. Then there came a great roar of applause, and + Herr Pauer, keeping an eye on Paul till the last instant, walked away. + </p> + <p> + The fat man entered a minute later. + </p> + <p> + ‘The governor says you are to go inside,’ he said, ‘and wait till his + turn’s over. Here’s your bob, anyhow. A bargain’s a bargain, ain’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul accepted the proffered shilling, and slipped it into his pocket. Then + he accompanied his guide, who pushed him through a labyrinth of props and + stays, above which were ranged benches for the accommodation of the + audience. They reached a spot from which they could see the whole space of + the ring through a break between the benches. The fat man struck Paul as + having somehow the look of keeping him in custody. But Herr Pauer appeared + in the circle, and he forgot to think about that fancy. He wondered what + his curiously-encountered chance-acquaintance was going to do. He had not + long to wait, for two men in livery came on with a table, arranged in all + respects as the conjurer’s table had been arranged in the music-hall on + Saturday night, and Herr Pauer proceeded to play precisely the tricks the + conjurer had played. He was just as adroit and swift and’ agile as the + original, and the audience stamped and laughed and shouted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah,’ the fat man breathed in Paul’s ear, ‘the governor hasn’t been away a + month for nothing.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul turned, but his custodian seemed unconscious of him. The performance + reached an end amidst a hurricane of applause, and Herr Pauer came back + several times to bow his acknowledgments. The fat man seemed to wake, and, + with a hand on Paul’s shoulder, pushed him back amongst the props and + stays until they reached the canvas room again. Somebody had placed a + ragged cane-seated chair near the table, and Herr Pauer, who was already + waiting, motioned his visitor into it. He seated himself on the table, + with one trim leg swinging to and fro, and lit a cigar. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ he said, rolling a cloud of smoke from his lips, ‘what have you run + away from?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I haven’t run away from anything,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well! we shall see about that. When I saw you on Saturday night you + were flush of money. Now—so my man tells me—you call yourself + a starving vagabond, and you run errands for a shilling. You are wet + through, and you are mud all over. You have no hat, my young friend. You + may just as well make a clean breast of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve nothing to make a clean breast of,’ Paul answered sullenly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes, you have,’ said Herr Pauer. ‘You were very tipsy on Saturday + night. Were you ever tipsy before?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘You had money,’ said Herr Pauer. ‘Was it your own?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + The answer was defiant and angry. + </p> + <p> + ‘To do as you liked with? Didn’t you owe any of it? + </p> + <p> + ‘I owed something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Got tipsy. Got cleared out. Hadn’t the pluck to go home. That about the + size of it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul, ‘that’s about the size of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No hat,’ Herr Pauer went on comfortably. ‘Out all night. Sunday morning. + Empty pockets. Religious landlady.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you know?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘You told me about the landlady. The rest is easy enough. What are you + going to do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are a shiftless young devil, I must say. Doesn’t it occur to you to + think you <i>are</i> a shiftless young devil—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I think it does,’ said Paul with extreme inward bitterness, ‘now that you + come to mention it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come now,’ said Herr Pauer, shifting his seat on the table and turning to + face the lad, ‘you shall not take that tone. I tell you you shall not take + it, because it is a wrong and dangerous tone. You have done things that + you are ashamed of. You shall have the goodness to be ashamed of them like + a man, and not like a fool. Now, what are you going to do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can earn a living,’ Paul answered. ‘I’ve got a trade between my + fingers.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m a compositor. I can do a man’s work, if I can only earn two-thirds of + a man’s wages.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is all very well. But it’s not quite what I mean. You have a home?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul laid his face in his hands and groaned. He was so ashamed at this + that he had no courage to undo his own act. He sat with his face still + hidden. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will go straight home to-morrow,’ said Herr Pauer, rising from the + table. The culprit shook his head. ‘Tomorrow,’ Herr Pauer reiterated. The + culprit shook his head again. ‘They will kill the fatted calf,’ said Herr + Pauer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, no, they won’t,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + His father might be moved to do it, but not the rest. Oh, no, not the + rest. And on the whole he would rather not have the fatted calf. He would + prefer any desolation to forgiveness. Forgiveness must be preceded by + knowledge, and the thought of that was unendurable. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you reckon,’ asked Herr Pauer, ‘that you are ever going to see your + folks again?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul said nothing, and the circus proprietor moved back to his seat on the + table. The circus band played close by, and at times the people cheered + But in the little canvas box of a room there was silence for a long while + Before it was broken the fat man came with a message. + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor Gill’s no use to-night, governor; his ankle’s worse than ever.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right,’ said Herr Pauer. ‘I’ll take an extra turn. Tell me when I’m + wanted.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Saltanelli’s off in a minute’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll follow.’ + </p> + <p> + The fat man withdrew, and Herr Pauer, having carefully balanced the stump + of his cigar on the edge of the table, went after him. Paul waited for + half a minute, and then stole out The fat man faced him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are you going to?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What business is that of yours?’ Paul asked + </p> + <p> + ‘Governor’s orders was you was to stop till he came back again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Suppose I refuse to stop?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You can make a row if you like,’ the fat man said wheezingly; ‘but the + governor’s orders is the governor’s orders. The governor says, “Keep that + young chap till I come back again.” There’s plenty here to do it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ said Paul, noticing half-a-dozen loungers in the canvas + passage. + </p> + <p> + He went back and took his former place The savage appetite he had felt + half an hour earlier had gone, and the empty nausea was back again. He had + not heart enough left to care for anything. When the owner of the tent + returned he brought a black bottle in his hand, and one of the liveried + men came in behind him with a jug and glasses. + </p> + <p> + ‘I take one between turns,’ said Herr Pauer—‘never more One is a + pick-me-up. Anything more than one is wrong.’ He poured a stiff dose of + rum into either glass, and looking towards Paul, water-jug in hand, said, + ‘Say when.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘None for me,’ Paul answered. ‘I never touched the cursed stuff till + Saturday. I’ll never touch it again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nonsense!’ his companion answered, filling up the glass and pushing it + towards him. ‘Your teeth are chattering. Do you think because you have + been a fool in one way that you have a right to be a fool in another?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul sipped and shuddered, but in a second or two—no more—a + faint sense of returning warmth stole through him. He sipped again, and + the faint glow grew stronger. He took a pull which half emptied the + tumbler, and the spirit made him cough and brought the tears to his eyes; + but he felt his numbed limbs again. Pauer had relit the stump of his cigar + and taken his old place on the table. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s not any part of my usual life-business,’ he said, ‘to do what I am + doing now, but I like odd things, and it is an odd thing that I should + meet you here. Besides that, I have been a fool in my time, and a + fellow-feeling makes us kind. I shall put you up to-night, because you’re + a decent young chap, and a greenhorn. You shall have your clothes dried + and brushed, and you shall be made decent to look at; and you shall get a + hat, and in the morning you shall go home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re very kind,’ said Paul, ‘but I’m not going to take your help on + false pretences. I shan’t go home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will chance that,’ said Herr Pauer. ‘Finish your drink and put that + coat on. You’re shivering again.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed sleepily. Herr Pauer drew a penknife from his pocket and + impaled the last inch of his cigar with it. He sat puffing there, and sat + looking at his guest, or prisoner, and Paul looked at him drowsily in turn + until Herr Pauer’s head seemed to swell and fill the canvas box. The noise + of the band came in gushes, as if his ears were now under water and now + clear of it The head went on swelling, and the sound of the music grew + fainter. He was deliciously warm, and he had a feeling of being lifted and + gently balanced to and fro as if he were in a hammock. After this he + forgot everything until he felt Pauer’s hand on his shoulder, and started + broad awake, with a clear sense that the spaces close at hand which had + been so crammed with life a little while ago were all dark and deserted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Time to go,’ said Pauer. ‘No, never mind the coat.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was struggling out of it. ‘I have another.’ He held his arms abroad + to show that he was already provided, and the lad rose to his feet ‘Take + this,’ said Pauer, fixing a rough unlined cap upon his head with both + hands. ‘It will look less odd, and it’s better than nothing.’ He turned + out the lamp to its last spark, and then with a puff of breath + extinguished it altogether. ‘Tu m’attends, George?’ he called to somebody + outside. + </p> + <p> + ‘Che d’addends,’ said a voice at a little distance; and Paul, guided by + Pauer’s hand upon his arm, groped his way towards it. + </p> + <p> + In the pale light outside the tent, the fog having cleared away, and a + thin strip of moon hanging over the river, Paul dimly discerned a stout, + broad-shouldered man of brief stature, who was half buried in a big fur + overcoat An eyeglass shone faintly beneath the brim of his silk hat The + three made their way across the slippery field, and on to the firm + high-road. They reached the inn to which Paul had run as a messenger a + little while ago, and Pauer led the way to an upstair room where supper + was laid, and a bright fire was blazing on the hearth. The guest needed no + second invitation to be seated, but he made a poor meal, in spite of the + best intentions. His companions disregarded him for a time, and spoke in a + language he did not understand. He tried to disconnect and isolate their + words, but they all seemed to run together. He fancied that Pauer talked + in one tongue and his friend in another, but he knew later that this was a + mere question of accent. When Paul was growing sleepy again the man with + the eyeglass spoke in English. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ask him, then.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My friend here,’ said Pauer, ‘Mr. George Darco, wants a smart, handy + youngster. If you can give us a satisfactory account of how you came into + your present condition, he will find you employment.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul looked from one to the other, and both men regarded him seriously. He + blushed furiously, and his eyes fell. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose,’ said Pauer, ‘that you don’t remember much of what you said to + me on Saturday night? + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember that I told you I was going with my show to Castle + Barfield? + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember writing your father’s address in my pocket-book, and + telling me that he would do my printing for nothing if I told him I was a + friend of yours?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul again. ‘I didn’t know I was so bad as that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember a long screed you gave me about manly purity?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul once more. His voice would barely obey him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You went off in tow with that young woman. Do you remember that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know I did. I don’t remember it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She cleared you out, I suppose?’ ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you were ashamed to go home? You hadn’t money to pay your landlady? + </p> + <p> + ‘It wasn’t that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What was it, then? + </p> + <p> + ‘For God’s sake don’t ask me! I can’t bear to think of it. + </p> + <p> + And then it all came out in an incoherent burst, through savagely choked + tears. He had lost his honour. He was lowered in his own eyes. He would + never be able to respect himself again. The two men stared at all this, + wondering what lay behind it, until on a sudden the enigma became clear to + both of them. The man with the eyeglass laughed like a horse, whinnying + and neighing in mirth unrestrainable. Paul blundered blindly at the door, + but Pauer stepped nimbly and set his back against it. + </p> + <p> + ‘You young idiot!’ he said in a friendly voice, which had a little quiver + in it which was not inspired by merriment. + </p> + <p> + Mr. George Darco continued to laugh until he rolled from his chair to the + floor. He rose gasping and weeping. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘vos there efer any think so vunny? Oh, somepoty holt me. I + shall tie of it.’ + </p> + <p> + He recovered slowly, and seeing how deeply his laughter wounded the object + of it, he tried to look solemn, but broke out again. Pauer spoke sharply + to him in the foreign tongue he had used before, and he subdued himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘Go back to your chair and sit down,’ said Pauer, laying a hand on Paul’s + shoulder. ‘Don’t make mountains out of molehills.’ + </p> + <p> + The lad allowed himself to be pushed into a seat + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s all very well for you, you glass-eyed old reprobate,’ said Pauer, + speaking in English. ‘I can understand the boy if you can’t.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You!’ gasped Darco, with a new spurt of laughter. ‘You!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Pauer, ‘I.’ His tone was angry, and his friend, after a + humorous glance at him, poured out a glass of beer and drank it, but said + no more. ‘Stay there till I come back, said Pauer a minute or so later. + ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’ + </p> + <p> + Darco made a renewed onslaught on the cold boiled beef, as if he had been + famishing. Paul sat still and stared at the fire. He was a compendium of + shames, and whether he were more ashamed of his crime or his confession he + could not tell. Pauer came back, accompanied by a man who looked like a + hostler. The man carried a lighted candle and chewed thoughtfully at a + straw. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d better go to bed now,’ said Pauer. ‘This man will show you the way. + When you’re undressed, give him your clothes, and he’ll have them dried + and brushed for you by morning.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed, and when he had handed over his clothes to the hostler’s care + he went to bed, and listened for awhile to the murmuring voices of Pauer + and Darco, who were now immediately beneath him. His last resolve before + he went to sleep was that in the morning he would go into the town and try + to find work at his own trade; but he had begun to learn that he was born + to drift, and he drifted. His clothes were brought to him clean and dry, + and he turned the false cuffs and the collar he wore, so that he made + himself in his own way sufficiently presentable, and just as he had + finished dressing Pauer came into his room. There was a plentiful + breakfast downstairs, and it was of a better quality than the aspect of + the house might have seemed to warrant Paul did fall justice to it, and + when the cloth was cleared Darco laid writing materials on the table. He + said that his sight was failing, and that he had been advised to rest his + eyes as much as possible. He would be obliged if Paul would write a letter + for him from dictation. He dictated a lengthy business letter setting + forth the terms on which he was willing to accept the management of a + theatrical provincial tour, and when it was finished he asked Pauer to + read it. + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s all right,’ said Pauer. ‘Good legible fist. Well spelled. + Punctuation and capitals all right.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ferry well,’ said Darco. ‘If the younk man wants a chop, I can give him + one. Dwenty shillings a veek, and meals at the mittle of the tay.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What is the work?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘To be my brivate zecretary,’ said Darco, ‘and to dravel with me through + the gountry.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘When am I to begin?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Darco. + </p> + <p> + Paul sat down at the table, and his new employer dictated a great number + of letters to him, all offering engagements to ladies and gentlemen, at + salaries ranging from one pound to four pounds ten. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s all that for, George?’ asked Pauer, who was sitting idly smoking + by the fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is for Golding,’ Darco announced. ‘Younk Evans takes the management, + but I haf the gontrol.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Getting your hands pretty full, ain’t you, George?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said Darco. ‘Vait till I get my London theatre. I should haf been in + London lonk ako if it had not been for Barton. He gild the boots that lace + the golden legs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What did he do?’ asked Pauer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gild the boots that lace the golden legs.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Killed the goose that lays the golden eggs, do you mean?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Man alife!’ ejaculated Darco. ‘I zaid zo.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You said distinctly,’ said Pauer, ‘“gild the boots that lace the golden + legs.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ferry well,’ said Darco. ‘I zay zo. Vot <i>are</i> you talking apout?’ + </p> + <p> + Pauer looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must settle up and march, George,’ he said ‘If you carry that business + through, let me know. I’m willing to join.’ + </p> + <p> + He followed his circus, which, as Paul gathered, had made a start at five + o’clock that morning, and Darco and his new secretary took train for + London. The two had a second-class carriage to themselves. + </p> + <p> + ‘You haf lodgings somevares—eh? Darco asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘In Charterhouse Square,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is too far away,’ said his employer. ‘I lif at Hamp-stead. You must + get lotchings glose by me. You haf got no money?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No money,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is a vife-bound node,’ said Darco. ‘Co to your lotchings and bay + your pill. I shall stop it out of your zalery. Then you will gome to me at + this attress.’ He gave minute directions about omnibuses green and red and + yellow, and all these Paul stored away in his memory as well as he could. + ‘Now, berhabs,’ said his employer, ‘you think I am a vool to gif you a + vife-bound node. But if you are not honest I shall be rit of you jeaply, + and I shall know at vonce.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul fired a little at this. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you don’t think I am to be trusted you had better not employ me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is all right,’ said Darco. ‘I am Cheorge Dargo. I do things my own + vay. Look here. Are you vond of imidading beobles?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul; ‘not that I know of.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t pegin on me,’ said Darco. ‘There is everypody thinks he gan imidade + me. All the beobles in all my gombanies dry it on. But bevore you can + imidade a man he must haf zome beguliaridies. Now, I hafen’t got any + beguliaridies, and zo it’s no good drying to imidade me.’ + </p> + <p> + They parted at the London terminus. Paul made his way to Charterhouse + Square, where he was received with marked disfavour. He paid his bill, + packed his trunk—a small affair which he could shoulder easily—and + set put for Darco’s house. It was a little house, but it stood by itself + in a very trim garden, and it was furnished in a style which made Paul + gasp. He had been very poorly bred, and he had never had access to such a + place in all his life before. The bevelled Venetian mirrors in their + gilded frames, the rose-coloured blinds, the rich brocades and glittering + gilding of the chairs, the Chinese dragons in porcelain, the very tongs + and poker and fire-shovel of cut brass, astonished him. He thought that + his employer must be a Croesus. This faith was confirmed when he was + called into the library, where there was a wealth of books, nobly bound. + </p> + <p> + ‘That gollection,’ said Darco, ‘gost me two thousand bounds. I am still + adding to it. Here is an original Bigvig, the Bigvig of Jarles Tickens, + with all the green covers bound with it up. Here is “Ton Quigsotte,” the + first etition in Sbanish. Here is the “Dreacle Piple,” berfect, from tidel + page to the last line of Revelations. Here is efery blay-pill that has + ever been issued at Her Majesty’s Theatre from the time it vas opened + until now.’ He patted and fondled his treasure with a smiling pride and + affection. ‘They are not to be touched,’ he said, ‘on any bretext. Nopoty + stobs in my house a minute who touches my books. I am Cheorge Dargo, ant + ven I zay a thing I mean it’ He pointed to a door. ‘Through that,’ he + said, ‘is a lafadory. You can vash your hands and gome and haf lunge.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul obeyed, and at the luncheon-table was introduced to Mrs. Darco, a + lean brunette, who by way of establishing her own dignity was sulkily + disdainful of the newcomer. He was glad to escape into the library, where + Darco set him to work on more correspondence—an endless whirl of it, + diversified with family skirmishes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, who the tevil has been mettling again with my babers? I haf dolt + eferybody I will not haf my babers mettled.’ Then a dash to the door, and + an inquiry trumpeted up the stairway. ‘Who the tevil has been mettling + with my babers?’ + </p> + <p> + Then a shrill inquiry from above. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s the matter, George?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothings. I know where I but it now. I will not haf my babers mettled.’ + </p> + <p> + Then more dictation, the dictator waddling fiercely across the room and + back again for ten minutes or so. Then a rush to the door, and a new call + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who the tevil—— Oh, it’s all right I remember where + </p> + <p> + I put it.’ + </p> + <p> + Then more dictation, and a third rush. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who the tevil——’ + </p> + <p> + Then a hurricane of whirling skirts upon the stairs, and on a sudden Mrs. + Darco, kneeling on the floor, wrestling both hands above her head, and + shrieking. Mr. Darco darted and shook her as if she had been a doormat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Get ub! No volly—no volly!’ + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Darco got up and walked soberly upstairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is klopulus hysteriga,’ said Mr. Darco, with a startling calm. ‘And + that is the only way to dreat it But I will not haf my babers mettled.’ + </p> + <p> + Then more dictation, until Paul’s mind was crossed by a sudden + recollection. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he said, diving his hand into his pocket. ‘I + forgot to give you the change out of that five-pound note.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Keep it,’ said Darco. ‘You will haf to look resbegdable if you stay here. + You will haf to puy things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t like to take it, sir, until I have earned it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Darco, ‘who do you subbose you are? If you want to stob here, + you will do as you are dold to do. I am Cheorge Dargo. I do not sbeak to + beobles dwice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, very well, sir,’ said Paul, and went on writing from dictation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Darco, ‘you haf got all the attresses at the foot of the + ledders. Attress an envelope for each ledder, and leave them all oben for + my signature. I am going to zleep for half an hour.’ + </p> + <p> + He plunged into an armchair, closed his eyes, and in a minute he was + snoring regularly and deeply. Paul performed his task, and sat idle for a + time. At the end of the stipulated half-hour Darco ceased to snore, opened + his eyes, yawned and stretched as if he longed to fall in pieces, and + instantly fell to work again. He made Paul read aloud the whole + afternoon’s correspondence, signed each sheet in a hand of clerk-like + precision, but with a great deal more than clerk-like character in it, saw + all the letters and envelopes stamped, rang the bell, and sent his + correspondence to the post. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ant now,’ he said, ‘I haf got to pekin my day’s work.’ Paul stared a + little, but made no answer. ‘You had petter gome with me,’ said Darco. ‘It + will help you to learn your business.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul assisted his employer into the big fur coat, assumed his own and the + shabby cap Pauer had given him, and went out at Darco’s heels. A closed + brougham waited in the street. They entered and were driven away. + </p> + <p> + It was nearing six o’clock by this time, and as they were driven downhill + they came into a stratum of cold yellow fog, through which the gas-lamps + stared with a bleared and drunken look. The vehicle rumbled along for some + three-quarters of an hour, and pulled up in a shabby side-way strewn with + cabbage-leaves and all manner of decaying vegetable offal Darco rolled out + of the brougham, and plunged with a waddling swiftness into a narrow, + ill-lit passage which smelt of escaping gas. Paul followed, and in half a + minute found himself for the first time within the walls of a theatre and + on the stage. The darkened auditorium loomed beyond the solitary T-bracket + like a great sepulchre. A hundred people, more or less, were gathered on + the stage. + </p> + <p> + ‘Act dwo!’ roared Darco at the moment of his entrance. ‘Glear for Act + dwo.’ People began to dribble into the outlying darkness. ‘Do you hear?’ + he stormed, clapping his hands together. ‘Glear for Act dwo. Look here, + ladies and chentlemen, I am Cheorge Dargo. I do not zay to anypoty twice.’ + </p> + <p> + From the moment when he gripped the idea that this was a rehearsal the + place was a fairyland to Paul. Darco stormed round, correcting everybody, + acted for everybody, and a little man, who was barricaded behind an + enormous moustache, and seemed to be second in command, echoed the chief’s + commands plaintively: + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh I say, now, why don’t you? You got that cross marked down last night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re Binda, are you?’ said Darco, addressing one pale and trembling + young woman who had just tried an entrance. ‘Veil, now, look here. I don’t + sbeak to beobles twice. Binda is a light, high-sbirited kirl She is all + light and laughder and nonsense. See? She gums hob, skib, and chump. Like + this.’ + </p> + <p> + He waddled furiously to the wing and made the entrance. He was ludicrous, + he was grotesque, but somehow he conveyed the idea he desired to convey. + The girl tried again, but failed to satisfy him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vere do you garry your prains?’ he asked. ‘In your boods?’ + </p> + <p> + The girl began to whimper, and the lieutenant took Darco by the sleeve. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t worry her to-night, governor,’ he said. ‘She’s a good little sort, + and her mother’s dying.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Vy the tevil didn’t you zay zo? demanded the manager. ‘How am I to know? + Gif her a zovereign,’ he whispered, ‘and ask her if she vants anything—bort-wine + or chellies. <i>You</i> know.’ Then he turned, roaring: ‘Vere is Miss + Lawrence’s understudy? Zing, if you please, Miss Clewes. I never sbeak to + beobles twice. You may go home, Miss Lawrence. Dell Villips if you want + anything, ant I’ll zee to it. Vy the tevil don’t beobles zay when there + are things the madder at home? Now, Miss Clewes.’ + </p> + <p> + The lieutenant was back at Paul’s elbow a minute later. + </p> + <p> + ‘The governor’s a hot un,’ he said—‘he’s a fair hot un when he’s at + work. But for a heart—well, I’m damned if gold’s in it with him!’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + In a month’s time from this Paul’s soul sat chuckling all day long. He + lived with the quaintest set he had ever conceived, and there was no page + of ‘Nickleby’ which was fuller of comedy than a day of his own life. He + met Crummies, and actually heard him wonder how those things got into the + papers. He met the Infant Phenomenon. With his own hands he had helped to + adjust the immortal real pump and tubs. He was still in the days when + there was a farce in an evening’s performance to play the people in, and a + solid five-act melodrama for the public’s solid fare, and a farce to play + the people out. + </p> + <p> + Darco travelled with his own company, majestically Astrachan-furred and + splendid, but rarely clean-shaven. Nine days in ten an aggressive stubble + on cheek and chin seemed to sprout from an inward sense of his own + glorious import. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Cheorge Dargo,’ he said unfailingly to every provincial + stage-manager he met ‘I nefer sbeaks to beobles twice.’ + </p> + <p> + His brutalities of demeanour earned for him the noisy hatred of scores of + people. His hidden benefactions bought for him the silent blessings of + some suffering unit in every town. He bullied by instinct in public. He + blessed the suffering by instinct in private. He was cursed by ninety-nine + in the hundred, and the odd man adored him. Paul’s heart fastened to the + uncouth man, and he did him burningly eager service. + </p> + <p> + Paul was in clover, and had sense enough to know it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I regognise the zymptoms,’ said Darco, when they had been on tour a week. + ‘I am not going to haf my insbirations in the tay-dime any longer. All my + crate iteas will gome to me now for some dime in the night. You haf got to + be near me, young Armstrong. You must sday vith me in the zame lotchings.’ + </p> + <p> + This meant that Darco paid his whole expenses, and that his salary came to + him each week intact. He began to save money and to develop at the same + time an inexpensive dandyism. He took to brown velveteen and to patent + leather boots. He bought a secondhand watch at a pawnbroker’s, but + disdained a chain. His father had inspired him with a horror of jewellery; + for once, when he had spent the savings of a month upon a cheap scarf-pin, + the elder Armstrong had wrathfully asked him what he meant by sticking + that brass-headed nail in his chest, and had thrown the gewgaw into the + fire. But the watch for the first week or two was a token of established + manhood, and it was consulted a full hundred times a day, and was + corrected by every public clock he passed. + </p> + <p> + His occupation was no sinecure, for Darco was running half-a-dozen + companies, and kept up a fire of correspondence with each. He had dramas + on the anvil, too, and dictated by the hour every day. Often he woke Paul + in the dead of night, and routed him out of bed, and gave him notes of + some prodigious idea which had just occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + Darco had an unfailing formula with his landladies: ‘Prek-fasd for three, + lunge for three, tinner for three; petrooms and zidding-room for two,’ He + worked for three and ate for two. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am in many respegs,’ he told Paul, ‘a most remarkaple man. I am a boet, + and a creat boet; but I haf no lankwage. My Vrench is Cherman, and my + Cherman is Vrench, ant my Enklish is Alsatian. My normal demperadure is + fever heat. I am a toctor; I am a zoldier. I haf peen a creat agdor in + garagder bards—Alsatian garagder bards—in Vrance and in + Chermany. I can write a blay, ant I can stage id, ant I can baint the + scenery for id. I am Cheorge Dargo, ant vere I haf not been it is nod + vorth vile to co; and vot I do not know apout a theatre it is not vorth + vile to learn. Sdob vith me, and I will deach you your business.’ + </p> + <p> + The company played a week within five miles of Castle Barfield, and Paul + snatched an hour for home. There the brown velveteen and the patent + leathers and the watch made a great impression, and the eight sovereigns + Paul was able to jingle in his pockets and display to wondering eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s danger in the life, lad,’ said Armstrong wistfully. ‘I know it, + for I saw a heap of it in my youth. Keep a clean heart, Paul. High + thinking goes with chaste and sober living. There’s nothing blurs faith + like our own misdeeds.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was thankful for the dusk which hid his flaming cheeks at this + moment. His mother had taken away the candle, and the old man had chosen + the instant’s solitude for this one serious word. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not denying,’ said Armstrong, ‘that it is a good worldly position for + a lad of your years, but what’s it going to lead to, Paul, lad? What’s the + direction, I’m asking? + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m going to be a dramatist,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘A play-actor!’ cried the mother, who was back again. + </p> + <p> + ‘A play-writer,’ Paul corrected. ‘I’ve got the best tutor in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ his mother asked, ‘that you think o’ making that + a trade for a lifetime?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not? asked Pau. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not, indeed!’ she cried, with an angry click of her knitting-needle. + ‘Writing a parcel o’ rubbidge for fools to speak, and other fools to laugh + at.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It was Shakespeare’s trade, Mary,’ said Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s a pretty far cry from our Paul to Shakespeare, I reckon,’ said the + mother with sudden dryness. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose it is,’ said Paul, laughing; ‘but there are degrees in every + calling. Wait a bit I don’t mean that you shall be ashamed of me.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had been away from home for half a year, and absence had altered many + things. The High Street of the town had grown mean and sordid to the eye. + Shops which had once been palatial had lost all the glamour which + childhood had given them and custom had preserved. The dusty, untidy shop + at home had shrunk to less than half its original dimensions. Armstrong + seemed changed more than anything or anybody else. He looked suddenly + small and old and gray. He was not much over five-and-sixty, but he had + always seemed old to Paul, even from the earliest recollections of + infancy. But his age had been the age of dignity and authority, and now it + was age without disguise, white-haired and withered, and bowed in + uncomplaining patience. + </p> + <p> + But Paul felt that there was no such change anywhere as in himself. A + certain complacency had stolen across the horror which had shaken him at + the first contemplation of his own fall. He had made a step towards + manhood; he heard the talk of men—not the best, not the wisest, yet + neither the worst nor the most stupid—and he knew now how lightly + they valued that which he had once esteemed priceless. He had written in + his note-book: + </p> + <p> + ‘To forgive is godlike. Be as God unto thyself.’ + </p> + <p> + He had made a step towards manhood. He had thought it a hideous, + irremediable plunge to ruin, and yet somehow he seemed to stand the higher + for it. The episode was to be hateful for ever in memory. But it was to + cloud life no longer—only to stand as a sign of warning, a + danger-signal. Surely the net is spread in vain in the sight of any bird. + The burned child dreads the fire. He did not as yet reckon that man is a + moral Salamander, and accommodates himself to all temperatures of heat and + asceticism. How should a raw lad of less than nineteen think in such a + fashion? But he knew what he had not known; he had passed through the + fire, and the smell of burning had left his raiment. + </p> + <p> + The Midland mother gave him a cold cheek to kiss when he went away, but + the Scottish father embraced him with a trembling arm. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’ll be remembering Sir Walter’s last words to Lockhart,’ he said. ‘Be a + good man, my dear.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul pressed his smooth cheek against the soft white whiskers of his + father’s face, and held his right hand hard. There was a lump in his + throat, and his good-bye had a husk in it. He went back to the society of + men who had never thought manly chastity a virtue or the unchastity of men + a crime. He went back armed in steel, and the armour lasted a full + fortnight in its perfection. Then here and there a rivet came out, and + by-and-by the whole suit fell to pieces. + </p> + <p> + ‘Id is gurious,’ said Darco, ‘that all the vunniest sdories in the vorlt + should be vhat they gall imbrober. Look at Arisdophanes; look at Jaucer; + look at the “Gontes Troladigues”; look at the “Tegameron.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Look at Pickwick,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vell!’ cried Darco, ‘look at Bigvig. Bigvig woult haf peen a creat teal + vunnier if Tickens had lived at the dime of Zmollet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind drinking out of a jug,’ said Paul, ‘but I like a clean jug. + I’ve read Aristophanes—in translation. It’s like drinking wine out + of a gold cup that has been washed in a sewer.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who says that?’ asked Darco. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a ferry coot ebicram,’ said Darco. ‘I vill rememper id. But, mindt + you, to be squeamish is not to be glean-minded. + </p> + <p> + If a sdory is vunny, I laugh. Vy not? If a man tells me a sdory that is + only dirdy, I co someveres else. I am a goot man. For dwendy-three hours + and fifty-eight minutes in a tay I am as bure-minded as a child; then, in + the ott dwo minutes somepoty tells me a dirdy sdory. I laugh, and I go + avay, and I think of my blays and my boedry and my pusiness. It is water + on a duck’s pack.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dirty water,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is enough glean water in the tay’s rainfall to wash it off,’ Darco + answered. ‘Did you efer read “The Orichinal”? + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘The man who wrote it vos so healthy that he nefer hat need to wash + himself. His skin was too bure to hold dirt.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Filthy beggar!’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘I make it a baraple,’ Darco declared. ‘Id is true of the immordal soul. I + am as bure-minded as a child, and I haf heardt den thousand fillainous + sdories. Vot does it madder?’ + </p> + <p> + The rivets of Paul’s armour rotted, as the rivets of most men’s armour + rot, and he grew to tolerate what had been abominable. And that is the way + of life, which is a series of declensions from high ideals, and is meant + to be so because things must be lost before their worth can be known. The + society in which he lived and moved was as rich as any in the world in the + kind of narrative he had discussed with Darco. Little by little he got to + take Darco’s view. It is the view of ninety per cent, of men of the world. + A naturally pure mind never learns to love nastiness, but it learns to + tolerate it, for the sake of the wit which sometimes lives with it. + </p> + <p> + Darco was a man whom nobody ever saw for an instant under the influence of + liquor, but then it was impossible to make him drunk. It seemed to Paul as + if it were just as unlikely for him to become intoxicated by drinking as + for a decanter to grow tipsy by having liquor poured into it. If he ate—as + he did—twice as much as the average keen-set sportsman, he drank as + much as the average hopeless drunkard, and no man could have guessed from + his speech, or acts, or aspect that he was not a total abstainer. Paul, + too, began to discover that he had a cast-iron pot of a head, and took an + infantile pride in the fact; but this kind of vanity was not often + indulged in, and he had no physical predisposition to it. + </p> + <p> + Darco made money by the handful, and spent it with a lavish ostentation. + Paul continued his habit of riding about in cabs and dining in hotels. It + was a bad commercial training, but he was not at the time of life to think + of that. The days and nights were full. There were both labour and + enjoyment in them. Every week showed him a new town or city: classic + Edinburgh, dirty Glasgow—cleaner nowadays—roaring Liverpool, + rainy Manchester, smoke-clouded Birmingham and Sheffield, granite-built + Aberdeen, jolly Dublin, with an unaccustomed twang in the whisky, after + the Scottish progress; Belfast, Cork, Waterford. Everywhere character + studies in shoals; dialect studies every day and all day long. Paul could + train his tongue, before the twelve months’ tour was over, to the speech + of Exeter, or Norwich, or Brighton, or Newcastle, or Berwick, or Aberdeen, + or Cork, or the black North. He set himself to the task conscientiously, + and with a rich enjoyment. What a Gargantuan table was the world! + </p> + <p> + How lovable, laughable, hateful were the men who sat at it! What a feast + of feeling was spread daily! + </p> + <p> + The tour came near to its end, and Darco was arranging a new series for + half a dozen companies, so that work grew furious. A man might have + commanded an army or ruled a great department of State with less + expenditure of energy. There was no advertising or consulting of agencies, + but everything was done by personal letter. There were reams and reams of + letters; there were scores and scores of contracts with managers, and + actors, and actresses, and upholsterers, and scene-painters, and printers, + and bill-posters, and Darco one organized mass of effort at the centre of + all the business hurly-burly, doing three men’s work, and tearing into + fibre the nerves of all men who came near him. He could be princely with + it all in his own way. + </p> + <p> + ‘You haf learned your pusiness, young Armstrong,’ he said to Paul when the + rush was over. ‘I gan deach anypoty his pusiness if he is not a vool. I am + Cheorge Dargo. You haf done your work gabidally, and you are vorth fife + dimes vot I am baying you. But I alvays like the shady site of a pargain, + and I shall only gif you four dimes.’ + </p> + <p> + So at four times the original sum Paul’s salary was fixed, and he began to + feel himself a man of consequence. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Mr. Darco’s private secretary,’ he was told to say to people with + whom he was empowered to deal. ‘I am entirely in Mr. Darco’s confidence, + and you may deal with me exactly as if Mr. Darco were here.’ + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of the second year the great provincial cities had begun + to take advantage of the Public Libraries Act, and here was a new joy for + Paul. The Free Library was the first place he asked for in any big town, + and at every spare hour he stuck his nose into a book, and kept it there + until duty called him away again. Something in ‘Gil Bias’ about poverty in + observation struck his fancy, and he cast about in his own mind asking + where he could observe, not knowing yet that he was observing all things. + He hit upon the landlady. A man who has fifty-two landladies in a year has + surely a fertile field. He sorted and classified in the light of + experience: the honeyed, the acidulated, and bibulous-godly (mostly + Scottish), the bibulous-ungodly (mostly English), the slut with a clean + outside to things, the painstaking sloven, the peculative (here one + majestic sample), the reduced in circumstances, the confidential, the + reserved, the frisky, the motherly, the step-motherly—a most + excellent assembly for mirth and pity. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Brace came back again. How many years was it since the memory of Mrs. + Brace had touched the Exile’s mind? + </p> + <p> + Darco did, in the main, his own marketing. He had sent home sausages for + breakfast, seven in number. Six came to table. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vere is my other zausage,’ cries Darco. ‘There vere zeven. Now there are + six. Vere is my other zausage?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Really you know, sir,’ says Mrs. Brace. ‘Sausages do shrink so in the + cooking.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was under the table with a helpless yelp of pleasure, and Darco + stormed like a beaten gong. + </p> + <p> + Come back again, in the brown sultry air, and the solitude, over that + bridge of years departed, Mrs. Fuller. It was Mrs. Fuller’s plan to convey + a portion of the guests’ clean linen from the chest of drawers into the + hall, and to lay it on the table there pinned up in a neat newspaper + parcel, and to say, ‘If you please, gentlemen, the rest of your linning + have come home, and, if you please, it’s two and elevenpence halfpenny.’ + Oh, the days—the days when a jest like this could shake the ribs + with mirth! + </p> + <p> + And Mistress MacAlister, painfully intoxicated at the dinner hour of 2 + p.m., and the uncooked leg of young pork in the larder. + </p> + <p> + ‘D’ye thenk ah’m goin’ to cuik till ye on the Sabba’ Day? Ye’ll no be + findin’ th’ irreligious sort o’ betches that’ll do that for ye in Dundee, + ah’m thenkin’.’ + </p> + <p> + And the little soft-spoken lady from New Orleans, whose husband had been a + General—in Del Oro—and an old friend of Darco’s in his + campaigning days. And the execution in the house. And Darco signing a + cheque for twice the amount claimed, and blubbering like a great fat baby, + and swearing to burn the cheque if she thanked him by another word. Old + Darco, the nerve-tearer, the inordinate pyramid of vanity, the tender, the + generous, the loyal. Sweetest fruit in sourest rind! Sleep on, old Darco. + God makes none gentler in heart, though He makes many more beloved. + </p> + <p> + And how men do, on all hands, unconsciously lay themselves out to delight + the budding genial satirist! Here is Darco, wealthy and prosperous as he + has never been before, launching out fearlessly, and bearing with him <i>the</i> + splendour of the stage—the great Montgomery Bassett. Darco, in + consultation with the glorious creature, the question being in which of + his unrivalled and majestic assumptions he shall first appear: + </p> + <p> + ‘It doesn’t matter, dear boy,’ says Mr. Montgomery Bassett, in that noble + voice, a voice rich as the king of all the wines of Burgundy—‘it + doesn’t matter the toss up of a blind beggar’s farthing. The people don’t + come to see the play, my boy; they come to see me. They’d come to see me + if I played in Punch and Judy.’ + </p> + <p> + And the late leading man, now dethroned, and put to second business: + </p> + <p> + ‘Bassett! Montgomery Bassett! I could act his head off, dear boy. He is + the rottenest stick that ever stalked upon a stage. He can’t get in front + of that infernal Roman nose, sir. “Now,” says Bassett, “I’m going to be + pathetic;” and the Roman nose says, “I’ll see you damned first.” “And + now,” says Bassett, “we’ll have a bit of comedy.” “Oh no, you won’t,” says + the nose. You might as well try to act behind a barn-door as to act behind + that nose. Just fill me out a little tot of Scotch, darling laddie. I want + to lose the taste of Bassett.’ + </p> + <p> + And the leading lady and the <i>ingénue</i> who hung together like twin + cherries on one stalk, bathed in soft dews of tenderness, until Bassett + praised the one and not the other, and the leading lady called the ingénue + ‘Chit’ and the ingénue retorted ‘Wrinkles!’ And the reconciliation at the + champagne supper which Darco gave when Bassett went away, when the tears + they shed must have tasted of the wine. + </p> + <p> + Oh, the days—the days, long years before he set out on his Journey + of Despair, when mirth had no malice, and tears were tributaries to pity! + </p> + <p> + ‘I have vound oudt,’ said Darco, one day, ‘that our paggage man is a + pantit He is ropping eferypoty, and I have kiven him a fortnight’s vages, + and the bag to carry. That is my liddle chockular vay to say he has got + the zack. I haf dele-graphed for a new man, and he will come from Lonton + by the seven-thirty train. His name is Warr, and you will know him by his + nose, which is pigger than your fist, and as hot to look at as the powels + of the Phalarian Pull. It ought to be an acony to garry it, but he laughs + pehint it in the distance. But I nodice it always zeems to make his eyes + vater.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul went to meet this phenomenon, and from the train Mr. Warr of the + Nonconformist printing-office stepped out, carrying the work of art before + him like an oriflamme. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Warr, I believe?’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘The same, sir,’ said Mr. Warr, with a spinal inclination. + </p> + <p> + Paul’s face was framed in a virginal fringe of brown beard, and he was + dressed by a London theatrical tailor. Mr. Wan-had no memory of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Mr. Darco’s private secretary,’ said Paul. ‘That is the address of + your lodgings, and when you have taken your traps there Mr. Darco will + meet you at the theatre.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am at your disposal, sir,’ said Mr. Warr. + </p> + <p> + He gathered up two newspaper parcels, each of which leaked ragged hosiery + and soiled linen at either end, and pottered along the platform at Paul’s + side, subservient and timid. Paul spurted laughter and affected a cough to + hide it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here is the refreshment-room, Mr. Warr,’ he said. ‘May I ask if you care + at this moment to administer a coating of varnish to the work of art?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have I had the pleasure to encounter you before, sir?’ asked Mr. Warr, + peering at him sideways across that astonishing nose, with a brown eye + bright with moisture. It was like an old cat looking out from the side of + a fireplace. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in and see,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr went in, and being offered a choice in varnishes, selected cold + gin. + </p> + <p> + ‘My highly superior respects, sir. You either know me, or my fame has + reached you.’ He smiled a propitiatory smile. ‘I do not recall you, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have varnished the work of art before to-day,’ said Paul. ‘Do you + remember Bucklersbury?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should do so,’ Mr. Warr returned. ‘I drudged there for eight long + years, and had it not been for Mr. Darco’s kindly memories of an old + associate, I might have drudged there still. But two and fifty shillings + per week, sir, with freedom and travel thrown in, are highly superior to + thirty-six, with slavery superadded. But I do not recall your face and + figure, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My name is Armstrong,’ said Paul. ‘I worked beside you for a week or + two.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The friend of my youth,’ said Mr. Warr. ‘Permit me to shake hands. Rely + upon me, Mr. Armstrong, not to be presumptuous. Rely upon me, sir. I shall + respect bygones. Mr. Darco will tell you who I was and what I was when he + first knew me. I was first low com., sir, at the Vic, upon my soul and + honour, Mr. Armstrong. But the work of art, sir, so grew and prospered + that at last the very gallery guyed me. I went for the varnish, Mr. + Armstrong, in sheer despair. As God is my highly superior judge, sir, I + never drank until I had a drunkard’s nose. Then I made a jest of a + deformity, and the joke carried me too far. This infernal feature is an + unnatural legacy. It is from my maternal grandfather, who once owned the + town of Guildford. I have heard my mother say that his cellars covered a + quarter of an acre, and held nothing but port and brandy—packed, + sir, seven feet deep. To-morrow, in Mr. Darco’s presence, I sign the + pledge till the end of the tour, as per our highly superior arrangement. I + do not know, sir, whether behind that aspect of prosperity there lurks the + probability of another fourpennyworth.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mustn’t get tipsy to meet Mr. Darco,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no fear of that, sir,’ Mr. Warr answered. ‘That,’ pointing to + the empty glass, ‘is my first to-day, and I as thirsty as I am hungry.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Eat, man, eat,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘May I, sir?’ asked Mr. Warr. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your fill,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + There were hard-boiled eggs and cold sausages on the marble-topped + counter, and Mr. Warr fell to work among them, and mumbled gratitude with + his mouth full. When he had half cleared the counter, Paul paid for the + depredations, and Mr. Warr, who knew the town of old, picked up his + leaking parcels and made off for the address given him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Veil,’ said Darco when Paul got back to him, ‘you haf seen him? Had he + any package and luckage?’ Paul described Mr. Warr’s kit. ‘You must puy for + him a jeap, useful bordmandeau, and jarge id to me. I shall sdop it out of + his wages,’ which of course he never did. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr presented himself at Darco’s lodging next morning wrapped in a + perfume of gin and cloves. He laid upon the table a wordy document in + foolscap with a receipt stamp in one corner, and read it aloud in his own + breathless chuckle. It set forth that whereas he, the undersigned William + Treherne Macfarvel Warr, of the one part, late of, et cetera, had entered + into an engagement with George Darco, Esq., et cetera, et cetera, of the + other part, to such and such an effect of polysyllabic rigmarole, he, the + aforesaid and undersigned, did seriously and truly covenant with the + aforesaid George Darco, Esq., of et cetera, et cetera, all over again, not + to drink or imbibe or partake of any form of alcoholic liquor, whether + distilled or fermented, until such time as the agreement or engagement + between the aforesaid and undersigned on the one part, and the aforesaid + George Darco, Esq., of the other part, should end, cease, and determine. + He signed this document with a great sprawling flourish, and Darco and + Paul having appended their names to it also, Mr. Warr wrote the date of + the transaction across the receipt stamp, and handed the paper to his + employer with a solemn bow. + </p> + <p> + ‘You haf peen zaying goot-bye to the dear greature,’ said Darco; ‘I can + see that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In the words of Othello, sir,’ said Mr. Warr: ‘“I kissed her ere I killed + her.”’ He smiled self-consciously, but instantly grew grave again. ‘You + know me, Mr. Darco. You have my highly superior word. I never go back on + it, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr kept his word, but he grew insufferably self-righteous, and + preached total abstinence to everybody, from Darco to the call-boy. He + atoned for this unconsciously by the longing calculations he made. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have consulted the almanac,’ he confided to Paul; ‘it is two hundred + and seventy-one days to my next drink.’ + </p> + <p> + After this he offered a figure almost daily: ‘Two seventy. A dry journey, + Mr. Armstrong.‘’Two fifty, sir, two fifty. The longest lane must turn, + sir.’ Then, after a long spell of yearning: ‘Only two hundred now, sir. I + should like to obliterate two hundred. But a Warr’s word is sacred.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Paul one day, ‘why don’t you take advantage of this sober + spell to cure yourself of the craving, in place of looking forward to the + next outburst and counting the days between? Why don’t you make up your + mind to have done with it altogether? + </p> + <p> + ‘Sir,’ said Mr. Warr with intense solemnity, ‘if I thought I had tasted my + last liquor, I’d cut my throat.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If ever I find myself disposed to feel like that,’ Paul answered, ‘I will + cut my own.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh dear no, you won’t, sir,’ said Mr. Warr. ‘If ever you go that way at + all, you’ll slide into it. You will always believe that you could drop it + at any moment until you find you can’t. Then you’ll be reconciled, like + the rest of us.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had little fear. His temptation, he told himself, did not lie in that + direction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Darco’s work fell into routine for a time. The wheels of all his affairs + went so smoothly that he and his assistant found many easy + breathing-spaces. But Paul was of a mind just now to scorn delight and + live laborious days. He confined himself for many hours of each day to his + bedroom, and on the weekly railway journey with his chief he sat for the + most part in a brown study, And made frequent entries in a big note-book. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vat are you doing?’ Darco asked one day. + </p> + <p> + Paul blushed, and answered that he would rather wait a day or two before + speaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall ask your opinion in a week at the outside,’ he added. + </p> + <p> + Darco went to sleep, a thing he seemed able to do whenever the fancy took + him, and Paul made notes furiously all through the rest of the journey. + His ideas affected him curiously, for at times his eyes would fill and he + would blow his nose, and at other times he would chuckle richly to + himself. He had got what he conceived to be a dramatic notion by the tip + of the tail, and he was engaged in the manufacture of his first drama. In + due time the result of his labours in his most clerk-like hand was passed + over a breakfast-table to Darco, who winced, and looked like a shying + horse at it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vot is id?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a play,’ said Paul, blushing and stammering. ‘I want to have your + judgment on it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Dake it away!’ cried Darco; ‘dake it away. I am wriding blays myselluf, + ant I will nod look at other beoble’s. No. Dake it away!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul stared at him in confusion. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not vant to look at anypoty’s blays,’ said Darco. ‘I haf got alreaty + all the tramatic iteas there ever haf been in the vorldt—all there + efer will be. I do not vant notions that are olter than the hills brought + to me, and then for beobles to say I haf zeen their pieces and gopied from + them. I do not vant to gopy from anypoty. I am Cheorge Dargo.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll bet,’ said Paul rashly, ‘that you haven’t met this idea yet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My tear poy,’ Darco answered, ‘if you haf cot a new way of bantling an + old itea you are ferry lucky. But there are no new iteas, and you may take + my vort for it. If anypoty asks who told you that, say it was Cheorge + Dargo.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me read it to you,’ Paul urged. ‘It’s hardly likely that a youngster + like myself is going to have the cheek to charge <i>you</i> with having + stolen your ideas—now, is it?’ Darco smoothed a little. ‘You could + tell me if there’s anything in it, or if I’m wasting time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Go on,’ said Darco, suddenly rising from the table and hurling himself + into an arm-chair, so that the floor shuddered, and the windows of the + room danced in their panes. + </p> + <p> + Paul sipped his tea, opened his manuscript and began to read. He read on + until a loud snore reached his ears, and then looked up discouraged. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vot’s the madder?’ Darco asked. ‘Go on; I am listening.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul went on and Darco snored continuously, but whenever the reader looked + up at him, he was wide awake and attentive. The landlady came in to clear + the table and Darco drove her from the room as if she had come to steal + her own properties. Then he flung himself anew into his arm-chair and + snored until the reading came to a close. It had lasted two hours and a + half, and Paul at times had been affected by his own humour and pathos. He + waited with his eyes on the word ‘Curtain ‘at the bottom of the final + page. + </p> + <p> + ‘You think that is a blay?’ said Darco. ‘Vell, it is nod a blay. It is a + chelly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t quite think I know what you mean,’ Paul answered, horribly + crestfallen. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say vot I mean,’ Darco responded. ‘It is a chelly. It is a very goot + chelly—in’ places. You might like it if you took it in a sboon out + of a storypook, or a folume of boedry; but a blay is a very different + greation.’ + </p> + <p> + Then he fell to a mortally technical criticism of Paul’s work—a + practical stage-manager’s criticism—and enlightened his hearer’s + mind on many things. He said, ‘I am Cheorge Dargo, ant now you know,’ a + little oftener than was necessary, but he laid bare all the weaknesses of + plot and execution—all the improbabilities which Paul supposed + himself cunningly to have effaced or bidden, and he showed him how fatally + he had disguised his budding scoundrel in a robe of goodness throughout + the whole of the first act. + </p> + <p> + ‘But it’s life!’ cried Paul. ‘That’s what happens in life. You meet a man + who seems made of honesty; you trust him, and he picks your pocket.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Aha!’ said Darco; ‘but there is always somepoty who knows the druth apout + him, ant efery memper of your autience must represend that somepoty. Now, + I’ll dell you. I vill make a sgeleton for you. We will pild your chelly + into a gomedy, ant we will preathe into id the preath of life, and it + shall valk apout.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll—you’ll work with me?’ Paul cried. ‘Hurrah!’ + </p> + <p> + Darco rang a peal at the bell, and the landlady, probably thinking the + house on fire, scurried madly to answer the call. + </p> + <p> + ‘Half-bast elefen o’glock,’ growled Darco accusingly, ‘ant look at the + preakfast-dable.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But you told me, sir——’ began the gasping woman. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now don’t sdant jattering there,’ said Darco, ‘I am koing to be busy. + Glear avay!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I came to clear away at nine, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Glear avay now,’ said Darco; ‘don’t vaste my dime.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m sure I don’t want to waste your time, Mr. Darco,’ said the landlady, + ‘but you’ve given me such a turn, sir, I don’t know where I am.’ + </p> + <p> + Darco shook the room again by a new plunge into the armchair, and the + trembling landlady cleared away. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, dake nodes!’ he roared, as she left the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall be very glad to take notice, sir,’ said the landlady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nodes!’ shouted Darco. ‘Nodes. I am not dalking to you. I am dalking to + my brivade zegredary.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul seized a pencil, set a pile of paper before him on the table, and + waited. Darco began to prowl about the room, setting chairs in place with + great precision, arranging ornaments on the chimney-shelf, and settling + pictures on the wall with methodical exactness, muttering meanwhile, + ‘Nodes. Dake nodes. I am dalking to my brivade zegredary. Nodes. Dake + nodes.’ Paul was familiar with his ways, and waited seriously. + </p> + <p> + ‘But this down,’ said Darco, pacing and turning suddenly. ‘No. Don’t but + that down. I don’t vant that’ He roamed off again, murmuring: ‘No. Don’t + but it down. I don’t vant it. I don’t vant it. Nodes. Dake nodes.’ Then + with sudden loudness and decision: ‘But this down.’ + </p> + <p> + He began to talk. Paul tried to follow him on paper, but the task was + hopeless. Darco talked with a choking incoherence and at a dreadful pace. + It was as if a big-bellied bottle were turned upside down, and as if the + bottle were sentient and strove to empty the whole of its contents at once + through a narrow neck. At last a meaning began to declare itself—the + merest intelligible germ of a meaning—but it grew and grew until + Paul clapped his hands with a cry of triumph at it. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is what was wanted.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is a bart of vat is vanted,’ said Darco. ‘Haf you cot it town?’ + Before Paul could answer he was off again in a new tangle, and fighting + and tearing his way through it as madly as before. ‘Now I am dired,’ he + said. ‘I shall haf some lunge, and co to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + He caught at the bell-pull in passing, gave it a tug, and waddled off to + his bedroom. The landlady came in with the tray and began to arrange the + table. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know what you gentlemen have been doing sir,’ she said to Paul, + ‘but I’m sure I was afraid there was going to be murder in the house. I + never heard anybody go on so in my life. I don’t know how any young + gentleman puts up with it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is very little danger, I assure you,’ said Paul. ‘Mr. Darco and I + have been talking business.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ returned the landlady, ‘I suppose you know how to manage him. But + I wouldn’t be his keeper not for love <i>or</i> money.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am Mr. Darco’s private secretary, ma’am,’ Paul answered gravely. + </p> + <p> + ‘All I can say is,’ said the landlady, sighing, ‘I’m glad it’s Saturday.’ + </p> + <p> + It happened that the company took a late train that night for a distant + town, and Darco paid his bill before leaving for the theatre. He told the + landlady that he had been extremely comfortable, and that he should have + great pleasure in recommending her to his friends. When he had gone, the + landlady told Paul that she was glad the gendeman had his lucy intervals. + </p> + <p> + But the comedy having been once rebegun on Darco’s lines, was written to + an accompaniment of fears and tremblings. It terrified the servants and + the women-folk at large of every house the collaborateurs lodged in. + Slaveys, with clasped hands and faces pale beneath smudges of blacklead, + shook in the hall or on the stairs and landing whilst Darco roared, and + Paul at the end of a day’s work used sometimes to feel as if he had been + badly beaten about the head. None the less, the work was finished, and put + into rehearsal. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ve vill dry it on the tog,’ said Darco, and Paul, who never dared to + question him as to his meaning, went puzzled for a while. + </p> + <p> + But Darco rarely said a thing once without repeating it many times, and at + length Paul understood that the play was to be played ‘on the dog,’ which + is theatrical English for the production of a new piece at an obscure + house in the country. It was tried, but the dog never took to it with any + great kindness. Darco swore it was the first comedy which had been + produced since the days of Sheridan. He put it into the repertoire, and + played it once a week, and whenever it was played it brought a guinea to + Paul’s pocket. It is not every first effort in any work of art which does + as much as this, however, and Paul had the good sense to see that he was + fortunate, and looked hopefully to the future. He crept into the gallery + when the piece was played in any town, and watched his neighbours, and + listened to their comments on the action and to their talk between the + acts. This taught him a great deal, for he saw how little the popular + instinct varies in matters of emotion, and the verdict to which he + listened was everywhere substantially the same. + </p> + <p> + There came an especially memorable afternoon when Mr. Warr in a + four-wheeled fly drove to Darco’s lodgings, and announced the sudden + sickness of the juvenile lead. Darco pounced on Paul as the sick man’s + successor. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear sir,’ said Paul, ‘I never spoke a word in public in my life. I + can’t do it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s all right, my poy,’ said Darco. ‘You’ve got to do it.’ + </p> + <p> + There was no arguing the matter. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr was despatched in the fly to gather the members of the company. + Darco thrust into Paul’s hands the part he had to study, and went off + tranquilly to his own room to sleep. Paul slaved for an hour, and seemed + to have mastered nothing. Darco, having timed himself to sleep for one + hour precisely, awoke to the minute, and bundled off his victim to the + theatre. There such members of the company as Mr. Warr had succeeded in + finding were already collected, and the scenes in which Paul was concerned + were run through again and again until he began to have some idea of what + was expected of him, and even some distant knowledge of the words. But the + whole thing was like a nightmare, and whenever the thought of the coming + night crossed his mind, it afflicted him with a half paralysis. Darco + worried him incessantly, bubbling with unhelpful enthusiasm, roaring at + him, pushing and hauling him hither and thither, so that at last he + resigned himself to a stupor of despair. The leading lady intervened, and + she and Darco talked together for a minute. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tam it!’ he shouted. ‘Do you think I want anypoty to deach me? I am + Cheorge Dargo. I know my drade!’ + </p> + <p> + But the leading lady stuck to him, and at last he went away. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, my dear,’ said Miss Belmont to Paul. ‘I’ll shepherd you. You’re + mostly with me, and so long as we’re together you’re safe. Darco’s a + darling when you know him, but he’s enough to break a beginner’s heart. + Now, dears ‘—she appealed here to her whole public—‘put your + hearts into it, and help the young gentleman through.’ + </p> + <p> + The rehearsal went on again, and the nightmare feeling wore away a little. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve got to give me a little bit of a chance here,’ said Miss Belmont, + with her pretty little gloved hand on Paul’s shoulder. ‘You see, it’s your + forgiveness melts me, and if you forgive me like chucking a pennyworth of + coppers at a beggar, I shan’t be melted. Now, then: “Georgy”—say it + like that, just a bit throaty and quivery—“I loved you so that I’d + have laid down my life for you!” Try it like that. That’s better. Now, + give me your eyes, large and mournful, for just five ticks. Now turn, + three steps up stage, hand to forehead. That’s it, but not quite so + woodeny. Turn. Eyes again. “Georgy!” Now one step down, both hands out + Pause. That’s it “You have broken a truer heart than you will easily find + again. But I will say no more. Good-bye, Georgy. And for the sake of those + old dreams which were once so sweet, and now are flown for ever, God bless + you ‘Oh, God bless you and forgive you!” No. Try and get it just a little + bit more. Poor dear Bannister always cried when he came to that. I’ve seen + the tears run down his face many a time. Just go back to “Georgy, I loved + you sa” Yes, yes, yes, that’s it; that’s capital. Now, that lets me in. + “Oh, Richard! Richard! Is it possible that you forgive me?” That’s your + cue for the chair, face in both hands. Now my long speech: “Richard,” and + so on, and so on. “Good-bye, then, dearest, truest, tenderest.” Just a + little shake of the shoulders here and there, as if you were sobbing to + yourself, don’t you see? “Good-bye, good-bye.” No, don’t get up yet. Count + six very slowly after “Good-bye” the second time. Now rise, turn, arms out + “Georgy! Can’t you see?” Then down I rush, and—curtain. Now, just + once more from “Georgy, I loved you so.”’ + </p> + <p> + The company clapped hands. Berry, the first comedian, poked Earlsford, the + leading man, in the waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + ‘<i>You’ll</i> have to look to your laurels in a year or two.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Miss Belmont, ‘you can’t expect to shine tonight. That + wouldn’t be reasonable, would it? But if you won’t prevent the rest from + shining you’ll have done your duty nobly. Never you mind Darco: I’ll keep + him out of the house to-night. I’m the only woman in the profession who + has the length of his foot I’d rather say the breadth of his heart, for + that’s where I always get at him. There’ll be an explanation and an + apology. You’d better read your part. The house won’t mind it. Then put + all you know into that last scene. Chuck the book a minute before the real + business comes on, as if you’d made up your mind to go for the gloves. + That’ll fetch ‘em. Well go over that bit again and again till you’ve got + it They’ll be just jumping with pleasure in front if you surprise ‘em with + a good touch at the finish, and they’ll go away thinking how splendidly + you’d have done it if you’d had half a chance. It’s the trot up the + avenue, don’t you see? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr, who at a gesture had followed Darco from the theatre, appeared + with a basket in his hand, and was followed by a man who bore a larger + basket on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘The governor sends his highly superior compliments, ladies and + gentlemen,’ said Mr. Warr, ‘and his polite request that you will be so + very kind as to forget the dinner-hour. Sandwiches, ladies and gentlemen. + Ham, beef, tongue, pâté de foie gras, potted shrimps, and cetera. Juice of + the grape.’ He pointed to the basket, which his attendant had already laid + upon the stage. ‘Fizzy, Pommery-Gréno, and no less, upon my sacred word of + honour!’ He groped in his pockets. ‘Champagne-opener, to be carefully + returned to bearer. Ah, sir,’ he added feelingly to Paul, ‘when I forswore + the varnish, I little thought it would rise to this quality. And, ladies + and gentlemen,’ he continued aloud, ‘I was to request that you would unite + in lending your highly superior aid to the neophyte.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Our compliments to the governor,’ said the leading comedian, who had + seized the nippers and was already hard at work. ‘We bestow on him + unanimously the order of the golden brick.’ + </p> + <p> + Darco’s health was toasted, and the company went to rehearsal again, each + with a champagne-glass in one hand and a sandwich in the other, and worked + banqueting. Paul drank a glass of wine, and the coming night looked less + terrible. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’ve two hours clear,’ said Miss Belmont ‘Now see if we don’t make + something of you in that time.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul began to take up his cue with spirit, as often as not without the + book, and to take his proper places without prompting. They worked their + way on again to the final scene. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, don’t be afraid to let go,’ said Miss Belmont ‘Let us have it as if + the house was full.’ + </p> + <p> + So Paul threw down his part as arranged, for by this time he knew the + words of this one scene, and what with the wine and the growing sense of + freedom, he did pretty well, and when he sat in the arm-chair with his + face in his hands Miss Belmont no longer gabbled her lines, but spoke them + with all the feeling and fervour of which she was mistress. And when she + came to her ‘Good-bye, good-bye,’ Paul, who at all times was easily + emotional, was crying softly. He rose with outspread arms and the tears on + his face and his voice broke. The leading lady rushed at him and clipped + him round the neck, and Paul clipped the leading lady in a perfectly + innocent enthusiasm and strained her to his breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘You—little—devil!’ she whispered, as she drew away from him + and stabbed him with one wicked flash of her blue eyes. ‘I’ll forgive you + this time,’ she added half a minute later; ‘but it isn’t professional.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Time for one more run through, ladies and gentlemen,’ said the + stage-manager, and once more the task began. + </p> + <p> + Miss Belmont’s eyes plagued Paul most of the time, now with a look of + serious affront, now with a sort of mocking challenge. Now, he was + inclined to try that grip again to see how she would take it, and the + mocking eyes invited him. Then he dared not so much as think of it, for + the eyes looked severe offence at him. When the time came he was like a + wooden doll handling a wooden doll. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh!’ said Miss Belmont, pettishly drawing back from him. ‘That won’t + do. Try again.’ + </p> + <p> + They harked back to the beginning of the scene. The others had stolen away + to their various dressing-rooms. Only the stage-manager was left, and he + was engaged in talking with the leader of the orchestra, who had just come + in with a fiddle-case beneath his arm peeping out from his shabby paletot + The farewell speech came, and it was only breathed. She had always dearly, + dearly loved him. She had lost him by her pride, her coquetry—her + silly, silly, heartless coquetry. Her fingers touched him on the cheek + soft as a snowflake, and lingered there whilst the cooing voice went on. + Then came the ‘Good-bye’ again and the answering call. She paused and + looked, and darted to him, and they clung together, she leaning back her + head and tangling his eyes in hers. + </p> + <p> + ‘You hold me like that,’ she breathed, ‘until the curtain falls,’ + </p> + <p> + She released herself gradually from his embrace, and drew away. Paul’s + pulses beat to a strange tune, and he was afraid to look at her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ she said, in a voice so commonplace that he jumped to hear it, ‘the + kind creatures have left us half a bottle. One glass, Mr. Armstrong, will + do you good. You dress with Berry; hell help you with your make-up. Don’t + be nervous. You’ve got the book to prop you till the very end, and there + you’ll be as right as rain. Here’s luck to your first appearance.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul took the glass she held out to him, but his hand trembled so that he + spilled one half its contents on the stage. + </p> + <p> + ‘How clumsy!’ purred the leading lady. ‘Here, take a full glass; there’s + more in the bottle. There; chink glasses. Luck for to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + He drank mechanically, and the stinging wine threw him into a fit of + coughing. Miss Belmont patted him laughingly on the back, and ran away to + her own room. Paul took his part from the stage, and tumbled up a spiral + iron staircase to the loft in which the leading comedian dressed. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d better wear Bannister’s togs, if they’ll fit you,’ said the + comedian; ‘if not, you’ll want a dress-suit for the second act.’ + </p> + <p> + The clothes fitted excellently, and Berry saw to the neophyte’s make-up, + painting and powdering him dexterously, and dressing the virginal beard + and moustache with a dark cosmetic. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re funking it,’ the comedian said cheerfully. ‘That’s all right, my + boy; there never was a man worth his salt who didn’t. Give me a new part, + and I’m as nervous as a cat. But you’re in luck in a way, for we’ve all + been together so long in this that we could play it in our sleep. There + isn’t one of us that doesn’t know the thing inside-out and upside-down and + backwards.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul crept down the spiral staircase, part in hand, and listened whilst + the local manager, who rather prided himself on his ability as an orator, + deplored the serious and sudden indisposition of that established + favourite, Mr. Bannister, and announced that Mr. Armstrong had ‘gallantly + stepped into the breach,’ and would essay the part, literally at a + moment’s notice. Paul would most certainly have ungallantly bolted out of + the breach had that been possible; but the people cheered the local + manager cordially, and he, stepping back into the gloom of the stage, + found Paul shivering there, and tried to hearten him. + </p> + <p> + The night went by in a sort of fog, but Paul read his lines somehow, and + made his crosses at the right places; and actors are eager to answer to + any little courtesy from a manager, and Darco’s half-dozen of champagne + was richly paid for by the <i>élan</i> with which everybody played. As to + the neophyte, they fed and nursed him, and were in at the close of every + speech of his with a spring and a rattle which made the audience half + forget the artificiality of the scenes he clouded. Mr. Berry took as much + whisky-and-water as was good for him, and perhaps a little more, and Paul + in his nervous anxiety lent a helpful hand towards the emptying of the + bottle. There was no buzz in the cast-iron head and no cloud in the eyes, + but he was strung to a strange tension, and he was looking forward to that + last act and the embrace which crowned it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t take the book for this last scene,’ he whispered to the + prompter; ‘but watch me, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + The prompter nodded, and Paul passed on to the spot from which he was to + make his entrance. There was Miss Belmont waiting also. She was in evening + dress, with shining white arms and shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘Fit?’ she asked laconically, buttoning a glove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Middling,’ said Paul hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + She slid away from him through the painted doorway, and he heard her voice + on the stage. There was a pause, and someone near him whispered: + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Armstrong, go on; they’re waiting.’ + </p> + <p> + He obeyed. The practised woman, cool as a cucumber, gave him his cue a + second time, and continued to make the pause look rational He plunged into + the scene, awkward and constrained, but resolute, and in some degree + master of himself. It was his stage business to be awkward and + constrained, but he fared not over well, for on the stage it is easy to go + too close to nature. But at the very last he lost his nervous tremors, and + in the one scene in which he had been coached so often he acquitted + himself with credit. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can’t you see?’ he asked in the final line of his piece, and the leading + lady was in his arms again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can see,’ she whispered. ‘Kiss me, you silly boy!’ + </p> + <p> + And Paul bent his lips to hers, and kissed her in a way which looked + theatrically emotional to the house. The roller came down with a thud. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stay as you are,’ she said; ‘there is a call.’ + </p> + <p> + The curtain rose again and fell again, and Paul held the leading lady in + his arms. The embrace lasted little more than a minute, but it left Paul + frantically in love—after a fashion. + </p> + <p> + This was bad in many ways, for the woman was eight years his senior and a + most heartless coquette, and Paul’s infatuation kept him from his own + thoughts, which were just beginning to be of value to him. + </p> + <p> + The Dreamer in the mountains grieved wistfully as the old times enacted + themselves before him. ‘Love,’ says blackguard Iago, ‘is a lust of the + blood and a permission of the will.’ Well, one-and-twenty made his dreams + even out of such poor material. The westward train boomed past, invisible + from first to last in the smoke-cloud. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Miss Belmont, nine-and-twenty, fresh and fair, ignorant-clever (after the + known feminine fashion), <i>rusée</i> to the finger-tips, with a dragon + reputation for virtue and a resolute will to keep it, was dangerous to the + peace of mind of masculine twenty-one. She made Paul her bondslave. She + intoxicated him with a touch, and sobered him with a face of sudden + marble. She played the matron and the sister with him, and drove him mad + between whiles. + </p> + <p> + Here is one scene out of hundreds, all acted to the Solitary’s mind as if + the past were back again. + </p> + <p> + Summer was dying. The woods were yet lusty but growing sombre. Level beams + of parting sunlight flashing through the trees like white-hot wire. A + Sunday picnic for the company, magnificently provided by Darco, had + brought Paul and Miss Belmont together. The lady had led the way into this + solitude with so much tact and skill that Paul took pride in his own + generalship. They sat on a rustic bench together, and immediately before + them was an opening in the trees. At a very little distance the ground + fell suddenly away, and in the valley wound a shining river with fold on + fold of wooded lands beyond. + </p> + <p> + Paul was quivering to be nearer to her, but he had no courage to move. He + looked at her, and her eyes seemed to be dreaming on the distant hills. He + stole a timid hand towards her very slowly. She turned towards him with a + soft smile, took the hand in her own, and held it, nestling her shoulders + into the rustic woodwork and sending her dreamy gaze back to the hills + again. Once or twice, as if unconsciously, she lifted the hand slightly + and laid it down again caressingly. + </p> + <p> + Paul looked at her adoringly. It was like being in heaven, with a touch of + vertigo. + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ said Paul, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Don’t speak louder than that. It suits the place to + whisper. What are you thinking about?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You,’ said Paul ‘I think of nothing else.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You silly boy,’ said Miss Belmont. ‘Why should you think about me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t help it I wake up to think of you. I think of you all day. I go + to sleep thinking of you. I dream about you in the night-time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you silly Paul!’ Her lips smiled, but her eyes dreamed unchangingly + on the landscape. ‘Why do you think of me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Because I love you,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + The hand which held his own seemed to encourage him to draw nearer, and + yet the sign, if there were any sign at all, was so faint that he was + afraid to obey it She turned her head slowly to look at him. Her round + soft chin stirred the lace at her shoulder and was half hidden by it, and + she sat placidly dreaming at his ardent eyes just as she had dreamed at + the hills. + </p> + <p> + ‘I think you do,’ she said sweetly; ‘but that is all nonsense. You are + only a boy, and I am a middle-aged woman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Middle-aged!’ said Paul, with a fiery two-syllabled laugh of scorn at the + idea. + </p> + <p> + ‘A woman is middle-aged at five-and-twenty. Didn’t you know that, Paul? + She took his hand within her own, and played with it ‘What a beautiful + hand!’ she said. ‘But you don’t take care of it. You treat it carelessly. + Now, I spend half an hour on my hands every day. Let me show you the + difference,’ and she began to draw off her glove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me,’ said Paul, and she surrendered the hand and he peeled the glove + from it delicately, and held the white wonder in his own palm. He stooped + and kissed it in an idiot rapture. ‘How happy you make me!’ he said, + looking up with tears in his eyes. ‘How I love you!’ + </p> + <p> + She stroked his cheek and his hair with the soft ungloved hand, smiling + softly at him. He prisoned the hand again, and kissed it again. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are a silly boy,’ she said; ‘a dear, nice, affectionate, silly boy!’ + She released her hand and caressed his cheek again. ‘If you were older + than you are I shouldn’t allow you to take these liberties, you know.’ + Then she bent forward sideways a little, and allowed her hand to stray + beyond his shoulder. ‘What makes you fancy that you love an old woman like + me, Paul? + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s no fancy,’ he said; ‘it’s life or death with me, Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor boy,’ said Miss Belmont caressingly, and so moved nearer to him and + drew his head to her shoulder. ‘Am I kind to you, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are an angel,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + ‘Isn’t it rather cruel to be kind to you, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + He buried his hot face in the soft drapery of her shoulder, and gave a + murmured ‘No; oh, no!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You think you love me, but it’s only a boy’s fancy, Paul It will pass + away. I suppose it’s happy whilst it lasts, when I am kind to you. But it + can’t last long. I shall be sorry to part, for I like you very much.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We mustn’t part,’ said Paul huskily. ‘Claudia, if you left me I should + break my heart.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no,’ she answered, drawing him a little nearer. ‘Hearts are not so + easily broken.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Easily!’ he said. ‘Do you think it’s easy, Claudia, to live as I do? I’m + in heaven now, and I’d give my life to be with you for an hour like this. + But when I’m away from you, when I see you in that beast Bannister’s arms, + and remember the only time I ever kissed you—oh, why were you so + kind then, and why are you so cold and cruel now?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Cold? Cruel?’ She stroked his flushed cheek with her soft fingers. ‘I let + you kiss me because I thought what a dear, nice handsome boy you were; but + I should never have done it if I had thought that you would be so silly + after it. If you were not so very silly I should like to kiss you, because + it’s a woman’s way to kiss the people that she’s really fond of. But you + <i>are</i> so foolish, Paul dear, that I dare not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I won’t be foolish,’ said Paul, lifting his head, and looking at her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she said, ‘will you give me your word of honour to stay here for + five minutes after I am gone if I give you just one kiss, and not to beg + me for another, and not to try to get into the same carriage with me going + home?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t ask me that,’ he besought her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, Paul,’ she said tenderly, ‘don’t you think for a moment that I am a + woman, and that this foolish world would talk about me, even with you, if + I gave it only the shadow of a chance? Come; I must go now. Promise.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The kiss,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘The promise,’ said Miss Belmont. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, I promise. If you asked me to leap over the rocks in front of us I’d + do it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me your hands, then. You won’t try to keep me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, no.’ + </p> + <p> + She kissed him warmly and lingeringly on the lips, and darted suddenly + away. Paul rose to his feet and held out his arms towards her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your promise,’ she said. ‘Your word of honour as a gentleman.’ He dropped + his hands. ‘You shall be paid for that,’ she whispered, with a face + glowing like his own, and she returned to him and kissed him once more, + holding his hands in hers. Then she left him swiftly and ran down the + pathway, turning at the bend to waft a last kiss to him, and so was gone. + </p> + <p> + Paul mooned about in a miserable, aching ecstasy for a quarter of an hour + or so, and then, finding by his watch that the supper-hour appointed by + Darco was near at hand, he sauntered to the hotel. Miss Belmont was there + before him, radiant and serene, and looking as unkissable as Diana. Paul + would have approached her, but a mere motion of her fine eyebrows warned + him off. He ate little, but he drank a good deal of wine, and was gay and + moody by turns as he was driven home. And far into the night in his own + room he walked up and down and made verses and raved them in whispers to + himself, because Darco slept in the next apartment, and was not at all the + man to be wisely awakened by the voice of Love’s young dream. He drew his + curtains apart and opened his window on the scented night, and took the + moon and stars into his confidence, and the kisses bit softly down into + his heart like fire. + </p> + <p> + Other scenes there were in which the cunning damsel betrayed Paul into the + belief that he was an ennobling and lofty influence in her life. She was + rigid in her choice of topics for conversation, but she ornamented her + speech now and then with an almost masculine embroidery, and once she + caught Paul looking at her with a shocked and wounded air. + </p> + <p> + ‘I caught your look,’ she said, as soon as she could speak to him alone. + ‘I know what it meant, and, oh! you made me hate myself. There isn’t any + real harm in it—I mean, it isn’t wicked—but it isn’t refined + or womanly, and I’ll ‘never do it again—never, never, never, for my + dear little Paul’s sake. And Paul shall have a kiss for teaching Claudia a + lesson. Naughty Claudia!’ + </p> + <p> + And again one day at rehearsal Miss Belmont ordered a brandy-and-soda, and + Paul’s face clouded; and Claudia was penitent, and Paul got more kisses + for helping naughty Claudia to forget these man-like habits. + </p> + <p> + The boy’s infatuation chimed in with a growing liking for the stage, and + he volunteered to work there with so much ardour that Darco was newly + pleased with him, and gave him ample opportunity. So he saw more and more + of Claudia, and made some progress in his new craft, and the foolish game + of love went on, until it brought about a crisis. + </p> + <p> + It was three o’clock on Friday afternoon, and Paul was at the theatre, + seated in the manager’s room, counting and putting into envelopes the + weekly salaries of the company. He had just consigned the two crispest and + cleanest of his small stock of five-pound notes and the brightest + half-sovereign to an envelope bearing the name of Miss Claudia Belmont, + when the lady herself tapped at the door and entered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I wanted to see you alone, Paul dear,’ she said, ‘and so I came over + early. I have a piece of news for you. It is very sad news for me, but I + am afraid you will not think it so.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If it grieves you it grieves me,’ said Paul; ‘you can’t have a trouble + that I don’t share.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going away,’ she said, walking to the window and looking out on a + shabby back-yard which was full of rotting scenery and old stage-lumber of + all sorts. + </p> + <p> + ‘Going away?’ Paul repeated. + </p> + <p> + He was dazed and numbed, as if he had received a blow. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Claudia. ‘Mr. Darco and I have never hit it off very well + together, and now I am going. I have a very good offer for London, and I + leave at the end of next week.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I can put things right with Mr. Darco,’ said Paul; ‘I know I can.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said, with a seeming gentle sadness; ‘it’s quite impossible. My + position here has grown intolerable, and, besides that, everything is + arranged; I have signed for London this afternoon.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul said nothing for the time, for the intelligence crushed him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was afraid that you would be hurt,’ she added, after a pause. ‘I am + glad to see that you can take it more easily than I can.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia!’ said Paul miserably, and sat staring before him with a white + face. + </p> + <p> + ‘I did almost hope,’ she said, ‘that you would have cared a little.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can’t you see?’ he answered—’ oh, can’t you see?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want play-acting, Paul,’ said Claudia, searching for her + handkerchief, ‘After all we have been to each other I expected a little + genuine feeling.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ he burst out, ‘you mustn’t go; you mustn’t leave me. I should + break my heart without you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I must go, Paul,’ said Claudia. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I will go,’ cried Paul; ‘I can’t part from you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How can you go, silly boy?’ she answered, suffering him to take her hand + in his and place his arm about her waist; ‘you have nothing to do in + London; you know nobody there. You have excellent prospects here with + Darco.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Where you go I go,’ said the young idiot stanchly. ‘I could not live + apart from you. You’re the world to me, Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + He meant it, every word, and in his contradictory heat and flurry and + despair he felt as if there were no words at his call which were strong + enough to express him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said Claudia, ‘it would be sweet to think you cared so much if I + could only believe you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Believe me? cried Paul. ‘Oh, Claudia!’ + </p> + <p> + And then he choked, and could say no more. + </p> + <p> + But Claudia, whose self-possession was less disturbed than his, heard a + footstep on the staircase, and whispered an eager warning to him just in + time. He shot back into his seat, and feigned to be busy with his accounts + and his orderly little pile of money. Miss Belmont stooped at the table, + and when Mr. Berry entered he found her initialling the pay-sheet. She + looked up with a sweet smile, nodded a greeting to him, inspected the + contents of the envelope, transferred them to her purse, and moved to the + door; then she turned. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Mr. Armstrong, would you mind taking the trouble to run down to my + lodgings when you have got through with this? I have something very + particular to ask you, if you don’t mind. You know where I’m staying? + Thank you <i>so</i> much. Good-afternoon.’ + </p> + <p> + She was gone, and everything was gone. Paul made a mechanical effort to + get through his business. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say, young Armstrong,’ cried Mr. Berry, ‘you’re woolgathering; you’ve + given me an extra fiver, or has old Darco found out what I’m worth at + last?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My mistake,’ said Paul; ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve got a beastly + headache; I can’t think or see.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Hair of the dog?’ suggested Mr. Berry. ‘Hi! Chips, old sonnie’—he + was bawling down the staircase—’ catch ‘Oh, butter-fingers! There it + is, just behind you. Half-a-crown. Just nip across, will you? Two Scotches + and a split. Take a pull at your own tap while you’re there, and look + slippy. Armstrong, dear boy, you’re looking very chalky. Don’t overdo it, + dear boy, whatever you do. In my youth I never did apply hot and + rebellious liquors to the blood. I take to ‘em very kindly now, but I + never began till thirty. A man’s a seasoned cask at thirty.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul let him talk, and was glad enough not to be further noticed. He sat + with his head in his hands and stared at the table, and tried to realize + what life would be without Claudia. It looked wholly vacant and + intolerable. + </p> + <p> + ‘Here you are,’ said Mr. Berry, releasing the soda-water with a pop, and + foaming the contents of the bottle into the glasses. + </p> + <p> + Paul groaned and drank, and by-and-by felt a little better. He would see + Claudia, would decide on some scheme of action, however desperate, which + would prevent him from wholly losing sight of her. He would release + himself from his engagement with Darco. That made him feel like a hound, + for who had been so good to him as Darco? Who had taken him out of hunger + and trouble but Darco? He recalled himself characterless, despairing; he + contrasted his old lot with the present. The change was all of Darco’s + working, and he had grown to love the man, and the man on his side had + given proofs enough of liking. It looked like a black ingratitude to leave + him. It was what it looked like—neither more nor less. But, then, + Claudia, Claudia, Claudia! How could he live without Claudia? + </p> + <p> + He looked at things all round. He had a fixed position, which was so + excellent that he could not hope to mend it for years to come if he left + it now. He had a true friend whose friendship he might lose if he left him + now. He had perhaps an open avenue to fame, and it would close if he + retired from it, and might never open any more. All these things he + counted clearly, and reckoned the world well lost for Claudia. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon work was over, the pay-sheet initialled from top to bottom, + the accounts made up and balanced, and the change and papers locked up in + Darco’s cash-box. He was free to go to Claudia. + </p> + <p> + A fly carried him in ten minutes to her door, and she herself admitted + him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in, Paul,’ she said ‘I have been thinking, and I want to speak to + you very, very seriously.’ She led him into her sitting-room. ‘Miss + Pounceby is out for the day, so that we shall have time to talk together.’ + Miss Pounceby was the <i>ingénue</i>, and she and Claudia lived together. + ‘Sit down, dear, and let me see if I can’t bring you to reason.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You can’t persuade me to lose you, Claudia,’ said Paul gloomily. ‘It + isn’t to be done; it isn’t to be thought about.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Silly boy!’ said Claudia, seating herself beside him, and taking his hand + in both of hers, ‘you know I love you like a sister.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t want a sister’s love,’ said Paul. ‘I want you to marry me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, Paul,’ she answered, ‘the world would laugh at me. You are only just + one-and-twenty; I am four years older. That is ages, you know, and it is + ages on the wrong side.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why should we care about the world?’ Paul asked. ‘What has the world to + do with us so long as we can be happy?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I don’t love you in that way, Paul,’ said Claudia. She leaned forward + and sideways, and looked gravely in his eyes. ‘I love you very much, dear + Paul—very, very much indeed—and I shall be grieved to lose + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t lose you,’ said Paul. ‘I have made my mind up.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You dear boy!’ she said, and kissed him; but when he would have embraced + her she drew back with a warning forefinger upraised. ‘You must not + presume upon my kindness, Paul; but I know that I can trust you. I should + not have asked you to meet me here if I had not been sure of that.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ cried Paul, rising and pacing about the room, ‘have some pity. + I am not a child; I am a man. I can’t bear this. You must be everything or + you must be nothing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing, Paul?’ said Claudia, with grave, accusing eyes and wounded face + and voice. ‘Nothing?’ + </p> + <p> + It was exquisite practice, and she was a hundred times a better actress + off the boards than on. Paul could appreciate her art at its full value in + later years, but just now he found earnestness enough for two, and would + have broken his heart outright if he had known how she was playing with + him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing or all,’ he said. ‘You treat me like a child, Claudia, but I am a + man, if I <i>am</i> only a little over one-and-twenty. I have a man’s + heart and a man’s blood in my veins. No. Don’t come near me yet; I want to + be my own master.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, Paul, dear!’ said Claudia; ‘you mustn’t talk so I never thought you + felt so deeply. How could I? Must it all be over, Paul? Are they all gone, + dear—all the happy, peaceful, tranquil hours? Can’t I give my little + brother Paul a simple kiss without making such a tempest?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have had no peaceful, tranquil hours,’ cried Paul. ‘Oh, Claudia! + Claudia!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Kiss and be friends, Paul,’ said Claudia, and Paul was lured back to his + absurd paradise, and fed on kisses and caresses which were sometimes + suffered to reach the edge of ardour, and then skilfully chilled. + </p> + <p> + If feminine nine-and-twenty thinks it worth while to befool masculine + one-and-twenty, and knows her business as well as Claudia knew it, the + task is fairly easy. Claudia would not hear of Paul throwing away his + prospects for so mad a purpose as to follow her to London. She covered her + pretty ears with her ringed fingers when he talked of it, and positively + refused to listen. But he must be rewarded for his devotion, too, and + Claudia wished with all her heart that she could love Paul as he loved + her. But it would be wicked to marry without a proper feeling for a + husband, and Paul was her brother, her dear, dear younger brother, and to + talk of marriage at their ages was such a folly. Wouldn’t Paul always be + her brother? And she laid her soft warm cheek against his and kissed his + hand. What more could he ask for, silly boy? Wasn’t that happiness enough + for him if he really loved her? If he would be good, and promise never, + never, never to be foolish again, and frighten Claudia with his anger—why + <i>should</i> he want to frighten his poor Claudia?—they might + always love each other, and be, oh, so happy! + </p> + <p> + The programme thus presented was actually admitted at last to be + reasonable—for the time being—and Paul was sent away with the + tenderest farewells and a profound belief—for the time being—that + Claudia was an angel. + </p> + <p> + ‘Whatever you do, dear,’ she had said at parting, with her sisterly arms + about his neck, ‘you must not dream of following me to London. I could not + bear to think that you had imperilled your prospects for my sake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I care for nothing in the world but you,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + He played honest coin against counters. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is sweet to hear you say so,’ said the sisterly Claudia, and she was + so touched by his devotion that she allowed him to kiss her almost as + wildly as he wished to do. + </p> + <p> + An hour or two later Paul was in Darco’s presence. He had a hang-dog look + and felt ashamed, but he was resolute. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he said, ‘but it has become absolutely necessary + that I should go to London.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ said Darco, ‘is there anythings the madder? Ven do you want to co + and for how lonk?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I must go at the end of next week,’ Paul answered, not daring to look at + him, ‘and I must go for good.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am baying you goot vages,’ said Darco. ‘You vill not get as goot vages. + Vot is the madder?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is no question of wages, sir,’ returned Paul ‘I had not thought of + looking for another situation even, though I shall have to do so, of + course. But it is absolutely essential that I should be in London. I hope + you won’t think that I am acting ungratefully. I feel as if I were, but it + will be easy for you to fill my place, and I shall always remember how + kind and generous you have been to me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, loog you here,’ said Darco; ‘there is somethings the madder. I can + see it in your vace. You dell me vod it is, and I will but it straight for + you. I can see that somethings is the madder. I am not a fool. I am + Cheorge Dargo. Now dell me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t explain,’ said Paul. ‘I can only tell you that I have to go to + London. I must go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You vait there a liddle bid,’ returned Darco. ‘I am going to think.’ He + rolled away, and Paul hoped he might think to little purpose, but in half + an hour he was back again. His eyes snapped, but he was as cold as an + iceberg. ‘Ven do you vant to co?’ he asked abruptly. + </p> + <p> + ‘As soon as you can spare me,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can sbare you now,’ said Darco. ‘You are a pick-headed younk itiot, ant + you can co at once. There is your zalary for next week. Goot-efening to + you.’ + </p> + <p> + He went out, banging the door behind him, and Paul was left alone feeling + strangely mean and foolish. It seemed that Darco had come to an + explanation of his movement, and Paul did not care to think that he had + found the real reason for it The real reason was a sacred thing whilst it + was hidden away in his own breast; but, held out to the inspection of + others, it had a gawky, unfledged sort of look. It lost dignity. The dove + that cooed in his bosom was a live bird; but once under Darco’s eyes, and + it was a moulted rag—a thing dead and despicable. + </p> + <p> + He had to face Darco again, and he had little taste for the meeting. + </p> + <p> + ‘I haf found oudt vat you are coing to London for,’ said Darco. ‘You are a + tarn fool. I haf never seen such a tarn fool in all my tays ant years—nefer: + nefer since I gave up peing a tarn fool myself. You can vork; you haf got + prains; you haf cot a gareer in front of you; you are one-ant-dwenty. My + Cott! you are one-and-dwenty; ant you haf prains, ant intustry, ant + jances, and you juck them all into the gudder for liddle Jarlie Prown.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Who is Jarlie Prown?’ asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Jarlie Prown is Glautia Pelmond,’ said Darco. ‘She has kebt her initials. + C stands for Glautia, just as veil as it stands for Jarlie; and P stands + both for Prown and Pelmond. She has ruint as many men as she has does and + vingers. It is no pusiness of mine. Co your vays, you silly itiot ‘Id is + your dime of life to be an itiot, and it is my dime of life to laugh at + you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have never heard a man breathe a word till now against Miss Belmont’s + virtue,’ cried Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Firtue?’ cried Darco, with a snorting laugh; ‘what is firtue? Let me dell + you this: Your Miss Glautia Pelmond is a volubtuous ice-woman; ant that is + the most tangerous of all the taughters of the horse-leedge. Ant zo, my + younk donkey, goot-night ant goot-bye. I am Cheorge Dargo, ant I nefer + forgive an incratitude.’ + </p> + <p> + This contemptuous parting wounded Paul to the quick, and the strange + statements about Claudia maddened him. In one respect, at least, Darco, in + his treatment of women, was chivalry incarnate; he would speak no scandal—no, + nor listen to it. Paul tossed and tumbled throughout the night—a + prey to shame and passion and cold doubt. Darco, who had so well deserved + his gratitude, had accused him of the contrary—the one vice of all + others which had seemed most repugnant to his nature. Darco was right, and + Paul was bitten by shame. Then his mind flew to Claudia, and he thought + how tender she had been that afternoon, how confiding, how warm, yet how + delicately reticent in conduct Then he flamed and held his arms out in the + darkness, and swore to be constant to that lovely creature, that + maddening, dazzling, priceless idol, for ever. Then, like a stinging + douche to a man in ardent heat of blood, came Darco’s saying. Darco was a + true man, and to think of him as a scandalmonger was mere folly. He had + quarrelled with Claudia, to be sure, and there was a loophole out of which + a hopeful doubt might pass. And yet to think so was an insult, for Darco + was the last man in the world to take a revenge so base. But Darco + honestly and mistakenly disliked her. That was another matter. He was a + headstrong man, impetuous, prone to leap to conclusions—a very + walking heap of favourable and unfavourable prejudice. Thus, neither + Claudia nor Darco was dethroned. The headlong, stammering, vivid man had + made a mistake—the fat, unwieldy, diamond-hearted creature, all + crusted with slag and scoria. Paul could have cried to know that Darco + dreamed him ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + ‘Who knows him as I do?’ he thought. ‘People laugh at his boasting, and + run away from his blundering thunder; but the man has the heart of an + angel.’ + </p> + <p> + He thought of all those underground benefactions in which he himself had + acted as almoner—the bank-notes to poverty, the Sandeman’s port and + the evaporated turtle-soup to sickness. And the pity of it that such a man + should so misjudge his Claudia! ‘Voluptuous ice-woman.’ He could fathom + the meaning of the phrase, but the wave it would fain have spouted over + his Claudia left her angel raiment dry. Neither one nor the other of the + far-parted spumings of the wave touched her. Was that ice when her lips + were so tenderly laid on his, and their hearts beat close together? Was + that voluptuous when she held him to a brother’s part, and soothed his + passions into slumber with quiet talk of sweet and sober things? And yet + in Darco’s face, to one who knew him as well as Paul did, there had been a + mournful look when he had spoken of the most dangerous of all the + daughters of the horse-leech. Out with the thought—out with it + ‘trample it down! Poor, dear old Darco had been abused. Claudia was + spotless as the snow, soft as the dawn, sweet, sweet and sweeter than the + honey or the honeycomb. Thus round the clock of the dark hours ran Paul’s + thoughts, with never a definite hour to strike. + </p> + <p> + He packed his portmanteaux before leaving his room next morning, and even + in that simple act he found reproaches. He was carrying away from Darco’s + service a far different kit to that he had brought into it. The three or + four coarse homemade shirts, and the rough and scanty supply of + underclothing, were exchanged for linen and silks and woollen stuffs of + the finest. There were trees for his boots; there was a dandy + dressing-case; there were many things of the mere existence and use of + which he had not known two years ago. They were all mementoes of Darco’s + generosity. Surely no man had ever found so open-handed an employer. But, + for all these reflections, Paul could not surrender Claudia. + </p> + <p> + He heard the clatter of the breakfast apparatus, and smelt the odours of + coffee and the savoury meats the soul of which Darco loved; but he dared + not face the man to whom he felt he had behaved so badly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you gomink in to pregfast?’ Darco trumpeted. + </p> + <p> + Paul entered and took his seat, and swallowed a cup of coffee; but he had + no heart to eat. + </p> + <p> + Darco took his prodigious breakfast in cold gloom, and Paul was as sure of + his bitter resentment as of his own useless regret for having wounded him. + It was a trying hour for both of them. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going out now,’ said Darco, ‘ant you will pe gone before I am pack + again. Shake hants.’ You are going to be very zorry before I see you + again.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul took the proffered hand, and was nine-tenths inclined to beg himself + back again into Darco’s friendship; but he could not bring himself to + speak, and in a second or two Darco was in the street, and the opportunity + had gone. But Paul had his marching-orders, at least, and, calling a fly, + he saw his luggage set upon it, drove to the railway-station, deposited + all his belongings in the cloak-room, and then started to give Claudia his + news. Claudia sent out word that he might call again in an hour, and, + glancing disconsolately at the window of her sitting-room as he walked + away, he saw Miss Pounceby giggling behind the curtains with her head in a + bush of curlpapers. He paced the streets until the hour had gone by, and + then returned. + </p> + <p> + ‘What brings you here so early?’ Claudia asked. + </p> + <p> + She looked ravishingly fresh and pretty to Paul’s fancy. + </p> + <p> + ‘I told Darco,’ Paul answered, ‘that I was going to London, and that I + wanted to leave at the end of next week. He was hurt and angry, and he + said that, if I had made up my mind about it, I had better go at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You have behaved very foolishly, Paul,’ said Claudia—’ very + foolishly indeed.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I did it for your sake, Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For my sake?’ said Claudia, raising her eyebrows. ‘Why, my dear child, + how am I supposed to profit by it?’ The question took his breath away. ‘I + certainly never asked you, or advised you to do anything so very silly. + You have very likely ruined your whole career. At least, you have thrown + away such a position as you won’t see again for years to come. How many + people do you think there are in the world who will give you the salary + Darco gave you, or treat you as he treated you? Oh, you needn’t look at me + in that way, Paul, as if I were responsible. It is none of my doing, and I + wash my hands of it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, Claudia,’ cried Paul, ‘I told you what I was going to do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You certainly told me some nonsense of the kind,’ she answered, ‘and I + remember the very words I used. I told you that you must not dream of + following me to London. I said—I remember my very words distinctly—that + I could not bear to think of your imperilling your prospects.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ said Paul, ‘I thought you would be glad.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why should I be glad to see you making a fool of yourself?’ Claudia asked + disdainfully. ‘I thought you had more sense.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall find work in London,’ Paul said rather helplessly. ‘I have saved + more than fifty pounds.’ + </p> + <p> + Possibly the sisterly lady had thought Paul very much poorer than he was, + and had been in fear that he might in some way become a burden to her. The + fancy did not touch Paul at the time, but he remembered afterwards how + swiftly the acerbity of her manner faded. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ she answered, ‘you are sillier than I thought you were; but it’s + of no use crying over spilt milk. You must make the best of things.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shan’t care for anything,’ said Paul, rallying a little, ‘so long as + I’m not parted from you, Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s all very well, Paul dear,’ returned Claudia, ‘but this is a + practical world, and the people who live in it have got to be practical + too.’ She pinched his cheek as she said this, and laughed at him in quite + the old delicious way. ‘What makes you so absurdly romantic, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know,’ said Paul, ‘that I’m more romantic than other people. I’m + not the only man who ever fell in love, and I’m sure nobody ever had a + better excuse than I have.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon my word!’ cried the lady, ‘you have a very nice way of saying + things. Do you know, Paul, if you go on like this, you’ll begin to be + dangerous—in a year or two.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t belong to the dangerous classes,’ Paul answered. ‘I’m much + likelier to suffer myself than to make you suffer.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I’m not talking about me,’ said Claudia. ‘I’m thinking of the other + ladies.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There are no other ladies,’ Paul declared. ‘There never will be any other + ladies. There is only one lady in the whole world for me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, seriously, Paul, how long do you think this ridiculous infatuation + for me is going to last?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For ever!’ cried Paul boldly. ‘For ever and ever. And it isnt an + infatuation, Claudia. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to fall in love + with you. Why, you can’t walk down the street without half a dozen men + doing it I know how they turn round to look at you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you outrageous little flatterer! Wherever did you learn to tell such + fascinating fibs?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘They’re not fibs, Claudia. You know it as well as I do And I’ll tell you + something. You ask me why I love you. I’m a judge of character.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, you dreadful boy! You’re not going to judge my character, I hope!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I did that long ago,’ said Paul, ‘and that is why I fell in love with + you. No,’ he broke off, blushing and stammering, ‘that is not why I fell + in love; but that is why I never wanted to climb out again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Claudia gaily, ‘if you didn’t fall in love with my character, + I’m sure I don’t know what else there is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You,’ said Paul rapturously. ‘Your beauty, Claudia. Don’t you ever look + in the glass?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How do you think I am to do my hair?’ she asked, laughing. ‘But + seriously, now, Paul, you don’t think I’m a beauty? You never told me that + before.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ he said, reproaching her, ‘I’ve told you a thousand times.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ said Claudia, ‘in fun. But now, without nonsense—really? + Am I pretty?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No; you’re not pretty, Claudia. Pretty’s commonplace. You are lovely. I + think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You darling boy! There’s a kiss for that. No, no, no, Paul. Only a very + little one. But I’m not so silly as to believe you, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia,’ said Paul—they had reached by this time to the brotherly + and sisterly attitude, and sat on the couch together, with the sisterly + arm round Paul’s neck—’ I was bitterly sorry to leave old Darco, and + to let him think that I was ungrateful. I know how much he has done for + me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sure I am not sorry to leave Darco,’ she said. ‘Grumpy, frumpy, + stumpy, dumpy old German! I hate him!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t say that,’ said Paul. ‘There’s as kind a heart under old Darco’s + waistcoat as you’ll find in the whole wide world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Never mind Darco, Paul dear. He’s not a favourite theme of mine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I wish you hadn’t had to leave him, all the same, because then I + shouldn’t have had to leave him. Where shall you live in London, Claudia?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m going to stay with a Mrs. Walpole, a widow lady, a friend of mine who + takes in a few boarders.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Might I stay there, too? + </p> + <p> + ‘You? Oh, you improper boy! Of course not.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t say that, Claudia. I’ve given up everything only to be near you. + That’s all I ask for, Claudia. It’s all I want in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear Paul,’ said Claudia, ‘you must not dream of such a thing. It + would be most unwise. Why, good gracious, child, you’d compromise me every + hour!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Indeed, indeed I wouldn’t,’ Paul declared. ‘I would rather die than do it + Oh, Claudia! you don’t know how I love you. You don’t know what it will be + to me to be with you. You can’t guess how miserably unhappy I shall be if + I am away from you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well, Paul,’ said Claudia rather frigidly; ‘but you must not blame + me if you lose my friendship by presuming on it. I have no fear of being + able to take care of my own reputation, and I want you to understand that + I will do it. And now you may kiss me, and then we will talk business.’ + Paul availed himself of the permission with alacrity until Claudia slid + gently away. ‘That is enough, and more than enough. I won’t have you + making any more declamatory love-scenes, you dreadful boy! No, not + another. No; not the least little one in the world. You will keep to that + side of the table and I shall sit on this. Now, reach me my writing-desk. + I am going to give you a letter of introduction to Walton, my new manager. + I shall tell him how clever you are, and that you are ambitious and want + to get to London. You’ll get nothing like such a salary as Darco gave you—not + more than half at the outside. You’ll live in a poky little garret at the + top of a smoky London house, and you’ll pay thirty shillings a week for + board and lodging, and the rest will go in washing and ‘bus fares. You’re + making a very bad exchange, I can tell you, even if Walton will have + anything to say to you.’ ‘I don’t care if I’m to be near you, Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But you’re not going to enjoy the liberties I allow you here. You must + understand that, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall see you,’ said Paul ‘I shall be near you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well. Now, I’ll write the letter. And when it is written you will + take the very first train to town and give it into Walton’s hands + to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But I am going on with you to Cardiff,’ Paul cried. + </p> + <p> + ‘Indeed,’ said Claudia, ‘you will do nothing of the kind. I am not so + absurd as to allow it I am not going to be compromised in that way in my + last week with the company.’ Paul stared at her with a face so + disconsolate that she laughed; but she put on a tender seriousness a + moment later. ‘Do you call that love, Paul? Ah, no! Few men—very few—ever + so much as learn the meaning of the word. It is pure selfishness. You + don’t think of poor Claudia. You would let her reputation be torn to rags + and tatters, but what would that amount to if only you could gratify your + own wishes?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll go, Claudia,’ cried Paul. ‘I’ll go to London. Great Heaven ‘what a + selfish, unreasonable beast I am ‘Forgive me, Claudia. I did not think.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now you are my own dear Paul again. But you mustn’t expect me to find <i>all</i> + the wisdom.’ + </p> + <p> + She wrote her letter, and Paul watched the white hand skimming over the + paper. When it was written she read it out to him. It was really an + excellent letter of introduction, business-like and cordial. Paul received + it with devout thanksgiving. Then Claudia gave him the address of the + boarding-house to which she herself was bound, and looked up his train in + the time-table. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must start in half an hour,’ she said. ‘Oh, Paul dear! Paul! I wonder + if, in spite of all your protestations, you are so sorry to part as I am.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Claudia!’ said Paul, and ran to the open arms. + </p> + <p> + He was abjectly in love and abjectly submissive, and Claudia had never + been so kind. But when at last she told him ‘You must go,’ he strained her + in his arms so wildly that he fairly frightened her. Then, terrified in + his own turn, he released her, and covered her hand with tears and kisses + of contrition. + </p> + <p> + ‘Go,’ she said pantingly—‘go, at once!’ + </p> + <p> + He looked with remorse at her pale face and questioning eyes, and lurched + towards the table on which he had laid his hat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ said Claudia, ‘it would have been better for you if you had never + met me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he answered, looking back at her. ‘I shall never think that, whatever + happens.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will think it often,’ she said. ‘But go now, dear, for pity’s sake.’ + </p> + <p> + He went out into the street with his wet face, and for a minute or more + did not know why people stared at him. Then he came to his senses a + little, and found himself walking away from the station instead of towards + it He retraced his steps, caught his train, and travelled up to London, + his pulses beating ‘Claudia’ all the way. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Claudia’s introduction served so well that Paul was allowed to show what + he was made of in rehearsal at the Mirror Theatre, with a prospective + salary of fifty shillings a week. He had been a personage of late, and + Darco had delegated to him a good deal of his own authority. He was not a + personage any longer, and he was not altogether happy in his fall from + dignity. But Claudia was coming. He and Claudia would be in the same house + together, and playing at the same theatre. He would see her at breakfast, + at luncheon, at dinner; he would escort her from the theatre and home + again. That would be happiness enough to atone for anything. + </p> + <p> + This prophecy was not quite realized. Claudia chose to breakfast in her + own room, and she was a woman of many friends, and lunched out and dined + out so often that Paul hardly saw anything of her. The Sundays would have + been Elysian days, but ladies and gentlemen of fashionable aspect drove to + the house in handsome equipages, and spirited Miss Belmont away to revels + at Richmond and elsewhere in which Paul had no part. He moved sadly about + the house, in the streets, with no heart for study, or for the writing of + the new comedy on which his mind had been set so warmly only a few weeks + before. His old companions were travelling about the country, meeting old + friends and making new ones, and he wished himself back amongst them many + a time. He could have written to Claudia, and have looked forward to the + time when he could have met her again on equal terms. They were not equals + any longer. Miss Belmont was starred in big type, and was leading lady, at + a biggish salary; for her first real chance had come to her, and she had + charmed the town. Paul was a walking gentleman with a part of fifty lines, + and not a solitary critic named his name. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, but very rarely, Claudia shone upon him. On fine evenings, and + on those sparse occasions when she and Paul dined at the same table, she + would walk to the theatre and accept his escort Then, for a brief + half-hour, life was worth the living again. But there was one nightly hour + of torment. His work was over early, for he had nothing to do after the + opening of the third act of the piece then playing. He would dress and + wait in his room, and wonder whether that idiot, that dolt and fool + incomparable, Captain the Honourable John MacMadden, was waiting at the + stage-door. Captain MacMadden belonged to the Household Brigade, and was a + bachelor of five-and-thirty. He parted his hair in the middle, and wore a + moustache and weeping whiskers of the jettiest, shiny black. He smiled + constantly, to show a set of dazzling white teeth. In his own mind Paul + loaded this exquisite with savage satire. He was a tailor’s dummy carrying + about a barber’s dummy, and the barber’s dummy was finished with a + dentist’s advertisement He carried a very thin umbrella—the mere + ghost of an umbrella—he was gloved and booted with the fineness of a + lady, and he was always delicately perfumed. He was reported to be + wealthy, abominably wealthy, and three nights a week or more he would + present himself at the theatre, and take Miss Belmont out to supper. But + so discreet was that lady, and so careful of her good report, that Captain + MacMadden never came without a guardian dragon in the person of another + young lady of the theatres, who was accompanied by a gentleman who was in + all points tailored and barbered and gloved and booted like Captain + MacMadden himself. + </p> + <p> + Paul would wonder if the splendid warrior were below until he could endure + himself no longer. Then he would descend and hang about the stage-door, to + find his enemy or not to find him, as the case might be, but in either + event to eat his heart in jealousy and impatience. When he found him he + burned to insult him by asking him what tailor he advertised, or by + addressing him as the Housemaid’s Terror or the Nursegirl’s Blight. He + ground tegmenta of ‘Maud’ between his teeth as he looked at him. ‘His + essences turn the live air sick,’ and ‘that oiled and curled Assyrian + bull, smelling of musk and of insolence.’ And it happened one night that + Captain MacMadden, arriving late, and in a mighty hurry and flutter lest + he should have missed the lady, tapped Paul upon the shoulder, and said: + </p> + <p> + ‘My boy, can you tell me if Miss Belmont has left the theatre?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul, who was at that instant bending all the force of his mind upon + Captain MacMadden, and punching his head in visioned combat, turned on him + with a passionate ‘Damn your impertinence, sir!’ which set the startled + gentleman agape with wonder. At this instant Claudia pushed through the + swinging door which led from the stage to the corridor, and she ran in + between the belligerent Paul and the object of his rage. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is this?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘This gentleman,’ said Paul, ‘is sadly in want of a lesson in + good-breeding. I shall be happy to offer him one.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Upon my word,’ returned Captain MacMadden mildly, ‘you’re devilish + peppery. Hadn’t the slightest intention to affront anybody, upon my word. + Nothing further from thoughts. Can’t say moah.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Armstrong,’ said Claudia, ‘I have never seen you display this + ill-bred brutality before. I had not expected you to show it in my + presence to my friend.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul felt for the instant that he had been brutal and ill-bred. Claudia + judged him so, and whatever Claudia said must needs be just But when she + had swept by him to the waiting brougham and the fashionable escort had + followed her, he stood in a choking rage, and felt like Cain. A thick + drizzle was falling, and he swung out into the night, glad of the wet + coolness in his flaming face, and the wet wind that fanned him. The + streets were heavily mired and the drizzle grew to a fast downpour. He + turned up his coat-collar and ploughed along, growing more and more + resolutely angry, and more and more resolved to fight his case out with + Claudia. The house in which they lived was dark when he reached it, except + for a single gas-jet in the hall at which guests bound bedward lit their + candles. He walked into the dining-room and sat down to wait, with nothing + but the winking jet on the wall and his own thoughts for company. The fire + in the grate had died, and its cooling ashes made a crisp, faint noise + from time to time. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked irritatingly, and + sounded the quarters at intervals which seemed curiously irregular. At + times one quarter seemed to follow close on another’s heels, and the next + seemed to lag for hours. Paul was soaked to the skin, and had violent fits + of shivering, but he would not leave his post lest he should miss Claudia. + </p> + <p> + Cabs rolled by, and every one brought Claudia to his fancy, but scores of + them passed without pause. One o’clock sounded and no Claudia. Two + o’clock, and no Claudia. Then the rumble of a lonely hansom, a slippery + stoppage of a horse’s feet, and Claudia’s voice crying, ‘Two doors higher + up.’ Then a renewed motion, a pause, the scrape of a latchkey at the lock, + and Paul was on his feet, candlestick in hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mayn’t I come in?’ asked the hateful voice of Captain MacMadden. ‘On’y a + moment, upon my word.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly not,’ Claudia answered curtly. ‘Good-night.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll think of what I asked you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Indeed,’ said Claudia, in a voice of scorn, ‘I will do nothing of the + kind. I have never been so insulted in my life, and I shall be obliged if + you will put an end to your attentions.’ + </p> + <p> + The heart of the involuntary listener glowed within him, but Captain + MacMadden’s drawl broke in and chilled him horribly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, look here, Claudia, damn it all! Will you marry me? I’ll go that + far, if nothing else will do for you. I will, upon my word.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You may ask me that question in a week’s time,’ said Claudia. ‘At present + I have no more to say to you than just “Good-night.”’ + </p> + <p> + The door closed and there was a silence. Claudia laughed quietly to + herself, and rustled towards the gas-jet. Paul stepped out and intercepted + her, the unlit candle in his hand, his hair disordered, and his face + stained with the dye the rain had soaked from his hat His teeth were + chattering noisily and rapidly, and he and Claudia faced each other. Paul + lit his candle mechanically, and set it on the hall table, below the jet, + which blinked with a faint intermittent hum. + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you spying upon me, Mr. Armstrong? asked Claudia, with a touch of the + manner of the stage. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not I,’ Paul answered bluntly; ‘I waited up to speak to you. Are you + going to marry that grinning nincompoop?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You presume,’ said Claudia, with yet more of the manner of the stage. + ‘You presume abominably. Allow me to pass, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The man has offered you a life of shame,’ said Paul. ‘You mean to listen + to him after that? She looked at him scornfully and defiantly. ‘Well,’ he + said, shivering strangely from head to foot, ‘you’re not the woman I took + you for. It’s good-bye to Claudia.’ + </p> + <p> + He stood aside for her to pass. She lit her candle and swept by him. He + heard her door close, and the key turn in the lock. He stood shuddering in + the hall, the chance-held candle dropping grease upon the oil-cloth. He + gave one big dry sob and mounted to his garret-room. There was no sleep + for him, and he did not undress. The candle burned down in its socket, the + light flared up and died, and the nauseous stink of wick and tallow filled + the room. His mind was strangely vacant, but even in the darkness and the + silence he found a thousand things in which to take a leaden interest: as + the swaying of the window-curtains where a slight draught caught them; the + faintly-seen progress of the rain-drops down the window-pane; the wet + glints of light where the street gas-lamp dimly irradiated the windows and + the houses on the opposite side of the way; a ticking insect in the + wall-paper; sounds of night traffic in the great thoroughfare a quarter of + a mile off; the squashing tramp of a policeman on his rounds; the moaning + voices of wind and rain; the very beating of his own pulses in his head; + the very stupor of his own intelligence. + </p> + <p> + It was still raining when the dismal dawn crept up, and he was chilled to + the marrow. He rose stupidly from the chair in which he had passed the + night, and began to change his dress, stiffly and with difficulty. During + the greater part of the night he had been sitting in a drooping posture, + and he found without trouble or interest that he could not change it. + There was an aching weight upon his loins, but he had no interest in that + either. He sat in his room all day. The chambermaid came to the door and + tapped, and receiving no answer, entered. She stared to see him sitting at + the window and the bed undisturbed, but she went away again. Somehow the + day crawled on, and as the darkness fell he crept downstairs, and crawled, + an aching stoop, to the theatre. He was an hour before the time, but by + hazard he met the manager at the stage-door. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, great God, Armstrong! what’s the matter?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I got wet last night,’ Paul answered, in a voice which startled him and + pained his throat. + </p> + <p> + He had not spoken a word since he had said good-bye to Claudia. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve no right to be out like this,’ said the manager brusquely; ‘it’s + suicide. You’re no good here, you know,’ he added, in a kinder voice. + ‘Here, you, Collins; call a cab, and help Mr. Armstrong into it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can you do without me?’ Paul asked, in that strange voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do without you? Yes. I’ve a man at hand that will swallow your lines and + biz in half an hour. Get a fire in your bedroom; have a good stiff glass + of rum as hot as you can drink it. Get somebody to make you cayenne pills—cayenne-pepper + and bread-crumbs. Take three or four, and have ‘em hot. Why, man alive, + you’ve got an ague!’ + </p> + <p> + The cab was brought, and Paul was helped into it and driven home. He could + not lift his hand above his head to pay the fare, and the cabman descended + grumblingly to take it; but seeing how his fare’s feet fumbled at the + steps, got down a second time to help him to the door. Paul walked into + the dining-room, hat in hand, and bent The boarders were at dessert, and + Claudia for once was with them. + </p> + <p> + ‘No beggars allowed in this bar,’ said one of the professional boarders + jocularly, thinking the entrance a bit of playful masquerade. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m not very well,’ said Paul, with a frog-like roop. ‘I’ve been down to + the theatre, and Walton has sent me home again. I’m afraid I can’t quite + manage to get upstairs.’ + </p> + <p> + He did not look at Claudia, but he was conscious of her gaze, and he knew + somehow that there was fright in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Two of the boarders engineered him to his room, and one undressed him + whilst the other ran for rum and cayenne-pepper. They were all theatrical + folk in the house, and kindly in case of trouble, as their tribe is + always. Paul was put to bed, and had extra blankets heaped upon him, and a + fire was lit in the grate. He was dosed with hot rum-and-water and the + cayenne pills, and was then left, first to grow maudlin, and next to fall + into a sleep which was full of monstrous dreams. At one time he lay in a + great cleft between two hills, and stones rolled down upon him, causing + him dull pain; then the stones formed themselves into a fence—a kind + of rough arch on which other stones battered without ceasing till he was + walled in thickly. At another time he had to climb up an endless hill, + with hot chains about his loins and knees. + </p> + <p> + Somebody came into his room with a candle, and the light awoke him. It was + one of his fellow-boarders back from the theatre, with news that it was + nearly midnight. He forced more hot rum on the patient, and sat with him + until he was sound asleep. The liquor did its work, and he slept without + dreams until daylight. He strove to rise and dress, but the task was + beyond him, and there was nothing left but to lie and stare at the + ceiling, and to say to himself over and over again, without a touch of + interest or feeling: ‘It’s good-bye to Claudia.’ The landlady came to see + him, and found him burning and shivering, and complaining of the bitter + cold. She went away, and came back again with a doctor, who told him + cheerfully that he was in for rheumatic fever, big or little, as sure as a + gun. + </p> + <p> + ‘But he’s young, ma’am,’ said the doctor—‘he’s young, and we shall + pull him through.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Can he be moved?’ asked the landlady. + </p> + <p> + ‘Moved? No, possibly not for weeks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you any money, Mr. Armstrong?’ said the landlady, ‘or shall I write + to your friends?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s fifty-one pounds in my dressing-bag,’ croaked Paul. ‘When you’ve + buried me and paid your bill, send the balance to my father.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Buried you?’ said the doctor. ‘You don’t suppose you’re going to peg out, + do you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope so,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the doctor, casting a shrewd, good-humoured eye at him, ‘you + feel like that, do you? But you’ve got me to reckon with, and the British + Pharmacopoeia. When did you eat last? + </p> + <p> + ‘Day before yesterday.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘All right, young man; I’ll fettle you, and if you think you’re going to + slip your cable, you’re mightily in error.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.’ + </p> + <p> + The time went on, and a day later he was light-headed, and babbled, as he + learned afterwards, of Claudia. Sometimes he upbraided her savagely, and + sometimes he made tragic love to her. He had intervals of complete sanity, + in which the thought of her was like an inward fire; then he had a five + weeks’ spell of madness, and awoke from it free from pain, but a mere + crate of bones which felt heavier than lead. He remembered some of his own + delusions clearly, but lost count of whole weeks of time, and had yet to + learn how long he had lain there. When he awoke he knew that somebody was + in the room, and made an effort to turn his head. That failed, but the + somebody heard the faint rustle he made, and the first face his eyes + looked at was the face of Darco. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said Darco, ‘you haf got your prains pack again. You know me, eh?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul tried to nod, but succeeded only in closing his eyes in sign of + assent. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am a bid of a dogtor,’ said Darco; ‘led me veel your bulse. Goot—goot, + ant your demberadure is normal. It is now begome your business to ead and + trink.’ He waddled across the room, and came back with a tin of jelly and + a spoon, and fed the invalid ‘That is enough,’ he said, after the fifth + spoonful. ‘Liddle and often; that is the came to blay.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was too weak to wonder at anything, or he would have wondered at + Darco’s presence; but Nature was too wise to let him waste his forces on + any such unprofitable exercise as thinking, and sent him to sleep again. + When he awoke he was ravenously hungry, and in a day or two he began to + abuse the nurse who tended him for stinting his victuals. But the nurse + was a good-humoured old campaigner. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, bless your heart, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said, when in an interval of + contrition Paul apologised, ‘it do me good to hear you swear that hearty! + Most gentlemen does it when they’re picking up a bit.’ + </p> + <p> + There was in his mind barely a thought of Claudia; the one fever seemed to + have burned the other out of him. + </p> + <p> + ‘The heart,’ said the doctor—‘the heart’s the thing we’re always + afraid of in rheumatic fever, and the heart’s as sound as a nut.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul stretched feebly, and thought he had his jest wholly to himself; but + the doctor undeceived him. + </p> + <p> + ‘It wasn’t always so, my young friend.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul blushed like fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘Have I been babbling? he asked guiltily. + </p> + <p> + ‘A bit,’ said the doctor; ‘enough to justify those gloomy hopes of yours.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul hung his head in a transient shame, and murmured that he was sorry. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pooh, pooh!’ cried the doctor; ‘you’re all right now. You can bear to + hear a little bit of news about the lady?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul, ‘anything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She’s married,’ said the doctor—‘married to the Honourable Captain + MacMadden, and has left the stage.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did she ever come to see me?’ Paul asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + The passion of the youth went to join the calf-love of the boy, and the + man accomplished looked on them both with a half-humorous wonder. He was + learning his world, he thought. It would not be easy to fool him in that + way again. + </p> + <p> + He sat propped up with pillows in an arm-chair now, and could hold a book; + but the lubricant at his joints had all been licked up by the fever, and + it was slow to come back again, so that he had hideous twinges when he + moved. He had plenty of society now that he was fit for it, for the + fellow-boarders were idle during the day, and spared time to sit and talk + with him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You recognised old Darco when you saw him, didn’t you?’ one of them + asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ said Paul, ‘I knew him. What brought him here? I behaved very + badly toold Darco.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, to tell you the truth,’ said the other, ‘he said so. “Ant I nefer + forgive an incradidude,” says he, and proved it by paying the doctor’s + bill.’ + </p> + <p> + Every man in the profession had a more or less plausible imitation of old + Darco’s ‘leedle beguliaridies.’ He was as well known as the Strand, and + loved and hated as few men are. + </p> + <p> + ‘I treated Darco very badly,’ said Paul. ‘I can’t rest under that sort of + obligation to him. How much did he pay?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’d better ask the doctor.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul asked the doctor next time he saw him, but elicited nothing. + </p> + <p> + ‘But I can’t allow it,’ Paul cried; ‘I can’t endure it I behaved + abominably to Darco; I behaved like a beast and a fool. I’d take his scorn + and hatred if he thought I was worth either; but I can’t accept his + benefits after the way in which I served him. I left the kindest friend I + ever had, the man who took me out of the gutter—and that’s God’s + truth, doctor; and I left him to follow that——’ + </p> + <p> + He ground his teeth hard on the word he was fain to use. + </p> + <p> + ‘Steady!’ said the doctor—’ steady!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That Ignis Fatuus,’ groaned Paul. ‘Is that mild enough for you?’ + </p> + <p> + The doctor knew everything. There was no further shame in making a clean + breast of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s better than what you were going to say,’ the doctor answered, + ‘whatever it was. I hate vulgarity as the devil hates virtue. It’s a + pretty sex; I know something about it You seem to have lighted upon a + pretty sample.’ + </p> + <p> + Just at this instant there came a tap at the door, and the voice of the + maid was heard saying, ‘This is the room, sir.’ The door opened, and in + walked Armstrong the elder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dad!’ cried Paul + </p> + <p> + His father held his hand and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve been sore troubled by your silence, lad,’ he said. ‘I’ve had hard + work to find ye. Ye might have written.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was coming to see you,’ said Paul, ‘so soon as I could travel. When + will that be, doctor?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In a fortnight’s time, perhaps,’ the doctor answered—‘not much + earlier.’ + </p> + <p> + The doctor went his way, and the father and son were together. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re out of Darco’s service, I understand?’ said Armstrong. ‘He wrote + kindly about ye, but he said you’d parted. Why did you leave him, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was penitent and feeble of body, and his father was his dearest. Bit + by bit he told his story, or as much of it as he could be told. + </p> + <p> + ‘Man,’ said Armstrong, ‘ye’re beginning airly.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + The Dreamer dreamed, and the dream showed the old ramshackle, bankrupt + printing-office at Castle Barfield again. Paul was back there. The thing + had happened with a strange in-evitableness. He had gone home and had + suffered a relapse, and had again recovered, and all his savings were + expended. There had come a rush of work with which the solitary journeyman + and his boy could not cope. Paul had gone to their assistance, and, the + unusual flow of work continuing, he had stayed there. He made many + applications by letter for other employment, and answered many + advertisements, but nothing happened to deliver him. His heart galled him + daily, for he had seen something of the world, and had tasted a + first-night triumph as part-author of a play, and had mixed on equal terms + with people who were very far away from his present sphere. The county + election, which had brought the increase of business, was over and done + with. Paul succeeded the journeyman, who went his way and found employment + elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + In the dim local yokel mind Paul was a failure, and he knew it. He had + gone away, and his brothers and sisters had magnified his successes, and + he was back again, a refugee, as it were, from a world which he had + apparently misused. He was taciturn and gloomy, and, to the fancy of those + who held themselves his equals and superiors, was disposed to give himself + airs. Two years with Darco had made him something of an epicure. He had + grown to hate soiled hands and coarse clothes, and the trivial talk of + people who only lived for trifles. He suffered doubly, therefore, as one + who had failed, and as one who took the airs which belong only to success. + Life was not happy for a while. + </p> + <p> + The ‘stand-by’ of Armstrong’s poor business was the printing of a certain + coarse label from stereotype plates, and, when there was nothing else to + be done, this would be taken in hand for unbroken days together. It was an + operation as purely mechanical as any in the world, and the thoughts of + the worker had time and chance to roam anywhere. Paul made hundreds of + verses. The clean sheet set home to the pins, frisket and tympan down, the + turn of the drum-handle, the pull of the bar, the backward turn of the + drum, frisket and tympan up, and the printed sheet laid on the ordered + pile-day in, day out, ten hours a day, the same things done and done + again. Hands growing into horn; muscles swelling like a blacksmith’s. A + healthy life enough, with a rough, plain diet, and yet a purgatory in its + way, with prospect and horizon bound. + </p> + <p> + In a year or more they widened, for Paul had set up for himself something + of a study in the old lumber-room, where on a broken table, with an + upturned box for a chair, and a candle stuck in a gingerbeer-bottle, he + wrote down the verses he had hammered out during the day, and he began + stealthily to send these here and there to magazine editors, who sometimes + sent them back and sometimes printed them, but never seemed to dream of + payment, until at last one offered him two guineas for a long Christmas + story in rhyme, and he began to see a hope of escape from the treadmill + round. He set to work on a blank-verse play, and spent the greater part of + a year on it, and was prepared to find himself enthroned with Shakespeare. + He put his drama into type, a page at a time, pulling but a single + impression of each page, and distributing the type jealously before he + went to bed, and jealously hiding his pages. And when it was all complete, + and his brows were familiar with the touch of laurel, he sent the great + work to a London manager, and never heard word of it afterwards, good, + bad, or indifferent He waited for months in sick hope and sick despair, + and then wrote asking for a judgment. He waited more months, and no answer + came. He wrote for the return of his work, humbly, then impatiently, and + finally with wrathful insult No answer ever came. The muse seemed as vile + a jade as Claudia. But he had his tattered and stained old manuscript, + interlined and entangled so that no creature but, himself could read it, + and he put it all in type once more, and sent his printed copy to an + eminent firm of publishers, who, after considering the matter for six + months, offered to take the risk of publication for a hundred pounds, on + which he burned his manuscript in the cracked office stove, and left the + printed copy of it in the publishers’ hands to do as they pleased with it. + </p> + <p> + He turned to prose and wrote short stories, and sent them broadcast They + came back, and he sent them out again. He made a list of magazines and a + list of the stories, and each one went the rounds. One stuck and brought + proof-sheets, and in due time a ten-pound note. He poured in all the rest + on the one discerning editor, who had already refused one half of them. In + a month the man of discernment offered ten shillings per page for the lot. + Paul accepted, and in another month was back in London, resolute to try a + new backfall with the world. + </p> + <p> + He found lodgings far away in the northern district, apprised the one + discerning editor of his whereabouts, and sat down to wait and work for + glory. And, oh! how kind again on a sudden seemed the Fates who for four + years had been so harsh with him. Scarce had he been settled a week when + there came a letter addressed to Paul Armstrong, Esq., care of Messrs. + Blank and Blank, reporting that the editor of a certain magazine had read + with much pleasure a tale from Mr. Armstrong’s pen, and would be happy to + receive from him one of the same length. Paul danced and sang, and then + plunged into labour, wrote his story, received his proof-sheet and his + cheque, and with the letter a request that he would submit anything he + might have in the way of a three-volume story. He was assured that it + would receive instant attention. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’m five-and-twenty,’ said Paul, ‘and the world is at my feet’ + </p> + <p> + But books are not to be written in a day, though they may be commissioned + in an instant, and the financial stock was small, seeing how big an + enterprise was to be started on it, and somehow the story would not form. + What ghostly wrestling of the spirit with vague shadows which would take + no shape! what sleepless tossings there were!—what fruitless rambles + in the darkened streets! what hurried walks to Hampstead Heath! and what + slow prowlings there amongst the gone! And, then, how the Concept came + suddenly from nowhere, without a warning, without an effort, and stood up + serene and strong, and bursting through and through with passion as if it + had been alive and fully grown for years. Then to pen and ink and paper, + not yet a weariness to soul and flesh! as they were to be in after days, + the virgin page an invitation, the ink-pot a magic fountain, the very feel + of the pen between thumb and finger a pleasure. There was no thought in + those fresh days of stinting labour or of making rules for it—so + many hours for work and so many hours for recreation, and such and such + hours for meals. The book—the book was everything. He went to sleep + with his people. He awoke to them. He lived all day with them. He found + them more real than the living. Life was one vivid rage of emotion, of + laughter, and of tears. His own pathetics and his own humours were the + sweetest things he had ever known, and he cried at the one and laughed at + the other more than the most sentimental of readers ever laughed and cried + over any book that was ever written. And it was at this time that he wrote + certain verses in which he set forth his beliefs in art. The lonely man in + his eyrie in the Rockies, reviewing the bygone time, murmured what he + could recall of these: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘“A land of fire and a land of frost + Build!” said the Lord of the Soul; + “And lay me an ocean from coast to coast, + And let it be awful with many a ghost + Of galleons laden with gold, and lost + In the smothering surge’s roll. + + ‘“And make me a myriad rounded stars + To spangle my firmament, + Sweet like Hesper, glad with the balm + Of a ceaseless, passionless, changeless calm + And hot like Sirius, and red like Mars + With a god-like discontent. + + ‘“And frame in the land of fire,” he said, + “Frame me a soul like thine: + Swift as the snail’s soft horn to feel, + Yet hard and keen as the tempered steel, + And be there a fire in heart and head + Demoniac and divine.”’ +</pre> + <p> + The rest of the words had no duelling in his memory, though he was sure + they had been made and written; but they were meant to say that all labour + conceived and executed in a land of fire should be remodelled in the land + of frost at the risk of being cast away in its passage from one to the + other. This in plain English meant the union of hot zeal and cold + diligence, which is a worthy recipe for any worker in any craft It served + Paul’s turn for six prodigious weeks, from the rising of the sun until + long after the going down of the same. The book was done in a quarter of + the time he had apportioned to it. For six weeks the forces of every + waking minute had strained fiercely forward to one purpose, and at seven + o’clock on an autumn Friday he wrote the words ‘The End,’ and, looking up, + saw the sunlight in dazzling strips between the green painted laths of the + blind, and found that his lamp was pale. He drew up the blind and opened + the window, and the sweet air bathed his head. There was a deep sadness in + his heart, and when he arose and by chance saw his face in the glass it + was the face of a ghost If the halest of young men will live in + alternations of frost and fire for six weeks on end, he must expect to pay + for it. + </p> + <p> + Paul paid dearly in lassitude, and broken sleep, and loss of appetite, and + afterwards in six weeks of idle waiting in poverty, for there was no work + or power of thought left in him for the time. He pawned the dressing-case + old Darco had given him and the dress-suit which he had not worn for four + years, and he had his meals, such as they were, at a cabman’s restaurant, + and his last penny went, and tobacco famine set in; and his landlord, who + was a maudlin man with a cultured turn for drink, would come in at night + to his sitting-room and cry, and say that the water-rates were going to + cut the supply; and the butcher had said, ‘No more credit after Saturday.’ + </p> + <p> + And whilst he was thus agreeably engaged on one occasion a knock came to + the door, and a slattern slavey came in with a plate in her hand, and on + the plate a wet and flabby oblong something crusted with dirt and slime. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t quite make it out, sir,’ said the slavey, ‘but I think as this is + a letter, and it hasn’t been opened, sir, and I fancy it’s addressed to + you.’ + </p> + <p> + And within the slimy envelope was a soaked letter, in which the ink had so + run as to leave it scarcely legible, and being diligently pored upon, the + letter was found to indicate that the recipient of the story had read it + with great charm and interest, and was willing to purchase the serial + rights of the same for the sum of £250, £150 on the author’s signature to + terms, and £100 on the day of the publication of the first number. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s ‘ard for a poor working man to be kep’ out of his money like this, + sir,’ the landlord moaned. + </p> + <p> + ‘Damn you!’ said Paul. ‘Listen to this.’ He read the letter, and with a + start reverted to the date: ‘September 27th, and this is October 27th! I + haven’t tasted food these three days, or had a pinch of tobacco, and this + has been waiting for me—this—this—for a whole month! + Explain, you execrable! or, as sure as the brother of the sun reigns over + the Heavenly Empire, I will brain you with the poker. Shell out, you + villain!—shell out, to your last halfpenny! ‘Ard for a poor working + man to be kep’ out of his money, is it? Somebody in this infernal house + has kept me waiting and half starving for a month, whilst I have two + hundred and fifty pounds to my credit. What are you worth, you hoary + inebriate? Speak, or die!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Seven and eight,’ said the landlord, ‘and a bogus thrip-penny.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me five shillings!’ cried Paul, snatching up the poker, and the + landlord pottered out the money. + </p> + <p> + Away tore Paul to the house round the corner. There were sausages there + frizzling in a metal-pan with a little row of blue gas-jets below it. + There was brandy there; there was beer. There was tobacco of a sort, and + there was an admirable whisky, not the diluted vitriol common to the + outlying London house before the passing of the Adulteration Act, but + honest whisky, mellow and old. + </p> + <p> + Paul, full of meat, and singing to himself behind his pipe, walked + homeward with a flask of that good liquor in his pocket, and there behind + was the landlord clinging to the railings at the bottom of the area-steps + and maundering to a policeman. + </p> + <p> + ‘Five shillings—‘storted by threats. Tha’s the man,’ said the + landlord. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in, officer, and have a drink,’ said Paul, and the officer, after an + upward and downward look along the street, marched into the house. Paul + gave him a drink instantly, and whilst the landlord hiccuped ‘’Started by + threats ‘he explained the situation. ‘Of course, I made him shell out,’ + said Paul. ‘Wouldn’t you? + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I’m a guardian of the peace, myself, sir,’ said the officer; ‘but + it wouldn’t ha’ been more than five bob and costs if you’d ha’ dressed him + down. Speaking as a man of uniform, as I may say, I should ha’ thought + that cheap at the money.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘’Storted by threats,’ said the landlord. + </p> + <p> + ‘Take another,’ cried Paul, ‘and go to bed. You’ll be paid in the morning, + and you can stick up “To Let” as soon as you like. I’m off to the + Continent.’ + </p> + <p> + There was still a cab fare in Paul’s pocket when he awoke and dressed in + the morning, and he booked away to the publisher’s office and received his + cheque. Then away to the bank, and away from the bank with fifteen + ten-pound notes of the Bank of England. Then a breakfast at a restaurant, + and a pint of champagne to drink his own health in—the first wine + tasted for nearly five years. Next to ‘my uncle’s’ to redeem the + dressing-bag and the dress-suit, and next home to stagger the landlord + with that pile of wealth. Then to pack, singing; to drive back to town; to + lunch late after the purchase of a suit of reach-me-downs, new hat, boots, + gloves, and paletot; and last, away to the Continental train for a first + look at Paris. And all the while it was richly comic to himself to feel + how he exulted, and to say within doors demurely to the shopman, to the + waiter, the ticket clerk, the porter: ‘I am an author, sir, an accepted + author, with the first fruits of my first book in my pocket I am on the + way to Paris and distinction.’ The four years of lost prospect and horizon + looked nothing, less than nothing. But the Channel waters were rough, and + he was chilled by the solemn gentlemen who sat battened down with basins + in their laps, turning green and yellow in the sickly light; and the + railway journey beyond was cold and uncomfortable, and Paris in the gray + fog of a late October morning was less gay than he had expected. What + little he knew of the language seemed to be recognised by the natives of + the land, but what they had to say to him was as rapid as the clatter of a + running boy’s hoop-stick on a row of railings, and as intelligible. An + English-speaking tout seized him, and he was grateful to be decoyed into a + dirty hotel on the other side of the river, where people understood him + more or less when he asked a question. Here he entered himself in the + guest-book, and under the head of ‘Profession ‘wrote the world ‘Literature + ‘with great pride. He ate his cutlets and chipped potatoes at breakfast + with an unwonted relish, in spite of a revolting table-cloth, encrusted + with mustard and spilt sauces, and blue with wine-stains, over which salt + had been spilled to restore the whiteness of the fabric in case it should + ever have the good chance to be washed. The yard of bread was a novelty. + The distempered houses opposite—pink and green and blue—were + novelties. The jalousied windows gave the street a delicious foreign look. + The little cavalry officer who came clanking in with his baggy trousers + and his spurs and dangling sword, almost as long as its wearer, was a + delight. Paul went to the window to look at the middle-aged <i>bonne</i> + who went by in her Alsatian cap and flying coloured ribbons. + </p> + <p> + At five-and-twenty a night of wearisome and broken sleep makes small + difference to the spirits, and when he had washed as well as he could by + the aid of a cream-jug full of water and a saucer, and a towel + handkerchief, and without the aid of soap, he dressed, and sallied out + with the intent to lose himself in Paris. There is nothing so exhilarating + as the first sight of a foreign city, and Paul wandered on and on, past + the Palace of Justice and over the bridge, and, turning to the left, made + along the Rue de Rivoli, passed the far-stretching façade of the Louvre, + and so went on till he reached the Place de la Concorde. There, staring + into the basin of one of the fountains, as if he had been waiting for Paul + to come to him, was Darco, fur-coated and silk-hatted as of yore, and + looking neither older nor younger by a day than when they had parted. + </p> + <p> + ‘Darco!’ said Paul, with his heart in his mouth. ‘How glad I am! You dear + old Darco!’ + </p> + <p> + Darco stared a moment, for the young man’s beard and moustache were fully + grown, and they disguised him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ he said at last. ‘Id is Armstronk. How do you do?’ He held out his + hand somewhat laxly, but Paul took it in both his and wrung it fervently. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I can’t tell you how bitterly + sorry I’ve been for the brutal way in which I paid you for all your + kindness. Try and forgive me, old chap. Do now. It wasn’t ingratitude, + Darco, though it looked like it It was a boy’s infatuation for a woman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I dold you,’ said Darco—’ I rememper as if it was yesterday. I + said: “You are a tarn fool, and you will be zorry.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I <i>have</i> been sorry this five years or nearly,’ said Paul, still + clinging to his hand. ‘Make it up, old chap, and come and have lunch + somewhere.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Zo pe id,’ said Darco, stolid as an ox. ‘Do you vant a virst-glass + restaurant, or a second-glass, or vat?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The best in Paris!’ cried Paul gaily, though he had to blow his nose and + to cry ‘Hem!’ to clear his throat, the sight, of old Darco touched his + heart so. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gome along, then,’ said Darco, and rolled off sturdily like a barrel on + barrels in the direction of the Boulevards. ‘Rue Gasdilione,’ he said, + playing guide as he walked along. ‘Blace Fendôme. Golumn Fendôme. Rue de + la Baix. You haf not been in Baris until now? + </p> + <p> + ‘I got here this morning,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am here four tays,’ said Darco. ‘I shall be here four tays longer. I am + puying a gomedy, ant a blay in five agds.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Buying?’ said Paul ‘I thought the one recognised custom was to steal’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s a vool’s game,’ Darco declared. ‘If you sdeal, and if what you + sdeal is worth sdealing, anypoty can sdeal from you. If you burchase it, + it is yours, and nopoty can take it away. Honesty is the best policy. And, + pesides that, I am Cheorge Dargo. I know my way apout.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul could have hugged him for sheer joy at hearing the familiar brag + again: ‘I am Cheorge Dargo.’ The old countersign was like music. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are we going?’ asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ve are koink,’ said Darco, ‘to the Hareng d’Or, where they haf a dry + champagne, and where they can give you such a preakfast as you cannot get + in the world. Ant I shall have a Cloria with a zeventy-year-old Gogniag in + it. Ant the Blat de chour is a Navarin de mouton. I saw that as I passed + the house two hours aco. I shall haf two boitions, mind you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Twenty!’ cried Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Darco. ‘I could not ead twenty.’ + </p> + <p> + They reached the restaurant, one of those jolly little houses which are + all down now—short as is the time since that in which they + flourished—where the host knew almost all his guests, and luxury + went hand in hand with a sort of camaraderie which cannot breathe in our + new palaces. The chef was a treasure, but as yet no American millionaires + strove to coax him across the Atlantic. There were no better wines in the + world, there was no better coffee, and, by way of a wonder, there were no + better cigars. Darco shook hands with the host, and broke out at him in a + brash of Alsatian French, which to Paul’s ears was like a rolling of + drums. He caught his own name in the torrent of noise, and distinguished + the words ‘un homme lidéraire, cheune, gomme fous foyez, mais déjà pien + tisdangué.’ The host bowed, and Paul bowed, and blushed a little, and + Darco ordered a déjeûner at the host’s discretion, stipulating only for + his own double portion of the Navarin de mouton. So there came oysters, + with a cobwebbed bottle of old hock in a cradle, and an unknown delicate + fish with burnt butter, and then the Navarin with champagne in an + ice-pail, and fruit, and delicate foreign cheeses, and coffee which is a + dream to the man whose unjaded palate first tries it in perfection. The + seventy-years-old cognac was there also, and Paul’s head was humming ever + so little before the feast was over. + </p> + <p> + ‘And the dopacco?’ said Darco lazily—’ eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The true believer smokes it in Paradise,’ said Paul; and Darco translated + the saying to the host, who bowed and smiled. + </p> + <p> + ‘How did you know that I was <i>un homme littéraire?</i>’ asked Paul, + stumbling at the unaccustomed words. + </p> + <p> + ‘I haf seen your name to half a tozen short stories,’ said Darco. ‘It was + no mere gomparison of names to me. I know your sdyle. It has changed. It + has changed for the petter, but I know id. You gannot deceive me apout a + sdyle. I am Cheorge Dargo. I know my way anywhere.’ They smoked and sipped + their coffee in a splendid contentment ‘Vat prings you to Baris?’ Darco + asked lazily. + </p> + <p> + ‘I sold a book yesterday,’ said Paul—‘my first I had worked hard; I + thought I deserved a little holiday—I have got to learn my world. + And I was beastly hungry the day before yesterday.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have been there,’ returned Darco. ‘There was an English Duke—he + is dead now—I did a liddle service in Puda Besth. He vanted to bay + me. I said “I am Cheorge Dargo. I do not take money excebt in the way of + business.” Ven I was ruint in the United States I game back to England, + and I hat not one benny. I galled on the Duke. He was at bregfasd. He got + ub, ant he took me py the shoulders begause he was glad to see me, and he + said, “My tear Dargo, you are wet”; and I said: “You would be wet if you + had slept in the rain in St Chames’s Bank.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ve had hard times, old Darco?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have had a million dollars. I haf had nothings. Once I sdole a loaf. I + gave the paker ten dollars the week after and dold him vat I had done.’ He + puffed idly and sipped his Gloria. ‘I am Cheorge Dargo,’ he murmured + nosily. ‘There is nothings I haf not been. There is nothings I have not + seen. + </p> + <p> + There is nothings worth doing that I have not done.’ He smoked and sipped + again. ‘But I haf not got a liderary sdyle. You haf a liderary sdyle. Come + again with me to write blays. We will both great fortunes make.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Shake hands on that,’ said Paul vehemently; and Darco shook hands with + phlegm. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a pargain,’ he said. ‘See me in five hours’ time—Hotel + Meurice, Rue de Rivoli I will write it for you. And now I must go apout my + work. I am encaged in ten minutes.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul paid the bill, slipped Darco’s address into his waistcoat pocket, + shook hands with him at the door, and walked away, unconscious, to his + life’s undoing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + The voice of the river spoke from the great gorge in accents of exultation + and despair, and the voice was a part of the primeval silence, as it had + been from the moment when the Solitary had first listened to it. The + impalpable, formless brown fog was about him Its acrid scent of burning + was in his nostrils. And, all the same, he was in Paris, in the Rue de + Quenailles, where he had lived so long, and where he had begun the real + troubles of his lifetime. + </p> + <p> + He saw and heard as if he had been there. The street was lined on either + side with picturesque houses of an ancient date, the fronts of which were + parcel-coloured, blue, pink, buff, white, green, all worn into a varied + grayish harmony by years of exposure to the weather. The cobbled roadway + was drenched in sunlight, and the green jalousies on the sunny side of the + street had their own effect on the physiognomy of the thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + Paul made his way towards his hotel, foreboding nothing, but full of youth + and high spirits, and somewhat unfairly inspired by wine, considering the + hour of the day. He was aware of this, and his one desire was to reach his + own cool and shadowed chamber, and there sleep himself back into a sober + possession of his faculties. Had any person suggested to him that he was + tipsy, he would have had a right to repel the accusation with scorn. He + walked without hesitation or uncertainty; he saw quite clearly and thought + quite clearly. He had taken a glass more champagne than was entirely good + for him, and that was all. Had the thing happened after dinner, he would + simply have put on the brake for the rest of the evening, and would have + carried his load with ease. As it was, nothing but a nap was needed to + bring him back to a comfortable afternoon sensation. He told himself this + as he strolled homeward, tasting his cigar in an occasional whiff, but + using it mainly as a sort of fairy baton with which to beat time to the + spirit ditties of no tune which filled his harmless mind. + </p> + <p> + On the side of the street on which he walked he saw the figure of a girl, + but he took no especial notice of her until he was almost in the act of + passing. Then he noticed that she was tall and lithe, and that she had + fine brown eyes and hair. There was nothing in the slightest degree + compulsive or imperative about her. She was just a girl, and there was an + end of it He might have passed her a thousand times without a second + thought, or without a thought at all, but that unhappy extra glass of wine + was in his blood, and he must needs accost her—more, perhaps, to + show off his French than for any other reason. His attitude towards women + had hitherto been chivalrous and shy, and he was aware of the overcoming + of a difficulty which had frequently given him some concern when he + flourished off his hat and asked, with a smiling insolence: + </p> + <p> + ‘Why are you wandering here, I pray?’ + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him innocently enough, with a gaze quite free from + anger, coquetry, or embarrassment. It might have been a common thing in + her experience to be thus accosted by a stranger. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am waiting for my sister,’ she responded simply. + </p> + <p> + Did she suppose she would have to wait long? asked Paul. The girl did not + know. Would she wait under shelter from the sun? She shrugged her + shoulders, and inclined her head on one shoulder with lifted eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come along,’ said the vacuous idiot ‘Let us have a glass of wine + together.’ + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled sedately, and they went off together. + </p> + <p> + The extraordinary part of this business was not that a young man who had + lunched a little too freely should make a fool of himself, but that the + girl was a good girl, of average breeding, and, as Paul lived to convince + himself, in spite of all the unhappiness she brought him, had never + entered upon anything remotely resembling such an adventure as the present + in all her life. But the readiness of her acquiescence misled him, and in + the little hard-trodden wjne-garden in which they sipped a sugary + champagne together, in a trellised alcove like a relic of old Vauxhall, he + grew amorous, and told her that her eyes were like beryls, and that their + whites were like porcelain. The lonely man in the brown smoke-fog, with + the roar of the river in his ears, as unregarded as the roar of traffic in + a city, recalled it all, and laughed as he threw his hands abroad, and + fell into a frowning thoughtfulness as he allowed them to drop laxly + between his knees. The girl had eyes, to be sure—two of them—and + they were brown, with a touch of beryl in the brown, and, conceivably, + they had a soul behind them, of one sort or another, but she had as much + personality as a jelly-fish. She was neither pleased nor affronted by the + vacuous ass’s compliments, and when he praised her hair and her + complexion, she accepted it as placidly as if she had been a waxen lady in + a barber’s window. + </p> + <p> + It may have been that this very aloofness of stupidity appealed to him as + a thing to conquer, but, anyway, he got an arm about her waist, and went + on praising her with ridiculous emphasis. She allowed him to squeeze, and + she allowed him to praise, and when he pressed her glass upon her she + sipped at it with reasonable relish and set it down again. When they had + been sitting in the arbour for a quarter of an hour or so she became + loquacious. She said it was a fine day, but that she had feared in the + morning that it would rain. It was a much finer day than the Thursday of + last week had been, for then it had rained in the afternoon, and since she + had been beguiled from home by the treacherous pretence of the day without + an umbrella she had had a feather spoiled—a feather ‘que m’a coûté + cinq francs, m’sieu!’ Paul answered that she was a little angel, and she + told him a parcel of nothings which under fair and reasonable conditions + would have bored his head off. But it is a notable thing that when a youth + is beginning to learn a foreign language—and Paul was only now + entering upon a colloquial familiarity with French—he has so much + satisfaction in understanding what is said to him that a very stupid + conversation can interest him. It is not what is said which pleases, but + the fact that he can follow it, and this, with a man who is not easily + susceptible of boredom, will last him well into the knowledge of a novel + tongue. He gathered from the confidences exchanged that the young lady + lived at home with papa and mamma and her sister; that papa was engaged in + a big drapery establishment, and came home late at night; that mamma was a + suburban modiste, and was also away from home all day; that her sister and + herself did some kind of fancy work at home—his French was not + complete enough to enable him to understand accurately what it was—and + that she always made holiday on a Thursday afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Now, Paul had never played the conquering dog until now. He had so far + been the victim of the sex, and in his own small way had suffered scorn + and beguilement enough. What with the luncheon and the sticky champagne, + he began to feel mighty and vainglorious, and he took the airs which he + supposed to be appropriate to the situation. He praised the lady, + therefore, with a humorous appreciation of the manner in which she + accepted flatteries which were passed, so to say, upon a shovel, and he + tasted with a gratified palate his own fine flavour as a man of the world. + </p> + <p> + That was the silly beginning of it, and the lonely man, recalling it all + as if he had been back in the midst of it again, asked himself with that + tired scorn of his own career and nature which had become a part of him, + if any creature with as much brain as earwax had ever before been so + easily beckoned to the devil. + </p> + <p> + ‘Millions, I suppose,’ he said half aloud, in answer to his own mental + query—‘millions.’ + </p> + <p> + And so went on with his dream. + </p> + <p> + Of the variety of fools there is literally no end, but for the king of + fool who is predestined to come a cropper in the field of life, and to + spill other people in his own downfall, there is no rival for the Quixote. + The man who is over-anxious to pay in the market of morals is the man who + goes bankrupt You may be a good deal of a scoundrel and retain your own + esteem and that of the world, but you must not palter with your own + offences. The world resents a half-virtue, and the world is right It is + the half-virtue which breeds hypocrisy and self-deception, and these are + the most despicable of human vices. Courage is at the root of manhood, and + even the courage which dares to do wrong and have done with it is better + than the cowardice which patches vice with virtue until it can no longer + discern the colour of either. + </p> + <p> + Here, for instance, began a liaison of the vulgarest and simplest kind, + for which a man of any wisdom would have repented in due course whilst he + would have compounded with it, and would have parted from it, and, whilst + counting it amongst the sins and follies of his youth, would have left it + behind him. + </p> + <p> + Paul and the girl parted innocently that night, but made an appointment to + meet again on the morrow. He had no stomach for the encounter, but he + would not break his word, and so, for the sake of a punctilio, he wrecked + himself. He and Annette went to the Mabille together, and in his character + of man of the world he made love to her with as fine a relish as if he had + sat down to bread-and-water after dinner; then, in order not to be quite a + blackguard, he met her again, and, to save himself from his own + conscience, again, and at last the compound of vanity, weakness, and + virtue landed him with her in London, where they set up housekeeping + together. + </p> + <p> + For a time this was great, with its twang of Rue Monsieur le Prince and + Murger and the old Bohemia, and Paul was convinced that he had done a + noble thing in not deserting the little woman. In a flaccid sort of a way + she seemed to love him, and in that respect, since his own mind was by no + means urgent, he was satisfied. He was faithful to the tie, and flaunted + his own magnanimity. + </p> + <p> + But his true mistress was his work, and this he loved with an increasing + ardour. How devotedly he laboured he never knew until long afterwards, + when what had once been a passion of delight and a necessity of nature + degenerated into a stale drudgery practised for the sake of mere money. + But, oh! the sweetness of brain-toil whilst the heart was fresh and whilst + it still seemed worth while to preach some kind of gospel to mankind! To + pace the streets and read the faces of people as they went by, to weave a + thousand stories in a day around the destinies of strangers, to sit far + into the night fed with rich and glowing fancies, to express them with + conscious power, to work with living vigour for the love of work alone! + </p> + <p> + These were rich days, and if the domestic intercourse were + poverty-stricken there was the bachelor intercourse at the clubs to make + up for it, and even amongst his married friends Annette was an ignorable + quantity unless he took to waving her like a flag of virtue. + </p> + <p> + There was Fortescue, a man of medium fame, but of real genius, whose + delightful home was always open to him. Mrs. Fortescue probably knew all + about Paul’s eccentric menage, but she had been an opera-singer in her + day, had known a good many open secrets of the kind, and was a woman of + the world. It was not her business to pry into that kind of secret, and + she liked the young fellow for many reasons. Considering what a fool he + was, he had grown to an astonishing charm of manner. The lonely man + smoking his idle pipe at his tent door in the cañon looked back at him + across such a distance of time and fate that his inspection of the youth + was almost impersonal. The lad passed for a piece of naïve nature, and not + altogether unjustly. He was eager and ardent, and absurdly tender-hearted. + He loved all his friends, and he had a crowd of them. ‘Because,’ as Balzac + says, ‘he had known a time when a sou’sworth of fried potatoes would have + been a luxury,’ he threw about his money with a lordly liberality. A + simple ballad, if sung with any approach to art, would bring tears into + his eyes. He had all the virtues which came easy to him, and, leaving + Annette out of question for the moment, he was without vices. He had + rubbed against the world long enough to have grown polished. Nobody + questioned his origin or upbringing. His talk was brilliant, if it bore no + searching analysis, and he had his circle of listeners wherever he went. + He was a born raconteur, and had proved himself in that particular, and + his increasing acquaintance with the stage and the professors of its + trifling art helped him in this direction. + </p> + <p> + Fortescue’s house was his one haunt apart from the clubs, the one + civilized and civilizing home he knew with intimacy, and one night there + over a cigarette and a whisky-and-soda he turned his jejune philosophy of + life upon his host. + </p> + <p> + ‘I confess,’ he said, ‘that I have no great opinion of the marriage tie. + Let there be a loyal association between man and woman, let each recognise + the responsibilities which belong to it, and where’s the fear of any + priestly ban or the need of any priestly blessing?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear Armstrong,’ said Fortescue, who was very much his senior, and a + man of a rather starched propriety by nature, ‘I would beg you, if you + permit me, to avoid that theme. The marriage tie to me means a full half + of the whole sanctity of life. To my mind, the man who derides it is, so + far as his derision carries him, an ass.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ cried Paul, laughing, ‘I like a straight hitter.’ + </p> + <p> + Fortescue shifted the theme with some adroitness, but the talk grew stiff + and formal. The younger man felt the disapproval of the elder, and was ill + at ease under it. He rather shied at the house from that time forward, + and, since an awkwardness of that kind grows easily and rapidly, his + visits dwindled into rarity, until they ceased by automatic process. + </p> + <p> + It was years before he found a home again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Along with many noble and admirable qualities the English people have one + defect, which is recognised in the satires of every neighbouring nation, + but is never acknowledged by themselves.’ Thus Paul Armstrong at his tent + door, with the voice of the torrent to emphasize the waste silence of his + dwelling-place, and the fog to clear his mental vision by shutting out + from his perception all extraneous things; not thinking in these words, or + thinking in words at all, but dunking thus: ‘Propriety is a British legend + and a British lie.’ + </p> + <p> + He was back in the old chambers, which were in one of the smaller Inns of + Court, and was looking at the stale mirth and madness of the bygone days. + Eight out of ten of the men he remembered had settled down, and two of the + ten, to make an average, had gone to the devil The two were mainly of the + better sort—fellows who stuck to an absurd responsibility, and let + it ruin them. The eight were the good citizens who had had the wit to cut + responsibility adrift. That was life as he knew it, as the boys of his day + who studied divinity or medicine, or who read for the Bar, or who worked + in painting or at journalism or letters, all knew it. Clerics, lawyers, + painters, authors, men on ‘Change, all married and settled and respected, + admirable citizens by the dozen and the score, and where are Lorna, and + Clara, and Kate, and Caroline, and Fanny? Heaven knows—possibly. The + knack of prosperity, surely, is to bury your indiscretions. + </p> + <p> + Oh, bitter, bitter, bitter to have loaded life with such a burden, not to + have had the courage of a hundred others, and to have left the poor + responsibility to sink or swim, to have compounded between vice or virtue + instead of making a clean bargain with one or the other like the rest of + the world, to have permitted a foolish pity to look like a resolute + manhood to his eyes, to have throttled his own soul for a scruple! + </p> + <p> + He stages his own soul, and this is what he sees and hears and knows. + </p> + <p> + Annette is ailing, is seriously ill indeed, and he has taken her into the + country. He has rented a cottage, in the front of which there is a great + level common reaching for a mile or two on either side, and covered with + golden gorse. In front of the cottage and across the common is a coppice, + all browns and purples and yellows and siennas, and beyond that, as seen + from the upper windows of the cottage, the land fades into misty autumnal + blues, to join a whitened horizon which seems to shun the meeting, until + for very weariness it can postpone it no longer—a bell-tent of sky, + as it were, with a lifted edge, and beyond the skirts of the nearer sky + another. Annette is lying in bed, and Paul is looking out of the window; + he will see the landscape in that way always. He has known it under broad + summer sunshine, in springtide freshness, under winter snow, obscured in + sheeting rain, in moonlight, starlight, dawn, sunset; but whenever his + thoughts go backwards to the place he is looking out of the window on that + particular aspect of the scene, and Annette is behind him, propped in her + bed with pillows. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul!’ He turns. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come to me a moment. Sit down beside me. Take my hand’ + </p> + <p> + He lays down the empty pipe he has been twirling in his fingers, and obeys + her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, dear.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot talk much,’ she says, in her pretty foreign accent + </p> + <p> + It has been the one ambition of her mind during these three or four years + to speak English like an Englishwoman, and she has very nearly succeeded, + only there is still a rhythm left which is charming to hear. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall not be with you long.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What?’ says Paul. ‘Nonsense, sweetheart! that’s a mere sick fancy. Chase + it away.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is no fancy,’ says Annette—‘no fancy at all. I heard the doctor + this morning. They did not think I could hear, and he was talking with the + housekeeper. He said he feared the worst. You know what that means, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + What should he say? A man of ardent blood and active brain does not live + with a jelly-fish for sole home society for a year or two without a + certain weariness, yet his manhood scorned him for it, and even if passion + had never been alive at all there was tenderness and the camaraderie which + comes of close association. He kissed her, and he lied in kissing her, but + it was not a wicked or an evil lie. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘this is all fancy. You will be well and strong again + in a month or two. I have talked to the doctor, and I can assure you he + has no sort of fear about you. Look here, now. Darco is coming down + to-morrow, and we shall revise our play. Within a week it shall be + finished, and then we will have you packed carefully in cotton-wool and + will carry you back to Paris. Or if you think it will be too cold in Paris + we will take train to Nice, and pass the winter there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said, ‘I shall spend my winter here, and it will be my last.’ + Her eyebrows had a pathetic lift, and her gaze was on the sky, beyond the + curtains and the window-panes. ‘Paul! Paul dear! Do one thing for me.’ She + turned her frightened appealing brown eyes upon him, and stole her hand + softly and timidly into his. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, dear,’ he answered. ‘Anything that is in my power—anything.’ + </p> + <p> + She had never seemed so human. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall not live to plague you,’ said Annette. ‘You are strong and brave + and clever, and you have ambitions, you big boy, and I have been a weight + about your neck.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no, no!’ he cried. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ she answered mournfully. ‘I know it I have seen it all along. + But all that will soon be over. Only there is one thing, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + She stretched out her arms to him, and he bent his head so that she might + embrace him. He had always fought in his own heart for the fiction that he + loved her, and sometimes he had won in that difficult conflict; now he was + sure of it, and he put his arms about her. Was he to lose her just as she + revealed herself in this sweet way? + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she asked him, ‘are you sorry that I am going? Shall you grieve—a + little?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mustn’t talk so, dear,’ said Paul; ‘you break my heart.’ + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a genuine vehemence. He was astonished at the strength of + his own feeling. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then,’ she said, ‘do this one little thing for me. Whisper. Let me + whisper. Can you hear me like that? + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sweetheart, yes. What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Make me an honest woman before I die,’ said Annette, in a voice that + barely reached him. ‘I was brought up to be a good girl, and I have + suffered—oh Paul, dear, I have suffered! Promise me.’ + </p> + <p> + Here were depths he had not looked for or suspected, and he thought within + himself how blind he had been; how much he had misread her; how like a + doll he had treated her. His whole heart smote him with self-scorn, with + pity, with remorse. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are not dying, dear Annette,’ he said; ‘you will live, and we shall + love each other a thousand times better than we have ever done before, + because this fear of yours has broken the ice between us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Paul,’ she answered. Her arms fell languidly on the counterpane. ‘I + shall not live, but promise me that. Let me die happy. Tu sais, chéri, que + ma mère est morte. Je voudrais encontrer ma mère au ciel, comme fille + honnête, ne c’est pas? Ah! pour l’amour de Dieu, Paul!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My darling,’ he answered, ‘I’ll do it! I’ll do anything. But don’t talk + nonsense about dying. We shall have many a happy year together yet.’ + </p> + <p> + It was his facile, ardent way to think of himself as brokenhearted if he + lost her, and he had never seen her in such a mood as this before, or + anything approaching to it It was no pretence for the moment that he loved + her. He felt for the first time that their two hearts were near. And + though he had been loyal to her, and through times good, bad and + indifferent had brought her of his best, and had done what he could in a + cool, husbandly sort of way to make her happy, he knew his moral debt to + her, and was sore about it, and had been sore about it often. It had never + been in his mind for an instant to evade his burden, even when he had felt + the weight of it most heavily, and he was willing and even eager to offer + this small and laggard reparation. + </p> + <p> + ‘We have lived here much more than the statutory time,’ he said. ‘I will + go and see the district registrar at once, and we will be married at the + earliest possible minute. That will only be a legal union, dear, but if + you care for anything further we can be married in a church when you get + strong enough.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you, Paul,’ she answered. ‘You <i>are</i> good to me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Poor, sweet little woman!’ he answered, for now he was touched deeply by + his own remorse. ‘There, you are happy now? + </p> + <p> + ‘So happy, Paul! So happy!’ + </p> + <p> + He kissed her and left her there, and loading up his pipe, set out at a + brisk pace across the common in the direction of the little township in + which the registrar was to be found. Half an hour’s walk brought him + there, and the functionary was at home. Paul explained his errand and its + urgency. A special fee obviated publicity, and he paid it. Money smoothes + all kinds of roads, and in arrangements for marriage it will almost + abolish time. + </p> + <p> + Arrangements concluded, the coming bridegroom hastened home, his heart + warm with resolve and tender with a new-born affection. It was curious, he + thought, that he should so have misunderstood a woman with whom he had + been so long in the closest intercourse. That placid, yielding way of + hers, that habit of mind which he had regarded in his mannish fashion as + being altogether gelatinous and invertebrate—how ill he had + construed it all. What a depth of feeling lay concealed beneath it! ‘Je + voudrais encontrer ma mère au ciel, comme fille honnête.’ Ah! the poor + creature, who had yielded too easily to his embraces and his flatteries, + whom he had led astray with professions of love and admiration which had + never been real—what amends were too large to repay her? And the + promised amend seemed little enough, for he had not contemplated life away + from Annette. His association with her had isolated him in a certain + degree, but if good women were out of his life, and he missed them + sometimes rather sadly, good fellows were plentiful, married and single, + and the length of time for which his liaison had lasted had lent it a kind + of respectability. Possibly, after all, even if Annette had not been about + to release him, marriage would have been the best solution of a + difficulty. He wondered now why he had never thought of it earlier. Simply + because a trustful girl in her innocence and ignorance had permitted + herself to repose her whole future on one who might have played the + scoundrel with her, he had been content to forget his duty. Well, he would + atone. + </p> + <p> + The ceremony, when it came, was of the simplest, and had a bald and + business air about it which was discomfiting to a man who felt that he was + giving rein to a noble sentiment The registrar, as he pocketed his fee, + and shook hands in congratulation, assured him it was efficacious. It took + place, of course, in Annette’s bedroom, but it was done with so much + delicacy that not even the landlady suspected it. The registrar and his + assistant passed to her mind as medical men called to the bedside of the + patient. + </p> + <p> + Paul sat for half an hour after they had gone with Annette’s hand in his, + and then, seeing that she had fallen asleep, softly withdrew himself. He + strolled to the common, and there, wading through gorse, he found the + doctor who had attended her from the time of their arrival. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, Mr. Armstrong,’ said the medico cheerfully, ‘how’s the patient?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Better, I think,’ said Paul. ‘But, doctor, tell me—what made you + take so gloomy a view a week ago? Don’t you think she’ll mend?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Mend, my dear sir? said the doctor. ‘Of course she’ll mend. You’ll have + her on her feet again in a week or two. She’s never been in danger for a + moment.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But didn’t you say a week ago——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That she <i>was</i> in danger?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes. That she was in danger.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I give you my word, Mr. Armstrong, that the idea never crossed my mind. + I’ve never had a touch of anxiety from the first. I’d like you to give me + a game at chess to-night, if you’re not otherwise engaged. I’m just going + across to have a look at Mrs. Armstrong now. But it’s a mere matter of + form, I assure you. Good morning.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why didn’t I ask that question earlier?’ said Paul to himself. But he + scarcely knew as yet in what direction his thoughts were pointing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Paul Armstrong—the real Paul Armstrong who dreamed these dreams of + memory—sat day by day in his mountain solitude surrounded by the + smoke-fog which obliterated all but the nearer objects from his view. He + could faintly distinguish the bluff on the other side of the cañon. It was + like a pale, flat, and barely perceptible stain on grayish-brown paper. + The mountains were all abolished, but their ghostly voices lived. Here and + there the slumbering heat upon their flanks would provoke a snow-slide, + and the long-drawn roar and rumble of it would go rolling and echoing + apparently in a dozen regions all at once, so that it would be impossible + to tell from what direction the original sound proceeded. Two voices of + the solitude were ceaseless—the reverberating roar of the river and + the chatter of the mountain brook which ran to meet it; but in ears long + accustomed to them they seemed to weave a silence of their own. Twice a + day, at least, his sole reminders of the living, pulsing outer world went + by. Sometimes as the panting train rushed east or west, its reminder of + the world from which he had parted brought a bitter pang with it. + </p> + <p> + He found but little occupation for his hands, and, apart from his + memories, little for his mind. He read and reread his father’s dying words + until he knew them by rote, and could read them with shut eyes as he lay + in his blanket in the wakeful hours of night. He would not admit to + himself that he had a real belief in their message, and yet it was always + with him in a fainter or a stronger fashion, and it made a part of life. + </p> + <p> + It was not merely that he had little to do and little to think about apart + from his memories, that he dwelt so constantly upon them. He thought often + that there was something within himself which led him gently yet + inexorably to these contemplations, and it happened more than once that + while he was in the very act of thinking thus his dream came upon him as + if a spell had been cast upon his mind Forgotten emotions lived again; + facial expressions of people he had known; tones of voices not remarkable, + and not much remarked, came back. It was like a curiously vivid dream; but + it had all happened, and he was living it over again. + </p> + <p> + Bring what intellectual denial he would to the problem his father’s letter + had set before his mind, his nerves at least accepted it, and he had a + settled consciousness that he was not alone. He fought against this as a + mere superstitious folly. He was often angry with himself for ever + stooping to discuss it in his own mind. He had long ago resolved that the + man dies as the beast dies, and that there is no more a bourne of new life + for the one than for the other. And now all manner of doubts began to + pester him. No more for the one than for the other? Why not for all? Why + not one unending cycle of experience? Why not the passing of one growing + intelligence through every form of life? The Eastern sages dreamed so. + </p> + <p> + He would sit there at his tent door buried deep in his thoughts, and + often, without his being able to trace the faintest sign of any action in + his own mental mechanism, his father’s voice would wake him with an + interjection of, ‘Exactly!’ or ‘That’s the point, Paul!’ There was no + sound, and yet the voice was there, and the old familiar Ayrshire accent + seemed to mark it as strongly as it had done in his father’s lifetime. It + was all very well to deride it as a mere delusion; it was easy to put it + on one side for a moment and to stand over it in an intelligent + superiority, tracking it to its sources in some obscure action of nerve + and brain. But howsoever often he might eject belief from his mind, it + came back with a clinging, gentle insistence which would not be denied; + and little by little, though sorely against his will, he began to have a + sence of it. A verse of ‘In Memoriam ‘was often in his mind: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘How pure in heart, and sound in head, + With what divine affections bold, + Should be the man whose heart would hold + An hour’s communion with the dead.’ +</pre> + <p> + He began at last to think that his own unfitness for such a communion + helped him to his disbelief in its possibility, and from that hour the + feeling of his father’s nearness weighed more and more upon him. + </p> + <p> + Sitting at his tent door hour on hour, feeling himself, with the passage + of each day, more completely isolated from the world, he seemed forced to + a clear appreciation of the inner truth of his own retrospect; and, so far + as any exercise of will was concerned, he found it a record of folly and + weakness. There had been hours of high good fortune there, but they had + been barely of his seeking, and of his own actual making not at all. Folly + and weakness had stung him many and many a time, but it was not until he + had reached the last recorded effort of memory that they had laid a weight + upon his shoulders. Now he knew that he had tied a millstone about his + neck; that he had permanently denied to himself all the sweet and + vivifying influences of the higher social life. Sometimes detached from + him, as though it watched from outside and waited for further confessions + from his memory, and sometimes seeming an intimate part of him, as if it + were a constituent of that desolate ache which filled and possessed his + soul, there was always there the image of the gray old father, wistful, + sagacious, patient—no ghost, but veritably a haunting thought, and + at last, in spite of all contention, as real to him as his own hands. Yet + when he went back to his dreams his obsession vanished, and it was only in + the pauses of his vision that it returned. + </p> + <p> + Here were the dreams again. + </p> + <p> + He had come to understand quite clearly that a trick had been played upon + him, but he was not constantly unhappy in its contemplation, or altogether + resentful at it Annette improved in health with a startling rapidity, and + he had the doctor’s assurance on that head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Armstrong is as sound as a roach, sir, and will probably outlive + either of us.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is well,’ said Paul, and he set himself to bear the burden he had + gathered. + </p> + <p> + At this time he found the greatest happiness in work, and alike with + Darco, and for his own hand, he laboured unceasingly. Money came fast—more + money than he had ever hoped for. Fame came also, in a fashion, and many + genial societies were open to him. But Annette was not a person to be + defrauded of anything she conceived to be a right, and he soon found upon + how slight a thread domestic content might hang. Invitations to Mr. Paul + Armstrong were plentiful, but of Mrs. Paul Armstrong his world had no + knowledge outside the jolly bachelor contingent which overflowed house and + table upon Sundays. When these single invitations came Annette invariably + retired to her bedroom, and, having locked herself in there, refused to + hold any sort of intercourse with Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear,’ he would say to soothe her, ‘I am not going without you; but I + can’t force people to invite you, and we must just make the best of + things.’ + </p> + <p> + So he grew to be something of a hermit; and all on a sudden he resolved to + cut himself adrift from England, and to live abroad. Before his wanderings + were over, he was destined to know Europe pretty thoroughly; but at this + time his knowledge of it was limited to Paris, and here and there a bit of + Northern France. He would break new ground. Antwerp would do as well as + any other city for a starting-place, and within a day or two of the hour + at which the fancy first occurred to him he was ready to start He crossed + by the <i>Baron Osy</i>, took rooms in a hotel on the Groen Plate, and + lived and worked there for a month or two under the dropping music of the + cathedral chimes. The outfit of a man of letters is the simplest in the + world. With a ream of writing-paper, a pint of ink, and sixpennyworth of + pens, he is professionally provisioned for half a year. Paul had no need + to be in personal touch either with publisher or stage-manager, and he + knew his absence from England to be unmarked and unregretted. Annette and + he seemed to get on well enough together. There was no real communion + between them. Paul was all on fire about his work, and she had no more + comprehension of his thoughts than a canary-bird would have had. But it + was not possible for a man of his temperament to live constantly under the + same roof, and to sit daily at the same table with anybody, male or + female, without developing some kind of camaraderie. Mrs. Armstrong seemed + to like the life fairly well, and to find a pleasure in the fleeting + society of the birds of passage who went and came. She had dresses to her + heart’s content, and in her pretty gelid way enjoyed a good deal of + popularity; but by-and-by, as summer again drew near, she wearied of her + surroundings, and incited Paul to move. The work on which he had been + engaged was finished and disposed of; there were a good many loose + hundreds at the bank, and more were coming. He was ready for a holiday, + and for Annette’s sake was willing to persuade himself that he was in need + of one. So in May weather they set off to make a round of the old Flemish + country—Ghent, and Bruges, and Aix, and Mechlin. Thence they slid on + to Namur, working slowly towards Switzerland in Paul’s fancy, but stopping + by mere hazard at Janenne, and being by a very simple accident enticed + some four or five miles from the main line of their route to Montcourtois. + They had been drawn aside in the first place to visit the famous grottoes + of Janenne, and the jolly old <i>doyen</i> of Montcourtois was their + fellow-passenger in the brake which conveyed them to the station. The old + priest was a man of learning, and in his day he had travelled, and had + known the world. Paul and he fell into animated converse, and struck up an + immediate liking for each other. It turned out, curiously enough, that, + though the old gentleman had lived for twenty years within half a dozen + miles of the wonderful grottoes, he had never been prompted to visit them + until now. He was on the way to wipe out his reproach, and by the time the + sight-seeing was over Paul found himself so fascinated by his simplicity, + his bonhomie, and the charming, varied stream of his talk, that he must + needs invite the old gentleman to dinner at the Hotel of the Three + Friends, where preparations for his own reception for the night had been + made. The old priest accepted the invitation at once, and early evening + found them the only occupants of a great salon in which a hundred people + might have dined with case. A brass lamp, suspended by chains from the + ceiling, illumined their corner of the’ centre table, and at the far end + of the room a big stove bloomed red-hot all round like a magnified cherry. + These preparations were scarcely needed, for the air was balmy, the + windows were open, and the sky was yet full of the evening light of early + summer. The voice of a stream not far away ran on with a ceaseless, + light-hearted babble, and through the open windows the one street of the + village was visible until it swerved away to the left There are a thousand + villages like Montcour-tois; but it was the first of its genus Paul had + known, and he found a quiet charm in it The Hotel of the Three Friends + stood in the Place Publique, dominated by a brand-new town-hall; but all + the rest of the place was quaint and old-fashioned. All the houses were + distempered in various colours, and all their architects had worked after + the decrees of the destinies, so that the street-line itself was full of + gable-ends, and the edifices faced in as many directions as was possible. + A sturdy, thick-set village girl, neat as a new pin, with cheeks hard and + red, and shining like hard red apples, brought in the soup—a <i>soupe + à la bonne femme</i>, and admirable of its kind—brought in a dish of + fresh-caught trout excellently fried; followed this with veal cutlets; + with a tart, and a local cheese which, though it had no fame beyond its + own borders, was a surprise for an epicure. With the fish came a dusty, + cobwebbed bottle in a cradle, and at the sight of it the <i>doyen</i> + lifted his eyebrows, and faintly smacked his lips. Paul, in ordering + dinner, had asked the square-built Flemish waitress: + </p> + <p> + ‘You have Burgundy? + </p> + <p> + ‘But yes, sir,’ the girl had answered, ‘and of the best.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Bring me a bottle of your best,’ Paul had said, and had thought no more + of the matter. + </p> + <p> + But when the venerable cleric so twinkled at the sight of the dusty flagon + in the threadbare bid wicker cradle, he was tempted to ask if they had + anything very special before them. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear sir,’ returned the <i>doyen</i>, ‘it is a wine for an Emperor, + and if I may be permitted to tell you so, its appearance is attributable + to my presence here.’ + </p> + <p> + It was a noble vintage, and the <i>doyen</i> grew eloquent over it. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is here in the Ardennes,’ he said, ‘that you find the best Burgundy of + the world. We have no vineyards of our own, though, if tradition can be + trusted, they grew a good grape here hundreds of years ago; but we have + cellarage, and here beneath our feet is a vault cut out of the living + rock, the temperature of which does not vary one degree Reaumur on the + hottest day in summer and the coldest night in winter. That is the right + harbour for such a craft as this to sail into.’ He touched the bottle + affectionately with the tips of his beautifully-trimmed white fingers. + ‘You must not take me for a wine-bibber,’ he said smilingly, ‘but all + gifts of God are good, and this is the best that Heaven affords in this + direction.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul rang the bell no great time later, and called for a second bottle. + The <i>doyen</i> protested, but with a discernible faintheartedness. He + talked of vintages as the twilight fell and the lamp beamed more brightly + on the snowy napery. Well, he had travelled, he had seen the world, he had + been young. Of all wines in the world for him Johannesberg. One bottle, + one truly imperial bottle, he remembered. + </p> + <p> + ‘It was a physician of Paris, the most eminent, who travelled for his + pleasure, and whose acquaintance I made in Rome. It is very long ago. The + Holy Father was suffering agonies, and he endured them like a hero. But + everybody feared that he was dying, and our Roman doctors could make + nothing of the case at all. It occurred to somebody to speak to His + Holiness of the doctor Gaston. The physicians in attendance were glad to + invite him, and by a very simple and almost painless operation he removed + the seat of trouble, and in a week His Holiness was himself again. His + Holiness was full of gratitude, and would gladly have paid any fee the + doctor had chosen to name. But he would have no fee at all. He was not a + good son of the Church, but he was an excellent Christian all the same, + and it was his pride to have restored so valuable a life. Gaston told me + the whole story. “My child,” said the Pope, “some souvenir of your own + skill and kindness you shall accept from me; I insist upon it.” Then the + good doctor hardened his heart, and he said: “I am for these many years a + collector of wines, and I have in Paris my little cellar, which is without + its rival for its size. But there is one treasure which I cannot buy, nor + beg, nor steal. It is the Imperial Johannes-berg. It goes alone to the + crowned heads of Europe and to your Holiness. Rothschild cannot buy it + with his millions. If I may beg but a bottle——” And His + Holiness laughed, and “My good son,” he said, “you shall have a dozen.” + And Papa was better than his word, for he sent thirteen. Gaston,’ + continued the ancient priest, laying a hand on the listener’s sleeve, ‘had + six friends in Rome, of whom I was one. He resolved that the thirteenth + bottle should be expended, and that he would store the rest We assembled—ah! + my son, we assembled. There were little glasses of fair water handed round + and cubes of bread like dice, and we sipped and nibbled, that our palates + might be clean. Then the bottle was brought in with the tray of glasses, + the right Rhine wine-glasses of pale green, with the vine-leaves and + grape-bunches about the stem. And the bottle was opened, and—— + You know your Scott? Do you remember how the bottle of claret “parfumèd ze + apartment”? Oh, it was so when that cork was drawn! Odours of flowers and + old memories! It was nectar when we came to taste it It was of the + kingliest, the most imperial.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul filled the priest’s glass again and replenished his own, but the old + man rose laughingly from the table. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am something of a poet,’ he said, ‘in my imaginations, but I do not + carry my fancies into practice. No more wine to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul pressed him, but the old gentleman was firm. He yielded to the + temptation of coffee and a cigar, and the two went on talking of trifles + for half an hour. Annette had long since risen from the table, and had + strolled to the far end of the room beyond the glowing stove. She had + thrown open a French window there, and had stood for some time looking out + upon the night when she called for Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come here; I want to speak to you.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul excused himself, and obeyed the summons. Beyond the French window lay + a little alcove, about which a barren but full-leaved vine was trailed. + The sky was still filled with a diffuse light, and the May moon, pale as + yet, was rising like a silver canoe above the edge of a hill a mile away. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ said Annette, ‘I want to stay here. There’s a sort of peace about + the place, and I should like to be here for a little while.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, dear,’ he answered, ‘there are worse places in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she whispered, drawing him down to her; ‘I want to tell you + something.’ With her arm about his neck, she breathed into his ear: ‘There + are only two of us, Paul; you must look out for a third.’ + </p> + <p> + He turned her face to his, and he saw that her eyes were moist and that + her face was pale. The momentous thing had been prettily said, as if only + a touch of fun and a touch of commonplace could make the sacredness of it + bearable to either. In that second he forgot everything. Indifference + melted, vanished, and he took her in his arms with a feeling he had never + known before. How long they stood there he could not have told, but the + voice of the priest awoke him from his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am afraid, Monsieur Armstrong,’ said the <i>doyen</i>, ‘that I delay my + departure too long.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Go to bed, darlipg,’ Paul whispered. ‘Good-night. I’ll make your excuses. + You mustn’t show up before strangers with a face like that.’ + </p> + <p> + He pressed his lips to hers, took both hands ardently in his own for a + second, and walked hastily back into the <i>salle à manger</i>. The <i>doyen</i> + stood with his beaver on the table before him, and his white hands + smoothing the folds of his soutane. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ cried Paul, ‘but my wife called me away. She is + suffering from some slight indisposition, and we have made up our minds to + rest here for a little while.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Indisposition!’ cried the priest; ‘I am sorry to hear that. But in one + respect you are fortunate. Here in this <i>infecte</i> little village—you + would barely believe it, but ‘tis true—we have the king of all + European doctors. Shall I bring him to you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Are you indeed so fortunate? Paul asked laughingly. ‘Bring him by all + means.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is nothing pressing about the case? the <i>doyen</i> asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing pressing,’ Paul responded. + </p> + <p> + ‘The morrow will do, then?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The morrow will do admirably.’ + </p> + <p> + The old priest withdrew with a cordial hand-shake, and Paul lit a cigar + and sat down to look at the newly-revealed position of affairs. The + alliance between Annette and himself had been of the most trivial sort, + and he had condemned himself for it a thousand times. But now a new + feeling took possession of him, and she had grown suddenly sacred in his + eyes. The burden which had sometimes galled him had grown welcome in a + single instant. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came next day, a rotund man of benevolent aspect, with little + smiling slits of eyes slightly turned up at the outer end, like a + Chinaman’s. He was familiarly known in the village as Le Chinois. But it + did not take Paul long to learn that, in spite of the nickname, he was + idolized by every inhabitant of the district for miles round. He was a man + of private income, and all his professional earnings were spent upon his + poor. In a fortnight Paul and he were thick as thieves. Le Chinois had + travelled extensively, and appeared to be on terms of intimacy with the + literature of every European people. He had not the faintest idea of the + pronunciation of the English language, but he wrote it currently and with + some approach to elegance, and his knowledge of English letters put Paul + to shame. With all his learning and his philosophic agnosticism, he was as + simple-hearted as a child. Annette took the greatest fancy to him and + welcomed his visits, and played round him with a sprightliness her husband + had never before observed in her. ‘She is changing,’ he thought, ‘and + changing for the better.’ The new conditions seemed as if they brought new + life and developed a novel character. But he noticed that her outbursts of + gaiety were followed invariably by deep depression. She would sit in the + garden in the dusk of the early summer evenings alone, and if her solitude + were intruded upon would wave him away without a word. It irritated her at + such times even to be looked at, and Paul, deeply anxious for the time + being to fall in with her every whim, would betake himself to the little + café opposite, and chat there with the simple village folk. Sometimes M. + le Prince, a scion of one of the noblest houses of Europe, who lived in + retirement on an income of some three hundred sterling per annum, would + drop in and sip his little glass of orgeat, and chatter with the peasants + about crops and weather. Sometimes the doctor would spend a spare + half-hour there in the evening, and sometimes the venerable <i>doyen</i> + himself, though he never actually entered the house except upon a pastoral + visit, would take a seat outside and drink his after-dinner coffee amongst + the members of his flock. + </p> + <p> + Always after these quiet dissipations when Paul went home he found Annette + asleep, and in a very little while each day became like another, and a + routine was established. Annette was invariably a little fatigued in the + morning, but brightened as the day went on. She was vivacious in the + afternoon; by dinner-time she was in feverish high spirits. After dinner + she became depressed and moody. Paul, observing these symptoms with tender + interest, attributed them all to her condition, and assumed that they were + natural. + </p> + <p> + But one evening in mid-June an incident happened which for a time gave him + genuine concern. Since he had resolved to settle in the village for some + time, he had rented a small office in the hotel, which he had transformed + into a study, and there he spent most of his waking time at work. On this + particular day he had gone to his den immediately after luncheon, and had + grown so absorbed in his labours that the dinner-bell had sounded unheard. + He was aroused from his work by the apple-cheeked maid, and was told that + dinner was already served. He dashed upstairs two steps at a time, laved + his hands and face, and descended to the dining-room. Annette was not + there. He inquired for her, and learned that she had gone out an hour or + two before and had not yet returned. This caused him no anxiety, for she + had made some acquaintances in the place, and had one or two houses at + which she was accustomed to visit But when the meal was over and there was + still no sign of her, he began to be vaguely inquiet, and, taking up his + hat, he walked out into the tranquil brightness of the summer evening, and + called from house to house to ask after her. But Madame Bulot had not seen + her, nor had Madame Gerard, nor had the doctor, nor had little + Mademoiselle Coquelin, the dressmaker. Madame Armstrong had been observed + on the road which led to the Bois de Falaise some four hours ago, and that + was the latest news of her. The vague inquiet began to deepen into serious + misgiving. Paul walked rapidly to the Terre de Falaise, scoured the broad + carriage-drive which had been cut through the wood, beat up one or two + favourite little haunts of Annette’s, and found no trace of her. He + returned to the hotel, only to learn that she had not been seen. A terror + of a thousand imagined accidents took hold of him, and he flew to the + gendarmerie with intent to organize a search. But while he was discussing + ways and means with the Juge d’Instruction, who had been hastily sent for + from next door, a stable-keeper from the hotel ran up to inform him that + Madame had been found, that she had been evidently dreadfully frightened, + and was in hysterics. When he reached the hotel, breathless, he found a + group of startled people in the corridor, and from the bedroom he could + hear Annette’s voice shrieking that they were dancing in the wood, and + that their bones were white. He pushed eagerly through the knot of + listeners, and made his way into the bedroom. The doctor was there, and + warned him away at once. + </p> + <p> + ‘You can do no good here,’ he said; ‘you will only distress yourself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no danger?’ he asked, panting after his homeward run. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is not the slightest atom of danger,’ said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + Here, in the wakeful night, high up in the monstrous hills, with this + everlasting torrent raging in his ears, and the camp-fire out of doors + there flaring, flickering, glowing, dying down—here in the fog of + the forest fires and the solitude of the mountains, it is so easy to see + things as they truly were. A shrug, a smile, a word, a silence, the lift + of an eyebrow—things which had no apparent meaning a dozen years + ago, which were either unnoticed or forgotten in an instant—are + alive with monitions now. Not to have seen! Not to have guessed ‘It looks + incredible. A mule might have begun to read the riddle. + </p> + <p> + Paul read nothing. + </p> + <p> + And now, looking back from this smoky eyrie through all the intervening + years, it seems as if the tragedy of a life might have been averted, as if + a little weight, a little prescience, a little care, might have made the + sum of life work out to a far other total. + </p> + <p> + There has been no star visible in the heavens, nor any glimpse of a moon + for four nights. The sun is the dimmest red ball in the daytime, a + danger-signal lantern, seen through dirty glass. There is a yeast at work + in the Solitary’s mind It is as if the material universe being cut away + from him—save just this solid remnant of it in which he lounges—there + were space found for something not belonging to it to draw near him. + </p> + <p> + Over and over again the lonely man had read his father’s last letter, and + now in the hot, oppressive midnight it repeated itself in his mind: + </p> + <p> + ‘At my father’s death a change began to work in my opinions. I had + convinced myself that this life was all that man enjoyed or suffered, but + I began to be conscious that I was under tutelage. I began—at first + faintly and with much doubting—to think that my father’s spirit and + my own were in communion. I knew that he had loved me fondly, and to me he + had always seemed a pattern of what is admirable in man. Now he seemed + greater, wiser, milder. I grew to believe that he had survived the grave, + and that he had found permission to be my guide and guardian. The creed + which slowly grew up in my mind and heart, and is now fixed there, was + simply this: that as a great Emperor rules his many provinces, God rules + the universe, employing many officers—intelligences of loftiest + estate, then intelligences less lofty; less lofty still beneath these, and + at the last the humbler servants, who are still as gods to us, but within + our reach, and His messengers and agents. Then God seemed no longer + utterly remote and impossible to belief, and I believed. And whether this + be true or false, I know one thing: this faith has made me a better man + than I should have been without it. My beloved father, wise and kind, has + seemed to lead me by the hand. I have not dared in the knowledge of his + sleepless love to do many things to which I have been tempted. I have + learned from him to know—if I know anything—that life from its + lowest form is a striving upward through uncounted and innumerable grades, + and that in each grade something is learned that fits us for the next, or + something lost which has to be won back again after a great purgation of + pain and repentance. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is three days since I began to write, and I am so weak that I can + barely hold the pen. Send this to Paul He has gone far wrong. He will come + back again to the right. I have asked that I may guide him, and my prayer + has been granted. From the hour at which I quit this flesh until he joins + me my work is appointed me, and I shall not leave him. Good-bye, dear + child Be at peace, for all will yet be well. + </p> + <p> + ‘When Paul sees these last words of mine, he will know that I am with + him.’ + </p> + <p> + Thus, word for word, he went over it all again, for the hundredth time or + more, and on a sudden his soul seemed to flow from him in a great longing. + He rose unconsciously, and stepped beyond the doorway of his tent, and + stretched his arms wide to the night. + </p> + <p> + ‘Be with me! oh! be with me, and let me know and feel that you are here.’ + If it be madness to believe so, I will not care!’ + </p> + <p> + But that thought froze him. What right had he to welcome madness? Of what + avail was it to crown a wasted life with such a folly? + </p> + <p> + ‘You believed it, dear old dad?’ he said. ‘But how shall I? Can I dodge + myself? Can I slink by a side-road out of sight of my own intelligence?’ + </p> + <p> + He stood long with dejected head and drooping hands, and then groping his + way back to his couch, lay down again. + </p> + <p> + And his dreams came back to him. + </p> + <p> + He was suddenly afire over a new idea for a comedy, and from the rising of + the sun to the going down of the same he slaved at it and exulted in it + day by day. He made long tramps into the country and lost himself + continuously. Pretty generally he awoke from his fancies to find himself + ravenously hungry, and without so much as a hint of an orient in his mind. + But almost any village or hamlet was good for bread, of a sort, and for + trustworthy eggs and new milk; and his necessities brought him into + contact with the Walloon language, in which—or something very like + it—Froissart wrote his chronicles. He picked up nuggets in the way + of character—clean gold—and whether he were wandering with his + own thoughts or struggling through the medium of this new tongue towards a + knowledge of rustic Belgian life, or pruning and digging about his + imaginations in his workshop, he was happy as a man need be. + </p> + <p> + Annette and he saw less and less of each other, but that was a + circumstance to which he resigned himself with ease. They had taken two + rooms at the corner of their corridor to begin with, a large room and a + smaller one, and there was no need to move from their original quarters. + The smaller chamber was used as a dressing-room. Paul’s circular tub was + there, and the trunks with which the pair travelled, and coats and dresses + were hung about the walls. But it was Annette’s whim one day in Paul’s + absence to have a bed set up in this second apartment, and that same + night, rising late from work, he found himself locked from his wife’s + room. He had not been consulted as to this arrangement, and it struck a + little cold upon him, but thinking that he would talk it over in the + morning, he betook himself to sleep. Next day Annette complained of + headache, and the pallor of her face and the heaviness of her eyes were a + sufficing certificate to suffering. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was very, very ill last night,’ she said pleadingly, ‘and I wanted to + be alone. Oh! I can’t tell you how much I wanted to be alone.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul took her hand in his, and smoothed it between his own. The skin was + harsh and dry, and the little hand felt almost like a hot coal. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear,’ he said anxiously, ‘you are quite in a high fever. I shall run + away for Laurent instantly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why will you pester me?’ she asked, with a weary little spurt of temper. + ‘I have no more need for a doctor than you have. I understand my own + condition perfectly, and I want to go to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, my dear,’ said Paul, ‘these symptoms seem to be increasing, and you + really ought to have advice. Laurent is an able man; you can trust him, I + am sure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh! she cried, ‘your voice rasps me in the very middle of my brain. ‘Go + away and let me sleep, for pity’s sake.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let me make you a cup of tea,’ he said, subduing his voice to a whisper. + ‘I have a whole packet of that lovely stuff I bought before we left + London.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pray go,’ she answered him. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing for it but to obey, and he went from the room a little + disconsolate. + </p> + <p> + ‘This,’ he said to himself as he walked down to the <i>salle à manger</i>’ + is what the poor things have to go through. Love and marriage are not all + beer and skittles for either party, but they are pitiable for the woman.’ + Even now there was no deep attachment in his mind towards Annette, and he + blamed himself for his want of feeling. ‘I owe her everything,’ he thought—‘everything + that I can bring her. I suppose she loved me when she came to me. God + knows!’ + </p> + <p> + He was sorry for her, but he upbraided himself for the thought that he + would have been just as sorry for any other woman who suffered in the same + way, if only her trouble were brought near enough for him to be aware of + it. He had bound himself down to a life without love, but there was an + exquisite disloyalty in the mere admission of that thought. + </p> + <p> + He was too disturbed to care for breakfast, and after drinking a cup of + coffee he lit his pipe and strolled in search of the doctor. The good old + Chinois was munching his pistolet, and sipping at a great bowl of hot milk + just tinctured with coffee, and his man was already at the door with the + queer old buggy and the queer old horse familiar to the country-side over + a circuit of half a dozen leagues from its centre. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have come,’ said Paul, ‘to talk to you about Mrs. Armstrong. I don’t + like the look of things at all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ha!’ said Laurent ‘Tell me, what do you observe?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I notice,’ Paul answered, ‘a dreadful variableness of mood, a feverish + exaltation, followed by a serious depression, an increasing desire to be + alone, a sort of nervous resentment of any inquiry as to her state of + health. That, I think, is about all. I dare say that everything I may have + noticed may be attributable to her present condition, and that in my + inexperience of such things I may be unduly nervous; but I wish you’d make + an opportunity of seeing her casually in the course of the day. For + Heaven’s sake, doctor,’ he added with a laugh, ‘don’t let her guess that I + sent you. The one thing she most resents is having the mere suggestion + offered that she should see a doctor.’ + </p> + <p> + Laurent rubbed his close-cropped silver head with one hand, and with the + other wrung a few drops of liquid from his huge moustache, looking up at + Paul meanwhile with a crafty benevolence in his eye, like a supernaturally + wise old parrot. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah yes!’ he hummed in a deep nasal tone, which Paul knew well already as + being characteristic of him when he had to reason out a problem as he + talked. ‘Monsieur Armstrong, the man who has half-confidences with his + physician is in serious error.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t understand,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know of nothing,’ said Laurent, ‘which would help to explain these + symptoms apart from the fact that madame believes herself to be about to + become a mother?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing else,’ Paul answered in some astonishment, ‘Unless——’ + </p> + <p> + Laurent, holding up his bowl in both hands, echoed: + </p> + <p> + ‘Sinon?——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘I’m afraid that I may have been a little neglectful + lately. I have a piece of work in hand which occupies me a great deal. I + may, perhaps, be too absorbed in it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That, of course, is perhaps possible,’ said Laurent ‘I will contrive to + see her in the course of the day, and you may trust an old doctor’s <i>savoir + faire</i>. She shall not guess that you sent me.’ + </p> + <p> + Immediately upon this the doctor’s servant rapped at the door to say that + all was ready, and Paul took his leave. He went immediately to his study, + and there the embers of last night’s fire, being fanned ever so little, + began to glow again, and he became absorbed in his work, insomuch that + when the bell rang for déjeûner at noon he was amazed to notice how + quickly time had flown. When he got to table Annette was in her place, + still looking a trifle pale and heavy-eyed, but evidently much relieved + since he had last seen her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I want you to do me a little favour, Paul,’ she said + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he answered gaily. + </p> + <p> + ‘I want what you call—what is your word for it? Oh yes, I know—I + want what you call a pick-me-up. Will you share a pint of wine with me? I + want a glass—just one glass of champagne. I quite long for it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, yes,’ said Paul, ‘that is a simple matter enough,’ and he gave the + order for the wine. + </p> + <p> + Annette drank the greater part of it, and began to glow and sparkle. The + colour came back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. She was + unusually bright and animated, and chattered all manner of good-humoured + nonsense with the juge de paix and the garde-champêtre. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is your medicine, my dear,’ said Paul, in a half-whisper, tapping + the bottle with a finger-nail. ‘I shall prescribe it for you daily.’ + </p> + <p> + She made a little face at him and laughed. ‘I don’t like the stuff,’ she + said, ‘very often, but I longed for it this morning; and, oh! I am better + for it.’ + </p> + <p> + They were as much at home in the Hotel of the Three Friends by this time + as if they had lived there all their lives. There was no stranger present + at the meal, and it was not at all a surprising thing when Annette floated + away to the piano at the further end of the room and began to tinkle at + the keys there. She was by no means an accomplished musician, but she + played a few little airs with a sort of spontaneity and grace, and she had + a sweet, thin, bird-like voice, a clear and liquid note, which was perhaps + her greatest charm. She searched among the music upon the top of the + piano, flicking the untidy scattered leaves until she found a song she + knew. + </p> + <p> + ‘Music, messieurs,’ she said, ‘is an aid to digestion; I will make a + sandwich of sentiment for you—cheese on the one side, dessert on the + other, and love in the middle.’ + </p> + <p> + The garde and the juge and the local huissier and the bachelor chemist all + beat the hafts of their knives on the table in applause, and she sang, + with a vivacity and archness Paul had never before observed in her, a + snatch of cheap Belgian sentimentalism: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Toux les deux, la main dans la main, + Nous poursuivions notre chemin, + Sous la céleste voûte; + Les doux échos mystérieux + Répéter nos baisers joyeux + Tout le long—tout le long de la route.’ +</pre> + <p> + And whilst she was warbling the door of the salle opened and in walked + Laurent. + </p> + <p> + ‘Pardon, madame,’ he cried; ‘do not permit me to interrupt you.’ + </p> + <p> + But Annette had already risen from the piano, and had closed the lid of + the instrument. + </p> + <p> + ‘My sister has gone to Janenne,’ he explained, ‘and I am left + breakfastless. You hungry rascals have not eaten everything, I hope?’ + </p> + <p> + The Flemish maid would lay an instant cover for Monsieur Laurent, and room + was made for him at the table with something like enthusiasm. He began to + talk vivaciously scraps of local news gathered on his morning rounds among + his patients, and from time to time he turned to Paul to explain some + rustic allusion or phrase. He made himself charming, and since he did not + explain that he had purposely dismissed his sister for the day in order to + find an excuse for his visit to the hotel, Annette had no present + suspicion of him. They had a little playful badinage together, and + Laurent, turning mock-sentimental, lamented his celibacy so quaintly that + she broke into peals of silvery laughter over him. Paul was pleased with + her, and half inclined to be proud of her for the first time in his life, + though he had a nervous fear lest her gaiety should topple over like an + unskilled artist on the slack wire. + </p> + <p> + By-and-by Laurent set about his meal in a business-like fashion, and Paul + strolled quietly from the room. The others, juge and garde and huissier + and chemist, chief of gendarmerie, and all the rest of the regular + frequenters of the table, were called away by their own avocations. Paul, + sitting with his study-door ajar, looking as if prepared to be absorbed in + labour at any moment, watched them as they went out by ones and twos, and + knew that at last Laurent and Annette were together. The heat of summer + noon was in the air. The <i>place</i> was empty, and there was everywhere + a humming silence through which his ear discerned now and then the deeper + hum of Laurent’s voice. Not a word was audible, or would have been even + had Paul cared to play the eavesdropper, but one might have thought that + the doctor was preaching a sermon. + </p> + <p> + ‘He’s a wise old man, is Laurent,’ said Paul to himself, ‘and, for a + bachelor, he seems to have an uncommon good knowledge of women. That comes + out of a doctor’s practice, I dare say.’ + </p> + <p> + The heat of the day, the single glass of wine he had taken, and the hearty + meal he had eaten after his morning fast, all combined to make him drowsy, + and he had fallen into a half-slumber in which he saw hazily the creatures + of his fancy moving behind the footlights, when the door of the + dining-room opened, and he heard Laurent’s words of farewell: + </p> + <p> + ‘Croyez moi, Madame Armstrong, c’est une affaire assez grave. Mais + courage, courage! Et—bon jour—et bonne espérance.’ + </p> + <p> + Then the door closed, and the doctor’s sturdy feet in their thick-soled + boots went echoing along the parquet, clattered for a moment on the + pavement outside, and were lost to hearing. + </p> + <p> + Paul woke with a numbness at the heart. The affair was serious; but + courage, and good hope! That sounded grave. He rose from his chair, the + pipe between his lips still sending up a spiral of blue smoke. He was + asking himself whether he should go in to the next apartment either to + comfort or to question, when the door of the <i>salle à manger</i> again + opened, and Annette stole into his room. She pushed the door wide and + stood framed for an instant against the shadow of the corridor. She was + dressed in some filmy white stuff, with a great blue bow at the throat and + a bow of scarlet in her hair. She had an odd taste in contrasts, but the + Parisian touch was always evident in what she wore, and if her scheme of + personal adornment were sometimes quaint, it was always artistic. Paul + noticed then, and remembered always, a strange pathos in her look. She + seemed for the moment curiously childlike. Her face had once more lost its + colour, and her eyes, which were thick with tears, were like those of a + child grown frightened in loneliness, and searching doubtfully and almost + in terror for the homeward way. + </p> + <p> + She put out her hands towards him with a gesture of appeal. It seemed as + if she asked his pardon, though why that should be he could not guess, and + as he made a hasty movement towards her she entered the room suddenly, and + thrust the door vehemently behind her so that the corridor rang with the + echo of the sound. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she said, ‘Paul!’ and sinking on her knees before him, she threw + her arms round him and began to cry bitterly. + </p> + <p> + He tried to raise her, but her arms clung tightly, and he could do nothing + but stand there awkwardly and smooth her hair with foolish, + half-articulate expressions of sympathy. She cried as if broken-hearted + for a time, and when at last his caressing fingers raised her face towards + his own, her chin and throat were wet with tears, and her eyes were still + brimming. He coaxed her with much difficulty to an arm-chair, and when he + had seated her there he knelt beside her with an arm about her waist. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it, little woman?’ he asked. ‘Dear little woman, what is it?’ + </p> + <p> + He had striven in vain with his disengaged hand to draw away the + interlaced fingers she had knitted across her eyes, but at this appeal she + cast her arms abroad and looked at him with a swift intentness through her + tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘You mean it?’ she asked with an eager fierceness in her eyes and voice. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mean it?’ he answered. ‘What, the dear little woman? Of course I mean + it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she said, ‘if you will only love me, if you will only strive with + me, I will love and worship you all my days.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What can I do?’ he asked. ‘Tell me, and I will do it’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ she cried, beating the air with her hands, ‘these moods, these + follies! they are my own fault I am dividing myself from you. I am + breaking my own heart; I am miserable for no reason. Help me, Paul, help + me! Be at least my friend!’ + </p> + <p> + He was not a man to whom such an appeal could be made in vain, and his + heart acquitted him of any falsehood when he assured her that he loved + her, and would yield her any earthly service in his power. + </p> + <p> + ‘But, sweetheart,’ he said, ‘tell me how I am to help you. Don’t think + that there is any reproach in what I say, but often when I wish to be near + you you banish me, and I have to go, because all my thought is not to + harass you. I heard what Laurent said just now——’ + </p> + <p> + Her face hardened into an expression of inquiry. Her black brows shot down + level, over her brown eyes, and the eyes gloomed at him with a threat in + them. + </p> + <p> + ‘You heard?’ she said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he responded caressingly, ‘I heard his parting words, “l’affaire + est assez grave—mais courage, et bonne espérance.”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that all you heard?’ she demanded, bending the level challenge of her + brows still lower, and snaking away her form from his embrace as if she + feared it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I heard no more,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well!’ she answered in a sudden lassitude. She fell back into the + arm-chair with closed eyes, and suffered her hands to fall laxly on either + side of her knees. ‘You will find me a changed girl, Paul. I am going to + have done with my moods, and I am going to follow—I am going to + follow—what is it I am going to follow? M. Laurent knows. Oh yes, it + is the goddess of hygiene! I am to bathe, and I am to drive, and I am to + walk, and I am to be equably cheerful, and I am to give up my black coffee + and my strong tea and my eau des Carmes, and I am never to drink wine + until dinner-time, and then only two glasses—two little glasses of + claret or burgundy—and then I am to be quite an angel of good + temper, and everybody is to adore me. That is the verdict of M. Laurent. + Do you think, Paul, I shall be charming when I have done all these + things?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You would be charming, little sweetheart,’ said Paul, ‘whether you did + them or no. It is not a question of charm, but of health, dear, and + Laurent is a very sage old gentleman indeed, and you may follow his + counsel with perfect certainty. I can’t help owning,’ he went on, ‘that + I’ve been a little nervous lately about the fluctuation of your spirits, + and I’m glad he happened to drop in and have a talk with you.’ + </p> + <p> + She flashed from languor into a mood of vivid irony. Her lips curled, her + eyes opened wide with a dancing beryl-coloured flame behind them, and her + eyebrows arched in a sublime disdain. + </p> + <p> + ‘You didn’t send him?’ she asked + </p> + <p> + ‘I?’ said Paul, with a guilty stammer—’ I—send him?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, before you lie,’ said Annette, with a tragic gesture of the hand, + ‘hear me. The window of our dressing-room happens—just happens, by + God’s providence to confute a fool—to command a view of Dr. + Laurent’s door. I saw you go in; I could even hear you knock. Do you think + you can deceive me? Pah!’ + </p> + <p> + She rose, evaded his arm, swept from the room in a kind of torrential + rage, banged the door behind her, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + He was so amazed at it all—the swift interchange of penitence to + self-abasement, languor, challenge, suspicion, wrath, and accusation—that + he stood dumfounded, not knowing what to think. He heard the flying feet + and swirling skirts as Annette raced upstairs. In the drowsy stillness of + the afternoon he heard the door of her bedroom close with a decisive + click, and then the sharp shooting of the bolt and the shrieking of the + key as it turned in its unaccustomed wards. Still standing there in + wonderment, he listened to her footsteps overhead as she dashed through + the dressing-room, and an instant later came the slamming and the locking + of a second door. + </p> + <p> + He sat down, reached mechanically for his pipe, beat out the ashes from it + on the level tiles of the hearth, and mechanically filled and lit it. He + searched his mind for a clue to the whole extraordinary business of the + last half-hour, and could find but one: the anxieties of coming maternity, + and possibly the change of frame which women suffer at such times, had + unhinged Annette, and had disturbed her mind and nerves from their + ordinary balance. He longed for an interview with Laurent, but he dared + not seek it. He would have sent a messenger to him, but he also might be + watched by those keen and too observant eyes. + </p> + <p> + As he sat and thought things over he gradually gathered courage, and at + length he began to discern a touch of comedy in that which had so much + disturbed him. It was a very tender and touching comedy, but it was comedy + all the same—a bird-soul of light and laughter hovering over a lake + of tears. The <i>dear</i> little woman! He had thought her + unimpressionable, even a little stupid, and he saw now how much he had + wronged her. She was full of emotions he had never suspected, and could + not even now analyze. Her very waywardness, the strange caprices of + feeling which had so astonished him as they chased each other, began to + look charming in the new light his thoughts cast upon them. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thus it is,’ said Paul to himself, ‘we come into the world casting our + shadows before us, and making laughter and trouble of all sorts for our + makers before we are born.’ + </p> + <p> + It was obviously the mother’s lot to suffer much. It was obviously the + man’s business to be very patient, very tender. He began to think himself + exceeding good and wise. He was learning to appreciate a new feature in + human nature, something which had its element of unpleasantness if not + rightly seen and understood, but, being so seen and understood, a very + beautiful and tender thing indeed. There was a sacred shyness in his + thoughts, but overriding this a triumphant tender understanding of the + humours of the situation which tickled him most delicately. It would be + easy to be patient now that he understood so well, and he resolved upon + patience comfortably. + </p> + <p> + He sat so absorbed in his own fancies and feelings that he was unaware of + the rumble of a carriage and the ‘clicking of horses’ hoofs over the + cobbles of the <i>place</i>, but he knew of these things a moment later + when the broad-beamed Evariste rapped at his study-door, and announced two + gentlemen to see him. Straight upon her heels came Darco in a silk hat of + splendid lustre, and a nobly frogged overcoat with costly astrachan at + cuffs and collar, as though, instead of being the sweltering day it was, + it had been mid-winter. Behind him came Pauer, in tweeds and a white + waistcoat, his face gold colour with his ancient jaundice, and his eyes a + pale saffron. They were both in the best of good humours, and Darco stood + on tiptoe to take Paul by the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ve have done id!’ he cried in a voice of triumph. ‘Ve have done id this + time, ant no mistake!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What have you done?’ asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vot have we done, Pauer—eh? Vot haf we done?’ cried Darco. ‘Tell + him and have done with it,’ said Pauer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ve have bought the Goncreve,’ said Darco, with a glowing air of triumph. + </p> + <p> + ‘Bought the what?’ asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Congreve Theatre,’ Pauer explained. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is vot I am zayink,’ cried Darco. ‘Ve haf bought the Goncreve. It is + in the handts of the decorators now. Ve shall oben in the first week of + Sebtemper, ant ve are coing for the gloves. Ve are coing to oben with a + gomedy. Do you hear? A gomedy. Ant you ant I are coing to write that + gomedy. Do you understandt?’ He slipped out of his overcoat, and threw it + into the arm-chair in the corner. Then he banged the lustrous hat upon the + table, and snatching up a pen, thrust it into Paul’s hand. ‘Ve are coing + to wride that gomedy, ant ve are coing to begin at vonce—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, certainly,’ said Paul. ‘Have you got an idea to work on?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My poy,’ said Darco, ‘I am primming with iteas. I am itching all ofer + with iteas, as if I were living in a bag of vleas. I am Cheorge Dargo. Ven + you find Cheorge Dargo without iteas you may co to the nearest ghemist ant + ask for poison. Take your ben ant sit down, ant I will show you if I haf + iteas or no.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + The work thus abruptly begun lasted for weeks, and Darco’s enthusiasm + drove Paul before it as if it had been a hurricane. Pauer lounged for a + day or two, and then betook his golden visage and saffron eyes to London, + leaving the pair to their labours. Paul and Darco worked on an average + twelve hours a day, and it happened occasionally that a group of terrified + <i>commis voyageurs</i> would assemble in the passage outside the study + anticipating murder, whilst Darco, in Alsatian English, declaimed the + passion of his heroine. There were deep wells of laughter here and there + in the course of that dramatic pilgrimage. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, vat I want,’ said Darco, ‘is just this: It is Binda’s endrance. She + is a leedle vat you would call distraught, not mat, but ankrished. She is + very pretty, she is very bale. She stands at the door, and Raoul does not + see her. She is there for vive zeconds to a tick, not more, not less—vive + zeconds; write it down. Enter Binda, pause, unobserved, vive zeconds. Have + you got it down? She is priddy, she is bale, a leedle touch of colour + under the eyes; she is tressed in vite, some filmy kind of stuff, with a + plue bow at the throat and a bit of scarlet ribbon, or red flower, or + zomethings, in her hair. And zo she stands at the door and she looks at + Raoul, and he toes not know she is there, ant vor just those vive zeconds + there is no music, not a note, and then—— Look here, I am + Cheorge Dargo; I can write a blay, and stage a blay, and baint the zeenery + for a blay, and I can gompose the music for a blay, and I can berform on + every damned inztrument in the orghestra. And this is vod Binda does: Bale + and bretty, do you zee? at the door for vive zilent zeconds, and then with + all her zoul one great appeal, she crosses to Raoul at his desk petween + zecond and third O.P., ant she coes like this.’ + </p> + <p> + The fat, brief-statured man waddled in his enthusiasm from Binda’s + imaginary entering-place towards Paul with an allure of comedy-pathos so + piercing in its effect that the amanuensis cast both hands in the air with + a shriek of helpless mirth, and, losing his balance, wallowed on the floor + amidst untidy heaps of books, newspapers, and manuscript. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vod is the madder?’ Darco cried, rushing towards Paul, and leaning over + him with instant solicitude. + </p> + <p> + Darco’s collaborateur was smitten with a sudden shame and repentance. + </p> + <p> + ‘A kind of spasm,’ he said breathlessly—‘a pain just here.’ + </p> + <p> + Darco helped him to his feet. + </p> + <p> + ‘You are too emotional, tear poy,’ he said; ‘you are too easily vorked + upon. I will rink the pell for a prandy-ant-zoda, ant you shall lie town + vor a leettle while.’ + </p> + <p> + It was the thick-set Evariste who brought the syphon bottle and the small + carafe of brandy and the tumblers, and it was she who caught Paul on her + broad Flemish bosom when the drink, which he had accepted soberly, went + the wrong way, and with a wild snort into his tumbler he fell backwards. + </p> + <p> + ‘Le bauvre cheune homme à dombé zupidement malade.’ + </p> + <p> + The poor young man was horribly afraid at first of having irredeemably + hurt Darco’s feelings, but that excellent enthusiast had not even the + beginning of an idea that it was possible for anyone to laugh at him + unless he chose of purpose aforethought to be laughable. Thus the episode + passed lightly enough, but Paul was continually in danger of a reversion + to it whenever the distraught heroine appeared upon the scene. + </p> + <p> + He saw but little of Annette during the weeks of labour to which Darco’s + new enterprise enforced him. She slept alone, and was rarely accessible + before the mid-day breakfast or later than the dinner-hour. Laurent + visited her almost daily, and she seemed to submit to his attentions with + a better grace than she had shown at first; but she was still subject to + those rapid and violent alternations of mood which had already perplexed + and alarmed her husband. She had apparently conceived an aversion to being + seen abroad, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she could be + persuaded to take an occasional carriage drive. + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall venture to advise you,’ said Laurent to Paul ‘You tell me that + your work is almost finished, and that in a day or two you are setting out + for London.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will do well to take Mrs. Armstrong with you,’ Laurent said. ‘She is + in need of change and distraction. This quiet, dead-alive existence is not + good for her. You must insist upon her shaking herself free of the habits + of seclusion into which she is falling. I should urge you very strongly to + find some good creature of her own sex who would be a companion to her. + She is living too much alone; she has too few interests.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, of course,’ Paul answered, ‘that is very largely my fault; but the + press of work is over now, and I shall be able to give more time and care + to her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will find it advisable,’ said Laurent, with a certain meaning in his + face and voice which Paul at the moment could not fathom. + </p> + <p> + Something occurred to put an end to their conversation, and it was not + resumed before Paul’s departure with Darco for London. When it came to the + point Annette flatly refused to go to England. She averred that she was + not strong enough to travel, that she was altogether better and happier + where she was than she hoped to be elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will be back in a month’s time,’ she urged. ‘You will be busy all the + while you are away. The theatre will claim you day and night, and I should + be moping in some great hotel without a soul to speak to. I am quite at + home amongst the people here, and they are used to me and to my ways.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul urged Laurent’s suggestion upon her, and she received it with an + unexpected anger. + </p> + <p> + ‘What? A companion? And may I ask you why?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For no other earthly reason than that you should have a friend at hand—somebody + who might on occasion be useful to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh no,’ said Annette, tossing her head, and then looking askance at him, + with half-veiled eyes: ‘you would like to have me watched and spied upon, + and to have a report of my conduct sent to you, as if I were a prisoner or + a maniac.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear child,’ said Paul, in sheer amazement, ‘what extraordinary dream + is this? What has put so strange a fancy in your mind?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me,’ cried Annette, suddenly whirling round upon him, ‘what is it + you suspect? What intrigue? What plot? What secret?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘there is no plot—no secret But you know that + you are not quite yourself of late, and it is not right or kind to leave + you here in your present delicate health without some responsible person + to look after you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Has M. Laurent been poisoning your mind against me?’ she demanded, with a + curious slowness. She advanced a foot as she spoke, and moved forward + towards him with a something between fear and anger in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear child,’ he answered, ‘what strange illusions are you nursing? + Intrigues and plots, and watching and reports! Don’t believe in any such + nonsense, I implore you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What has Laurent been telling you about me? I insist—I <i>will</i> + know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Laurent has been telling me that he thinks you are likely to find a + change beneficial, and that you ought not to be left here alone.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not?’ she asked, with a flash of rage. ‘Why am I incapable of taking + care of myself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are not strong or well,’ said Paul. ‘You are not quite mistress of + your own emotions.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah!’ she cried, ‘now we are to have the accusation. I am going mad! Is + that it? You would like to get rid of me on that ground? Do I understand + at last?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul would have been blind if he had failed to see that beneath the air of + scorn she strove to wear there was some real terror in her mind, and he + did his best to soothe it. + </p> + <p> + ‘All these things are the merest fancies,’ he began. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ she broke in. ‘Delusions! That is step number one. We suffer + from delusions.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you believe in anything of the sort that you suggest, you are + mistaken. If you wish to be happy, you must banish all that nonsense from + your mind. It <i>is</i> pure nonsense, dearest. Why should Laurent try to + poison my mind? He likes you very well. He takes a warm interest in you, + to the best of my belief. But you are really very fanciful and strange + to-day, and you have been giving yourself up far too much to solitude for + two months past. It is your duty to yourself and me to accept Laurent’s + advice. You must not be left here alone. You may choose your own + companion. She shall be entirely at your orders. You shall engage her + yourself; you shall pay her salary; she shall be at your own control.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know,’ she answered, tapping her foot upon the floor. ‘I know. The + truth is, you never really cared for me, and now you have grown tired. You + want to be rid of me.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, that,’ said Paul, ‘is not only nonsense, it is very wicked nonsense, + and I will not permit it The whole matter lies with yourself. If you + continue to nurse those wrong and foolish thoughts, you will make it + necessary for me to insist upon your obedience. If you will behave like a + sensible creature, I may feel justified in yielding to your wish, and + leaving you behind. But if I have any more of these absurd suspicions I + shall not venture to leave you here.’ + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a purposed sternness, but with something of a heartache, + too. There was no escape in his own mind from the belief that the whole + change which had of late revealed itself in Annette was due to the fact of + approaching maternity, and he had a man’s natural pity for her sufferings. + He bore her fancies with patience, but he thought it best for her that he + should feign some anger at them. + </p> + <p> + The plan seemed to act for the time being at least, for after a moment’s + incertitude, in which she seemed to battle with herself, she turned her + humid brown eyes upon him, and said softly: + </p> + <p> + ‘I am very foolishly suspicious sometimes, Paul. I know—oh, I know + that I am not the girl I used to be. Bear with me, dear. I shall be + different by-and-by.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sure of that,’ he answered, and she approaching him with an + appealing languor in her eyes, and in the carriage of her whole figure, he + took her into his arms, and for a minute or two she cried quietly upon his + shoulder. He patted and caressed her, and she looked up with a quivering + face. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will never think or say those things again. I know how wrong they are, + but, Paul, they come into my mind, and I cannot resist them sometimes. But + I will—I will in future. You shall never hear them any more. But I + want you to believe me, dearest, in just this one little thing. It will be + the best and kindest thing that you can do for me to leave me here alone + whilst you are away in London. I am not without friends here, when I can + find the courage and the strength to see them. M. Laurent will look after + me. You will write to me every day, won’t you? I shall not be lonely. But + the idea of having a stranger about me, fussing and inquiring, is + horrible. I can’t bear it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well, dear,’ said Paul, greatly relieved at the turn things had + taken, ‘you shall have your way. But you must remember, dear ‘—he + spoke as soothingly as he could—’ it is my duty to see that you are + cared for properly, and I must not leave you to yourself unless I am quite + assured beforehand that you are certain to be bright and brave when I am + gone.‘He placed his hand beneath her chin, and coaxed her eyes to meet his + own. ‘You won’t nourish these distressing fancies any more, will you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she answered, clinging to him; ‘they are all gone. They are all done + with. You will be kind and good to me, Paul—I know you will. It + isn’t a very great favour for a grown-up woman to ask to be allowed to + take care of herself, is it, Paul, darling?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That must depend,’ he answered gaily, ‘whether the grown-up woman is well + enough and strong enough for the task.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well,’ said Annette with an equal brightness, ‘you shall see.’ + </p> + <p> + There were still two days’ work to be done at the comedy, and Darco was + resolute not to leave for London until all was finished. The first two + acts were already in rehearsal at the Congreve, and Pauer, who was one of + those old stagers of the profession who know their business upside down + and inside out, was in superintendence until Darco should arrive to mould + the whole production to his own exigent fancy. + </p> + <p> + The change in Annette was remarkable. She had evidently made up her mind + for a struggle with herself, and she kept her inequalities of mood in + astonishing control, all things considered. She became interested in the + work in hand, and took some trifle of needlework to the study for the + final reading of the piece between Darco and her husband Paul, with the + manuscript before him, acted the whole comedy as brilliantly as an + arm-chair rendering could go, and Darco with notebook and pencil listened + in keenly attentive silence, note-taking here and there. + </p> + <p> + ‘Id is a gread vork,’ he announced solemnly when it was all over. ‘Id is + peautifully written, and that is your affair, younk Armstronk. But the + goncebtion is clorious, ant that is my affair. Vot? Not? I am Cheorge + Dargo, and I know my trade.’ + </p> + <p> + They were both up at four o’clock next morning to catch the mail to + Calais, and Paul was able to leave Annette without severe misgiving. + Laurent had promised to look after her, and the improvement in her own + hopes appeared so manifest that he felt safe about her, except for those + slight inevitable uneasinesses which occur at such a time. But he was only + to be away for a month at the outside, and he had Laurent’s assurance that + he might make his mind easy. Annette herself rose to see Paul away, in + spite of his remonstrances. She nestled by him whilst he stood to drink + his coffee in the gray dawn of the morning, in the great, empty, echoing + <i>salle à manger</i>, with Darco rolling about the house like an + exaggerated football impelled by unseen influences, and roaring + tempestuous orders like a ship’s captain in a squall. + </p> + <p> + Never in his life had Paul felt so wholly tender as he did then towards + Annette. He had begun to read so many new meanings into her of late. She + seemed no longer the molluscous little creature he had once thought her, + but a woman, capable of much suffering, of some determination, of real + affection. He was leaving her at the very time at which she most needed + his guardianship and care, and at the hour, too, when she seemed first + really to confide in him and cling to him. His eyes were moist when he + held her in a last embrace, and ran into the street in answer to Darco’s + final call. His collaborateur was already seated in the voiture, glossy + silk hat, astrachan cuffs and collar, gold-rimmed eyeglass, and all The <i>cocker’s</i> + whip cracked stormily, and the fat Flemish horse started off at a pace of + four miles an hour. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mark my vorts,’ said Darco, as they rolled along the country road towards + the station at which they were to intercept the northward travelling Malle + des Indes, ‘you are dravelling to vame ant vorchune.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘that’s pleasant to know, isn’t it, old Darco?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is very bleasant,’ returned Darco. ‘You ant I are an iteal gouple. We + fit each other like the two halves of a pear. I am a boet. Do you hear me, + younk Armstronk? I am a boet I am a berson of imachination. I can invent. + I can gontrive. There is nopoty in the vorlt who can gonstruct a blot like + me. But I gannot egspress myself. Now, you gan egspress me; that is your + desdiny. You will egspress Cheorge Dargo. You will descend to future + aitches as the dranslader of Cheorge Dargo.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a happy lot, old chap,’ said Paul, ‘and I am so proud of it that I + am going to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lacy tewle!’ said Darco, ‘give me the script. I haf been thinking of + somethings.’ + </p> + <p> + How Darco worked, stormed, domineered in the ensuing month, nobody outside + the limits of the Congreve knew. He appalled the timid and maddened the + courageous. He was up all night for half a week together, seeming to live + with a teaspoon in one hand and a tin of some nutritive meat essence in + the other, and always administering doses to himself as if he were a + patient in danger of imminent exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr was here, under solemn articles not once to varnish the work of + art until the run of the piece was over. + </p> + <p> + ‘A dreadful circumstance, truly, Mr. Armstrong,’ he complained. ‘I am + deprived of the consolation of one device which has hitherto upheld me at + such times of trial. The piece might run, sir, for a year; it might even + run for two. There is no looking forward to a definite date of relief, + sir. It is like being imprisoned at Her Majesty’s pleasure. A painful + prospect, Mr. Armstrong—-a period of unassuaged incertitude, sir.’ + Daroo burst down upon him like a stormy wind. + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t stand jattering there. Co ant do somethings.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have nothing at this moment which calls for my attention, I do assure + you, Mr. Darco.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Then find somethings. There is always blenty for efery-boty to do about a + theadre.’ + </p> + <p> + Mr. Warr drifted before the storm, and found a harbour in the + painting-room, whence he was blasted five minutes later half shipwrecked + and wholly demoralized. But Darco was a general who could spare his + forces, and three days before the play was announced for production he + addressed his army: + </p> + <p> + ‘Laties and chentlemen, I nefer pelieve in worrying peoples. You haf all + done noply. Tomorrow there will be no call. Next day at eleven sharp, + eferything as at the broduction. Then it will debend upon yourselves + whether you are galled upon to rehearse again or no.’ + </p> + <p> + With this all engaged dispersed well pleased, and Darco announced his + intention of dining and going to bed. He ordered dinner for two, and ate + his double portion through seven courses, after which he went tranquilly + home to his hotel and slept the clock round. + </p> + <p> + The rehearsal next day was so completely satisfactory that he was content + to leave it on its merits, and on the following evening the first + production of the new management at the Congreve went with a roar of + triumph. There was no mistaking the verdict of the house, and the Press + was as emphatic as the first night’s audience. + </p> + <p> + ‘Vod did I dell you?’ Darco asked. ‘Vame and vorchune are at your veed. It + vos a luggy day for us to meet. Vot? Not? I am Cheorge Darga!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was tired, excited, and elated all at once. He had promised to start + for Belgium so soon as the verdict of the public was made clear, but he + could afford to snatch the journey down to Castle Barfield, and to get a + glimpse of the old father. He slept on the journey, and took the last five + miles by cab. Armstrong was in his accustomed place amongst the dusty and + neglected stock when Paul broke in upon him, somewhat grayer than ever, a + little more bent, perhaps, but with just the old look of wise patience in + his face, the shaggy eyebrows fringing just the old quiet twinkle in his + eyes. He declined to express the least atom of surprise. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s you, Paul, is it?’ he asked tranquilly, rising to shake hands. + ‘You’ve had a grand success, I’m learning. I read the notice in the <i>Times</i>.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The play’s all right,’ said Paul. ‘And how’s all here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said his father, ‘we have our dwallin’ in the middle parts of + fortune. We’re neither uplifted nor cast down. Come in, lad. Well all be + glad to see ye.’ + </p> + <p> + The old place was exactly as it always had been in his memory, and yet it + was all shrunken and narrowed, and had grown meaner and more + poverty-stricken than it had used to seem. + </p> + <p> + He settled down in his old place by the fireside, lit his pipe, listened + to the local annals, and prepared to be questioned with respect to his own + prospects and affairs. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll be growing pretty well to do, Paul?’ said Armstrong. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, yes,’ said Paul, feeling at a pocket-book which lay at the right + side of his tweed coat. ‘I’m getting pretty well-to-do.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yell be getting married one of these fine days?’ his father asked, + twinkling dryly at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, the fact is, sir,’ Paul answered in some embarrassment, ‘I am + married.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Holy Paul!’ said Armstrong, and dropped his pipe upon the patchwork rug. + Paul stooped for it to cover his own confusion. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he said hurriedly, ‘I am married. And I felt such a beast for not + having written to tell you all about it that I made up my mind to be my + own messenger. The truth is it was all rather hurried, and unexpected—in + a way. There had been an attachment for some time, but there was no + immediate thought of marriage, and Annette—that is my wife’s name—Annette + fell ill, and was not expected to recover, and it was really, to both our + minds, a sort of death-bed ceremony, and now she is quite recovered.’ + </p> + <p> + There was such a sense of awkwardness upon him that he boggled the simple + story altogether. There was no amazement in his mind at all when his + father spoke next. He could have foretold his words. + </p> + <p> + ‘Man, ‘said Armstrong, ‘had ye led the gyirl astray?’ + </p> + <p> + He had never meant to lie about the matter, but at this point-blank thrust + he lied. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear old dad!’ he said, ‘what <i>are</i> you thinking of?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, Paul,’ said Armstrong—‘I beg your pardon.’ + </p> + <p> + They seemed at once to have a gulf between them, though the simple, honest + elder, who had probably never lied in the whole course of his life, did + not perceive it. Before Paul it gaped unbridgable. + </p> + <p> + ‘She’s a dear, good little creature,’ Paul boggled along, with a + disastrous facility of words which had no guidance. ‘She’s French by + descent, but she speaks very good English—very fair English. I + taught her. I’ll bring her down to see you. We’re living in Belgium at + present, at a little place called Montcourtois, a charming little place. + She likes the quiet of it, and it’s very favourable for work. If one lives + in town there are so many calls upon one’s time. You can’t get really + settled down to the development of an idea, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay,’ said Armstrong, ‘I can imagine that. But, Paul, lad, I could have + wished ye’d written.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t make it harder than it is, sir,’ Paul appealed. ‘I ought to have + written. I’m very sorry that I didn’t, and I’ve come down purposely to + explain it all.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said his father, ‘better late than never. What kind is she like, + lad?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘you can’t expect a man to describe the girl he’s in + love with so as to satisfy anybody else She’s slight and not very tall; + she has brown hair and brown eyes; she has a very pretty voice, and very + dainty ways.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ay, ay, lad!’ said Armstrong; ‘but her soul—her intelligence?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She’s bright and clever,’ Paul cried, rather protestingly. ‘She takes a + keen interest in my work. We’re dearly attached to each other, and I am + looking forward to a happy life.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What like are her people?’ Armstrong asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I don’t know a great deal about her people. She’s an orphan. She + has an elder sister, and an aunt and an uncle or two.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She’ll be a Catholic, will she?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul; ‘her family is Huguenot. I think I should rather have + shrunk from marrying a Catholic. There’s a sort of prejudice of which it + isn’t easy to free the mind.’ + </p> + <p> + He was sinking clean out of sight of his own esteem; but it was his sole + business for the time being to save his father as far as possible, and he + had grown reckless of himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘She shall come to see you,’ he went on, ‘and you wont be able to help + making friends with her. I’ve to be back in Montcourtois to-morrow night, + or she’ll be worrying her life out. That means I must catch the one + o’clock express for town, and that, again, means that I’ve only four hours + to spend at home this time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ye’ll have a glass of whisky, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will, sir,’ Paul answered, ‘with all the pleasure in life.’ + </p> + <p> + So Armstrong went to the cupboard and brought out a bottle and the sugar + basin, and set the kettle on the fire, and then sat down and loaded up his + pipe in silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s much I’d like to say, Paul,’ he began at length. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing in the act which could have moved a stranger to anything + but a smile at the oddity of it, but it touched Paul almost to tears when + the gray old man lugged out of his coat-tail pocket a whole newspaper, and + having pinched from it a most economical fragment, singed his fingers at + the bars in the act of lighting it. He had laughed at that little + quaintness a hundred times as a lad, and it was somehow the first thing + that had come home to him as a real reminder to be in want of + reformation.’ + </p> + <p> + They grew more at ease. Armstrong took up the subject he had broken a few + minutes earlier. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t guess,’ he said, ‘whether you’re believe these thoughts for + yourself, but there’s a gap between you and me, Paul. Ye’ve had grave + troubles. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have, sir,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ve known it,’ said his father. ‘I’ve thoughts in my mind when ye’re + away: “Paul’s blythe,” or I thenk of ye, lad; I sit here in the auld + arm-chair and think of ye, and eh, man, I’m just as certain of myself as + if I were aware of every fact in your existence. Promise me this. I’m + wearing we meet this last time for ever, and I want ye to keep the auld + feelings from time to time. Write a little more regularly, about ye. Take + me into confidence when ye’re gone. + </p> + <p> + Paul promised, and all the estrangement seemed to melt away. This was to + be their last meeting, both or them guessed it, and when at last it grew + to the time Paul must go, the father went down the long hall the + front-door. Paul fumbled for the pocket-book in the darkness of the + passage found a piece of paper, and kissed the old man at parting he + thrust this into his hand. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the station nearest to Montcourtois; then the voiture from the + hotel with the grinning Victor on the box, and Laurent waiting. + </p> + <p> + ‘No bad news’ asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Things are not quite what they might be or what they should be,’ Laurent + answered. ‘But get in, and we will talk as we drive. Do you remember,’ he + asked, whilst Victor filled the night with the noise of a fusillade of + whip-crackings—‘do you remember that I told, you some time ago that + a man should have no secrets from his physician? + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘Well?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have you had any secrets from me in respect to Madame Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No; nothing that I can think of. I don’t quite see what you are driving + at.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you remember,’ Laurent asked, ‘the evening on which you first called + me to attend her—the night on which she cried out that they were + dancing in the wood, and that their bones were white? Do you remember?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good God!’ cried Paul; ‘do I remember?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Did you ever diagnose that case? the doctor asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘No. Do you mean to say that her mind is affected, that—— + </p> + <p> + ‘You never guessed?’ asked Laurent, leaning across to him and grasping him + by the arm—‘you never guessed? Upon your life and honour?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Guessed? Guessed what?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ said Laurent, ‘I am going to hurt you, and I cannot help it. I am + sorry, but it must be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Speak out, man!’ gasped Paul—‘speak out!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That,’ said Laurent, ‘was delirium tremens.’ + </p> + <p> + They had three miles to travel, and not another word was spoken on the + road; but as they passed the doctor’s house a voice called out to him, and + the driver pulled up. + </p> + <p> + ‘Stay with me a moment, Mr. Armstrong,’ said Laurent ‘I will but give this + man an ordonnance for the pharmacien, and I will be with you. Drive home, + Victor!’ + </p> + <p> + The carriage rattled off; the doctor, the messenger, and Paul stood at the + kerb for a minute or so. The carriage rumbled into the distance; a window + was heard to open and to dose. Laurent took Paul’s arm, and they walked + together without a word until they came in front of the window of the room + which Paul had used as a study. The blind was up, a lamp was lit, and the + whole room was visible from the roadway. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mon Dieu!’ said Laurent in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Annette was there in her nightdress, looking from side to side like a + hunted creature. A decanter stood upon the table. She approached it + crouching, seized it with one hand, took a tumbler in the other, and three + times poured and three times drank as if the draught were water; then she + glided away and closed the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + For any and every episode of his life save this, Paul, when he chose to + think about it, could make a fairly expressive picture in his mind, and + could bring back something of the emotion of the time. Here he could + remember only that Laurent clutched him by the arm, and that he turned on + Laurent with something of the vague appeal for aid which might be imagined + in the mind of a frightened child. He saw that a thousand signs which he + should have recognised had escaped him, and in the flush of real + apprehension which followed this thought he seemed to himself to have been + almost wilfully blind to the truth. There were so many things which might + have guided him, and he had taken warning by none of them. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, old chap,’ he said to Laurent, speaking unconsciously + in English, ‘but I’m a little bit upset. You would not mind lending me + your arm inside?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Assuredly not,’ cried Laurent, still supporting him; and the two men + entered the hotel together. + </p> + <p> + The Solitary still remembered how his clumsy footsteps seemed to fumble at + the stone stairs, and the very pressure of Laurent’s arm upon his own + shoulder was still a living sensation with him; yet for the actual moment + thought and sensation alike seemed to have been abolished. Laurent, when + the study had once been reached, helped Paul into a chair, and stood over + him with a look of friendly solicitude. + </p> + <p> + ‘A little stimulant, I think,’ he said at last, in a tone of commonplace, + and set a hand on the decanter which Annette had so recently laid down. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not that, Laurent!’ cried Paul, with a gesture the other was swift to + interpret. + </p> + <p> + The doctor left the room with a meaningless, friendly tap on Paul’s + shoulder, and came back a few instants later with a bottle of brandy. + </p> + <p> + ‘I insist,’ he said commandingly, in answer to Paul’s rejecting wave of + the hand. + </p> + <p> + When Laurent insisted there were few people who said him nay, and Paul + took the potion which was poured out for him. + </p> + <p> + He could remember it all, from this point onward, as if he had been a mere + disinterested spectator of the scene. He could see his own figure + straightening itself mechanically in the chair in which it sat. He could + see himself mechanically throwing one leg over another, and assuming an + attitude of indifference and ease. He could see himself distinctly in the + act of knocking out the ashes of his pipe upon the grate; in the refilling + and lighting of it; in the numberless little gestures which seemed to + indicate an entire possession of himself And all the while something was + booming in his mind as if the word ‘lost ‘were only half articulated there—a + scarcely uttered word that carried doom with it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not know,’ said Laurent, speaking, for a man of his experience and + authority, rather brokenly—‘I do not know whether it was my duty to + have spoken earlier. I have not known you very long; but we have learned + to like each other, and I would have done you the service to tell you what + I knew a month or two ago if I could have found the courage. But I will + ask you to believe that I was much perplexed, and that I could not resolve + in my own mind whether or not you knew already. It would have seemed a + cruel thing to intrude upon such a secret.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul, breaking silence for the first time since he had entered + the house, ‘I understand that’ He pulled gravely at his pipe, and sipped + again at the glass Laurent had poured out for him. ‘What’s going to be + done?’ he asked; and then, with a sudden petulance, ‘What have I got to + do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘In a patient so young,’ said Laurent, ‘unless there is some hereditary + taint to combat, there should be no impossibility in establishing a cure. + What of Madame Armstrong’s heredity?’ What did Paul know of Madame + Armstrong’s heredity? Save for a casual glimpse of her sister, who had + seemed to him as commonplace as candle-light, he had no knowledge of any + person of her name or family. He sat silent, not knowing how to express + his ignorance without compromising Annette and himself. But Laurent + pressed him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know of anything,’ he asked, ‘which should make the task of cure + difficult?’ And, being thus pressed, there seemed nothing for it but for + Paul to say that he knew nothing. ‘Then,’ said Laurent, ‘we must not + despair. I have already spoken to your wife, and have pointed out to her + the very serious nature of her danger, and she has promised me amendment. + With what result,’ he added, throwing his arms abroad, ‘you see.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You think it a serious danger? Paul asked him. + </p> + <p> + ‘My God!’ ejaculated Laurent—‘serious! But an instant, my dear + Armstrong. We are not thinking of a male inebriate; we are thinking of a + woman—a question so different that there is barely any comparison to + be made.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that so? said Paul, in a voice of little interest, though he felt for + the moment as if his heart were breaking. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is so,’ returned Laurent, with emphasis; ‘and I can assure you that, + if you desire to effect a cure here, you must betake yourself—and + betake yourself at once—to heroic measures. Your wife must be + placed, without delay, in competent hands, and no restraint must be placed + upon those who undertake to treat her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ said Paul dully, ‘I understand all that We’ll have another + talk in the morning, if you don’t mind.’ + </p> + <p> + Laurent forbore to speak further just then, but he kept Paul in silent + company for an hour, and was more useful in that way than he could have + been if he had poured out the gathered knowledge of an encyclopaedia upon + him. He gave that dumb sense of sympathy which, in hours of deep distress, + is so very much more potent than the spoken word. Paul at last rose and + shook him by the hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-night,’ he said, ‘and thank you.’ + </p> + <p> + Laurent accepted his dismissal, returned the grip, took up his hat and + moved away. It would appear that he had not gone far, for when an instant + later Paul poured out a second or third glass of cognac for himself, there + came a tap upon the study window, and Laurent’s face was visible there + dose to one of the lower panes. Paul threw the window open and looked out + at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have something to say?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Laurent, with a grave and tender face, ‘I have this one thing + to say: Do not follow that sorrowful example.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said Paul, ‘have no fear there; my temptation does not lie in that + direction.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear young friend,’ said Laurent, ‘no man until he is tempted knows in + what direction his temptation lies.’ + </p> + <p> + They shook hands again through the open window and then parted definitely + for the night. + </p> + <p> + Paul sat long in the silence, not thinking of anything in particular or + conscious of any particular emotion. The café on the opposite side of the + <i>place</i> had long since closed. When Laurent’s footsteps had faded out + of hearing there was no sound abroad for which it was not necessary to + listen, except when a distant dog barked now and then, or the slow rumble + of a far-off train came once into hearing and disappeared in the valley + with which the railway clove the low hills beyond Janenne. The dark air of + night flowed in through the open window, cool and sweet, bringing with it + the familiar odours of the pine plantations in which the countryside + abounded. Paul smoked pipe after pipe, and he knew very well that if + anybody had been there to look at him, he would have seemed unmoved, and + yet he seemed to himself more than once to be playing the mountebank with + his own trouble, as when, for instance, the lines came into his mind: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears, + That grief has shaken into frost’ +</pre> + <p> + But all the while there was a slow anguish rising within him or around + him. It seemed to reach his breast quite suddenly and almost to stop the + beating of his heart. Then it ebbed away again, and he found himself + crooning unemotionally, ‘For years—a measureless ill—for ever, + for ever!’ The pain came back, and once more ebbed away. What was it? he + asked in the self-torturing way which besets the analyst of his own + nature. Self-pity, he answered. Self-pity, pure and simple. He, Paul + Armstrong, furnished with heart and brains and social powers, with fortune + at hand, and fame to be had for the beckoning, had slid into this + sickening quagmire thus early in his life’s pilgrimage, and had come to an + arrest there. + </p> + <p> + Then, out of this profound despondency he arose to a sudden resolution. + This was not a matter to be despaired of. It was a thing to fight against, + an ill not to be endured, but to be cured. Laurent would help, but the + main share of the conflict must fall upon himself. Almost for the first + time in his life he was conscious of a clear and definite call to manhood. + He was entered for a real strife with Fate—a fight to a finish. + Well, he would not shrink from it He set himself to ask what weapons he + could use. Patience, tact, determination, sleepless vigilance—they + all seemed as if they were to be had for the asking. He resolved upon them + all, and so, having closed the window and put out the lamp, he walked + heavily up to bed. + </p> + <p> + Annette’s doors were locked, both that which gave upon the corridor and + that which communicated with his own little room. He could but remember + how often they had been closed before, and what varying reasons he had + been forced to seek and find for her isolation of herself. That riddle was + read now. There would be a stormy scene in the morning when he came to + tell Annette that he had solved it, and thinking of how he should face it, + and of what means were the likeliest to lead to ultimate victory, he lost + something of the sickness of his pain. He undressed and lay down in the + dark, but there was no sleep for him until long after the window-blind had + grown amber-tinted with the gleam of the level sun upon it. + </p> + <p> + When he awoke his watch told him that it was near ten o’clock. He rang for + his bath, dressed, breakfasted, met the people of the house, and answered + their friendly inquiries as to his journey all pretty much as if nothing + had occurred to change the whole horizon of his life. He made no inquiries + as to Annette, and no news came to him with regard to her. + </p> + <p> + It was near noonday when Laurent came into his study, very grave and gray, + and looking as if he, too, had had a night of severe trouble. Paul read + the sympathy in his face, and rose to meet him. The two shook hands, and + from that moment there was a real friendship between them. ‘You have seen + her? Laurent asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not yet,’ said Paul + </p> + <p> + ‘You have thought over what I was compelled to tell you—what you + saw?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes; I have thought it all over. + </p> + <p> + ‘And your conclusions?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘To ask the aid of your experience, and to abide by your advice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ said Laurent gravely. ‘I, too, have been thinking, and + perhaps, in my judgment, it may be better that I should first see her + alone. In my capacity of physician I can speak impersonally.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am in your hands,’ Paul answered, ‘and I shall accede to whatever you + think is best.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ returned Laurent, with a gray smile, ‘I do not commonly advocate + eavesdropping, but I think perhaps it may be as well for you to hear our + talk together. It will guide you as to what you may say or do hereafter. I + will send up my name now, and when I am admitted you may follow to your + own small room. Is that espionage? I do not very greatly care myself, for + I shall warn her from the first that I shall faithfully report every + spoken word so far as I can remember it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will come,’ said Paul. ‘I have the right And the more I know the better + I can use it.’ + </p> + <p> + Laurent twirled the milled button of the call-bell which stood upon the + desk. + </p> + <p> + ‘My respects to Madame Armstrong,’ he said, when the landlady’s + middle-aged daughter came in and smoothed her apron as a sign of respect + to Monsieur le Médecin. ‘I am a few moments late, but I am here to keep my + appointment.’ + </p> + <p> + Out went Mademoiselle Adèle, and her slippered footsteps faded up the + staircase. There was a sound of knocking, a conversation inaudible to the + two who strained their ears to listen, and then mademoiselle was back + again. + </p> + <p> + Madame was <i>malade—bien malade</i>—would beg Monsieur le + Médecin to excuse her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then I will try,’ said Laurent ‘I have your authority?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Absolutely,’ said Paul, and the doctor went creaking up the stairs in his + heavy, country-made boots. + </p> + <p> + Paul sat alone again and listened with his heart in his ears. + </p> + <p> + A series of raps sounded upon the door above, at first quiet and + persuasive, and then increasing in intensity. There came a faint sound of + protesting inquiry, and in answer: + </p> + <p> + ‘Dr. Laurent, s’il vous plait, madame.’ + </p> + <p> + There was another protest, and Laurent spoke again: + </p> + <p> + ‘But I am here by appointment, madame, and I cannot afford to waste my + time.’ + </p> + <p> + And just here a curious and rather embarrassing thing happened, for the + doctor, laying a nervous hand upon the door, found it suddenly opened to + him with no symptom of resistance. + </p> + <p> + ‘A thousand pardons!’ he exclaimed. ‘Pray tell me when you are ready.’ + </p> + <p> + Annette was at the door like a wild cat, but the square-built toe of + Laurent’s foot was between it and the jamb. Paul raced up the stairs in + his stocking-feet, his boots in his hand. This was not a time for + delicacies of sentiment He wished to save Annette. He wished even more to + save himself from the misery of a lifelong degradation. He darted into his + own room whilst Laurent was still standing like a statue at the door of + the adjoining chamber, but reached it barely in time, for on a sudden the + door of Annette’s apartment was thrown open, and a voice of imperious + sarcasm demanded to know to what Madame Armstrong was indebted for this + unexpected honour. + </p> + <p> + ‘It will be well,’ said Laurent in his professional tone, ‘for Madame + Armstrong to return to bed.’ + </p> + <p> + He turned the key in the door, and at this Annette sent out shriek on + shriek, until the whole corridor seemed to shrill with the outcry. + </p> + <p> + ‘Madame,’ said Laurent in his deep nasal voice, when the clamour died down + for a moment, ‘your husband is in the house. He is within hearing. I have + his entire authority to speak to you, and I am intent to use it I am here + to tell you that you have abused his absence and his confidence, and that + on his arrival at Janenne last night I told him the result of my + observations during the last four or five weeks.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul, boots in hand, sat on the edge of his own bed, and heard a kind of + gasping noise. Then for a moment there was silence until Laurent spoke + again. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you will permit, madame,’ he said, ‘this interview may go smoothly. If + you choose to be angry, that is your affair. I am authorized by your + husband, as your physician, to speak plain truths to you. You need not + trouble to deny me, but I see you have already been drinking.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How dare you!’ she flashed out, and Paul heard the stamp of her little + naked foot upon the fox-skin rug which lay beside their bed. + </p> + <p> + ‘Madame,’ said Laurent, ‘there is no question of daring or not daring. I + have told your husband everything, and he is sitting in the next room at + this moment, and hears every word we speak.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul!’ she cried, ‘Paul is here? Why hasn’t he been to see me? Why has he + no word for me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madame,’ said Laurent sternly, ‘I bid you cease these theatrical + pretences. Your unhappy husband saw you last night when you three times + seized the decanter which had been left for him.’ + </p> + <p> + She gasped: ‘You liar!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is all very well, madame,’ responded Laurent, ‘but my eyes are mine, + and I have known the truth for months past. Why do you venture on a hope + so vain? Now, I will tell you plainly, Madame Armstrong, you are going on + the way to hell. You are to be stopped, and you shall be stopped. Pray + make no mistake as to the authority that is to be exerted. It shall be + exerted as mildly as you permit. It shall be exerted as inexorably as the + necessities of the case demand I have told you already many times into + what a pitfall you were descending, but until last night I never dared to + warn your husband. He knows the truth now, knows it all, and he leaves you + in my hands. You have not heeded advice or beseeching, and—I say it, + believe me, with deep reluctance—we must draw a cordon about you, + and protect you from yourself. Pray understand, madame, it is a protective + cordon only, and your own action may relax it at any time; but your + actions will be watched, as it is my duty to tell you, to the extremest + scruple.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘What do you mean to do? Paul heard her ask in a husky, panting voice, + which made him figure in his own mind a hunted creature almost run to + ground. + </p> + <p> + ‘Nothing more,’ Laurent replied, ‘nothing more, madame, believe me—nothing + more than is dictated by the necessities of the case. You have an + ordonnance dating from Paris. + </p> + <p> + I have instructed the pharmacien that he is no longer to respect it.’ + </p> + <p> + Annette whined at this like a child robbed of a toy. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have forbidden him this morning,’ Laurent pursued, ‘to supply you, + without my special direction, with any drug whatever, and I have given him + particular orders about the eau’des Carmes. I am now about to tell the + hotel people that you are under my care and treatment, and that you will + be allowed only a measured quantity of wine per diem.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You mean to expose me to them?’ Annette asked + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not propose to expose madame to anybody,’ Laurent responded, ‘but if + madame chooses to expose herself——’ + </p> + <p> + The listener could imagine the shrug of the broad shoulders and the + outward cast of the persuasive hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘Voyons, madame,’ pursued the doctor, ‘we wish nothing but your good, but + that we are determined to accomplish. I have nothing to add to what I have + said already, and perhaps it is time that you should see your husband.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul hastily thrust his feet into his slippers, and awaited the opening of + the door. + </p> + <p> + ‘He is there,’ said Laurent; ‘he has probably listened to every word we + have spoken.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul sat trembling on the bed-edge. The imminent interview disturbed him + strangely, and set all manner of conflicting tides flowing in heart and + brain. He was part coward and part hero; ready to face everything and to + run away from everything. His pity for Annette was pity, and no more; his + sympathy for Paul Armstrong amounted to a passion. He strove to bring + himself to what he conceived to be a more fitting mood, but whilst he + struggled with himself the inner door of the room in which he sat was + suddenly torn open, and Annette stood before him. He could not have + believed, without that actual visual revelation, that such a wreck could + have been achieved in so small a space of time. Whatever of spirituality, + whatever of youthful foolish <i>espièglerie</i> the face had held, had + vanished. The visage was like a mask—and a mask of death. There was + a splash of purplish crimson beneath either eyelid, but for the rest the + face was of the yellow of a week-old bone; the eyelids were puffy, and the + lips were lax. The whole face quivered like a shaken jelly as she looked + at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she said—’ Paul, Paul!’ + </p> + <p> + And with that she cast herself upon his breast in a very storm of tears. + </p> + <p> + For a moment he stood helpless and confused, and then a sudden flux of + pity came upon him, and he held her steadily and firmly in answer to the + hysteric grip with which her arms encircled him, now tightening and now + relaxing. She fawned upon him piteously from the very beginning of this + embrace, and at the last she fell, both knees thudding upon the carpet, + and abased her head between his ankles, crying bitterly the while. And at + this whatever manhood was within the man fled for the time being, and he, + kneeling to raise her from her self-abasement, also lifted up his voice + and wept bitterly. + </p> + <p> + Before things had quite reached this melancholy pass Laurent had stolen + from the room, and had closed both doors behind him, so that husband and + wife were alone. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dearest,’ said Paul, ‘what can I do to help you?’ + </p> + <p> + The word was not wholly sincere, but it held more than the average ounce + of sincerity to the ton which keeps human speech a possibility. At least + his desire was to help her, if it were only a way of helping himself. But + the whole thing was so miserable that to analyze emotions at such a moment + was surely to mount the very Appenines of folly. Annette cried and cried, + with her yet young and supple figure clinging to him, and, in spite of the + debauched, melancholy face, what could he do but stroke her hair and kiss + her cheek, and promise kindness and encouragement? Most of the time he was + inwardly murmuring, ‘Poor devil!’ and was assuring himself that he had + taken up a most hopeless handful; but the whole wretched tangle of feeling + was too intricate to be unravelled by so much as a straight inch. What + could he do? He asked the question despairingly; he asked it in genuine + pity of Annette; he asked it in a yet more genuine pity of himself. The + man who deals professionally with the emotions of other people cannot + preserve the simplicity of his own; it would be out of nature to believe + it. + </p> + <p> + There was a reconciliation of a sort, but it could hardly be very real at + first, and to give it any aspect of permanence time was necessary. + </p> + <p> + Laurent and Paul concocted a plan of campaign. It was essential in the + doctor’s opinion to avoid as far as possible all open evidence of + watchfulness, and yet to know very accurately what was being done. + Innumerable attempts were made to break the cordon of guardianship which + was drawn around Annette. She feigned, of course, as people in her + position always feign, to acquiesce entirely in the means which were + adopted to guard her from herself, but there were eternal skirmishes + between the outlying posts of the two armies which came in a very short + time to be established. In that newfound prosperity of his Paul had grown + absolutely careless about money, and he had not the faintest idea as to + the extent of his wife’s supplies. That she had enough, for the time + being, to corrupt quite a small regiment was speedily made manifest, and a + silent contest, in which the victor acknowledged victory no more than the + vanquished admitted defeat, set in. How wide the ramifications of this + strange war might be Paul could not guess, but on occasion some + circumstance would reveal that they had reached unexpected distances. It + was a perfectly understood thing in the hotel itself that no supplies of + wine or of more potent liquor were to be supplied at Madame Armstrong’s + order. The village pharmacien sold nothing to her without Laurent’s + consent, but there were ways and means of one sort or another by which she + contrived to procure her poison, and at such times the old signs were + always perceptible: the passion for solitude, the tricksy, changing spirit + which varied from extravagant mirth to unreasonable anger. Laurent watched + the contest with a sleepless loyalty, and Annette, finding herself foiled + by him a thousand times oftener than by the less vigilant Paul, grew to + hate him. But in spite of all the unfortunate creature could do to + accelerate her own ruin, she grew slowly back to health, and to something + more than her original personal attractiveness. For a kind of experience + was marked upon her, and the indefinable yet universally recognised + expression which betokens this was present in her looks. When watchfulness + prevailed over the strange craft which was brought into conflict with it, + Annette knew how to be charming, even to the man who suffered so much at + her hands; but when the contrabandists succeeded in running in their + supplies there were hours of horror—scenes in which rage and + accusation were succeeded by storms of tears and tempestuous + self-reproach. On one such occasion Paul sat in his study, for the moment + oblivious of the world. His dissipation and his best relief from the cares + which beset him was labour, and he laboured hard. It was his fashion at + this time to stand at his desk—a rude thing built for him by the + village carpenter—and in the pauses which came in between his actual + spells of writing, to stride about his limited territory, enacting the + scenes he was striving to portray, and shaping his sentences in such an + impassioned undertone as an actor will employ in the study of a part. He + was at the limit of his walk from the window, thus engaged, when the door + was violently and without warning broken open in such fashion that its + edge struck him on the face. Here was Annette, blazing with some + newly-discovered injury, and Paul at once recognised the ancient and + too-well-remembered symptoms. The contrabandists had got through again, + and this time with a vengeance. When he could gather his scattered wits—the + blow in itself had been a shrewd thing—he found that he was being + stormily assailed in respect of an amour with the cook of the Hotel of the + Three Friends, a highly respectable person of fifty summers and a waist of + sixty inches in circumference. He closed the door, and, mopping his + injured nose, invited Annette to a seat. + </p> + <p> + ‘Talk lower, dear,’ he asked her. ‘It shall be perfectly understood + between us that I deserve all your reproaches, but don’t give the poor, + dear old cook away, or, if you must assail her, speak in English.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is your ring,’ said Annette. She drew her wedding-ring from her + finger and cast it to the floor. ‘I have done with you for ever; you are a + traitor and a villain.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul stooped for the ring as it rolled to his feet, and bestowed it in his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + ‘You and Laurent,’ cried Annette, ‘have conspired to kill me. Oh, I know + you both! but if there is justice in earth or heaven, I will have it Do + not think because I am a woman and alone that I can find no protector. I + am not so helpless as you fancy.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am very busy, dear,’ Paul answered in a cold desperation, ‘and we might + discuss these important questions at another moment.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ cried Annette, ‘anything to avoid the truth!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul, with the first flush of anger he had permitted himself, + ‘anything to avoid the truth—anything, or almost anything; but if + you stay here one other moment I will avoid the truth no longer.’ + </p> + <p> + He cast the door wide open, and Annette with an amazing submissiveness + passed through it. + </p> + <p> + It was long past mid-autumn by this time, and was indeed fast drawing on + towards winter, so that in the little study a fire was lit in the earlier + hours of the day to air the room. It had been lighted that morning, and + the first true nip of winter was in the air. Paul sat alone with his head + between his hands until a violent shiver aroused him from his thoughts. + The air was growing dark as well as chilly; a pale yellow light gleamed + already from the windows of the Café de la Régence across the <i>place</i>, + and the outlook was as chilly as the air, as comfortless as the thoughts + which filled his mind. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hands up,’ said Paul to himself; ‘hands up and sink down into the waste + waters, and have done with it.’ + </p> + <p> + Of what act of desperation he would have been guilty in this mood he could + never have told, but at this instant the door was opened very softly, and + Annette was back again. She had been somewhat dishevelled at her last + appearance, and carelessly attired. She had now, to all seeming, called in + the aid of the solitary coiffeur of the village, and her pretty brown + locks were done up in lustrous coils. She was attired in a charming little + dressing-gown of pale-blue, with lace at the wrists and throat, and her + complexion had been somewhat rudely brightened by a touch of red upon the + cheeks. She closed the door softly behind her, and advanced with pleading + hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul dear,’ she said, ‘I do not know if ever you can forgive me, but I + think you would, perhaps, if you knew the real truth about me. Oh, Paul, + Paul, Paul, I am afraid—I am afraid that I am going mad! I have no + self-control. I say cruel and wicked things without believing them, and I + cannot help it There is a devil in my soul who tempts me. What is a poor + little girl like me to do against the devil? Won’t you help me, Paul dear? + Give me back my ring; I never meant to throw it away. There is nothing I + value so much in the world. Give it back to me, Paul. There; put it on my + finger. God bless you for ever, you dearest, dearest, kindest, patient + dear! And now, Paul, take me in your arms as you used to do. Kiss me, and + tell me that you love me. I’m only a little creature, Paul, when + everything’s said and done; I’m five feet three, English measure, and how + can <i>I</i> be expected to fight a devil! Kiss me, kiss me again, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + She thrust him back with rage, tore the ring once more from her finger, + and cast it again upon the floor. Then, with an air of comedy disdain, ‘It + is really too cheap a thing to fool a fool like you.’ And so, with a + shrill peal of stagey laughter, she curtseyed low to him and glided from + the room. + </p> + <p> + He stood with clenched hands for a single instant, and—how he never + knew—came to a sudden calm. He took up his hat from the desk on + which he had thrown it on entering the room, and sauntered out to the + front of the hotel in a complete vacancy of thought and emotion; and as he + lounged there, thinking of nothing and caring for nothing, there was woven + into the woof of life the next thread of his destiny, for who should drive + up to the main door of the Three Friends, with her maid and her luggage, + and all the airs and impertinences of a person of fashion, but La Femme + Incomprise. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + And who should be La Femme Incomprise but Madame la Baronne de Wyeth, a + lady more or less known to fame in two continents, but whom the unwitting + Paul had not yet so much as heard of in the whole course of his life. He + was conscious in the chill and gloom of the November evening of a lively + and slender figure, which danced as if upon springs for a mere instant as + it alighted from the carriage, of an accompanying rich rustle of silk, the + exhalation of a fine perfume, the glance of a dark eye towards him as he + raised his hat and stood aside from the doorway, and then the first + encounter was over and was dismissed from mind. + </p> + <p> + There was no Annette at dinner, but he had not expected her, and was glad + to know that she was in hiding. But when, after an hour or two’s aimless + ramble under the shadow of the Terre de Falaise, he returned to the hotel + and entered the <i>salle à manger</i>, he found there a certain unwonted + sense of warmth and brightness. Not only was the stove blooming cherry-red + at the far end of the apartment, but the little-used fireplace was aglow + with blazing pine-logs, and two extra lamps were set upon the table. He + noted these things with that particularity a man spends upon detail at + those times of subdued and profound emotion when he seems incapable of + noting anything, and took his seat carelessly at the table in his + accustomed place. The juge, and the garde, and the bachelor chemist, and + the chief of the gendarmerie, and all the rest of the customary convives, + dribbled in one by one, and exchanged the customary salutations. Time was + when they had been immensely interesting as types of mankind more or less + rural or townish, but to-night he was weary of them, and would very + willingly have been alone. The half-seen vision of two hours ago had + passed completely from his mind, and the broad-beamed, apple-cheeked + Evariste had already served the soup when Madame la Baronne de Wyeth + rustled into the room with an aspect so commanding and stately that all + the Belgian gentlemen rose to their feet and bowed as she took her seat at + table. Paul rose and bowed with the rest, and the lady, with an easy and + graceful inclination from left to right, offered to him a kind of + specialized salute as she sat down immediately opposite to him. She was + full between the glow of the two extra lamps, and at a first glance, by + dint of bright eyes, sparkling teeth, a high complexion, and a Parisian + half-toilet, she looked as if she might have been a beauty. She was barely + that, as a second glance discovered, but she had an undoubted charm of + grace and manner, and Paul, whose native origin and customs of life had + led him far from the scene of fine ladyhood, was greatly impressed by her. + So were the rest of the diners for that matter, and the customary rough + banter of the table was hushed in the presence of this new arrival. The + men conversed in whispers when they spoke at all, and in the intervals + between the courses they crumbled their bread upon the tablecloth in a + manifest embarrassment. Not a word was exchanged between Paul and his + vis-à-vis until, towards the close of the meal, the lady’s attendant + brought to her a small tray of silver with a fine little flacon of + transparent Venetian ware, and a liqueur-glass upon it She had drunk + nothing but water throughout the repast, but she now poured out a spoonful + of some amber-coloured and highly aromatic liqueur, and, leaning slightly + across the table, said, with a marked American-English accent: + </p> + <p> + ‘May I trouble you for a single small lump of sugar, Mr. Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + She held out the liqueur-glass towards him, and Paul, in answer to an + imperious little nod of the head, which seemed to indicate that he was + obeying orders correctly, dropped a square nodule of sugar into it, and + looked up with a questioning aspect. + </p> + <p> + ‘My name appears to be known to you, madam?’ he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear sir,’ she purred back again in what he learned to recognise later + on as the true Bostonian tone, ‘your name is known to everybody—or, + at least, to everyone who is worth knowing. Haven’t we all been going wild + in London and New York about your last comedy, and isn’t your portrait in + the photographers’ windows everywhere?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was young, and therefore, if not vain, at least accessible to the + assaults of vanity, and he blushed to the ears with pleasure. He had not + noticed until the moment when the lady set her thickly-jewelled hand upon + it that a little silver bell was placed at her side. She touched it, and + her maid entered, and at a murmured aside retired, returning in a moment + with a filigree card-case. + </p> + <p> + ‘That is my name,’ said the lady; ‘you may not have heard it before.’ + </p> + <p> + There was so complete a certainty of recognition in her voice and manner + that Paul, though a very poor courtier indeed, bowed as he read the card, + and murmured that everybody knew the name of Madame la Baronne de Wyeth. + </p> + <p> + This, as it turned out, was destined to embarrass him a little; but Madame + was graciously communicative, and he was not long in learning that she was + the authoress of a volume of poems which bore the title ‘Le Cour Soupir.’ + She would be proud and delighted, she told him, to have his judgment alike + on the original work and its rendition in French, which was also the + labour of her own hands. + </p> + <p> + ‘You see, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said, ‘I was born in Paris, though of + American parentage, and I have lived there nearly all my life, so that I + am really and truly quite bilingual. French and English are exactly one + and the same to me, so far as facility of expression goes; and I did not + care to entrust the expression of my most intimate and sacred thoughts + into a stranger’s hands. To appeal to the readers of French and English is + to appeal to the whole world of intellect. Perhaps that is not a very + modest desire; but it is mine, Mr. Armstrong, as I think it must be that + of all those who are conscious of great thoughts. By the way,’ she asked, + with a comprehensive glance around the table, ‘do any of these gentlemen + speak English?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not a word,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you are quite sure of that, Mr. Armstrong,’ said the lady, ‘we can + pursue our talk in peace; but there is nothing so disconcerting as to + dread an eavesdropper when one is exchanging confidences.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had not, so far, begun to exchange confidences, and he rather + wondered in his own bourgeois mind if this fascinating lady were offering + him a challenge to a flirtation. It might very well have appeared, so + thought the Exile who recalled these things with so clear an after-light + upon them, that the lady had that object, and no other; but for the moment + there was a natural embarrassment in thinking so. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have written verse, Mr. Armstrong?’ asked the Baroness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Reams,’ Paul answered, with a laugh, though he was not entirely at his + ease. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the lady, ‘you must show me some of it; you must show it to me + all. I am sure, from your prose, that you have the true singing gift; and + when one can both think and sing, one is a poet, you know, Mr. Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have nothing to show,’ Paul answered; ‘I have burnt all my poor stuff + long and long ago.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you write no longer?’ she asked—‘you write verse no more? Oh, + but that is wicked—it is criminal to have the gift and not to use it + ‘But then, of course, one knows how much depends upon congeniality of + surrounding and society. There have been times when I have thought that my + own poor little pipe was silenced for ever. It is so easy to lose heart; + it is sometimes so very difficult to retain one’s courage and animation. + Do the gentlemen remain here, by-the-by, to smoke, Mr. Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + There was a something odd in the way in which she used his name—a + something not at all easy to be defined—and it influenced Paul + strangely every time she spoke it. It was not altogether unlike a caress, + if one could associate an idea of that sort with the manner and meaning of + a great lady with whom one had not exchanged a word until within the last + half-hour. Paul knew not what to make of the grand dame; but she fluttered + and flattered him prodigiously, and in his excitement the troubles which + had seemed so chokingly bitter so brief a time ago were all for the moment + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + ‘They sit about the table for an hour or two after dinner,’ Paul + responded, in answer to her last question. + </p> + <p> + ‘I notice,’ said the lady, ‘that there is a fire in the salon next door. + If you are not too wedded to your tobacco, I shall be grateful for your + society.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, madam!’ cried Paul, ‘I am honoured beyond measure.’ + </p> + <p> + And so, when the Baroness had sipped her small liqueur and rose, with a + queenly little inclination to the company, Paul rose also, and having + opened the door for her, followed her lead into the next apartment, a + spacious room, very dimly lighted, and as bare as if it had been made + ready for a ball. Here the Baroness established her seat upon a settee, + and Paul was encouraged to bring a chair into her neighbourhood, and was + there held in discourse. And though he might in the review of later + experiences have arrived at the conclusion that Madame la Baronne was a + somewhat heartless and not particularly brainy little fribble, he was + never able to forget or deny a certain charm of manner which he had not + elsewhere encountered, and which had in it a seductive warmth and + gentleness. Before he fairly knew it, he was talking with something of the + ease and intimacy of an old friend. He had been so sore-hearted of late + and so removed from all feminine companionship, that this unexpected, + unlooked-for intercourse with a woman of culture and of such undoubted + airs of refinement soothed like a poultice. It was water to the thirsty, + bread to the hungry heart; it was fire and shelter to the houseless + wanderer. Madame drew him into little confidences, all sufficiently + simple, harmless, and discreet They related mainly to his methods of work, + to his acquaintance with brother men of letters, to incidents of youthful + life, to the early hopes and failures of his career. + </p> + <p> + ‘How profoundly interesting!’ Madame purred from time to time. ‘Oh, you + men of the people, Mr. Armstrong, you men of the people, how you do + surpass and captivate us all when you just happen to have brains!’ + </p> + <p> + The ‘man of the people ‘was certainly making no concealment of his origin, + as he certainly never made any parade of it; but he did not quite like + this, and perhaps his face revealed as much, for the Baroness hastened + with great agility to quit the theme. She began to offer to Paul some + little insight into her own history. It would be a prudery, she said, to + pretend to be sensitive about it any longer—the whole world knew the + sordid and melancholy truth; and this sounded like a prelude to a much + fuller explanation than she was for the moment disposed to make, and it + helped Paul to understand the hints in which she chose to set forward the + fact that she was a person of a lonely heart, that her husband pursued his + affairs in Wall Street and elsewhere without her greatly concerning + herself as to what those affairs might be, and apparently leaving her much + to her own devices. He learned to think afterwards that these confidences, + coming upon so very brief an acquaintance, were barely indicative of that + exquisite delicacy of soul for which the lady gave herself credit, but it + did not occur to him to think so for one moment at the time. The two extra + lamps upon the dinner-table had probably been placed there at her own + request, but it was beyond dispute that she showed to far greater + advantage in the subdued light in which she now sat Time had had no great + opportunity of ravishing her good looks as yet, but a certain boldness and + bluntness of feature which denied her complete right to beauty was lost + here, and her complexion was subdued, so that to the eye of her companion + she looked bewitching, and everybody knows how far easier it is to condone + a breach of taste in a beautiful woman than in a plain one. But now as the + talk went on and grew momentarily more intimate, Paul was made to see that + he was in the presence of a suffering heart, that he was speaking with one + who had never been able to come into contact with another soul. ‘We live + apart from each other, all of us, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said. ‘It is only + the artist, only the thinker and dreamer, who cares to grieve over it all; + but there is something appalling in the thought that no one soul really + touches another. You shake your head,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, but you are + young, and you are not yet disillusionized.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have a right to be in some things,’ Paul said to himself; but he made + no verbal answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she went on in a tone of tender regret in the pretty purring + American voice, which of itself was like the touch of a soft hand. ‘We are + born to isolation. As one grows older——’ + </p> + <p> + Paul laughed at that outright It was his first laugh for quite a lengthy + space of time, and he enjoyed it. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the lady, taking the implied compliment quite seriously, ‘I am + not a centenarian, but I am two-and-thirty, Mr. Armstrong, and in the + course of two-and-thirty years one may do a very considerable amount of + living. I say it advisedly, as one grows older the recognition of that + isolation of which I have spoken grows more and more complete. It beats + one down into despair at times; but then one is here for other things than + despair: one is here for duty; one is here to suffer, and to gather + strength by suffering; that is the whole secret of our destiny. It is + simple enough, and yet how long it takes to learn the lesson truly!’ + </p> + <p> + Beyond this no great progress was made on that first evening, but it + appeared that the lady had come to stay for at least a little time. It is + probable that she had not often found so very responsive an instrument to + play upon, for Paul Armstrong’s one lifelong weakness was that any woman + of average intelligence, who chose to take the trouble, could sound him + through every note of his gamut, and the Baroness de Wyeth seemed to find + a lively satisfaction in the exercise of her own power in that direction. + </p> + <p> + There was no further sign of Annette that evening, and it was not until + the Baroness had retired that Paul began again seriously to remember her. + It would at any moment, since his discovery of the lure by which she had + beguiled him into marriage, have seemed a mere ridiculous prudery of + conscience to hide from himself that he had thrown the better part of his + life away; but he had meant to do his duty as it seemed to lie plain and + straight before him, and he meant it still, increasingly difficult as it + appeared. But all the talk of the lonely soul, of the eternal isolation of + the spirit, in which man was doomed to live, all the tinsel + sentimentalisms of which the talk of the bilingual poetess had mainly + consisted, afforded perhaps as poor a pabulum as he could anywhere have + found. There was he, with that sore-stricken heart of his, so + sore-stricken, indeed, that it was well-nigh numbed, and here for the + first time in his life he had met a woman of more than common surface + breeding, of high family—for the Baroness de Wyeth was guilty of no + mere vulgar brag in claiming so much for herself—of more than + ordinary attractiveness in person, and of far more than common faculty in + the direction of a dangerous, sympathetic semi-humbug. Was it any wonder + if, when he lay down that night, he contrasted the hours of the evening + with those of the afternoon, or if he recalled the fact that at the very + turning of the road which had led him to fortune and to fame he had thrown + away all that could make them really worth the having? + </p> + <p> + Annette was sleeping off the fumes of brandy and the insane hysteria which + went along with them. The dainty lady from whom he had just parted was + going to her repose with her own beautiful, sad thoughts in a refinement + of surrounding which he could only fancy. His thoughts followed her to her + chamber until it seemed to him that he was in some sort guilty of a + profanation, and with that touch of self-chiding the born sex-worshipper + must needs flash into a mood of adoration. A more thoroughpaced small + coquette than La Femme Incomprise never breathed, yet she must needs be a + holy angel for the time being to Paul Armstrong, because she had fine eyes + and teeth, and could talk with some eloquence about heart-sorrows she had + never known. And he, he who lay there with his career like a stream which + is poisoned at its source, might, had he guided his own destinies with + anything but the judgment of a fool, have found himself just such a + companion as he had but now parted from, and have known in her a life-long + comrade, an undying solace and inspiration. Oh, fool! and fool! and fool! + through all the wretched, lonely hours of night—fool! and fool! and + again fool unutterable! + </p> + <p> + Annette, on the morrow, was repentant and pitiable. The contrabandist + supplies had been of a very limited nature, and now they were over she + suffered a more than common misery of reaction from excess. For a while + she was sullen, and sulked in her own chamber; but when her headache had + worn itself out, she began to creep listlessly about the hotel Paul and + the Baroness had spent a second evening <i>tête-à-tête</i> and Paul’s + first judgment of the sympathetic nature of her character had been + admirably confirmed. + </p> + <p> + Husband and wife had had but one interview with each other since the + latest outbreak, and this had not tended to improve their relations or to + sweeten the temper of either one or die other. Paul had not mentioned the + existence of his wife to the Baroness until he had learned of the lady’s + intention to make a stay of some length in Montcourtois. Then he had said + to himself dismally: She will think I have hidden something from her + unless I mention Annette; and he had named her in a mere instinct of + self-protection. + </p> + <p> + ‘My wife,’ he had said simply, ‘would be very happy and honoured to meet + you, but she is confined to her room by a slight indisposition which I + hope will pass away in a little time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall hope, then, to make her acquaintance to-morrow,’ said the + Baroness, and thereupon they got back to transcendentalisms and soul + solitude, and made up their minds how sweet a thing it would be if only it + were possible for any one human creature to know and thoroughly understand + another. With this unfailing battle-horse ready to prance into the arena + under the Baroness’s poetic spur, they were never in danger of being + gravelled for lack of matter, but found each other’s society mutually and + beautifully stimulative to the heart and mind. After Paul’s short and + unhappy interview with Annette, the Baroness requested the pleasure of his + society upon a drive she proposed to take. He acceding with great + willingness, they rolled away together, and Madame confided to Paul the + purpose of her visit to these solitudes at a so inclement season of the + year. It was her intent to study the ancient Walloon tongue upon its own + ground, and to put her studies to some literary effect by an elaborate + comparison of the language spoken by the peasantry of the present day with + that of the earliest of the French <i>jongleurs</i> and chroniclers. + </p> + <p> + ‘So you see, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said sweetly, ‘that if you are resolved + upon keeping your artistic quiet here throughout the greater part of the + winter, you and I will have some opportunity of becoming known to each + other.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul did not dare to say how warm a welcome he accorded to this + suggestion, but it was dangerously sweet to him, and he had + self-understanding enough to recognise that fact. But he was in no mood to + struggle against whatever Fate might bring. He was not coxcomb enough to + conceive himself likely to be dangerous to a witty and experienced woman + of the world, and as to what might happen to himself he did not care. He + was desolate enough to be desperate, and if in two short days he had + learned to believe that the final loss of the new interest he had found + would be among the gravest of troubles, he had learned also as a part of + that lesson that the society would be strangely sweet to him whilst it + lasted. On Paul’s side there was no thought of a flirtation, and on the + side of the Baroness there was not much thought of anything else, so that + they got on most famously together, for it is always richer sport in a + case of this kind to have one of the parties concerned in earnest Paul + took all the soulful shop, on the strength of which the lady had patrolled + Europe and the United States on a sort of sentimental journey, to be as + serious as the Evangels, and the discussion of it made the drive an + undiluted pleasure to him. + </p> + <p> + But when the carriage returned to the hotel and passed Paul’s study at a + walking pace, he caught sight of Annette at the window, and her face + seemed to him to offer some promise of a scene. She certainly bent a look + of surprised anger upon her husband and the strange, richly-dressed lady + with whom he was seated, but he waved his hand to her as he went by and + made up a mind to trust to the chapter of chances. As it turned out, + Annette was not inclined to be disagreeable, and hearing of the lady’s + rank, and being casually informed that she was the wife of the great + American-Belgian millionaire, she became resolved to be gracious, and made + a careful toilet in preparation for dinner. She and the Baroness met at + table, and Annette did not shine by contrast with the newcomer. The poor + thing probably knew it, and when Paul and Madame talked together of books + she had never seen or heard of, and of people whose names were strange to + her, she could scarcely have been altogether happy. Her husband led her + into the conversation now and then, but there was nothing for it but for + her to dwindle out again, and when the meal was over she made a real or + pretended excuse of headache to retire. Paul was disposed to be grateful + to her for what he felt to be a genuine forbearance, and he would have + given some sign to this effect had Annette afforded him an opportunity. + But she kept herself sedulously apart from him, and it was only at the + table that they met at all. Things pursued this course until the approach + of Christmas, and then an incident happened which brought about, or at + least very much helped to bring about, disaster. + </p> + <p> + When two people of opposite sexes are constantly in each other’s society + and their main topic of conversation—however hashed, ragouted, + rissoled and spiced—is the loneliness of the Ego, certain little + familiarities are likely to ensue which, though they may be of the most + platonic order in the world, are not likely to be made a subject of + outspoken confidence between a husband and a wife, or a married lady and + her husband. Thus, when Madame la Baronne and Paul were quite alone it was + ‘Gertrude’ on the one side, and it was ‘Paul’ upon the other, and the + lady, being the elder, and a little more the elder than she cared to say, + would occasionally venture upon ‘Paul dear,’ with an air so matronly that + the most censorious of observers could have found no cavil with the manner + of it. It came about in due time, let Laurent’s watch-dogs do what they + would, that the contrabandists once more succeeded in running their cargo + into the Hotel of the Three Friends. It was a very small one, but it was + large enough to serve its turn. + </p> + <p> + Annette had not appeared all day, and Paul’s summons at her chamber-door + had elicited no response. He and the Baroness had dined together and had + talked in the way now grown customary to them, being neither more nor less + affectionate towards each other than common, and they were now together in + the public salon, and, as fate would have it, they were alone. The + Baroness dropped something with a metallic sound upon the floor, and + uttered a little cry of dismay. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, my bracelet!’ she exclaimed; ‘my favourite, my precious bracelet! It + is broken, and I would not have had anything happen to it for the world!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul ran to lift it from the floor, and assured himself by examination + that it was not broken. The hasp by which it was fastened had come open, + whether as the result of accident or design may not be known. Ladies have + ways of saving a platonic converse from mere dulness, and this may have + been one of them, or may not. But Paul, having shown to demonstration that + the ornament was undamaged, the Baroness held out a very prettily-rounded, + plump, white arm, and Paul, trembling a little at the slight contact the + task involved, proceeded rather clumsily to fix the bracelet in its place. + He looked up, and the lady’s eyes were fixed upon his face with an + expression of grave and serene tenderness. His own eyes were humid, and he + looked back at her as an earth-bound soul might look towards paradise. And + on a sudden, before a sound of warning had been heard by either of them, + their two hands were struck violently apart, and Annette stood between + them, her eyes flaming with rage and the spirit of temporary insanity last + imported by the domestic smugglers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h5> + [Note: The print copy had a missing page here.] + </h5> + <p> + ‘No man knows the sex. Women are like Tennyson’s description of the law—a + wilderness of single instances; but except for those surprising examples + which are detected for us only by the talisman of a great love, there is a + family likeness amongst them. The woman is the tougher-fibred creature, + and there is excellent good reason why she should be so. She suffers as no + man ever suffers, and she could not bear her pangs—she would go mad + under them—if she were half as sensitive to suffering as the + less-tried male; and on the moral side the lady is a pachyderm and the + average workman an un-shelled polype in comparison. I invoke,’ he cried, + striding the little grassy platform on which his feet had worn a pathway + between his tent-door and the chattering runnel—‘I invoke the + unnumbered squads and battalions and armies of shame which are known, and + always have been known, to every town and city which has ever dared to + call itself civilized since history began. From Lais in her jewelled + litter to Cora in her English landau in the Bois, and on to the shabbiest + small slut who flaunts her raddle and her broken feather in the slums of + London, the same story is told and the same moral preached. Where is an + equal army of men to be found to invite the contumely of their own sex? A + woman’s virtue is her continence, and a man’s virtues are truthfulness and + courage. There is an unspeakably great army of the one sex which makes a + show and a lure of its penal uniform. Find me anywhere a band of men who + flaunt themselves in an equal denial of the virtues proper to man, who + parade themselves as cowards and liars, and strive to make a living by the + parade of their own desertion from the manly principle. The tender + sensibility of the generic woman is a fraud, and I should know that better + than most men, because I so long believed in it and had so many rude + awakenings from faith. But, oh I now and again—happy the man who + learns it early!—there is a woman to be found so strong and + delicate, so tender yet courageous, so much beyond the best that men ever + find in men, that there is nothing for us but to abase our souls in + gratitude and worship and wonder. We—we have genius of a hundred + sorts, and still genius is rare; we invent, we construct, we drag new + sciences, patient fact by fact, from the regions of darkness; we think + great thoughts and speak great words—there is no limit set to the + passion of our intellectual greed, no limit to the conquering march of + eternal achievement; and when all is said and done there never lived a + woman who had true genius for anything but love and goodness. There in + that glorious small specialized field they shine, and they shine the + brighter and more splendid because of their contrast with a sordid, + heartless, stupid, and greedy sex. And there,’ he said, kneeling to stir + the slumbering embers of his camp-fire—‘there, shining in that + little shining field, are you, Madge, brightest amongst the brightest and + saddest among the saddest, and here am I who wrecked your life for you + with such admirable good intent’ + </p> + <p> + The rage flamed out. He took his seat upon his camp-stool, and shredded + tobacco for his pipe, staring with vacant eyes into the smoke-fog which + everywhere imprisoned his gaze, and in a minute he was back at his dreams + again, and the past once more unrolled itself before him. + </p> + <p> + He was back in Montcourtois, marching the cobbled pavement of the <i>place</i> + in front of the Hotel of the Three Friends, hatless and just half + conscious of the touch of the wintry air on his cheek. The Baroness was + newly rankling under an insult now so many years of age; and Annette, + clearly visible at moments between the slits of the Venetian blinds, was + still pacing the lamplit salon. The whole thing happened in his mind again + precisely as it had happened in fact so very long ago. + </p> + <p> + A sudden remembrance and a sudden impulse moved him almost in the same + instant. When the bracelet had fallen from her arm, the Baroness had cried + out to the effect that it was her most valued treasure, and Paul suddenly + called to mind the fact that it still lay on the floor of the salon. + Annette might observe it at any moment, and might choose to wreak her + supposed offence upon it; and, thinking thus, he hastened back to the + apartment, prepared for any storm that might assail him. But Annette, who, + in the inexplicable changes of mood which affected her at such times as + these, was marching gaily up and down the room singing ‘Tout le long de la + route ‘to a swinging rhythm, chose to disregard him. He saw the precious + ornament lying where it had fallen, possessed himself of it, and passed + out at the further door. For any sign she gave Annette may not have seen + him, and Paul had time, as he crossed the corridor to his study, to remark + upon a form of alcoholism which allowed its victim unembarrassed speech in + combination with a steady gait and an entire irresponsibility of thought. + The manifestation was comparatively new to him, and he had spent some + thought upon it It was so foreign to the popular idea of drunkenness that + it accounted to him for his long-continued blindness to the truth. + </p> + <p> + He was tarred with the literary brush, which is to say that he was + eternally bent upon the examination of all human symptoms, whether they + displayed themselves in himself or in another. He had made it the business + of his life to analyze those symptoms, though he was but as yet a + chemist’s apprentice, wandering and wondering through the vast laboratory + of the world. Yet, apprentice as he was, he had learned enough of the + secret of his own craft to know that the professional analyst of emotion + quickens perception at the expense of sensation. The man who is always + pulling emotion to pieces as a part of the day’s work grows to a + philosophic indifference about it, as a vivisector becomes dead to a sense + of pain. Yet neither the anatomist of the living soul nor the anatomist of + the living body becomes insensible in any appreciable degree to the + exigence of his own pains, and the memories of a thousand triumphant + operations will not hinder the start and outcry of the greatest of + surgeons if you stick an unexpected pin into any part of his anatomy. + </p> + <p> + Paul had laid his hand upon the handle of the door of the study, and with + his disengaged hand was fumbling in his pocket for a match, when he heard + a tripping footstep on the stairs behind him, and he was hailed by the + Baroness’s Parisian maid. Madame la Baronne, so the maid explained, had + let fall a valuable ornament in the salon; had Mr. Armstrong seen it, and, + if not, would he give orders that it should be sought for and returned? + Paul felt the precious object in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not know Madame’s arrangements,’ he said, ‘but I have the bracelet, + and, if it were possible for her to receive me, I should like to hand it + to her personally.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, but yes,’ said the maid. Madame la Baronne had her little suite of + rooms, and was quite in position to receive. M. Armstrong’s desire should + be named to her, and the maid would bring an answer. + </p> + <p> + She fluttered upstairs with swashing petticoats and a flutter of ribbons, + and Paul waited in the corridor below. On the waxed floor of the salon + Annette’s feet still moved to a rhythmic, half-dancing walk, and her + bird-like voice soared to— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Tons les deux, la main dans la main, + Nous poursuivions notre chemin, + Sous la celeste voûte.’ +</pre> + <p> + ‘Under the celestial vault,’ said Paul; ‘and bent on the discovery of what + infernal regions?’ + </p> + <p> + The maid came back, pruning herself with coquettish graces, to answer that + Madame la Baronne would have pleasure in receiving M. Armstrong in five + minutes, and, having delivered her message, rustled rapidly upstairs + again. She paused at the turning of the stair, and leaned over to say: + </p> + <p> + ‘Numéro quinze, the fifth door to the right of monsieur.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ Paul answered, and, turning into the darkened study, struck a + light and consulted his watch. It was ten minutes past nine, and he sat + still to await the quarter hour. There was a clattering of pots and pans + in the distant kitchen, and Annette was still singing and walking in the + near apartment An occasional murmur of voices, a click of billiard-balls, + and even the faint noise made by the shuffle of a set of dominoes in the + café over the road reached his ears, but save for these slight signs of + life the world seemed asleep. Annette suddenly ceased to sing in the + middle of a bar. He heard her open the door of the salon. She passed the + little corridor in silence, and ascended the stair. He heard the key turn, + first in the lock of one door and then in that of another. He consulted + his watch once more by the flickering light of a lucifer match. He was + within a minute of the appointed time, and he began to ask himself with a + fluttering heart what he was to say, and how he was to bear himself in the + coming interview. Upstairs outraged purity and dignity were waiting for + him, and he himself, innocent as he had meant to be, was yet in a sense + the author of the outrage. The minute crawled. It ticked its final second + out at last, and he arose holding the bracelet in his hand. He mounted the + stair, knocked at the door the maid had indicated to him, and was bidden + to enter. The Baroness was seated in a sea-green dressing-gown ornamented + by many pretty devices in lace of priceless fabric, which had taken a + coffee tint by reason of its age. A book was lying on her knees, and she + was toying with an ivory paper-knife which had its haft in a silver + embossed rhinoceros tooth. She nodded Paul to a chair which had evidently + been placed for him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that you have found my bracelet’ + </p> + <p> + He handed it to her without a word. She purred a ‘Thank you,’ and tested + its clasp about her arm. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sit down, Mr. Armstrong,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + Paul was still voiceless, but he echoed the coldly courteous Mr. Armstrong + ‘in his mind with some dismay. + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not see,’ said the Baroness de Wyeth, ‘how it is possible to pass + over the incident of to-night in silence. Perhaps we may speak one + explanatory word about it and let it go. What have you to tell me, Mr. + Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well——’ + </p> + <p> + Paul balanced appealing hands in front of him, waved them, suffered them + to fall at his sides, and said no more. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must be conscious,’ said the Baroness, tapping the book which lay + before her with her paper-knife, ‘that it was by accident that the + incident which is only known to ourselves did not happen in public. In a + measure I have compromised myself, and, if you will permit me to say so, I + am not a woman who is accustomed to be compromised. Your wife objects—a + little unconventionally perhaps—to our association. I am a woman of + the world, and I know very well what construction might be placed on such + an episode. We can both see clearly that such a thing might happen again + at any instant under circumstances less favourable to my reputation, and I + cannot afford to risk the renewing of it I am seriously afraid that I + shall have in future to deny myself the privileges of a very pleasant + friendship.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your will shall be my law,’ said Paul ‘I have no excuse to urge, and have + certainly no complaint to make of your decision. I shall go at your + command, Gertrude——’ + </p> + <p> + She waved the paper-knife against him with a gesture which seemed to + protest against that one dear familiarity. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ he cried; ‘the name escaped me. I shall not have the + chance to use it often after this, and you may let it pass. I am going, + but I must tell you this: I have not been very fortunate in my choice of + friends amongst women, or in the choice which has been thrust upon me, and + so long as I live I shall remember——’ He paused, and waited + for a while until he regained the mastery of himself. Then he went on + steadily, with a level voice almost as if he were a schoolboy reading from + a lesson-book: ‘I shall remember as long as I live the beautiful thoughts + with which you have inspired me, your kindness, your friendship—and, + and——’ + </p> + <p> + He never knew how it happened—men of his temperament never do know—but + he was on his knees before her, and the words burst from him with a sob. + </p> + <p> + ‘And—you!’ + </p> + <p> + She smiled upon him from the maternal height of the coquette who is a year + or two older than the man she coquets with. + </p> + <p> + The tears were in his eyes and on his cheeks, and glistened in the virgin + beard. She stooped forward and laid a hand upon his head. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you care so much to leave me, Paul?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + A man of the world would have known the studied quaver in the voice—the + throaty, stagey sweetness of it. What was to be expected of a yokel of + genius who had been rushed through a hundred towns or so in everlasting + association with De Vavasours and Montmorencys—rushed through London + and through Paris under much the same inauspicious petticoat influences, + and had hardly ever met a real live lady in his life on terms of intimacy + until now? And Madame la Baronne de Wyèth had told him enough and had + shown him enough in the way of correspondence with distinguished people of + both hemispheres to let him know that she could play the part of <i>grand + dame</i> at discretion anywhere. That was possibly the preponderant + influence in his mind. Had he himself been a gentleman by extraction, had + he been able to meet this exquisite and delicate creature of old dreams + and modern conditions on any terms of equality, he would not have abased + himself in spirit as he did. The woman was regnant The woman is always + regnant, whether she be queen or dairymaid, but the barrier between + himself and her was built of the old hurdles of low birth and iron + fortune. Here anyway in his heart rang the knell ‘Good-bye,’ the farewell, + farewell, farewell which every poet worth his salt has heard not once but + many times, and, in the middle of the dirge the bell rang so + remorselessly, came the exquisite chrysm of a fondling hand upon his head. + </p> + <p> + It dwelt there scarcely for a moment, and if every nerve had not been + vibrant with feeling, the touch was so light that it might almost have + passed unnoticed. As things happened it was like a torch touching a torch + as yet unlighted, and the young man flamed. He caught the caressing hand + as it left his hair, and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + Ah! the weeping tears and the melancholy Touchstone humour that smiled + wryly to see them, each as big as a pea. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness surrendered her hand, and Paul kissed it with that passion + which inspires a pilgrim at the shrine, and the odd something superadded + which has made fools of men since Eve plucked her first girdle of + fig-leaves. He wept above the hand, and he fondled the hand, and he kissed + it with protesting murmurs of undying affection and esteem, and whilst + this storm was in danger of playing itself out, and the unsuing suitor was + likely to make an end of the business and go, the disengaged hand of the + Baroness stole out and took him maternally by the chin, under the + rain-soaked beard. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul dear,’ said the Baroness, ‘I did not think that you would have felt + our parting like this. We can’t help it, we literary people—we must + quote, we must express the profoundest feelings of our souls in the words + of other people. What’s the Shakespearian line? “I hold it good that we + shake hands and part”, Good-bye, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + He was on his feet again, and they were hand in hand. Her left hand was on + his right shoulder. Their eyes met and lingered on each other. + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re saying good-bye, Paul,’ purred the Baroness in a voice of tenderest + cadence. ‘You see the need for it, don’t you, you dear boy? Perhaps we may + see each other later on, but it <i>is</i> good-bye now, for the time + being. It must be so. You see that, don’t you, Paul dear? + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘I see it. Who could fail to see it? You shall have my + thanks when I can offer them for having asked no explanation, no apology.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ said the Baroness, and the left hand on his right shoulder drew + him a little nearer to her. Once, a year or two before, he had been up in + the Yorkshire dales, and had strolled along by the side of the Wharfe on a + day when the river ran beryl-brown or sapphire clear as it glanced over + pebbly shallow or rocky depth. There was the beryl glint in her eye—the + darling brown with the liquid light playing upon it. He looked now. The + woodlands were about him; the river murmured near. The damnable artistic + gift which made use of all accomplished experience helped him to obey the + impulse of the slow, persuasive hand. The beryl light in the eyes invited + him, and the faint droop of languishing eyelid did the rest ‘Paul dear,’ + she whispered, ‘it is good-bye. You may kiss me just this once and go. + Kiss me, Paul dear, as you would kiss your mother’s ghost, and go.’ + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her, reverently and lingeringly, upon the forehead. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye,’ he said—‘good-bye.’ + </p> + <p> + Then, with an electric amazement, her lips were on his for a single + instant, and she strained him near to her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, go,’ she said, withdrawing herself before he had found time to + answer her embrace. ‘Go, and farewell!’ + </p> + <p> + He was in the upper corridor almost before he knew it, in the confusion of + his nerves. The key snapped quickly in the lock, and he was alone. He + groped his way along the darkened passage until he reached the head of the + stairs, and there he recovered some consciousness of fact. He drooped + slowly down into his study, and sat there in the dark and cold for hours, + swearing fealty to contradictory deities of passion and of friendship. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <p> + That year winter had advanced with a delaying foot thus far across the + Belgian Ardennes, but this was the hour chosen by the icy king for the + beginning of his real siege of that region. Whilst Paul sat in his study + in the dark, the cold gathered about him tenser and more tense until he + was fain to seek the warmer shelter of his own room. There across the + gleaming darkness of the window-panes he could discern great broad + snowflakes loitering down one after the other as if intent on no business + in the world, and yet in spite of their seeming want of purpose they had + covered the earth six inches deep before daybreak. + </p> + <p> + He awoke in the morning to look out upon a world of virgin white:—street, + and roofs, and far-spread trees and fields all dazzling in their winter + cloak beneath a sky of cloudless blue, white towards the horizon where it + could catch the lustre of the up-beating brightness of the snow. In the + dark cold mornings of the year the hotel people had fallen into a habit of + bringing up his coffee and pistolet to his bedroom. He had been willing + enough to acquiesce in the custom; but as he sat sipping and munching in + dressing-gown and slippers, with a travelling-rug about his knees, and + revolving the events of last night in his mind, he heard a noise in the + stables, and, thrusting the window open, looked out into the cold, still, + clear air. Victor, the shock-headed driver, was leading out a pair of + flea-bitten grays already accoutred for a journey, part of their harness + dragging through the as yet untrodden snow. + </p> + <p> + ‘Holla!’ he called—‘Victor!’ The man looked up, knuckling at his + forehead. ‘Are they shooting to-day?’ Paul asked. ‘It ought to be a good + day for the trackers.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, monsieur,’ Victor answered; ‘it is Madame la Baronne who departs. She + takes the express to Verviers at half-past nine. Monsieur will excuse; I + am afraid of being late already.’ + </p> + <p> + From the moment at which he had heard the horses moving down below, he had + anticipated this without wholly knowing to what he had looked forward. He + thrust aside with his foot the ice-cold tub in which it was his custom to + rejoice—as befitted an Englishman of his years—and, hastily + sponging his face and hands, made a hurried toilet, listening meanwhile + for any sound which might bring definite tidings to his mind. When he + descended the carriage was still at the main entrance to the hotel, and + Victor was pulling on to his chapped hands a huge pair of sheepskin + gloves, the wool worn inside. + </p> + <p> + ‘We have but thirty-five minutes,’ the driver grumbled, ‘and two miles to + go, and all uphill.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is that a very awful task?’ Paul asked, for the mere sake of saying + something. + </p> + <p> + He was intent on retaining his name, and on saying farewell in such a + fashion that his manner should cast no reflection on the dear departing + divinity. Mademoiselle Adèle was already at the door, wiping her hands + upon her apron. Madame Alexis, the cook, was ranged up alongside, and + beyond her was the apple-cheeked Flamande maid One of the male hangers-on + of the establishment came stumbling down the staircase with a great + travelling-trunk upon his shoulders, and arranged his burden alongside the + driver’s seat. Then down tripped the Baroness’s maid, carrying a + dressing-bag in one hand and a despatch-box in the other. Then followed a + nondescript female who charred about the house and did scullery-work, and + sometimes, in a borrowed dress, served at table. She came enveloped in + rugs and furs, and at every note of preparation for departure Paul’s heart + beat faster. At last he could bear to look for the last figure in the + procession no longer, for he was bent on an aspect of entire nonchalance, + and the desolation of an actual farewell struck more and more on his + spirit as he waited. + </p> + <p> + At last the expected frou-frou, and the soft footfall of the + beautifully-shod feet, warned him of the Baroness’s coming. + </p> + <p> + She paused in the hall to say a gracious word here and there, and to press + something of evidently unexpected value into the hands of the attendant + trio, for they all curtseyed low, and said, as if awestricken, + ‘Réellement, Madame la Baronne est trop bonne,’ as if their strings had + been mechanically pulled, and they had been trained to speak the words in + unison. + </p> + <p> + Paul dared not turn his head, but the gracious little figure paused in + passing him. Madame la Baronne was richly befurred and so thickly veiled + that he could discern nothing, or little, apart from the sparkling + brightness of her eyes. She sprinkled her adieux around her in French to + an accompaniment of thanks and curtsies, but she spoke to Paul in English. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going to Venders,’ she said, ‘and I am afraid my studies will be a + little broken. In the meantime I will write to you and give you an + address, and I shall be glad if you will answer me.’ + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand, and Paul held it for a mere instant, no longer—he + was careful of that—than the occasion would have demanded had but + the merest friendly acquaintance existed between them. He dared not trust + himself to speak, but he raised his hat and pressed the hand, and the + pressure was returned. Then the Baroness entered the carriage, Victor + cracked his whip impatiently, and the slow Flemish horses bowled away, + their hoof-beats silenced by the snow. They had reached the corner, and in + another instant would have been out of sight, when Paul gave an artificial + start, as if he had suddenly called to mind something of importance, and + dashed after the retreating carriage. He overtook it easily enough, and, + laying a hand upon it, ran alongside. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is not good-bye?’ he said. ‘Tell me that this is not good-bye.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I hope it is not good-bye,’ she answered. ‘But go now, dear heart, I beg + you; you know why I am going.’ + </p> + <p> + The ‘dear heart’ thrilled him through and through. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will write?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will write to-night,’ she said, ‘but you must leave me now.’ + </p> + <p> + He fell from the carriage side, and the vehicle went on its leisurely + course, leaving him standing in the snow and staring after it; but + recollecting himself in a moment, he turned and plodded slowly back to the + hotel, with as unconcerned and commonplace a look as he could summon at + short notice. + </p> + <p> + Annette had one of her old spells of secrecy, and was hidden all day long. + He was glad to miss her and to be left alone with his own thoughts. He + could not realize himself and he could not realize the Baroness; her + promised letter would, however, tell him something. It might enable him at + once to find his orient. + </p> + <p> + He passed through a strange day—a day of resentment and of + tenderness, a day of despair and of hope. He could not work or plan, and + reading was impossible, and to-morrow morning looked absurdly distant Yet + it came at last, after an almost sleepless night, in the course of which + he heard Annette moving and the occasional clink of glass. He could see a + light gleaming underneath her door half a dozen times, and these reminders + of her came to him always with a dull ache of wretchedness, yet he fell + asleep at last and overslept himself, so that he escaped the final hours + of waiting. The promised letter was to hand, and he tore its envelope open + with trembling fingers, not knowing what to expect within. + </p> + <p> + ‘My very dear Friend’ (it began), + </p> + <p> + ‘All day I have thought of you; I do not know what feeling has been + strongest in my mind. I make no secret of the esteem I have for you, or of + the sorrow I have felt at being forced to end the pleasantest friendship I + have ever known. I should not say to end it, for such a companionship of + spirit as we have experienced can never be ended, but we must close the + first chapter of the book, and the rest will not make such happy reading. + I have felt my heart ache more than once in the contemplation of your + unhappiness, for though you have never spoken of it, I knew without the + episode of last night—I have known almost from the first—how + profoundly you have suffered and will continue to suffer. Ah, my dear + friend, it is only those who have suffered in that way who can truly + sympathize with you. To have found a completer isolation in the search for + companionship—that is the tragedy of many souls. It is yours, and I + know it and feel it, because it is mine also. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am weary with my journey, and I am so sad and lonely that I have scarce + the heart to write; but promise me just this one thing: Give me half an + hour of your thoughts each day, and let me know what part of the day you + choose, so that I may think of you at the same time. Do you believe that + any actual communion of the mind is possible in such conditions? I should + like to believe it. How pure, how spiritual, how exquisite a friendship + might exist if it were only so!’ + </p> + <p> + Exactly. And what a quagmire a properly experienced lady may lead a man + into if she so wills! This particular experiment suggested by the Baroness + is singularly successful in the enslaving of the eager, and it has the + great merit of permitting the willing horse to do all the work. The lover + can moon and rhapsodise at a safe distance, and it makes not a pennyworth + of difference to him whether the mistress moons and rhapsodises also, or + whether she is engaged in a flirtation through another telepathic line, or + whether she has a score of different lines converging upon her all at + once. + </p> + <p> + Paul, of course, most willingly accorded the lady the daily half-hour + demanded. He became persuaded in a very little while that the soul of + Gertrude met his midway, and when she sent him a description of her little + boudoir, so that he might the better realize her in her own surroundings, + he used to float away to Verviers in vision, and sit by Gertrude in fancy, + and hold Gertrude’s hand, and express to Gertrude all his ardours of + friendship and esteem—for, of course, it never got beyond that, or + was ever to be permitted to get beyond it—and Gertrude used to give + him vow for vow, all in the range of the highest moral feeling. It is + possible that there are people who might imbibe this sort of mental liquor + and come to no damage by it, but Paul found it remarkably heady. At first + he thought the draught stimulative, but in a while he began to know that + it was enervating. He began to rebel at himself. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am throwing away my manhood for a dream,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + For Gertrude, whose letters were fairly frequent and most sisterly tender, + would hear nothing of Paul’s petition that he might be allowed to visit + her—would not even listen to any suggestion that they might ever + meet again in any approach to the happy seclusion and privacy of the first + sweet days. + </p> + <p> + But Paul Armstrong was feeble in rebellion against himself, and he was + here caught firmly in the toils of the first passion of his manhood. The + May Gold episode and the Claudie Belmont episode had long been things to + laugh at. Marriage had turned out an unredeemed tragedy, which had never + had even the poor excuse of a passing infatuation behind it He had never + loved Annette, and she was fast growing into a terror and an aversion. And + now all this tomfoolery of telepathic communion, this wilful brooding over + an absent woman, this summoning of her features to mind, this recalling of + her tones, this yearning in which his own soul seemed to beat its mortal + bars in the strife to draw her spirit near, made a clean end of the + platonic theory so far as he was concerned. The Baroness, at her end of + the spirit-wire, appears to have been less potently disturbed. Perhaps she + took less pains to disturb herself; possibly she took none whatever. + </p> + <p> + It came at last on Paul’s side to amount to something very like a + possession. Night and day his thoughts hovered about her. He would not + admit to his mind one dishonouring thought of her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Charlotte was a married woman, and a moral man was Werther, + And for all the wealth of Indies would do nothing for to hurt her.’ +</pre> + <p> + And Gertrude was a married woman also, and Paul—who had not too + rigidly obeyed the precepts of morality in his day—was bent on + honour in this instance. He wrote reams of letters, all of which might + have been printed without harm to anybody; but by-and-by his passion began + to carry him off his feet, as passion has carried stronger men than he, + and the fever of his pulses got into his ink, and he began to make love, + but with a dreadful guardedness and a deadly fear lest he should offend + the susceptibilities of this creature of the skies. She rebuked him by + implication and in a parable. She had had a mournful letter from a friend + in Boston, an old and valued correspondent, a lady whose domestic + relations were of the saddest sort, who had long believed herself to have + established a pure and tender friendship with a person of the opposite + sex, and who had now been shocked and horrified beyond measure by a + proposal of elopement How rare a genuine friendship between men and women + seemed to be! How happy was she in the security she enjoyed in the + solidity of his character, in that delicacy of mind and heart which + permitted the most delightful intimacies of thought without danger. He + wrote back fiercely that he was unworthy of the confidence she reposed in + him, that he loved her passionately, adoringly, and without any dream of + hope. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will not soil my worship of you by even asking for your forgiveness,’ + so he wrote. ‘I have told you what I had to tell. There is no longer any + power in me to hide it And now I know that it is good-bye indeed. In the + sorrow and the loneliness which are rightly mine—since I earned them + with much foolish painstaking—I shall never cease to love you, but I + shall not presume to write to you again.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My poor Paul,’ she wrote back to him, ‘what madness! + </p> + <p> + And how great a cruelty to snatch from me the solace of your friendship + ‘Forget the madness, dearest friend. Undo the cruelty. Let us bury the + memory of this outburst, let us go back to the past. Alas! did ever man or + woman return to the past? But we must not part in this way. You must write + to me at times. You must let me know of your artistic hopes. You must give + me news of your career.’ + </p> + <p> + He was amazed to find that he was answered at all, and even in his misery + he joyed to find himself reprieved from the sentence his own conscience + had passed upon him. He was still free to write, and he wrote almost every + day, though he sent off his budget only once a week. He did not make love + in the sense of seeking to persuade his goddess to descend to him, but he + made no further disguise of himself, and he was not again reproved. + </p> + <p> + This all led to a long space of infertility, and it was stretched still + further by the departure of the Baroness to Paris. There, she wrote Paul, + she would be much in society, and if he should find himself in the gay + city at any time during her stay, she could introduce him to charming and + useful people. But she was very round in her warnings to him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must not come,’ she told him, ‘unless you are absolutely sure that + there is no danger of making me absurd in the eyes of my friends. Dearly + as I esteem you, I should never forgive you that. You have been so very + outspoken of late, and I have permitted you to write your heart so freely, + that I should be guilty of the foolishest affectation if I were silent on + this one matter. We cannot control our affections. It is not given to us + to love and dislike at discretion, but we can control our language and our + conduct, and I must exact your promise ere you meet me. And I will tell + you this once, and I will never breathe it any more: Had we met under + happier conditions, had we both been free to choose, I know that I could + have loved you. I am thus candid with you because I wish you to know how + entirely I rely upon your discretion and respect. We may have happiness + denied us, and to choose it now would be to suffer miserably, but we have + each a personal esteem to guard. Ah, Paul! be kind to me. Do not make it + hard to see you again.’ + </p> + <p> + If all this were written, as Paul came most devoutly to believe in later + days, with the single-minded desire to enslave him yet more completely, it + was truly heartless, but that was certainly the end it gained. It seemed + to him the most pathetic and womanly of effusions, for what woman would + write that she could have loved a man in happier conditions unless she did + truly love him? She suffered as he suffered. Without her warrant it would + have been coxcombical to believe it But the belief made her altogether + sacred in his eyes, and he vowed a thousand times that no word or tone of + his should ever offend that angel delicacy and tenderness. A curious part + of this maniac experience was his estimate of himself as it proceeded. He + was in a mood entirely heroical. The Baron de Wyeth, who was making money + to supply the most whimsical needs of the absent Gertrude, never entered + into his head. It did not offer itself on any single occasion to his + intelligence to think that there was anything to be reprehended in this + sterile dalliance. + </p> + <p> + As for Annette, she had grown to be impossible. She resented the + guardianship exercised over her with an increasing fierceness. When she + could smuggle her contraband through the enemy’s lines, she locked herself + in her room, and remained there until the supply was exhausted She would + emerge blotched, pale, and haggard, and companionship between herself and + her husband was out of question. + </p> + <p> + At the time at which the letter just cited reached Paul Annette’s cunning + had been unequal to the war for at least a fortnight, and her constitution + was still youthful and strong enough to enable her to return to something + of her earlier aspect after a few days of abstinence. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have business which will take me to Paris in a little while,’ her + husband told her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ she said indifferently. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you prefer to come with me, or to stay here?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘To go with you?’ she demanded. ‘Under what conditions?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Under the conditions I have always offered,’ he returned: ‘that you are + accompanied by a female companion of my choice.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall stay here,’ Annette said curtly. + </p> + <p> + ‘As you will.’ + </p> + <p> + He was relieved by her decision, not merely because the last thread of + comradeship between them was broken, but because he dreaded the exposure + of the cupboard skeleton, which was always putting out a ghastly head at + him. In a great city like Paris there might arise an occasion of escape + from control at any moment, and Heaven alone knew what <i>esclandre</i> + might ensue upon a single escapade. + </p> + <p> + He made his preparations for departure. Laurent promised his most careful + supervision of affairs, and Paul left him with plenary powers. There were + no adieux to make, for Annette declined to see him. He travelled to + Brussels, and thence to Paris, going away with a relief which was made the + more complete by the latest intelligence the doctor had brought him: there + was to be no child of Annette’s and his. That hope or fear—and he + had barely known which to think it—was over. + </p> + <p> + At Montcourtois Madame la Baronne de Wyeth had been content to live in + extreme simplicity, and her account of her own surroundings at Veryiers + did not express any dose approach to luxury; but in Paris she occupied + apartments of great splendour, had a considerable entourage about her, and + entertained a limited number of charming people, who were all more or less + celebrated. Her music was as fine as anything that could be got in Paris, + for she knew all the great singers and instrumentalists, and though the + season was about at an end, there was still enough genius in the basket to + pick and choose from. + </p> + <p> + It was with a wildly beating heart that Paul alighted at her door, and as + he stood awaiting her in the luxuriously furnished salon which was the + centrepiece of her apartments, his knees trembled with agitation. He was + there to meet for the first time the woman he loved. That was strange and + yet true. When he had last seen her he had not yet grown to love her, or, + if he had, he had granted himself no knowledge of it. But now he loved, + and he had confessed his love, and what was potentially a return avowal + had been made by her. And they were to meet just as friends. There was to + be no word spoken of all the passion which thrilled and filled his heart + and tingled through his veins. + </p> + <p> + She came at last in a gentle silken rustle, dressed already for the + reception of the guests who were expected to arrive an hour later. She had + accorded him this one <i>tête-à-tête</i>—this and no other. She was + transfigured in his eyes, and did indeed show to her best advantage in + full toilette. The lucent rosy whiteness of arms and shoulders seemed to + dazzle him. + </p> + <p> + He extended both hands to her, and she came forward with her lithe gait + and a smile of great sweetness, and took them in her own. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gertrude!’ he whispered, and she answered with the one word ‘Paul!’ and + had his life depended upon it, he could not have spoken further at that + instant. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am very glad to see you, Paul,’ she said, ‘very glad indeed.’ She + released one of his hands, and by the other led him to a causeuse near one + of the splendidly curtained windows. ‘But what has happened to you? she + asked. ‘My poor Paul, you are ill! You are not yourself at all. There are + brown circles round your eyes, and your cheeks have fallen in, and you are + growing positively gray at the temples.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not ill,’ Paul answered, trying to smile. ‘I have had a somewhat + trying experience of late, and I am here to forget it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘May I know of it?’ she asked + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul; ‘the topic is forbidden.’ + </p> + <p> + She laughed gaily and blushed a little. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, that is very clever, and very wicked of you,’ she purred. ‘That + topic is not to be approached even elliptically. But really and truly, my + poor Paul, you are not well, and I shall see that you take proper care of + yourself. You will take a glass of wine at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he said, waving a hand against her as she made a motion to rise. + </p> + <p> + ‘You used not to contradict my orders,’ she told him, ‘and you shall not + do it now. I can give you a really excellent glass of champagne—not + a lady’s champagne, be it understood, a man’s wine—a connoisseur’s.’ + </p> + <p> + He made no further protest, and she rang a small silver bell near her + hand. A grave serving-man appeared in answer to this summons, received his + mistress’s order, and glided away again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have all your news?’ the Baroness asked, turning to her guest again. + </p> + <p> + ‘All,’ he answered—’ all there is to tell.’ + </p> + <p> + He had known perfectly well at one time that she was not strictly a + beautiful woman. He had been able to analyze her, to admit very fine eyes + and teeth, and a clear, if somewhat florid, glow of complexion. He had + granted, further, fine hair, and very beautiful hands and arms. But he + wondered at himself, and could have laughed at his own blindness. The + power of analysis had gone out of him because he was in love. She was + merely a soft, dazzling splendour in aspect now, and every look and tone + and attitude was a witchery and a wonder. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not seen you in evening dress before to-night, Paul,’ she said. ‘I + like you in evening dress. It is a great test of a man’s distinction. It + is cruel to all but the few. It is distinctly not cruel to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am proud to be approved of,’ he answered, trying to speak lightly. + </p> + <p> + The grave serving-man brought in the wine, which proved worthy of the + hostess’s praise. Paul was grateful for it, for it helped to steady his + shaken nerve. He felt pretty much as he imagined a man might feel who was + learning to stand under fire. + </p> + <p> + ‘It was kind of you,’ he said, ‘to give me this one hour to myself. I + shall try to learn my lesson in it I want to assure you how much I have + laid your injunction to heart, and to promise you that from this time + forth you shall be implicitly obeyed. When I wrote that wild letter to you + at Venders I had not the faintest hope of your forgiveness. I need not + tell you how I thank you for it, how I shall strive to show my gratitude. + But, indeed, you are my Anthea, Gertrude, and may command me anything.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Another man would not have found forgiveness, Paul,’ she answered, + turning away her head, and looking downward. ‘I do not deny to you now + that I was deeply amazed, and, at first, humiliated. Then for a time I was + angry, and I had to ask myself of what indiscretion I had been guilty to + lay me open to the receipt of such a letter from my dearest friend. But we + women are weak creatures where the affections are concerned, and I felt + that I could not afford to lose you, Paul. You will not make it necessary + for me to lose you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ he declared. ‘No spoken word of mine shall hurt you. God knows what + you have been to me since first I met you.’ She raised her hand against + him and looked up with a glance of appeal. ‘Oh, surely I may say this!’ he + urged. ‘I have been through dark days, Gertrude. I am young, and + reputation and fortune are calling to me, and I have put a millstone about + my neck, and but for your friendship I should have broken my heart.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she said, ‘my poor boy! My poor, dear boy! I think I would give my + life if I could comfort you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You do comfort me,’ he answered. ‘You are the one comfort I have. I shall + learn in time to think of you as if you were a saint in heaven.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh!’ she purred, ‘you dear, simple-souled enthusiast! Don’t you know yet—haven’t + you found it out, that simple truth?—that when a man has relegated a + living woman to the position of a saint in heaven he has ceased to care + about her? I am not going to turn <i>you</i> into a sanctified figure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should scarcely look for that,’ said Paul, with a momentary gleam of + humour. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am going to keep you for a living, large-brained, human-hearted friend, + and I hope that if we do not see too much of each other, we may both grow + content with that arrangement.’ + </p> + <p> + She spoke with a smiling vivacity, but she set a delicate little trifle of + lace and cambric to her eyes, and then looked up and smiled again. + </p> + <p> + ‘You do not wish,’ he asked, ‘that we should see much of each other?’ His + face was very gloomy. + </p> + <p> + ‘I mean,’ she said gently, laying her hand upon his shoulder, and looking + into his mournful eyes, ‘that we should be discreet I do not mean that at + all as regards the opinion of others, for there I can trust myself and you + without a fear. I mean with respect to ourselves. It will not be well for + your own happiness that we should meet often as we are meeting now.’ + </p> + <p> + She rose, and moved away from him a little, standing with the fingers of + her hands interlaced, and the palms downward. This is a very pleasing sort + of attitude when adopted by the right kind of person. Taken in conjunction + with a pensive, sidelong droop of the head, it will yield an expression of + gently sorrowing coy confidence when employed by a competent artist. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will promise me,’ said the Baroness, with a voice not wholly steady, + ‘that you will never repeat to me what I am going to tell you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You may command me anything,’ Paul answered. ‘I promise.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It will not be well,’ she went on, repeating the words she had spoken so + little a while before, ‘for your own happiness that we should meet often + as we are meeting now. Nor will it be well for mine, Paul. That is why I + have hesitated so long before I have dared to permit you to see me—before + I have dared to permit myself to see you. I am strong enough now to trust + myself, and I put faith, too, in your friendship and your chivalry. You + will not add to my unhappiness?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul also had left his seat. He stood almost at her shoulder. He was near + enough to have taken her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + ‘Gertrude,’ he murmured, ‘if anything could add to what I feel for you, + this would do it. You shall have my tenderest adoration, my constant + obedience.’ + </p> + <p> + She turned her head slowly, as if she did it almost against her will. She + raised her eyes and looked at him with a strange steadfastness. She spoke + in a soft, half-whisper. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is our good-bye to love. We have met and we have spoken, and we part + again. In half an hour we shall meet as friends, and never, never, never + again as we part now.’ + </p> + <p> + She faced round upon him. Her fingers unlaced themselves and she stood + with both arms open to him. For one burning instant he held her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Your promise!’ she whispered, in a frightened voice. ‘Your promise, Paul! + Your promise!’ + </p> + <p> + He suffered her to escape, and she drew herself away lingeringly, with the + same strange steadfast glance. + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye, my lover. Good-bye, my king. I shall never meet him again. I + shall come back to meet my friend.’ + </p> + <p> + The words were but breathed so as to reach the ear, and she turned and + walked droopingly from the room. So might a bruised lily have been borne + away. + </p> + <p> + As for Paul, he had half an hour before the earliest guest was expected to + arrive, and he tried hard to compose himself. It was heavy work, for he + was constantly rolling down the hill of endeavour with exclamations of + wonder and worship. What a woman! What a pearl among women! What candour! + What courage! What tenderness! What purity! What beauty! He was at the + height of felicity and the depth of misery with such rapid alternations + that he lost the sense of difference, and could not tell one from the + other. But when the half-hour of waiting had almost vanished he drank + another glass of the wine his <i>déesse</i> had commanded for him, and was + at least prepared to face the world with a pretence of self-possession. + </p> + <p> + The guests began to arrive. There were but six more, and all were + masculine. The Baroness made a radiant entrance to greet them. She made + Paul known to each of them in turn, and all were men of mark. He heard + everywhere a name which had been long familiar to him, but the latest + comer of all, whom he had not found time to notice, was familiar in + something more than name. For it was Ralston—Ralston the great, who + had been the god of his boyhood—Ralston with his big gray head worn + on one shoulder or another, with the look of fighting wisdom in his face, + quite as of old. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Ralston,’ said the hostess, ‘you must know my young friend Mr. + Armstrong. We saw his comedy together, you remember.’ + </p> + <p> + Ralston remembered, and seemed to remember more than the name. + </p> + <p> + ‘We have met before this?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘Once,’ Paul replied. + </p> + <p> + ‘Castle Barfield?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Exactly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you’d rather shelve that——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly not—between ourselves.’ + </p> + <p> + The hostess took the escort of the eminent diplomatist who was the <i>doyen</i> + of the party. The men followed as it pleased them. Ralston and Paul went + last. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am a prophet,’ said Ralston, subduing that richly hoarse voice of his. + ‘I told you you would do, and you have done.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <p> + The evening was memorable to Paul for many reasons. There was not a great + deal of the talk to carry away with one; but if it had not the solid + brilliance of the diamond, it had the cheaper glitter of the sharded glass + epigram which sparkles and cuts—an admirable substitute on most + occasions, though it has the disadvantage of leaving dangerous fragments + for people to tread upon. The conversation was carried on exclusively in + French, and, though Paul’s ears were quick enough to keep abreast of it, + his tongue was not, and he was a silent listener for the most part + Ralston, having pathetically bidden farewell to ease and English, seemed + as much at home as any person at table; but he told Paul, as they walked + home together, that he hated to speak a foreign language. + </p> + <p> + ‘Give me the old familiar tool that one has handled since babyhood. See + how it adjusts itself to the hand! how one can carve with it! with how + much comfort and dexterity! English, besides that, is the only language in + the world. The things that are not to be said in English are not worth + thinking—if they are speakable at all; and some things are not. Look + up yonder!’ They were in the Place Vendôme. His upward gesture sent Paul’s + eyes to the sky, which was sown thick with stars. ‘Do you care for a talk + across a whisky-and-soda and a cigar?’ asked Ralston. ‘I am here in the + Rue Castiglione. Come to my room. I have the right nectar. I bring it with + me when I come to Paris, and let them charge for corkage.’ + </p> + <p> + When the guests had scattered, Paul had looked for one more private word + with Gertrude; but she had left him no excuse to linger. She had said her + ‘Good-bye, Paul,’ with an almost icy sweetness. He wanted to get away into + solitude to think about her, and was half inclined to excuse himself from + Ralston. + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear little, queer little body, our hostess, eh? Have you known her + long?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not very long,’ Paul answered ‘But she and you seemed to have quite + ancient memories.’ + </p> + <p> + If Ralston would talk about Gertrude, he would be glad to sit with him + till morning light. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I?’ said Ralston—‘I have known her from her childhood. If she + makes any secret of her affairs, I mustn’t babble, though. Do you know the + Baron?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Not personally.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, well—— This way in. I am no higher than the first-floor, + and we needn’t trouble the man at the lift. Here’s the room. And now that + I’m on my own territory, let me say how glad I am to have lighted upon you + again. I’ve often wondered what you were making of yourself. “Paul + Armstrong” is individual enough, and when I saw the name on the play-bill, + I recalled it, and wondered if it meant you. Whisky, soda, cigars. Now we + are provided for.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul made himself look as disengaged and easy as possible. + </p> + <p> + ‘You asked me if I knew the Baron. What kind of man is he? A strange sort + of fellow, rather—one-and-thirty—to be indifferent to such a + woman: brilliant, amiable, charming.’ + </p> + <p> + He spoke with no enthusiasm. He wanted to talk about Gertrude, but he did + not mean to betray his own concerns. + </p> + <p> + ‘The Baron’s a very decent fellow; but he has a rather muddy German + accent, and he can’t understand the lady’s verses. There’s nothing worse + than that in it. She elects to travel; he elects to stay at home. There’s + no sort of scandal or impropriety. She’s a dear little woman, and a good + little woman, and she has the French-American <i>pschutt</i>, as the idiot + word goes now. She’s a bit of a sentimentalist, and an exquisite flirt, + but the most genuine little creature, too. If she wouldn’t flirt, she’d be + too good for this world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Flirt!’ cried Paul, in so much horror that Ralston laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have taken advantage of my demi-semi-clerical dignity,’ he said, ‘to + preach many sermons to her on that particular. Mind you, she’s a most + estimable woman; and, as you said just now, brilliant and amiable and + charming. But she flirts—she flirts with me; and, if I were not + entrenched behind the fortress of threescore years, she’d enslave me as + she enslaves everybody else. There’s an Isolation of the Soul which is + very effective at short range. Do you happen to have met it yet?’ + </p> + <p> + Was Ralston warning him of set purpose? Had he observed anything—any + little subtle thing—which had told him how the land lay? Was he + conceivably speaking as the husbands friend? Was his speech accidental or + designed? Whatever it might be, and it was certainly enough to discomfit + the listener greatly, it was not enough to shake his faith in Gertrude. + When he found time to think about it, he marvelled that so shrewd a man as + Ralston should have formed so mistaken an estimate of a character so + sincere and transparent. + </p> + <p> + If ever a woman had laid the pure recesses of her heart and soul open to + the inspection of a human eye, Gertrude had done so. He was confident that + he knew her, and it seemed to him that no two hearts had ever lived + together in an intimacy at once so chaste and fiery. Gertrude a flirt? The + tenderness she had shown him that night a pretence? The thing was so + incredible and ridiculous that it was not worth while to bother one’s + brains with it for even the fraction of a minute. He had found his soul’s + partner—the twin Half of the Pear—and he was more than content + with his discovery. + </p> + <p> + Whether Ralston meant much or little, whether, indeed, he virtually meant + nothing or anything, Paul could not guess; but he was uneasy beneath the + humorous gravity of the elder’s eye, and he changed the theme. They had a + good hour together, and shook hands and parted with a mutual liking, and + at the instant at which he reached the street Paul was free to take up his + station at his end of the telepathic wire and to call Gertrude to the + other. He walked miles and miles whilst engaged in this wholesome and + reasonable enterprise, and at length, without in the least knowing how he + had got there, found himself, dog-tired, in a strange quarter of the city. + He rambled on until he met a gendarme, who put him upon his way, and + within ten minutes of this encounter he awoke with a start to the fact + that he was pacing the pavement of the thoroughfare in which he had first + seen Annette. The interregnum of fatigue which had come in between his + passionate dreams and this reminder of the sordid realities of his lot + went for nothing. The dream and the truth flashed together like the + electric opposites in clouds and awoke a rare thunderstorm within doors. + But by the time he had got to his hotel this was over, and he crawled + wearily upstairs to a fireless room, the air of which struck chill and + lonely. The apartment in itself was well enough, and not many years before + he would have thought it palatial in its stateliness and luxury; but he + would have given a thousand pounds at that instant if he could have + translated himself to the old kitchen hearth at home and into the sight of + the old familiar faces. He had taken a little champagne before dinner, a + moderate allowance of wine in the course of the meal, and two rather + liberal tumblers of whisky-and-soda with Ralston. This was not the + direction in which he was accustomed to approach excess, but he remembered + gladly that he had a carafe of brandy in the room. He was chill and tired, + and in that contradictory condition of discomfort in which a man is at + once painfully sleepy and distressfully wide awake. He poured a quantity + of spirit into a tumbler, filled the glass to the brim with water, + undressed, blew out his candles, and went to bed, and the demons of a + sleepless night came to him and tormented him. The opening line of + Tennyson’s ‘Love and Duty’ got into his brain and ticked there: ‘Of love + that never found its earthly close, what sequel?’ It recurred with a + damnable iteration. He tried all the devices for wooing slumber he had + ever heard of. He assembled an innumerable flock of sheep, for he had the + knack of making pictures in his mind, and he set them one by one to leap + through a gap in a hedge, counting them as they went by. He had not + counted a dozen when the words were back again: ‘Of love that never found + its earthly close, what sequel?’ + </p> + <p> + He repeated the experiment scores of times, but it was always interrupted + by the same query. He set an unending line of soldiers on the march, all + as like each other as peas in the same pod. He resolutely denuded his mind + of thought; he repeated the multiplication table. It was all of no + service; the question came back remorselessly, and at last he set himself + to face it. It was dismal enough to look at To think of the world without + Gertrude was to conceive a barren waste in which it was worth no man’s + while to dwell. To anticipate a life-long continuance of the experiences + and emotions of the past three months was scarcely to invite a more + cheerful prospect To hint, even in his own thoughts, at any attempt to + draw her from her own height of purity was a profanation. The quarters and + the hours chimed, until the gray spring dawn crept through the interstices + of the blinds, and fatigue grew more leaden than ever. But the devil of + insomnia was unconquerable. He relit his candles, found a book, and tried + to read; but that was as hopeless as the rest. + </p> + <p> + He had no claim to call upon Gertrude again until he learned that it was + her goodwill and pleasure he should do so; but he was not forbidden to + write, and there at least was an occupation to which he could bend his + mind. He dressed and sat down, dull and haggard, to the task. He wrote + page on page, feeling as though he dipped his pen in his own heart’s + blood; but when he came to read what he had written, it was no more what + he had meant it to be than a Hortus Siccus is a living garden, or a mummy + a live Prometheus. He wrote at last: ‘I cannot bear this banishment in + nearness, and if I am not to see you I must go away. I have had a night of + fever, and have not slept I dare not trust myself to write, but for pity’s + sake let me have an answer by the messenger who brings this.’ + </p> + <p> + He fixed in his mind ten o’clock as the earliest possible hour at which he + could venture to have the note delivered, and until then he must needs + have patience. When he went to place his missive in the hands of the + concierge, with instructions for the time of its delivery, the servants + had only just begun to stir about the house. He had come down great-coated + and gloved, as if for an early walk, but the walk was no more than a + pretext to allay some remotely imaginable suspicion on the part of the + concierge. + </p> + <p> + ‘Imust leave this with you now,’ he said, ‘because it must be delivered at + ten o’clock precisely, and I shall probably not be able to return till + later. The messenger will wait for an answer.’ + </p> + <p> + The man promised that his instructions should be obeyed, and he walked + into the streets feeling quite aimless and forlorn, and with the fatigues + of the night still heavy on him. He had not gone far when he found a + fiacre, and bade the man drive to the Bois and back, and fill up two hours + with the journey. Now, the chill morning air and the bright light falling + on tired eyes began to work upon him, and in a little while he was + peacefully asleep. The cocher awoke him at the door of his hotel. He + looked at his watch, and it was ten o’clock to the minute. His heart + turned a somersault as he thought that this was the hour at which Gertrude + would receive his letter. Breakfast was out of question, but by this time + either the Bodega or the English bar would be open, and he needed a + stimulant of some sort before he could face an interview if such a favour + were to be accorded him. It would be unreasonable to expect that the + messenger would return in less than half an hour, and he spent that time + in the society of a glass of well-watered absinthe and the English + newspapers of yesterday. He read industriously, but the only printed words + which reached his consciousness were those of the theatrical advertisement + which told him that the joint work of Messrs. George Darco and Paul + Armstrong was still being played nightly to crowded houses. That did not + interest him in the least, and the news of Parliament and the police + courts might as well have been written in Sanscrit for all the impression + it made upon him. + </p> + <p> + He endured his own impatience resolutely for the stated time, and then + walked back to the hotel. His messenger had not yet returned, but there in + the vestibule was Ralston, in his brigandish sombrero and his black velvet + jacket, looking so fit and wholesome that Paul envied him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have just met two of the boys,’ said Ralston, ‘and we are going to + breakfast at the Poule d’Or at twelve o’clock. Will you make one of us? I + can promise you good talk, and honest fare, and wholesome wine.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should like it,’ Paul answered awkwardly; ‘but the fact is, I can’t + tell whether I am free to go. I dare say I shall be able to give you an + answer in an hour, if that will do?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We must make it do,’ said Ralston, and at that instant Paul’s messenger + returned, and handed to him a large envelope of faint saffron tone. + </p> + <p> + It bore an armorial device on one side in gold and scarlet, and on the + other a superscription in a handwriting which had been so trained to + affectation that it was recognisable at a glance to anyone who had once + seen it. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will excuse me,’ said Paul; ‘I may have to answer this at once.’ + </p> + <p> + He stepped a little on one side and broke the envelope open with the + certainty in his mind that Ralston had noticed his eagerness and saw how + his fingers trembled. The thick embossed notepaper held three words only, + or, rather, two words and an initial: ‘Breakfast, noon.—G.’ His face + flushed with triumph, and he turned impulsively on Ralston. + </p> + <p> + ‘I find,’ he said, with a vivacity in strong contrast with his previous + manner, ‘that I can’t come to-day, but I hope you’ll give me another + chance. Supposing you and your friends are at liberty for this evening, + will you bring them to dine with me? I can trust the Poule d’Or; I know it + of old.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good,’ said Ralston. ‘If they are at liberty, we’ll be there. What time + shall we say? Seven?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Seven,’ Paul answered brightly. + </p> + <p> + But a new confusion fell upon him. Not a muscle of Ralston’s swarthy + clear-cut face or the full-bearded lips moved, but there was a dancing + little demon of not more than half-malicious humour in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘Seven,’ Paul repeated. ‘You’ll excuse me now? You won’t think my haste + unfriendly?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear fellow!’ cried Ralston, the fun rioting in his eyes by this time, + though his features were as still as those of a graven image. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, with a desperate, fruitless effort to recover himself, + ‘until seven.’ + </p> + <p> + Ralston shook hands and went his way, and Paul raced upstairs two steps at + a time and burst into the room he had left less than three hours ago in a + mood so cheerless and despondent He kissed the letter and clapped it to + his heart, and strolled up and down exulting. He was not to be dismissed; + he was not to be sent into the desert, after all. + </p> + <p> + And, then, what about Ralston? It was really a most unpleasant, a most + unlucky, chance which had brought him there at that particular instant. + There was no blinking the fact that Ralston had enjoyed Paul’s + discomfiture, and his talk of the previous night came back to mind—the + fun he had made of the Isolated Soul; his good-humoured allowance for the + one foible in the character of a lady whom he had known from childhood, + and for whom he professed both affection and esteem. It matters not how + impossible a suggestion of this kind may seem to a lover’s mind. His + rejection of it with a natural scorn is of no manner of consequence except + inasmuch as it confirms his loyalty. The suggestion will stick and will + worry, and it will stick the longer and worry the more because it will + make the sufferer suspicious of himself. ‘Trust me not at all, or all in + all,’ is a native motto for the man of candid soul, and for him an + implanted mistrust will not touch his mistress, though it may anguish him + with a sense of his own unworthiness. + </p> + <p> + But—for the time, at least—these things were no more than mere + trickeries of self-torment for Paul’s mind, and he was on fire to meet the + mid-day. He got out his handsomest morning raiment and brushed it with his + own hands, and made a second toilet lest there should be a speck on cuff + or collar after the morning’s drive, and then he promenaded the streets at + a snail’s pace to kill the hour which intervened between himself and + heaven. + </p> + <p> + Heaven was a trifle chilly when, after all this patient waiting, he + reached its portals. Gertrude was like frozen honey. She met him in an + exquisite morning confection of the latest Parisian design—a + something, to the uninstructed male eye, between a peignoir and a + tea-gown, but of costly simplicity, and of colours cunningly suited to + match Madame’s complexion in the daylight. The table was exquisitely + appointed, but to Paul’s dismay the couverts laid upon it were as for + apart as the length of the table would permit. He looked so comically + discomfited at this discovery, and his face so easily expressed his + disappointment, that Gertrude laughed and relented. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, M. Paul,’ she said, still laughing, ‘I will make a side-dish of + you,’ and with her own pretty hands she re-arranged the table, assigning + him a position with great demureness in the exact centre of it. + </p> + <p> + Paul would have made at least an effort to break through the crust of + sweet ice which enveloped her this morning but for the presence of a + piquante small brunette of a waiting-maid, who stood on guard, as it were, + over a service-table at the end of the apartment. + </p> + <p> + ‘My maid,’ said Gertrude, ‘neither speaks nor understands a word of any + language but her own, but I can assure you that she has eyes, and can use + them. She invariably attends me at breakfast, and to send her away would + be——’ + </p> + <p> + She paused. + </p> + <p> + ‘What would it be? said Paul. ‘Surely Madame la Baronne de Wyeth has the + right to choose what form of service she pleases at her own table?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madame la Baronne,’ replied the lady, with a slight curtsey, ‘has + chosen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But surely, Gertrude——’ Paul began. + </p> + <p> + She stopped him with a significant gesture of the hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not my Christian name this morning, if you please. And remember,’ she + added, ‘my little watch-dog there has eyes, as I have already told you, + and though she knows nothing of English, I should guess her to be a very + fair judge of tone. Come now, you stupid boy,’ she continued in a voice so + level and cool that no one who did not understand her words could have + guessed their purport, ‘I will make a bargain with you. If you will be + kind to me, I will be kind to you. If I receive here a distinguished and + handsome young Englishman all alone—if in order to receive him I + make a marked alteration in my household appointments—— Come, + now, is it worth while to go on with that?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, calling his stage practice to his aid, and following her + lead,’ it is not worth while; but,’ he added with a ceremonious bow, ‘I + shall not break my heart if I must needs go on with Madame la Baronne. The + right which you have given me to use a dearer name is so precious to me ‘—he + drew out his watch and pretended to compare it with the fairy pendule on + the mantel-shelf—‘is so precious,’ he continued, ‘that I cannot + resign it, and if I am absolutely driven to it in self-defence, I shall + have to invent a dearer name.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, that, M. Paul,’ said Madame, with her tone and face of chill + sweetness, ‘is excellently well done, except for the one little + circumstance that you do not disguise your ardour. I read in your eyes,’ + she said as calmly as if she were announcing a trifle of news she had read + in the morning’s papers, ‘all the fervour of your mind, and I do not wish + to read it there—that is to say, I do not wish my little maid to + read it there.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, ‘I will try. If you will let me say what I want to say, + I will keep a straight face over it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Within measure,’ said the lady, with a passing touch of gaiety—‘within + measure.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Most things have their measure,’ Paul answered, ‘until you come to the + crucial matters of the heart, and they go beyond measure.’ + </p> + <p> + The maid broke in at this point to ask if Madame la Baronne would be + served. + </p> + <p> + ‘At once,’ said the mistress, and waved Paul to his place. He bowed and + took it. The maid served a number of elegant kickshaws, and the grave + serving-man who had superintended the dinner-table on the previous evening + entered with a bottle of hock in a cradle and stealthily withdrew. + </p> + <p> + ‘You gave me but little time,’ said Gertrude, ‘to prepare for you, but I + think you will find that we have done very well. Try that hock, M. Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul looked down his nose, and in a dry-at-dust voice recited the first + verse of old Ben’s immortal lyric. His voice quavered a little on the last + lines— + </p> + <p> + ‘But might I of Jove’s nectar sip, I would not change from thine!’ and + Gertrude broke in with a laugh and an airy little wave of her hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, my dear M. Paul,’ she said, ‘you are really and truly admirable. + That is quite perfect, and if you will promise me, upon your sacred word + of honour as a man, not to betray me by a word or a look, I will tell you + something I never told you before. I have never admired you so much, or + loved you so dearly, as I do at this hour. You must believe me,’ she + continued, pushing her plate away and beckoning the maid with a slight + backward gesture of the head, ‘I hate this tone of persiflage, but what is + there left for us if we would be blamelessly alone, and yet speak our + hearts to each other?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madame,’ said Paul, ‘I find it a masterstroke of genius.’ Their tones + were ice on both sides, but their words were fire. The maid most probably + thought her mistress bored, and the guest a dullard. She had seemed at + first interested in the new arrival, but she lapsed now into an attitude + of indifference, and the dangerous pretence went on. In this intoxicating + whirl of passion, when interchange of vows was offered under the necessity + of constant watchfulness and self-guardianship, the meal was not an + important matter. + </p> + <p> + ‘But,’ said Gertrude, ‘my dear Paul, you must really do justice to my + table; the pretence must be absolute.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I will try to make it so,’ he answered; but the luxurious meal had no + more relish for him than if it had been desert sand. He struggled with it + manfully, however, and contrived to keep astride his end of the see-saw of + pretence. + </p> + <p> + Who are the best and who the worst of women? Did any man ever venture to + impugn the fair fame of Madame la Baronne de Wyeth? Yet, had the devil a + better ally anywhere than this delicate little purring white-breasted + epicure in the varying flavours of the ruined soul? Oh, the devil is, of + course, a symbol! Let the phrase pass. + </p> + <p> + But the Paul Armstrong of ten years later, perched in his fog-bound eyrie, + staring along the unseen gorge? He tells himself that had she been what he + believed her, he might have been elsewhere than where he finds himself. + There had been but a surface ash upon the seeming ruin of a life. There + was something still to build upon, but she must needs destroy what was + left. There was wholesome blood in the veins of the man who aspired to + rebuild, and it was she who poisoned its fount. + </p> + <p> + ‘“Queen bee of the honey asps,”’ quoth Paul of the eyrie: and he was back + in Paris. + </p> + <p> + He was back at Gertrude’s table, the worshipped, the immaculate Gertrude + of those days. + </p> + <p> + They had reached the end of the repast, and coffee was served in little + cups of eggshell china encased in filigree gold. + </p> + <p> + ‘A gift from the Khedive,’ she said, indicating these. ‘Sardou was with me + when I was in Alexandria.’ She laughed, and what with her eyes, to which a + single glass of the rare hock had given an added sparkle, and what with + her faultless teeth, she fairly dazzled on her companion. ‘Yes, that is + the creature’s absurd name. Sardou is the solemn personage who has been + waiting upon us all the morning, and his godfathers and godmothers had the + impertinence to baptize him in the name of Victor. I was telling you that + Sardou was with me in Alexandria when the Khedive was so gracious as to + offer me this little souvenir, and I implored his Highness that he might + be permitted to make a study in coffee in the palace kitchen. He made it, + and the result is adorable. <i>Inter alia</i>,’ she said in the same tone, + ‘you, too, are adorable this morning, and now I think I may snatch a + longed-for moment and tell you so in earnest. Juliette, bring me a letter + you will find upon my toilet-table, and call Sardou.’ + </p> + <p> + Juliette tripped out like a stage soubrette, demurely pert from crown to + sole. Possibly—just possibly—she guessed; probably she guessed + nothing. The suggestion was no more than a suggestion in the mind of the + watcher of all these bygone scenes. + </p> + <p> + Paul rose, but Gertrude waved him back. + </p> + <p> + ‘Not yet,’ she whispered, ‘not yet.’ + </p> + <p> + He sat down again, his senses all awhirl with the aching desire he had to + hold her in his arms. + </p> + <p> + ‘You must not allow Sardou’s masterpiece to grow cold,’ said Gertrude; and + Juliette came tripping back again, with the grave man at her heels. ‘You + will take this to the post,’ said Madame la Baronne, indicating the letter + on the salver the maid carried. ‘You will see it registered personally, + and bring me the receipt.’ + </p> + <p> + The grave man bowed, and retired, letter in hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘You like your coffee, Mr. Armstrong? And, oh, Juliette, bring to me that + last little portfolio of watercolour drawings. You know where you will + find them?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, yes, Madame la Baronne, but they were locked in the escritoire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You will find the key,’ said the Baroness, sipping her coffee, ‘in my + purse. Make haste, for M. Armstrong has but a moment to spare.’ + </p> + <p> + Juliette ran with a swirl of petticoats upstairs. Gertrude followed the + footsteps with alert ear and eye. Ear and eye alike seemed to listen. She + rose to her feet and stretched her arms with an imploring gesture. + </p> + <p> + ‘Does this make amends to you?’ she murmured. ‘To me it atones for all’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no; be careful Mind my hair, you silly darling—mind my hair! + Shall you be content to wait for this just now and then? Oh, Paul, Paul, + Paul! how hard it is! Go now—go. Quickly! Sip your coffee, Paul, and + try to look as little unnatural as you can. She is quicker than I fancied. + I’ve always a cigar to offer a departing breakfast guest. Juliette, the + cigars.’ + </p> + <p> + Juliette laid down the small portfolio she carried, and pricked away a + third time. + </p> + <p> + ‘You love me?’ he said hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + The sound of his own voice was in his ears, after everything that had + happened. + </p> + <p> + ‘I adore you!’ she responded. ‘You know it all now. But duty calls you one + way and me another. And oh, Paul, “of love that never found its earthly + close, what sequel?”’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The very words,’ he cried, ‘that ticked in my brain all night’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You must look at the portfolio,’ she murmured. ‘Est tu content de moi? + </p> + <p> + ‘Je t’aime!’ and with fumbling fingers he untied the strings of the + portfolio. + </p> + <p> + And now was Paul Armstrong the tame cat of Madame la Baronne de Wyeth, and + earned his title well in many cities, from St Petersburg to Cadiz, and + from London to Cairo. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <p> + It would appear that in the course of time Gertrude grew a little tired of + Paul’s ceaseless devotion. It is quite likely that she sometimes found him + in the way, and she was deprived of her best conversational theme. It was + of no use to try to revive the legend of the Isolated Soul any longer, + because of the frequent and earnest confession which had been made of the + final discovery of a spiritual rapport absolute and complete. Paul and his + angel had lived on terms of so much intimacy that they had earned the + right to be acidulous with each other upon occasion. Her pruderies and her + abandonments of prudery afforded between them an atmosphere as unwholesome + as it was easily possible for a man of fervent temperament to live in. + Work of the hard and healthful sort was practically abandoned. There was a + good deal of verse-turning done, and an anonymous volume of sonnets + entitled ‘Dialogues of the Soul’ made a momentary splash on the surface of + the literary deep, and then sank like a pebble to the bottom. The book + distilled a faint odour of eroticism, a scent of the epicene; but the + degenerates, sniffing it, thought poorly of it because of its want of + downright rancidity, and the people of whom crowds are made misliked it + for a better reason. Paul, with a diminishing exchequer, found himself + aware of the first flat literary failure of his lifetime. + </p> + <p> + The exchequer failed rapidly, and there were several contributory reasons. + In the first place, the Baroness had any amount of money to spend, and it + was essential that anyone who aspired to follow her about the capitals of + Europe on equal terms should live at a high rate. Then, Annette had + proclaimed her rights of freedom, and had escaped from Laurent and his + forces, and had run up bills in Paris, and in London, and elsewhere. The + most successful of comedies will pass out of vogue. To be idle, to be + extravagant in one’s own person, and to be milked perpetually by the + extravagance of another—could better ways to ruin be discovered? + </p> + <p> + The two had their first real tiff at Naples on a Christmas Eve. Gertrude + had set up a sheep-dog in the person of one Mrs. Diedrich, a sour and + sallow remnant of New England fashion and beauty, a lady who both on her + husband’s side and her own claimed all the splendours of Knickerbocker + descent. The husband was dead, the fortune—except for a meagre bone + or two with little meat thereon—was eaten all away. Mrs. Diedrich + and the sympathetic Gertrude’s mother had been friends. There was nothing + more natural or more befitting than that the wealthy Baroness de Wyeth + should find an asylum for this superannuated slave of fortune, though Paul + knew perfectly well that she was no more than a buckler against scandal at + the first. But reasonable as he was compelled to admit such a precaution + to be, he was not very long in discovering that the impoverished lady was + a buckler against himself, and that she was used to prevent that old + familiar laying of heads together, and the old familiar communion of + hearts, in which, by dint of careful manoeuvring, a bare sixty seconds + might sometimes he snatched for a solitude of two. + </p> + <p> + There should have been a drive that afternoon—Gertrude and Paul, + with Mrs. Diedrich to play gooseberry—and Mrs. Diedrich had fallen + ill. Paul presented himself at the appointed hour, and no Gertrude was + there to meet him. Instead of the Presence a note couched in the chilliest + terms: + </p> + <p> + ‘Dear Friend, + </p> + <p> + ‘Mrs. Diedrich is shockingly unwell to-day, and I cannot leave her. + Profoundest regrets for a lost pleasure. + </p> + <p> + ‘Sincerely, ‘G. de W.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘My luck!’ said Paul bitterly to himself; for he had been more than once + disappointed of late. But he found grace enough to express his sorrow, + send his compliments and good wishes, and to withdraw. He went strolling + about in unknown ways, with all manner of unpleasant things to think of. + He not only made his momentary disappointment the greatest of them all, + but strove to make it so. And yet the others would intrude. Here was a + letter from Darco expressing grave disappointment with the end of the + second act of their latest piece. Darco coughing up his stammering + gutturals as a speaker of English was one man, and Darco with a pen in his + hand was another. + </p> + <p> + ‘It crumbles,’ wrote the critic, ‘at the very instant at which it should + triumph. It is vague, unconvincing, wrong. You leave me unanswered for six + whole weeks, and at the end you send me this incoherent sandheap, when + your promises had given me the right to expect a solid piece of + well-worked marble. I do not know whether you are well or ill, whether you + desire to continue the work or no. All of which I am certain is that the + piece is wanted for March, and that we cannot work together at this + distance. I will meet you where you like—Paris, Brussels, Vienna, + London, Hong Kong. It is all one to me so long as I get you back to work + in time. But, for whatever reason, this second act is so written that it + will not do. And I cannot wait I am a poet, but I am a poet without a + language. If you will not be my interpreter, I must find another. Is + friendship friendship, or is business business? In the name of both I ask + you to meet me and to work with me.’ + </p> + <p> + Look at it how he would, and distort his own perspective as he might, + Darco’s angry and outspoken appeal was larger than anything his duty to + Gertrude might ask of him. But, to tell the whole truth, his sense of duty + was his curse, because the sense itself had grown distorted. Because of + some rooted infirmity of character, he must needs be true to the ideal + which least merited truth. He saw this fact throughout his career. He had + bowed at foolish shrines. Gertrude—oh yes, Gertrude was impeccable. + But just as he was wasting the heart of ardent manhood now, he had wasted + the heart of youth and the heart of boyhood The career was all of a piece. + Born to be fooled, whether by a village coquette, or his own loftiest, or + his own lowest, or by practised <i>femme de feu</i> and <i>femme de glace</i> + in one—always born to be fooled, frustrated, enticed to the throwing + away of real passion and of real power. + </p> + <p> + And over and above all these, arrange them in what imaginary perspective + he might choose, the sordid side of things, the bills—bills from + lodging-house keepers of the better sort, from hotels, from milliners, and + from modistes—and the shrinking exchequer, which barely, when all + claims were satisfied, would leave him so much as two hundred and fifty + pounds. + </p> + <p> + What had his year and a half of dalliance brought him? A dream of + pleasure, a desert ache of hunger, an occasional delirious spur to + appetite. Now, what in the name of common-sense is the good of it all? And + is Gertrude any better, after all, than an innocent Delilah, trapping no + Samson, but a fool unmuscled, who has no strength to break the weakest of + her withes? Innocent Delilah! He never profaned her in his thought. + </p> + <p> + But in this mood—with his conscience, literary-artistic and simply + human, entirely endorsing old Darco’s reproof of his work and his + evasions; with a financial crevasse at his feet, and Annette chopping away + his standing-place, and his own extravagances melting his foothold like + butter in the sun; with a barren future staring him in the face—he + was disposed alike to remorse and penitence. + </p> + <p> + The city in which he rambled was strange to him, and, according to his + fashion when absorbed in thought, he took any turning which suggested + itself, and lost himself in a labyrinth of byways. He had done the same + kind of thing in a hundred towns and cities without any result worth + mentioning, but just for once he was destined to find a purpose wrapped up + in the folds of this simple habit. + </p> + <p> + He was plodding along miserably enough, and did not know whether he were + at Naples or the North Pole, when a familiar voice awoke him from his + bitter reveries, and he looked about him to discover that he was between a + high wall and & hedge of aloes on a strip of grass which had no + pathway on it, and apparently led nowhere. He had a vague idea that he had + set out in this direction upon a footpath more or less distinct, and + making a <i>volte-face</i>, he saw that the path had come to a termination + at a door in the high wall a wicket’s length behind him. + </p> + <p> + The voice he had heard was the voice of Gertrude, and the words it had + spoken were: ‘Ah! but my dear friend, that inevitable, that unceasing + isolation of the mind!’ + </p> + <p> + A swift pang of jealousy ran through him, and he listened with an almost + fierce anxiety. There was nothing in his nature to induce him to play the + eavesdropper, but he could not have refrained from listening just then had + it been to save his soul. Some deep undetermined murmur of a voice in + answer seemed to reach his ears, but they were drumming so to the startled + music of his heart that his sense failed to record it. He went back + swiftly and stealthily to the spot at which the pathway terminated, and + there he found an old green-painted door in a small archway in the wall. + It half drooped upon its rusty hinges, and across the gap it left between + its own rim and the postern, he had view enough to tell him whither his + rambling footsteps had led him. He was looking at the terraced gardens in + the rear of the Baroness’s hotel, and whilst he looked Gertrude herself + floated into sight. Some trifle of a lace mantilla was thrown over her + head, and in her right hand she balanced a parasol daintily between thumb + and finger. Her companion was a man apparently of middle age, + frock-coated, silk-hatted, booted and gloved as if for Rotten Row. He bore + himself with an air of distinction, and the looker-on saw the gloved hand + caress a big moustache of sweeping silver. The owner of the moustache was + bending over the Baroness with an unmistakable air of gallant attention, + and Paul’s blood boiled within him. He had no real sense of the impulse + which moved him, and no calculation as to what might happen; but he pushed + the door aside, and, entering the garden, walked along the gravelled main + path which led to the hotel. He made a feint of holding his head straight, + and of looking neither to left nor right, but he watched Gertrude and her + companion with a keen sidelong glance. His brisk footstep set a pebble + rolling in the pathway, and a second later he heard his own name called. A + low-growing orange-tree, all lustrous with globes of green and gold and + shiny leafage, had intercepted his view of the pair for just the instant + which intervened between the sound and the call. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Armstrong,’ said Gertrude’s voice, ‘Mr. Armstrong!’ He turned in a + pretence of amazement, and, hat in hand, crossed a small space of turf. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had just sent round to you,’ said the smiling little lady, ‘at your + hotel.’ She transferred the parasol to her left hand, and held out the + right in an almost effusive greeting. ‘I suppose you have not been back + yet?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ Paul answered. ‘I have been walking and had lost myself, until I + recognised the garden through the open door yonder. Then I made sure of + myself again, and thought I might secure a short-cut home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How fortunate!’ said Gertrude, smiling; ‘and how curious, too!’ she + added. ‘At the very moment at which I caught sight of you your name was in + my mind. Are you a believer in the Aura, Colonel Brunton—the + something which envelops personality and diffuses itself in such a manner + that you recognise a friend’s presence before you are made aware of it by + sight or hearing? Don’t you recognise the reality of those things? But, + oh, I forgot! You gentlemen are, I am afraid, strangers to each other. + This is Colonel Brunton, our great traveller in the Himalayas and Thibet, + and this is Mr. Paul Armstrong, the author of I dare not say how many + charming books and comedies—Mr. Darco’s collaborateur.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Whose work,’ said Colonel Brunton in a voice typically American, but + profoundly deep, ‘I have, bafore my trip to Asia, seen performed with a + splendid eclaw both in London and New York. I am proud to meet you, Mr. + Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + He was a rugged man, brown as a sun-burned brick, with a cascading + moustache of silver, jet-black eyebrows, and eyes which danced defiance at + his gray hairs and wrinkles. Paul could do no less than accept the hearty + hand he offered, and Gertrude set herself to soothe him. + </p> + <p> + ‘You know,’ she said, laying her finger-tips upon his arm, ‘you are a very + inattentive cavalier, Mr. Armstrong. Poor Mrs. Diedrich was taken ill so + suddenly and alarmingly that I had time to do no more than just to + scribble that little hasty note to you. You might at least have paused to + make inquiry.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That would never have done,’ said Paul ‘One does not inquire into a + lady’s decision at any moment.’ + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a capital assumption of gaiety, but to the keen instinct of + that experienced trifler with hearts it was an assumption only, and + Gertrude turned the question with the easy skill of a woman of the world. + </p> + <p> + ‘Those geological researches now,’ she said, with a charming air of + mocking schoolgirl ignorance about such matters. ‘Do you really mean to + tell me that right away in the Himalayas you found the same little + protozoic blot in the same limestone that you find in our own Andes? Has + that little creature really built the mountains of the world? Why, it is + the story of the Coral Islands over again; but on what an enormous scale, + ‘Dear me, what creatures of a day we are!’ + </p> + <p> + Colonel Brunton, who, as it appeared, was a member of many learned + societies, and a most indefatigable besieger of the world’s inaccessible + places, turned out to be a man of so much simplicity, sincerity, and + charm, and Gertrude drew him to his best so skilfully, that it was not + easy to be sulky for a long time together in his society. It was Paul’s + cue to disguise himself as far as possible, and this delightful American + helped him greatly. He could barely think of the man as a rival; he was so + very upright, downright complimentary. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, Lord!’ he said once in the course of that afternoon’s talk, ‘when + you were in short frocks, and I was over head and ears in love with you——’ + </p> + <p> + The Baroness snatched a fan which girdled her, and tapped him with it + reprovingly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ he said, twinkling, ‘when all is said and done, habit is the + conqueror. I got into that habit when you were a baby: twenty years ago, + I’ll swear, though it’s not legitimate, I know, to guess a lady’s age. + I’ve found a new habit since—a Satanic habit—of going to and + fro about the earth, and roaming up and down on it, but I have never + forgotten the old one.’ + </p> + <p> + The Baroness laughed and made fun of this proclamation, which was + accompanied by certain old-fashioned bows and flourishes of deportment. + </p> + <p> + ‘But now,’ she said, ‘I must really run away and look after my patient, + and must leave you, gentlemen, to console each other for my loss. I left + Mrs. Diedrich asleep, and could just afford to snatch half an hour for so + old a friend as you, Colonel If you care to come back and have tea with me + at six, I shall be glad to meet you, if I may dare run away again. But if + I <i>should</i> be compelled to send down my excuses, you will + understand.’ + </p> + <p> + She had already started a movement towards the hotel, and the two men + sauntered along with her, one on either side. She left them in the + flower-perfumed dimness of the shaded hall, and the whole business of the + afternoon had by this time so explained and reconciled itself to Paul’s + mind that he would have been a brute to fret about it longer. + </p> + <p> + ‘I say,’ said the Colonel, ‘I have been for three years outside + civilization, and I should like a John Collins. I came here last night by + the Messagerie Maritime. They are good people, and they cook as well as + anybody can be expected to cook outside the United States, but their ideas + of drink are curiously simple. Can you be my guide, Mr. Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Need I guide you farther?’ asked Paul ‘I should fancy that your materials + are to be found here in an absurd plenty, and if you have a skilful hand——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Sir,’ said the Colonel, with a burlesque flourish, interrupting him, + ‘there is not a man from Marble Head to the Golden Gate who can make a + John Collins to compare with mine.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul knew the house, and led his new acquaintance to a shady veranda where + a polyglot waiter chipped his ice to his fancy, found him lemon, pounded + sugar, fresh mint, square-faced Hollands, and syphon-water, and left the + Colonel compounding in a high state of content. + </p> + <p> + ‘This is like home,’ he said, ‘bar the celestial straw, the use of which + these blahsted Continentals have not learned. This is quite like home. + Three years I have been roughing it, up hill and down dale, camp and field + Seen a little bit o’fightin’ on the Burmah side ‘long of your British + troops. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Armstrong; better boys I do <i>not</i> want to meet And here’s to them + and you, sir. But, Lord!’—he caressed his tumbler with a lean brown + hand, and looked contemplatively into space—‘I must smoke. Try a + Burmese cigarette, sir. Lord ‘I land here last night after three years. I + just break my journey on the way to London, and I run against the little + girl that broke my heart when I was fifteen years of age, and broke it + again when I was one-and-twenty, and would just go on breaking it for the + mere fun of the thing for the next million years, if she and me could only + live as long.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ said Paul, in a cold insolence which made him + hot to think of a thousand times later, ‘have you been drinking?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, I guess,’ said Mr. Brunton, and, leaning back in his deck-chair, + drew a great volume of smoke into his lungs, expelled it in a cloud, and + laughed; ‘after a three years’ drought, the man who is not game to drink + deserves to go dry. But, by Heaven, sir, to strike up against that mighty + little flirt after a space of fifteen years—to come across it all + again by accident! Look here! I land out of the <i>Grande Marie de + Luxembourg</i> at Naples, with no more idea of revivin’ old times than of + escapin’ into the next century, and who’s the first person that I meet but + little Gertie, and what’s the first word that I hear but the isolation of + the soul!’ + </p> + <p> + Paul sat in a chill, tense agony. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was,’ said the Colonel, growing more and more clearly articulate in + accordance with his needs, ‘about as full up as any Christian need be when + I landed, and I was going to bed like a clean Christian gentleman. Then I + ran up against Gertie. I have been Turkish bathed, I have been sluiced and + washed and shaved and perfumed, and I can stand and talk straight. What do + you say? What would you have said about me amongst the oranges and lemons + in the garden there?’ He sat up in a momentary fierceness. ‘Am I + intoxicated, or, at least, was I till I turned the lock-gate winch and set + the waters foaming? No, sir, but in that profoundly philosophic + observation of life your works declare you will have observed the state in + which a man becomes drunk-sober. + </p> + <p> + He brims over after that stage. That I allow. He brims over, sir—he + brims over, sir. If it is of any humorous value to you to make + observations of the present case, <i>I</i> am brimming over, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + The clean-cut, travel-hardened, sun-stained man was slipping from his + original place in Paul’s mind, like a statue built in clay too soft to + support its own weight. He slipped at the chin, at the mouth, at the base + of the nostril, at the eyebrow, and yet, in spite of these deflections + from the original, he appeared to recover himself with an extraordinary + swiftness at moments, and to be again the alert, adventurous creature of + the woods and wilds his extraordinary career proclaimed him. + </p> + <p> + It was in a moment of supreme sobriety that he touched Paul’s arm and + said: + </p> + <p> + ‘I’ll tell you all about little Gertie right away.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <p> + The Colonel’s capacity for the holding of liquid substances looked + abnormal even to a man of Paul’s experience. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thirst is now assuaged,’ he said solemnly at the end of his third deep + tumbler, ‘and a man may begin to enjoy himself. There ought to be a boy + here who can make a cocktail.’ + </p> + <p> + He kept the boy fairly busy, and he talked. He had recovered himself + curiously, and there was now no more than a hint of coming intoxication in + his eye and in his voice. It seemed as if he had arrived at a settled + stage, and was able to make a longish stay there. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re pretty thick with our little friend, ain’t you?’ he asked, rolling + round in his seat. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you are speaking of the lady who left us a little while ago——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, certainly,’ said the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have the honour of her friendship,’ said Paul with an icy air. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was no longer smoking, but he chewed the end of his cigar with + a lazy appetite, and he smiled. + </p> + <p> + ‘Funny little devil she is,’ he said contemplatively. ‘Women are odd, + however you take ‘em; but she’s odder than odd. By God, sir, she’s odder + than Dick’s hat-band! I suppose she wants me to believe that she’s + forgotten how I bowled her out years ago. Soul! Heart ‘It was before she + got married. She made me believe that I was the only man she ever came + across who had either. There were twenty-three of us met in New York City, + and we had a dinner on the strength of it. I was that mad, sir, at the + time, I drummed up the whole contingent. I believe that evening left some + of us a little sore, but it cured us, and little Gertie had + three-and-twenty play-fellows the fewer next morning. And I’m damned if + she didn’t open fire on me again in the first half-hour after all these + years. It’s funny, ain’t it?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am afraid I must bid you good-afternoon, sir,’ said Paul. ‘And if you + will permit a stranger to intrude in your affairs, I would suggest that + you should make that cocktail your last.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wha-at?’ asked the Colonel, placidly smiling, and eating his cigar. + ‘Should we have made it four-and-twenty if you had been in Noo Yawk City + at the time of that banquet.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ Paul answered stiffly. ‘I don’t care to continue + this conversation, and I will take the liberty to end it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I say,’ said the Colonel, ‘wait there. I never began a quarrel in my + life, Mr. Armstrong, but I have ended—lemme see——’ He + began to count upon his fingers with an inward look. ‘I have ended eight,’ + he said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you wish to quarrel now?’ Paul demanded. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why, no, sir, no,’ said the Colonel; ‘I am a man of peace. But when you + presoom, sir, to dictate what a man shall drink, and when you presoom to + object to the theme upon which he chooses to converse—why, don’t you + see?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul, ‘I do not see. If you choose to renew this conversation + to-morrow, that is my hotel, and I shall be pleased to meet you there at + any hour before noon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now,’ the Colonel answered, taking him by the sleeve in alcoholic + friendship, ‘you are becoming shirty, and your tone is warlike. And that, + Mr. Armstrong, is unreasonable. Perhaps you know now that I am an old + traveller. I’m a little bit of an explorer, sir, and I have never objected + to being guided over a bit of country that I didn’t know, if I happened to + meet a man that knew it Now, that’s enough said, Mr. Armstrong. If you + find my conversation distasteful, just damn my eyes and go. But don’t you + let me hear you. You can curse outside to your heart’s content, and, you + see, that needn’t breed a quarrel.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ said Paul. The Solemn drunken man made him laugh in spite of + his own anger and bewildered misery of mind. ‘Whatever cursing I may have + to do shall be done outside.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good,’ the Colonel answered, and having by this time eaten his cigar to + its burned ash, he ejected the remnant and permitted Paul to escape. + </p> + <p> + As he came out upon the mild widespread sunshine of the street at the + close of the afternoon, he seemed to realize himself for the first time in + his whole life. He did not trouble himself to curse the Colonel, but he + cursed Paul Armstrong soundly, and, striding rapidly towards his hotel, + resolved on instant action. He mounted to his own room, and there he wrote + a letter. + </p> + <p> + ‘I must see you,’ it ran, ‘and I must see you to-day. I must catch + to-morrow’s train for London, and I cannot guess when I may be able to + return. I have neglected both work and business too long, and I must shake + myself awake. On the whole, perhaps the kindest and best thing you could + do for me would be to send me away for good and all. I have lived in a + fool’s dream too long.’ + </p> + <p> + There was much more, but this was the gist of it, and the writer sealed + and despatched it, not daring to tempt himself to a new effort by reading + it over. The answer reached him in an hour: + </p> + <p> + ‘What is it, my poor friend, which has so disturbed you as to prompt you + to the writing of such a letter as I have just received? I had thought + myself safe in counting upon your esteem. If you are really called to + London by affairs of urgency, I must not keep you, and, of course, I + should be hurt if you went without telling me good-bye. It happens that I + have engaged to dine at table-d’hôte tonight with passing friends, but I + shall be free at ten o’clock. Ask for me then.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had been conscious and jealous of a good many small rivalries since + he and the Baroness had first set up that platonic communion of soul in + which they had now lived so long, but on the whole he had to confess that + Gertrude had acted with complete discretion in these matters, and he had + been repeatedly forced to admit to himself that he had been unable to find + any real ground for his tremors. He had never once felt himself in actual + danger of being deposed from his position of high priest in that + ridiculous temple. When a man is in love with a woman, he cannot be + expected to judge her actions or her meaning wisely, and the Baroness’s + platonics, with the little flashes of earthly fire in amongst them here + and there, had always seemed to him to indicate a nature throbbing with + fervour which was held in restraint only by a delicacy of equal charm and + beauty, and a lofty moral sense. But he was easily open to the influence + of other men’s opinions, and he had never been able to think of Ralston’s + smile without an inward twinge which had sometimes amounted to an actual + tenor. Suppose he were merely being played with by a heartless woman, who + found it minister to her vanity to have him perpetually dangling at her + heels in public and burning incense in private before her day by day? + Suppose he were throwing away the best and freshest years of his manhood + in the pursuit of such a mocking shadow? These, of course, were a sort of + lover’s blasphemies against his idol, and he resented them with all his + heart and soul, exactly as any other worshipper would resent the + insinuations of the devil against the powers and perfections of his deity. + His resentment could not lead him to oblivion, and his memory of Ralston’s + humorous and mischievous enjoyment was with him often. And now came this + American man, this boozing Colonel, with none of Ralston’s reticence, and + apparently with none of his respect for the character of a lady whom he + had known long and well, and the coarser accusation travelled on the same + lines as the other, and only differed from it in going a good deal + further. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will know to-night,’ Paul said to himself savagely a hundred times in + the course of that afternoon and evening, and when at length the slow + hours had rolled themselves on to the time of his appointment, he + presented himself in the vestibule of the Baroness’s hotel in a condition + of tragic resolve. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude was there in the very act of saying farewell to her <i>passagère</i> + American friends, and he thought to himself, with as much of anger as + admiration, that he had never seen her look altogether so charming as she + did at that instant. The vivacity of colouring which commonly + distinguished her was softened, and the unaccustomed pallor of her face + lent a tender softness to her whole aspect. Her eyes, too, had lost + something of their brilliance, and seemed faintly humid. He could have + sworn that she had been crying, but when she turned to meet him after the + departure of her friends, there was a gentle sparkle of welcome in her + face, and she held out her beautiful jewelled little hand with a charming + frankness. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am so glad you are here,’ she said, ‘and I was so much afraid that + those dear tiresome people were going to overstay their time, and that I + should have to keep you waiting.’ + </p> + <p> + She had a hooded opera-cloak thrown over her left arm, and she held this + out to him, and turned away so that he might adjust it about her + shoulders. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is a lovely night,’ she said, ‘like a night in our Indian summer in + dear old Massachusetts. Let us talk in the garden, Paul.’ + </p> + <p> + He walked by her side, still half saturnine, but in part conquered already + by the soft seduction of her voice and face. He did not speak a word until + they reached the garden terrace, and then only in answer to her question: + </p> + <p> + ‘You must really go, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ he answered gloomily, ‘I must really go.’ + </p> + <p> + For the season of the year it was a wonderful night even for Naples. The + air was like balm, and was loaded with the scent of flowers. Lights + twinkled here and there about the garden, and the moon shone broad and + bright almost at the zenith, half drowning the lustre of the stars in the + haze of light it spread. Scattered about the gardens were a dozen parties, + more or less, all chattering gaily, and here and there disposed to frolic + Their presence jarred on Paul, but there was no removing it He allowed + Gertrude to lead the way, and she; strolling in pensive silence, brought + him to a shaded avenue on the western side of the garden, where a + gentleman and lady were promenading slowly arm-in-arm away from them. + Gertrude laid a hand upon his arm, and stood still until the couple in + front had strayed out of hearing, and then resumed her pensive march. + </p> + <p> + ‘How came you, Paul,’ she asked, looking suddenly up to him, ‘to write so + strange a letter?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I had to write it,’ Paul answered in a constricted voice, in which a + certain note of anger sounded. It disturbed him to find that his resolve + was melting away from him, and he felt that he must needs harden his heart + if be were but partly to fulfil his purpose. ‘What is there in the + letter,’ he asked therefore, ‘which you find strange? + </p> + <p> + ‘You have never told me,’ she responded, ‘one word of your purpose until + this afternoon, and you are leaving me tomorrow. Is not that a little + strange, Paul?’ + </p> + <p> + Her voice trembled and almost broke upon his name. + </p> + <p> + ‘I knew nothing of it myself until yesterday,’ he answered ‘I have had + letters of the most urgent importance, and must answer them in person.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘How long do you expect to be away,’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘The one wise thing,’ he answered, ‘I could do would be to stay away + altogether.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah, Paul,’ she half whispered, wreathing her arm through his, ‘there is + your “fool’s dream” again. What do you mean by the “fool’s dream”? Haven’t + we been happy for a time?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Is it happiness,’ Paul asked, ‘to pay for a week’s emptiness and longing + with one minute of delirium? Is it a happy thing to be so set on one + unattainable hope as to be able, dreaming or waking, to think of nothing + else? A man is not to be made happy by the life I live.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul,’ she whispered, ‘what more can you ask than I have given you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Everything,’ he answered. + </p> + <p> + She drew her arm away lingeringly. He let it go, and for a minute they + walked in silence side by side. They reached the avenue, and turned back + again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can you tell me anything,’ she asked after this pause—‘do you care + to tell me anything about your business in England.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s simple enough,’ he answered. ‘I am within some few months of + poverty, and I must get to work again. I have had a tremendous letter from + old Darco, slanging me for breach of faith, and for having sent him a + piece of intolerably bad work. I have deserved every word he has to say, + and now I must make amends to him.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You have not been fortunate in your work lately?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not been fortunate,’ he answered; ‘I have been so far from + fortunate that’ I have been writing like an untrained schoolboy. I could + have done better before I was fifteen.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But why is that? she asked. ‘Your mind should only just now be ripening. + Your time is all your own.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is not one minute of my time my own,’ he answered in a smouldering + wrathfulness. + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not?’ she questioned. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come,’ said Paul, ‘isn’t that just a little disingenuous? Don’t you know + why not? Here am I,’ he went on, ‘as I do most solemnly believe, as madly + in love as ever man was in the history of the world; petted, encouraged, + and caressed, and ignored, and repulsed, until in the insane weakness of + my own nature I have let all manhood ooze out of me. I am unlike Hamlet, + my dear Gertrude. I am both to be fretted and played upon.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Played upon?’ she said reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + ‘Played upon,’ he repeated with what sounded like a weighty deliberation. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude began to cry, and set a dainty handkerchief to her eyes, but she + said nothing, and Paul’s only resource was to go on talking, to keep + himself in sight of his own injuries. + </p> + <p> + ‘You and I made a bargain, Gertrude: we were to be friends, and no more + than friends. You have known all along how much it cost me to keep within + those limits; and have you helped me? I put that to your conscience.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Helped you?’ she asked, pausing once more in her walk, and looking up at + him in an innocent bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Helped me,’ he repeated stonily. ‘The words are plain enough.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a garden-seat near at hand. She hastened to it, and sinking down + upon it, seemed to surrender herself to tears. He moved moodily after her, + and stood looking down at the pathway, tracing haphazard figures on its + moss-grown surface with the cane he carried. + </p> + <p> + ‘I understand you now,’ sobbed Gertrude. ‘I have a right to reproach + myself because my own undisciplined heart has gone beyond control + sometimes; but does it lie in your province, Paul, to blame me for that? + Have I not an equal right,’ she went on, ‘to tell you that you have not + helped me in the daily struggle I have had to make? You are unjust, you + are ungenerous. I could never have believed it of you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can foresee nothing,’ Paul said, ‘but misery.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Nor can I,’ she answered. She rose and faced him, and in the patch of + moonlight in which she stood he could see that her tears at least were + real. ‘What you have to say to me, in effect,’ she said, with an air of + sudden quiet dignity, but with a quiver in her voice, ‘is just this: that + I am a heartless coquette, and have never cared for you; that I have + wilfully lured you on to your own unhappiness. If you really think that, + Paul, if it means anything more than a mere passing gust of temper, we had + better say good-bye at once. I have at least an equal right to bring the + same charge against you, but I should disdain to harbour such a thought + about you. There are many ways in which you may be cruel to a woman, Paul, + and be forgiven, but you must not wound her pride in that way. That is the + cruellest stab of all. The blade is poisoned, dear, and the wound will + rankle for a lifetime.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me,’ he said, with his eyes blazing upon her, and the guarded voice + in which he spoke shaking—‘tell me that you have really cared for + me; tell me, on your conscience and your honour, that you have not + deliberately led me to this madness.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You can ask me that? she said. ‘You can insult me so?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I ask it,’ he responded. + </p> + <p> + ‘If my conduct has not shown it clearly,’ said Gertrude, ‘it is quite in + vain to protest. I have given you better proof than words.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is only one proof,’ Paul answered. ‘Are you strong enough to brave + the world with me?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no,’ she whispered; ‘you must not ask me that I am not afraid of the + world, but I am afraid of my own conscience.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you think,’ he asked passionately, ‘that love could not sanctify a + union such as ours? Be my Georges Sand, and I will be your De Musset; be + my Stella, and I will be your Swift.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You choose your instances unfortunately, Mr. Armstrong,’ Gertrude + answered. ‘Georges and Alfred lived to write vile and bitter books about + each other, and Stella broke her heart under the despotism of a brute. I + do not care for such a prospect.’ + </p> + <p> + The ‘Mr. Armstrong ‘lashed him like an actual whip, and under the sting of + it he barely followed the meaning of what came after. He was so staggered + that he could only repeat the words: + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You force me to my defence,’ she answered gently. ‘I am a woman, Paul; + but I have my code of honour.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Im Gott’s und Teufel’s namen,’ he groaned, ‘what is it? You give me lips + and arms; you have sworn you love me. What is loyalty?’ + </p> + <p> + She drew herself to her full height: + </p> + <p> + ‘I do not pretend to define loyalty,’ she said; ‘but I know it when I see + it. It may be less definite than insult; but the last, at least, is + clearly outlined. I have been mistaken, and I will correct my error now. + Good-bye, Mr. Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-bye,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + She lingered for a mere instant as if in expectation of some further + adieu, but he had none to offer. He saw no more clearly now into the truth + than he had done at the beginning of the interview, but he had in a + measure hardened himself by the spoken definition of his own attitude, + and, partly because he could not as yet retreat from it, he permitted her + to go without another word She floated away in the alternate soft + splendour of the moon and the deep shadow of the overhanging boughs, and + he watched her gloomily until her figure disappeared at the end of the + avenue. He stood for a minute or two with a vacant mind, digging his + walking-cane into the dry, friable earth at his feet, and scoring the + thin, scum-like growth of moss upon it with unmeaning lines. Then he lit a + cigar, and, avoiding the crowded vestibule, skirted the dark western wall + of the hotel, and so walked homeward. The thing was done now, and, whether + it were rightly done or wrongly he cared very little for the moment He + stood at one of those pauses of emotion in which the mind is able + logically to balance pros and cons without the intervention of any gust of + feeling. If Gertrude were really what she professed to be, he had acted + with great cruelty. If she were not what she professed to be, he had acted + with great wisdom for the first time in his life so far as the woman as + protagonist was concerned He looked at the probabilities on both sides + with a cynical coolness which would have been impossible to him at any + earlier stage in his career. He had met but two men who had known the + Baroness de Wyeth well, and they had both looked upon her from pretty much + the same standpoint. Ralston’s view was the more genial, but even in his + opinion she was a born flirt, a creature who loved to tyre her + chariot-wheels with hearts; and in the view of the coarser mind she was a + coquette mere and simple—a Queen Rabesqurat, who kept a sackful of + the human eyes which had turned to her in adoration. Then, in spite of + momentary indifference, his nerves tingled and his blood sparkled at the + memory of that rare and fleeting instant at which she had seemed to + surrender herself to his embraces, and to make him immortal with a kiss. + All the same, he could look on that fine second’s immortality with a cold + indifference when the thrill was over. Granted the very lowest scale for + passion, could the thing be real? Could he, for example, have stayed the + torrent of his own blood in full course? He laughed to think of it, and a + line and a half of his favourite poet sang in his brain: + </p> + <p> + ‘And thy passions matched with mine Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as + water unto wine.’ + </p> + <p> + On the whole he began to conceive that he had done rightly, and in that + half-belief, which drew slowly towards conviction, he went to bed and + slept in a stolidity which surprised him later. The fact was that he was + less resolved than tired. + </p> + <p> + Whilst he was at his deepest sleep a thundering summons at his door + aroused him. A dream which came between the first prelude to this + orchestral drumming and his awaking had advised him of a fainter + disturbance, but by the time he was fairly awake the knocking had grown so + exigent that it bade fair to raise the house. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come in I’ he cried, and suddenly remembering that he had locked the door + before getting into bed, he scrambled out in the darkness and turned back + the key. ‘What the devil is the matter here?’ he asked, and the night + porter of the hotel handed him a letter. + </p> + <p> + ‘I was told, sir,’ he said, in indifferent French, ‘to deliver this at + once, but the messenger is gone, and there is no answer called for.’ + </p> + <p> + There was light enough in the corridor to read by, and Paul recognised + Gertrude’s superscription. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ he answered. ‘Light the gas for me in my room, and that will + do.’ + </p> + <p> + The man obeyed, bowed himself out, and went his way, closing the door + behind him. + </p> + <p> + The letter Paul held in his hand was bulky, and when he had broken the + envelope open he found that it held no fewer than seven sheets of + Gertrude’s crested paper. They were all covered in a hasty and sprawling + hand, and on the first page was a scrawled date and a ‘Sir’ which had been + written with so much energy that the upward sweeping course of the pen had + bespattered the whole white surface with inky dots of greater or less + magnitude. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had thought you my friend,’ the epistle began; ‘you have professed to + be something more, and, as ‘have heard you say, the greater should include + the less.’ + </p> + <p> + There the writing suddenly changed in character, and the letter went on, + as it were, in calmer and more measured cali-graphic accents. + </p> + <p> + ‘How could you treat me so, knowing my friendship and even my foolish + fondness? Was it not cruel to urge me as you did? I will confess to you + what I have striven in vain to disguise. Had we met in earlier days, had I + known you before I was bound in honour to the course I am compelled to run + until my footsteps lead me to my grave, I might have been a happy woman. + But a woman may love, and may yet place her honour before everything. I + shall not care if, when I am dead and gone, you choose to boast that you + won a woman’s heart, and I will not even put you on your honour now to + keep this silly secret; but you shall not go from me without my assurance + of this one fact. When I married, marriage was to me a sacrament, and if + it were not for that——— But no more of this, dear Paul + Dear, dear, and dearest Paul! I hardly know how I am writing, but the + anguish you have caused me is unspeakable, and I am not guarded in my + words. A woman’s heart may err, and her principle of honour may yet be + strong. I bid you good-bye with an aching heart, and I wish you all good + fortune. It would seem that our stars are in opposition to each other, and + fighting against each other in their courses. I agree with you in thinking + that we are best apart, but I shall watch your career with a more than + sisterly devotion, and my heart tells me that I shall have the right to + acclaim your future.’ + </p> + <p> + The letter said much more than this so far as the mere extension of the + same sentiments might appear to be concerned, but in effect this was all + until the final paragraph was reached. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have adhered to duty,’ this ran, ‘and I will. Nothing—neither the + thought of your suffering nor of my own—shall draw me from it, but I + recognise none the less the kindred soul I should have met had I been + fortunate—as I am far from being. Write this in your private memoirs + of me: “She loved too well, yet wisely,” and think sometimes that it is + possible for a woman to feel sometimes like a man, and to think I “could + not love thee, dear, so well, loved I not honour more.” + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall not add another word to this,’ Gertrude concluded, ‘except to + say, I wish you all prosperity, all happiness. But just this remember + always, that if I were a mischievous influence in your life, I meant it + far otherwise, and I am always your devoted friend and well-wisher. + </p> + <p> + ‘G. DEW.’ + </p> + <p> + For some reason or another by no means clear to himself the letter moved + Paul less than it seemed to him that it should have done. He read it + sitting in his pyjamas on the bedside, kicking his bare heels against the + valance, and when he had done with it he tossed it on to the centre table, + on which his manuscripts, now too rarely looked at, lay scattered, and + said rather grimly: + </p> + <p> + ‘Footlights.’ + </p> + <p> + Then he mused awhile, half desiring to confirm the word, and half + recalling it. He had made many desperate efforts to be loyal in his + thoughts, but he was less disposed to struggle in that direction than he + had been. His mind strayed back to Ralston, and to the bibulous explorer. + Memory went further than either of them, and carried him back to the days + when he had broken his career in two for the sake of Miss Belmont, old + Darco’s Middle Jarley Prown.’ He had played the flat traitor to Darco once + already for the sake of one woman, and now, as he began to see, he was + once more using him very ill for the sake of another. He sat kicking his + heels against the valance of the bed, and thinking. May Gold, Norah + MacMulty, the dreadful hour of the lost innocence, Claudia, Annette, + Gertrude—what an incredible list of follies for one man to have + committed! He grew intensely bitter and self-disdainful. + </p> + <p> + There was no answer for the letter of the heart-wounded Gertrude. He was + not quite sure whether he were a mere insensate brute or no, but he + packed, and took the homeward train without a word of farewell. If + Gertrude’s friendship were a real thing, he was a beast unspeakable. If it + were a selfish sentimental sham—why, then—anything. He began + to taste life with a very nausea of weariness. + </p> + <p> + But when London was reached, and the physical fatigue of travel shaken + off, and the tornado of Darco’s energies had engulfed him as of old, he + found himself another man. Darco was terrible at their earliest interview. + </p> + <p> + ‘Led me haf a look at you,’ he said, dragging Paul to his study-window. + ‘What haf you peen doing with yourseluf? I have known an Armstrong for + some years who was rather a glever vellow. Vot? Ant now I gome agross an + Armstrong who is a plithering impecile. Eh?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, my dear Darco,’ Paul answered, ‘I dare say that your criticism of the + stuff I sent you is quite just I haven’t, indeed, the remotest doubt about + it But I have been out of health and worried, and now I am here for work. + You shall have the best I can give you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall speag to you,’ said Darco, ‘with an egsdreme blain-ness. I haf + not forgotten our first parting. You did not dreat me well.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I know I didn’t,’ Paul said. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ant now,’ continued Darco, refusing to be mollified all at once, ‘you haf + wasted months of valuable dime, ant you ant I are both the poorer by + hundrets ant hundrets of pounts. I will haf your bromise, your sacred wort + of honour, before I will gollaborate again, that you will no more blay + with me these farces. I like you, yourself, Armstrong. I am very font of + you. I haf a very creat atmiration for your worg. But you haf not been + reliaple. You haf no right to resent what I am sayink.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have some excuses, of which I can’t talk,’ said Paul; ‘but I don’t + resent what you are saying. I am very sorry to have kept you waiting. I + promise you that you shall have all my time and all my best energies for + this one spell of work in any case. After that——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Veil,’ said Darco, ‘afder that? + </p> + <p> + ‘Heaven knows!’ Paul answered. ‘Don’t say any more just now, Darco. Let us + go to work.’ + </p> + <p> + Darco looked at him for a second or two, and began then to stump about the + room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Goot! he said suddenly; ‘let us go to work.’ + </p> + <p> + To work they went. Whatever else might be said for Darco, it was at least + impossible to brood in his society. The man’s tireless enthusiasm did one + of two things for everybody with whom he encountered. It repelled either + through terror or distaste, or it inspired a sentiment which corresponded + with itself. He frightened timid people; he made the pugnacious angry and + resentful. But here and there he kindled a fire. + </p> + <p> + Paul’s love for work had gone to sleep very soundly, but Darco’s storming + awoke it, and in a day or two the new remedy had got hold of him, and he + came back to a moderately healthy state of mind. He wrote to Gertrude, and + she responded, and a peace was patched between them, but it was not easy + on either side to climb back to the old existence of confidence, and Paul + at least was shaken in allegiance. Nor was this all, for he had begun to + have some apprehension of his own character, and to take soundings of + those emotional shallows which had always seemed to him so profound. When + a man has once learned to distrust his own raptures they do not rise + easily. + </p> + <p> + He took up his quarters with Darco, and they worked all day together, and, + on occasion, far into the night, for they were entered on a race against + time, and an extended run of the piece which then held the stage at + Darco’s theatre meant loss. Act by act was put in rehearsal as it left the + writers’ hands, and the final scenes were written in the theatre itself, + and the parts copied in one of the dressing-rooms. For the last fortnight + of the work there was time to think of nothing else, and when the very tag + was written there was labour enough left to satisfy even Darco. + </p> + <p> + No better medicine for Paul’s malady could have been prescribed than he + found in this ceaseless mental occupation. It shook him out of his useless + moonings, and brought his mind back to its old healthy elasticity, and + when at last the decisive night came, and the play went with a roar from + start to finish, he went to bed to sleep the clock round, and awoke to + triumph. + </p> + <p> + Out of an idea which had cropped up in the course of work, and had been + abandoned as being too heavy to be employed as a mere episode, the + indefatigable Darco had already constructed a new plot, and was fain to + begin at once upon its development. But Paul insisted upon at least a + fortnight’s holiday, and carried his point. There was no further fear of + financial embarrassment for many months to come. Annette’s liabilities + were paid. A lawyer was engaged to make settled arrangements with her, and + for awhile there was a clear prospect and free air to breathe. Then came + the new work, carried on at a less fiery pressure than the old, but yet + pursued with diligence. It lasted six months, and was not likely to be in + demand for another half-year. Gertrude was back in Paris, and thither went + Paul, prepared to study the platonic theory in a more philosophical spirit + than he had hitherto displayed. She was charming. She could not easily + cease to be charm ing, but she maddened no longer, and if she had had a + heart at all, her lover’s extreme placidity might have piqued her into + love. It could not do that, but it served to introduce upon the scene an + episode of some humour. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Baronne de Wyeth could not exist without an adorer. It was an + agreeable thing enough to have two at a time, and would have been + agreeable to have had a dozen had the creatures been manageable. Mr. + Ricardo P. Janes, of Boston, Massachusetts, was a young man of excellent + family connections, and in enjoyment of liberal means. He was a very + handsome boy of four- or five-and-twenty, and having a taste for art and + the Muses in general, he was studying in the atelier of a famous French + painter. He took life seriously, and wrote nice verses. He was simple and + enthusiastic, pure-minded and romantic, and altogether eligible as a + candidate for a place in the list of Gertrude’s soulful friends. When Paul + reached Paris he had an immediate introduction to this young gentleman, + and conceived a real liking for him. There was hardly an escape from the + recognition of the fact that Mr. Janes, in his serious, romantic way, was + in love with Gertrude, but it was evident that he had been held well in + hand, and that with him the platonic path had strict barriers, beyond + which he did not even aspire to pass. He made Paul his confidant when the + two came to intimacy, as they very easily did; and from his simple talk + the elder learned again a great deal of what he had learned already from + Gertrude—how, for instance, there was a certain isolation of the + soul from which it was impossible to escape even in the closest and most + genuine friendship, and how the Individual was never truly apprehended by + any other Individual, but was doomed to go its way in eternal solitude + towards its goal. Mr. Janes, despite his romanticisms and enthusiasms, was + in the main a sensible young man, and he would not have said these things + had he known or guessed that their ground of inspiration would be + recognised by his companion. But Gertrude’s ideas had seemed to him—they + would appear to have seemed so to many for a time—to hold a most + true and beautiful though sad philosophy, and he was of that time of life + when such thoughts are full of serious interest and charm. Had Mr. Janes + appeared nine months earlier under the same conditions, Paul would + probably have conceived a fiery hatred for him, but now he felt a kind of + superiority to him, which was in part cynical, and in part affectionate, + and in part self-disdainful. He had gone thrilling at all this for years + on end, because it came from the lips of a pretty and engaging woman, with + whom it was no more than a canting shibboleth. Of course it helped to + disillusionize him, and he began even to see that Gertrude was not as + beautiful as he had once believed her to be. This is almost a fatal + symptom in the history of love’s decay, unless the perception be attended, + as it is in happy cases, by the perception of new beauties whose presence + more than atones for the absence of the old. And Paul did not find new + beauties. Gertrude was simply a pretty woman now, and a pretty woman is a + very different creature from an angel whose effulgence so dazzles that it + blinds the eyes. It was pleasant enough to philander with her, to touch + the skirts of topics which had once been dangerous, but were dangerous no + longer, but the glamour was gone, and young Mr. Janes had done as much to + banish it in a single fortnight as Ralston and the bibulous explorer and + the nine months of diligent labour all put together. + </p> + <p> + It happened that the Baroness herself planned a little pleasure trip, + which resulted in the closing of this chapter of Paul Armstrong’s life. It + placed him incidentally in a position of extreme awkwardness, and he was + never able to decide whether he had acted well or ill in it. The point may + be reckoned a fine one. + </p> + <p> + Gertrude had made accidental acquaintance with a charming old house in the + neighbourhood of Fontainebleau, a country château of the old-world sort, + which was for sale, with all its furniture, its plate and its pictures, + and a rather exceptionally good library. Failing a sale, it was + provisionally for hire, and she, having, always, practically unlimited + funds at her disposal, was inclined to take it and to spend some half-year + in retirement, within easy reach of the capital and her friends, whilst + she added the last touches to a volume of poems on which she had been + engaged from time to time for some three or four years past She was in + negotiation for the place, and just by way of experiment she had thought + it a charming idea to give a little—a very little—house-party + there. There were to be only five people—Gertrude’s own + Knickerbocker sheepdog, then one Comtesse de Cassault, Gertrude herself, + and Mr. Janes and Paul. The servants of the departed family were available + for a day; a chef and one or two kitchen assistants might be sent down + from Paris. The party would assemble in time for luncheon, would spend the + afternoon in a country excursion, would return to dinner, and so + Pariswards by a special train. It was a pretty programme, and would cost + M. le Baron de Wyeth a pretty penny, but the last consideration was + Gertrude’s affair alone. The Comtesse de Cassault was a beautiful person, + a flirt of the demurest kind. The Knickerbocker was virtually nobody. In + effect it was a <i>partie carrée</i> and bade fair to be enjoyable. + </p> + <p> + It was the very loveliest of October days, and Paul began his adventures + by a little accident to the voiture which should have borne him to the + station. It was no very great matter, but he found himself entangled with + the horses of an omnibus, and though he escaped personal injury, apart + from an inconsiderable bruise or two, he had to make an awkward jump for + safety, and, falling, split the knees of his trousers, and plastered his + shirt-cuffs with the mud which an overnight shower had left behind. This + petty disaster involved a return home, and the loss of his train. He + despatched a wire and made inquiries. The quickest way of arriving at his + destination appeared to be to book by train to a point some ten miles from + it, and then to secure a conveyance of some sort to get the rest of the + distance. He was turned out at a lonely rural station with no vehicle for + hire within miles. Very good, he would make the best of a small + misfortune, and would walk. He got directed by a stupid peasant, and set + off in the wrong direction. When he had walked some two miles out of his + way, he made further inquiries and retraced his steps. The roads were a + little heavy, the sun was hot, and Paul of late had taken but little + physical exercise. When, after three hours hard walking, he reached the + retired chateau which was the scene of the day’s festivity, luncheon had + been over two hours before, and Gertrude and her party were away for a + drive. But Mr. Armstrong was expected and was welcomed, and when he had a + little repaired the ravages the journey had made upon his aspect, he was + provided with a pleasant little repast and a bottle of excellent Moselle. + The room in which he took this meal was on the ground-floor, and was an + extension from the original building. It stood a few feet above a sloping + lawn, and it had wide French windows on either side of it A balcony + travelled round it on three sides, and on that which faced the sun heavy + velvet curtains had been drawn. A full light which brought no dazzle with + it came in from the windows opposite. + </p> + <p> + When Paul had finished his meal, which he ate with great relish after the + unaccustomed exercise of the day, he explored the balcony, and finding on + the sunny side one of those long American cane-chairs which, when + furnished with cushions, offer so agreeable a lounge, he sat down there + and smoked a cigar. A while ago the small contretemps which had delayed + him would have caused him profound trouble, or, at least, he would have + made himself think so; but he took the matter quite easily now, and + occupied himself in rehearsing the history he would have to tell on his + hostess’s return. The day was exquisitely mild, the temperature perfect, + now that he was no longer in hasty effort; he had eaten heartily, had half + emptied the bottle of excellent Moselle, and he was very tired. Before he + had begun to realize fairly the fact that he was drowsy, he had fallen + asleep. + </p> + <p> + When he awoke there were voices in the room he had quitted some two hours + before. The sun had gone down behind the trees in the blue distance, and + he was just a trifle stiff and chilly. He was barely conscious of these + things, when the voice of young Mr. Janes startled him broad awake. + </p> + <p> + ‘It is dangerous,’ said Mr. Janes; ‘it is seriously dangerous.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Silly boy!’ said Gertrude, in a voice half mocking and half caressing. + ‘How can an old woman like me be dangerous to the peace of a child like + you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘It is not dangerous to you, Gertrude,’ said Mr. Janes, with a tremor + which bespoke him very much in earnest ‘I know your purity, and I + reverence it. I know that I have done wrong in speaking as I have done, + but I could not help it I must go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No, Ricardo,’ said Gertrude, ‘you must not go. You must only put this + foolish fancy by—it is only a foolish fancy—and there will be + no need to disturb a friendship which has been so sweet, so valuable, to + both of us.’ + </p> + <p> + By this time it occurred suddenly to Paul that he had perhaps heard + enough, but he had hitherto been held so entirely by surprise that he had + not had time to think that this conversation was not intended for his + ears. He arose, and began to creep stealthily away, when he saw that the + curtains through which he had passed from the room were partly open as he + had left them. And whilst he stood irresolute, wondering how he should + escape, and trying to devise some means of declaring his presence, the + talk went on. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, damn it all!’ he said to himself desperately. ‘It isn’t my fault. I + know that line of country pretty well, and I have been so often introduced + to it that I am hardly an intruder on it. I can’t get away without being + seen, and that will be awkward for everybody. And I can’t stay here and + listen to this rot.’ + </p> + <p> + But the talk went on, and what with the absurd misery of his own position + and the well-known lines the conversation followed, he was fairly aflame + with embarrassment and self-disdain. Exactly what this gifted and amiable + young ass of a Bostonian was doing, and saying, and thinking, and feeling, + he had been doing, saying, thinking, feeling a year ago. And Gertrude was + playing with young Mr. Janes exactly as she had played with young Mr. + Armstrong. Mr. Janes took a good deal of coaxing—more than Paul had + done—but the trained coquette was equal to the task, and she brought + him to the climax just as she had brought his predecessor. And there was + the one little embrace granted, and there was a rustle of skirts, and the + click of a door-latch, and Gertrude’s voice said, ‘You will stay <i>now</i> + Ricardo?’ and Ricardo groaned. Then the door was closed, and there was + silence. Then Ricardo groaned again, and Paul heard his disordered + footsteps as he paced the room. The unwilling listener returned to the + cane-chair and stretched himself upon it with great stealth, and feigned + sleep in case of contingencies. But after five dreary minutes young Mr. + Janes withdrew, and the way of escape was open. + </p> + <p> + Paul made his way to the drawing-room, and found there the Knickerbocker + lady and the demure Countess, with whom he had already a slight but + agreeable acquaintance. He had had time to recover his self-possession, + and though he wished himself a hundred miles away, he did his best to set + the kite of conversation flying. He was making an attempt in his somewhat + halting French to tell the story of his delay when Gertrude entered, and + he told the tale to her, leaving her to translate it. His narrative was so + vivacious that she trilled with laughter at it, and broke in upon it with + a rapid paraphrase in French here and there, so that she and the Countess + and the historian were all laughing heartily together when Mr. Janes came + in with a sombre countenance, and made so funereal an effort to join in + the mirth that Paul was fiercely tickled. And whilst he made a comedy of + the morning’s accident for her amusement, he was thinking all the while, + ‘You heartless, cruel, dangerous little jade!’ and thinking it, too, with + a real savagery of hatred. ‘How many have you betrayed,’ he asked in his + heart ‘To how many hungers of passion deliberately awakened have you + offered that heart of stone?’ + </p> + <p> + The Baroness knew him mainly on the sentimental side, but that evening he + launched out as a raconteur, and was gay and brilliant. Even Mr. Janes was + awakened to sporadic laughter at the dinner-table, where they sat by + preconcerted arrangement without the formality of evening-dress, and fared + admirably from the <i>hors d’oeuvres</i> to the coffee—a flawless + meal. And dinner being over, they drove away under a noble moon to the + railway-station, and bowled back to Paris. + </p> + <p> + Paul, still with an air of gaiety, begged Gertrude to accord him ten + minutes on the following day. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have something to tell you,’ he said, ‘in which I am sure you will take + the warmest interest. May I trespass on your time for just ten minutes in + the morning? I got a curious little bit of intelligence to-day which will + carry me, I fancy, to the United States.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘The United States? cried Gertrude. ‘I can send you to the nicest people + there. But shall you be long away?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall be able to tell you that to-morrow,’ Paul answered. ‘May I? + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly,’ she replied graciously. ‘Shall we all breakfast together at + twelve?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am sorry,’ said Paul, ‘but for me that is impossible. But if I may see + you at a quarter to the hour——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Certainly,’ she said again. + </p> + <p> + ‘Thank you,’ he said, and turning away somewhat abruptly, as he thought + afterwards, he began to talk to the irresponsive Janes, who sat, as it + were, in fog. + </p> + <p> + ‘You come with me?’ said Paul to the young Bostonian when the terminus was + reached, and the final adieux had been said amongst the rest. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, no,’ said Mr. Janes. ‘I am a little out of sorts for some reason or + another, and I think that I’ll go home.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well, then,’ said Paul, ‘I go with you. It’s all the same; but I have + something to say to you. It won’t keep, Janes, and whether you and I like + it or no, it has to be spoken.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said Janes, ‘that sounds serious!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Come to the Rue Castiglione with me,’ Paul answered, ‘and I will tell you + exactly how serious it is.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well,’ the younger man answered, and Paul having chartered a fiacre, + they drove home together. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at his hotel, Paul ordered, and his guest refused, a + whisky-and-soda, and the two sat down at a table in Paul’s bedroom. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mr. Janes,’ he began, ‘I hope very sincerely that what am about to say + will not wound you—much. It is sure to hurt you a little at first, + but it is meant in friendship. Let me begin by telling you that for some + three years of my life, more or less, I made an unexampled ass of myself + about a certain lady. And now let me confess that I was put into a beastly + corner this afternoon, and could not help overhearing a conversation in + which the lady held a part. That conversation was identical in result, and + almost identical in terms, with one in which I took part about a year and + a half ago.’ + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Janes set his elbows on the table, and rested his face upon his + hands. He was silent for a long time, but at last he said: + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot judge of the delicacy or otherwise of your statement, Mr. + Armstrong, but I leave Paris to-morrow morning, and I shall not return. I + should have gone, sir, without this revelation from you, and I am sorry + that you have made it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not,’ said Paul stanchly. ‘Nor do I think that you will be in a + little time. I wasted three years, Mr. Janes, in worship at that empty + shrine, and when I had most accidentally and most unwittingly surprised + another worshipper——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t mock at it, for God’s sake!’ said young Mr. Janes. ‘I’m going home. + Good-night. I think you were right to tell me. I think I should have done + the same. You’re going——’ He paused there, and looked up with + a white face. ‘You’re going to see her in the morning?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘On that one errand,’ Paul answered. + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Mr. Janes, ‘good-bye, Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + He offered his hand, and Paul took it warmly. Janes went dejectedly away. + </p> + <p> + At ten minutes before the strike of noon next day Paul and Gertrude met + for the last time. She came gaily towards him with both hands outstretched + in welcome, but her face changed as he stood before her with no + recognition of her proffered salute. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is the matter?’ she asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am here to tell you, Gertrude,’ he responded. ‘I told you a part of my + adventures of yesterday, but I did not tell you all. When my walk was + finished I had luncheon, and after luncheon I lay down on a chair upon the + veranda and fell asleep there. I awoke at the moment when Mr. Janes was + telling you that it was dangerous. I had not the courage to break in upon + a conversation so intimate, and—may I say it?—so familiar. I + could not get away without a risk of being seen, and so I stayed where I + was.’ + </p> + <p> + She had gone white to the lips, and she was trembling, but she faced him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I had thought you a little worthier than that! An + eavesdropper!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘An eavesdropper!’ Paul answered. ‘That is understood; but not a willing + one. You have wasted a good part of my life, but of that I have no right + to complain. But I do lament a little that you should have taken away my + last illusion. I had learned a little of your adorable sex, Gertrude, + before I met you, and nothing in my experience had taught me to think well + of it. But I believed I had found in you a proof of the monstrous falsity + of the belief into which I was being thrust. Well, you see, you confirm + that belief. I shall go to my grave now in the certainty that one-half the + world is made to wheedle and befool the other half, and that every woman + is born to treason as the sparks fly upward. You lied to me, Gertrude, and + I believed you. You lured me on deliberately, with a cold cruelty for + which there is no name. I shall never hate you as well as I have loved + you, for I have a rather poor capacity in that way. You found a man with a + bruised heart, and for your own wicked pleasure you set to work to torture + him. There is no use in words, and I have said all I came to say.’ + </p> + <p> + That was the end of that episode, and a minute later he was striding along + the street. In three days he was aboard ship at Havre, and the + disconsolate Janes was one of his fellow-voyagers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <p> + If a philosopher were set to describe the best and the worst of life, he + would certainly have a considerable choice before him. But amongst the + best he would have to set down love, and amongst the worst he would have + to set down love’s disillusion. The curse of age is indifference. With the + increase of the years you come to a time when nothing matters. Anything + which helps hearty youth this way is harmful. In ninety cases in a hundred + age is a crime against the hopes of the world, and nothing ages like + cynicism. This is the beginning of senile decay. And what is a man to do + who has lavished his heart, and has always found that the woman has played + counters of affectation against the sincere gold of his soul? Obviously he + turns cynic, despising himself and his too cheap emotions; and to cheapen + one’s own emotions is to play the very devil. It was written from of old + that a house divided against itself cannot stand, and a man who has + learned to loathe one half of his own nature is not stable. Even that he + has a perfect right to do it does not help him. + </p> + <p> + May Gold had fooled Paul Armstrong. Claudia Belmont had carried on the + game. So had Annette, and so had Gertrude. It was a wise man who wrote + that the net is spread in vain in the sight of any bird, but he wrote + nonsense, all the same. The capturing net is the one to which we are most + accustomed. + </p> + <p> + So with a heart filled with distrust, and misliking half the world, Paul + travelled across the Atlantic, and sauntered about the United States. The + money question was settled for the time being, if not definitely, and for + a year or two he would have no occasion to think of ways and means. He got + away into the prairies and the mountains, camped out, shooting and + hunting, learned to sit a horse, learned to handle a gun, to build a tent, + and to cook. + </p> + <p> + Then he went back into civilization, and travelled on to San Francisco, + and the western parts of Canada. And one day at Victoria, having nothing + better before him, he wandered on board a vessel which in four-and-twenty + hours from that time was bound to sail for Japan. He took lunch with the + proprietors and officers of this boat, and, almost before he knew it, had + booked his passage for Yokohama. Why not see the world? + </p> + <p> + There were ladies aboard, and they flirted with the stranger because he + was young and already famous, and more than average good-looking. They + flirted demurely, and they flirted fiercely, and they flirted in all the + ways which are known to women; but for once in feminine experience they + met a man who was proof against all their charms, charmed they never so + wisely. To be dangerous to man’s peace of mind a woman must inspire + belief, and in Paul’s heart belief was dead. + </p> + <p> + The ship went on to New Zealand, her port of call Dunedin. Why not New + Zealand? Why not see the world? More flirts aboard, and more flirtations, + but still the hitherto so susceptible heart unmoved. The next port of call + Hobart Town, then Melbourne. Still, why not see the world? More flirts and + more flirtations, as if there were nothing but the rustle of a petticoat + which is worth taking notice of on the surface of the planet. But observe + that the young man is spoiled, at least for the time being. + </p> + <p> + Possum and kangaroo shooting make good sport. Rabbits swarm in literal + millions. We grow very handy with the gun, very handy at building a + shelter of any sort, or at cooking a dinner. + </p> + <p> + Then back to New Zealand, and here the beginning of a new life. + </p> + <p> + New Year’s Eve, as it happens, and the exile’s mind not unnaturally filled + with thoughts of home. And tucked away in the further corner of the + dining-room of the Grand Hotel the familiar figure of an English comedian! + who, when Paul last saw him, was playing in a piece written far himself + and Darco. + </p> + <p> + ‘Hillo, Paul! Can’t I get into any blooming corner of the world but some + old pal is bound to root me out?’ ‘How’s trade?’ said Paul. ‘Going + strong?’ ‘Bad, dear boy,’ the comedian answered. ‘Bad as bad can be. Do me + a turn, old fellow. Write me a play. I’ve brought out three, and they’re + all rotten failures. Ask the press, and they’ll tell you I’m coining + money. Ask me, and I’ll tell you I’m dropping it by the barrelful. Been + here long—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was at the theatre again that night, for the first time since he had + left England, two years ago. Two years ago! Such a distance had been + placed between him and Gertrude—between him and Annette! + </p> + <p> + A dreary farce in three acts greeted him, and ambitions awoke anew. The + cheery comedian asked: + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not try it on the dog? Give us a bit of human nature, dear child. Run + it round these far outlying provinces. No harm to you if you make a + failure; loads of minted money if you make a hit. What I always say, dear + boy: minimize the risk of failure—eh?’ + </p> + <p> + Paul took fire. He knew his man, and could fit him like a glove. + </p> + <p> + ‘Where are you in ten weeks’ time?’ he asked ‘Ten weeks? said the + comedian. ‘Auckland.’ ‘Good!’ said Paul. ‘We meet in Auckland.’ ‘Right you + are,’ said the comedian; and then they parted, and never met again for + years. + </p> + <p> + But the talk set Paul at work again, and he laboured like a Trojan on the + shores of Lake Te Anau, with heath and sky and mountains for his comrades + and inspirers, and when his play was finished he went back to civilization + to discover that his comedian was well on his way to England. That + mattered little enough. He sent a copy of the piece to Darco, and wandered + hither and thither about the southern island until by hazard he tumbled + against a new fate in the person of a new comedian. + </p> + <p> + ‘And you don’t happen to have a play in your pocket, Mr. Armstrong? said + he, in the first hour of their acquaintanceship. + </p> + <p> + ‘As it happens,’ said Paul, ‘I have. You may read it this afternoon.’ + </p> + <p> + There was a business chaffer, and the affair was virtually settled. Paul + was to read the play to the company of the travelling comedian on the + morrow. + </p> + <p> + He presented himself at the theatre at the appointed hour, and the manager + kept him waiting for a minute or two whilst he harangued the baggage-man. + </p> + <p> + ‘You’ll know her by this portrait: she’s small; she’s very + ordinary-looking; she wears her hair in a topknot, with a hat stuck over + it about so high’—he held his arms abroad. ‘Excuse me, Mr. + Armstrong, we are all ready for you with the exception of a lady who will + be here in half an hour. I wired for her a week ago to Australia The boat + was signalled two hours since. Since we must wait, you won’t mind my + utilizing the half-hour?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Pray go on,’ said Paul; and, seating himself upon a rolled-up bale of + carpet, surrendered his mind to ennui. + </p> + <p> + In due time the lady for whose help the company waited appeared. The play + was read, the characters were apportioned, and the date of the first + production was fixed Paul took no special note of the new arrival, and, + indeed, she did not seem specially notable. She was little more than a + child, with a child’s stature but a woman’s figure. She had brown eyes and + brown hair, and she wore a dress of brown velvet. She was strange to the + crowd about her, so it seemed; for she was introduced to every member of + it, and she scrutinized everybody with a childlike mixture of frankness + and reticence. + </p> + <p> + ‘Like a little brown mouse,’ said Paul to himself, ‘peeping out of her + cranny at an assemblage of cats, without quite knowing the cat’s + proclivity.’ + </p> + <p> + Beyond this she was Miss Madge Hampton, an amateur of some small private + means, and he thought no more about her. Rehearsal in an insignificant + part displayed her as capable and willing to be taught. + </p> + <p> + The company never stayed more than a week in any one town, and for a + considerable part of the time went bushwhacking from place to place, + taking one-night stands! and crawling by sleepy railways amongst some of + the most exquisite scenery of the land. Paul had nothing better to do—had, + indeed, nothing else to do—and found a pleasure in this revival of + old experiences. It reminded him of the ancient days with Darco, which now + looked so far away, and he surrendered himself, as he had always done, to + the interests of the moment and the hour. A fair proportion of the working + day was spent in travel, and sometimes, as they crossed the exquisite + plain of flowering green, with the snowcapped mountains in the distance, + the ladies of the company would cry out at sight of some especial bank of + wild flowers, and the conductor would stop the leisurely train to let them + go out and cull bouquets. At some such excursions Paul assisted, and, + whether by hazard or goodwill, he found himself oftener by the side of + Miss Madge Hampton than elsewhere. He had himself been born to the + inheritance of a most inordinate mouthful of provincial accent, and since + he had studied and learned to speak almost every dialect known to the + little islands which are the centre of our Empire, his ear had grown nice + and critical. The ladies and gentlemen of the company, with the exception + of the famous and admirable comedian who led them, were all of colonial + education, and they all spoke with the accent the existence of which our + colonial brethren and sisters so strenuously deny. It was, of course, the + language of fashion, as they knew it, but it was, as it still is, + perilously near the English of Mile End, and the ear of the Englishman, + grown critical through many studies, used to ache at it. The leader of the + troupe talked the English of the stage, which, after all, is perhaps not + quite the English of the cultured Englishman, but was not altogether + intolerable. But, by some accident, Miss Hampton had no trace of the + accent which disfigured the speech of her companions, and this little fact + of itself accounted for something in the very gradual intimacy which grew + up between herself and Paul. + </p> + <p> + The train was sauntering along in its customary easy-going fashion, when + it came to a halt at the signal of a man in corduroy trousers, a flannel + shirt which had once been scarlet, and a felt hat of no colour. The + signaller sat upon a fence and wanted a chat with the driver, who was + quite willing, in the course of his leisurely progress, to spare him half + an hour or so. + </p> + <p> + ‘If you ladies,’ said the conductor, ‘would like to stretch yourselves, + there’s any amount of flowers to be got here, and there’s time to waste. + There’s no run back except on a Saturday, and an hour or two in the time + of arrival won’t make no difference.’ + </p> + <p> + So the ladies got down and went flower-hunting, whilst the driver and the + stoker and the guard sat on the fence together and talked politics and the + latest mail from England. + </p> + <p> + Paul went out with the rest, and the party chanced upon a marshy piece of + land where a species of purple iris grew in great profusion. There was a + cry of delight at the sunlit patch of colour, and everybody charged down + upon it, with the result that half of the travellers were bogged to the + knees, and there was a good deal of pully-hauley business gone through + before the last adventuress was extricated. Miss Madge Hampton fell to + Paul’s share by accident of mere neighbourhood, and she stretched out her + little brown-kid-gloved hand to him with an air of timid appeal. He pulled + stanchly, but the ground gave way beneath him, and before he knew it she + was in his arms. There was a laugh all round, and a blush on both sides, + but the lady was on firm earth again, and in a minute or two the drawling + call of the conductor brought the party back to the train. The journey was + renewed, and the incident forgotten by everybody save the dramatist, who + sat coiled in his corner, with his eyes fixed upon a book which he might + as well have held upside-down. The women of the company, five in number, + were chattering like a nest of starlings, shrilling high against the slow + rumble of the wheels. Miss Hampton alone was silent amongst them. Their + talk was of matrimony, and the leading lady sparkled out with an engaging + inquiry which embraced the whole carriageful. + </p> + <p> + ‘And what about Miss Hampton?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ said the little brown lady demurely, ‘I shall die an old maid!’ + </p> + <p> + It was at this instant that a singular and yet accustomed pang assailed + the dramatist’s heart. He ought to have known it well enough, in all + conscience, for he had already had an opportunity of studying it four + times over. May Gold had taught it, and Claudia had taught it, and Annette + for a fleeting instant, and Gertrude through a heavy year or two. He + looked at the smiling little face before him, and it took a new sweetness + in his eyes. If he had had his absolute will at that moment, he would have + taken its owner in his arms, and have cried ‘No!’ to her protestation. + But, then, it is difficult to do these things in the presence of a whole + carriageful of people who make a profession of comedy, and he restrained + himself, wondering a little why such an impulse should have assailed him. + Yet from that time forward he began to watch and to listen for the + monitions of his own heart, which of itself is a dangerous thing for any + susceptible young man to do, and he began to find charms in Miss Hampton + which were quite separate from the exceptional delicacy of her English + speech. He knew very well that he had no right to fall in love with any + woman; he was bound to Annette; he was tied to her so long as she should + live. But being newly awakened to a sense of the weakness which had + pursued him through his life so far, he became afraid, and watched his own + emotions with a jealous care. + </p> + <p> + The man who is born to fall in love will do it, whatever happens; but + there are, of course, ways and ways of doing it, and this particular way + of keeping guard over the emotions is perhaps as swift as any. + </p> + <p> + He held the figure at arm’s length, as it were, and critically surveyed + it. Why, he asked himself repeatedly, should this simple little + personality appeal to him so strongly? To say the most and the least of + it, it was feminine, and he had made up his mind about the sex when he had + quitted Gertrude. He had honestly despaired of finding a woman who was not + either a coquette or a fool, and he had taught himself to use the whole + sex after the manner of his conception; and now the cynic feeling into + which he had conspired with circumstance to school himself was breaking up + again, and, with all his knowledge of the world, he felt himself helpless. + </p> + <p> + There never was a tale of this sort which came to a definite end without + the aid of circumstances which were not planned by either party to the + coming contract. It befell that the only married woman of the corps, who + travelled with a child of seven, took cold, and had to be left behind. The + child, playing, neglected, about the hotel, sustained some injury in the + lift which plied between the upper and the lower stories. The company was + only twenty miles away, and Paul, learning the news, bought grapes and + jellies for the younger invalid and wines for the elder, and chartered a + carriage to the town where they were staying. Half a mile before him was a + hooded vehicle, which kept its relative place, more or less, throughout + the journey. It was full in sight until the outlying streets of the town + were reached, and it came into view again when he arrived at his + destination—drawn up before the hotel door, and empty. A moment’s + interview with the manageress gave him the right to mount the stairs, and, + when he tapped at the door of the room in which the invalids reposed, a + voice he had not expected to hear bade him come in. There was Miss + Hampton, of whom he had been thinking a good deal too much of late, + sitting with the child upon her knees, and holding a grape above his lips. + The child pouted for it, and he and the mother and the visitor were all + laughing together. + </p> + <p> + ‘I beg your pardon,’ said the intruder clumsily; ‘I had expected to find + you alone. I have driven over with these little odds and ends in the way + of medical comforts for the boy.’ + </p> + <p> + He stood confused, and laid his burden on the table which stood in the + centre of the room. + </p> + <p> + ‘Didn’t you guess,’ laughed the little mother from the couch on which she + lay, ‘that Miss Hampton would be here before you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ said Paul. ‘If I had guessed, I should not have intruded. You’ll + take these things for the little fellow, won’t you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You’re not going yet, Mr. Armstrong?’ said the lady on the couch. ‘You + and Miss Hampton will have a nice little ride back together.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I should not dream,’ said Paul, ‘of intruding on Miss Hampton, and I must + go back at once.’ + </p> + <p> + He had no business in front of him, but he dreaded himself, and he was + afraid of a <i>tête-à-tête</i> with the plain little woman with the brown + eyes. + </p> + <p> + ‘But,’ said mamma, lifting her head from the arm of the sofa, and casting + upon him the look of <i>ingenue</i> archness which was almost her sole + fortune on the boards, ‘Miss Hampton’s horse has cast a shoe, and the + shoeing-smith is miles away. Did you ride or drive, Mr. Armstrong? I’m + sure you couldn’t have ridden with all those nice things you’ve been so + kind to bring me. You must have driven, and you must drive Miss Hampton + home again. Isn’t it kind of her to have come over to see me from such a + distance ‘Just look and see: I’m actually smothered in wine and grapes and + jelly and flowers. And wasn’t it kind of you, too, Mr. Armstrong, to think + of me just at the same moment! And wasn’t it kind of Miss Hampton’s horse + to cast a shoe so that you would be obliged to go back together, whether + you meant it or no?’ + </p> + <p> + Miss Hampton was bending over the boy, and her face was hidden; but one + blushing cheek gave warranty for the rest, and it was evident to Paul that + she was as embarrassed as himself. She spoke icily: ‘Mr. Armstrong was not + aware that I was coming here. I must go at once. I have no doubt the + landlord will be able to find me another driver.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Now, why on earth,’ asked the little actress from her sofa, ‘should two + people who know each other as well as you do take two carriages to drive + along the self-same road? Now, when you come to think of it, isn’t that + absurd! And such a chance for a spoon, too, all along that quiet road!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good-afternoon, dear,’ said Miss Hampton, setting down the child, and + offering an Arctic kiss to the reclining lady; ‘I must go.’ + </p> + <p> + With that she swept from the room with an air of dignity and confusion, + and Paul shook hands with the invalid and followed her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <p> + There are just as many different ways of falling in love as there are + characters and temperaments, and even the same man—unless he be a + fellow of no originality—will not fall in love twice in the same + fashion. As to the wisdom or righteousness or the mere everyday question + of plain honour involved in the permission which Paul Armstrong gave + himself to fall in love at all, under the conditions in which he stood, + there seemed room for no illusion. He should by this time have been + something of a man of the world, and might reasonably be supposed to be + acting with his eyes open to consequences. He had his compunctions by the + hundred, his hoverings by the way, and turnings back from it. But many + delicate signs which would have been invisible to him had he been less + interested persuaded him that love lay ready for him, and after all the + follies of his slaveries here and there, he persuaded himself that if he + could but accept it, it was of a kind to atone for all that had gone + before. And why, he asked himself, if this were true, should he stand for + ever in loneliness? It was in him to be constant if only truth were met + with truth. He could have been faithful to Claudia. He could have been + faithful to Annette. He could have been faithful to Gertrude. And though + no man whose sense of the humour of life does not leave him wholly blind + to the comedy of his own existence could fail to see the bitter jest that + lay here against himself, he urged the point seriously. He <i>had</i> been + true in each case until faith had grown into blind folly, and bare respect + for an old idol had become impossible. The one crime of his life had been + acted against himself. He had believed Annette, and in the mere feebleness + of acquiescence he had hung a weight about his neck which he was doomed to + carry as long as her life should last. + </p> + <p> + And now, had he the right to redress the wrong he had inflicted upon + himself? Feeble always, always a drifter, a good deal of a coward in his + way of shrinking from avoidable pain, but never deliberately cruel or + selfish. And now, was he to do a deliberately cruel and selfish thing? Or + was as much mischief as might well be done wrought already? + </p> + <p> + For months had gone by, and the drifting policy had brought him plainly to + the question, Was this quiet, sweet little girl in love with him? No blame + to her if it were so. He had signalled her from the first for attention + and companionship, and she knew nothing of his history. She had no guess + as to the fatal bond which held him. Every day he knew her better. Her + mind and heart opened out before him like twin flowers, full of purity and + sweet odour. + </p> + <p> + She was courage incarnate, and her hatred of cruelty was a passion. A + hulking blackguard of a teamster was cruelly flogging an overladen horse + one day, and Madge, at the risk of her life, was in amongst the traffic of + the street in a flash, and stood between the beast and his dumb victim + voiceless and pale with rage, her little figure at its height and her eyes + blazing. Paul’s chance presence and the neighbourhood of a policeman were + probably answerable for the peaceful solution of this episode, for the + girl had snatched the whip from the bully’s hand, and he was in an + attitude which threatened violence when Paul intervened. + </p> + <p> + ‘My dear child!’ said Paul in a tone of remonstrance as he conducted her + from the scene. + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh,’ she broke in, with her little teeth clenched, ‘I couldn’t bear it!’ + </p> + <p> + He saw the folly of reproof and held his tongue, and when they came in + sight of the theatre she ran indoors and escaped him. + </p> + <p> + He had fallen into a habit of walking home with her when the night’s work + was over, and saying good-bye to her at the door of her lodgings. This + fact made her mightily unpopular with the ladies of the company, who saw + no reason why she should be thus distinguished, and the snubs she took + disposed him to be more attentive to her. + </p> + <p> + They drifted closer, but no confidences were exchanged between them. + </p> + <p> + The company made for Australia, and there were six days of travel aboard a + well-found steamer, and this gave more than ample time for the position to + solidify. There were long promenades on deck by moonlight and starlight, + and the two found a perch in the bows out of the way of all observation + and regard, and there exchanged all manner of confidences. The girl’s + simple life unrolled itself—its hopes, its ambitions! its home + affections. She talked of her reading, of her music, of all the little + intimacies of home-life. Before the brief voyage was over he seemed, to + his own apprehension, to know his companion more completely than he had + ever known man or woman, and he was hourly more and more in love with her. + He was feather-headed and irresponsible enough to be happy in the + circumstances for hours at a time, but when he was alone, and his heart + was no longer flattered by the worship she so innocently offered, the + skeleton he carried about with him came out of its cupboard and seemed to + mop and mow before him in derision. He was bound hand and foot to his + fate, and the bonds were not to be severed There was Annette in far-away + London and Paris dragging out a miserable and ignominious life, which was + likely to last as long as his own, and he could see no hope of freedom. + With every passing day he felt more clearly that he was bent upon an + inexcusable wrong, and yet, so strangely fashioned is the conscience of a + man who is without the power of will, all his self-reproaches did but add + to the tenderness and fervour of his desire. + </p> + <p> + The steamer reached its destination late upon a Saturday, and Sunday was a + holiday. Paul and Madge spent the day together, wandering on a long + stretch of sandy coast which lay between the port and the bright green + waters of the sea; and all the time there was a growing sense of + inevitability in his mind. He knew that he was going to ask for happiness, + and that he was prepared to pay his self-respect and manhood for it. The + talk was of trifles in the morning until they strolled home to luncheon; + it was of trifles again in the afternoon until they strolled home to + dinner, and it was of trifles still when they set out in the yellow sunset + to saunter once more in a scene which had already grown strangely + memorable and familiar. There were no sunset clouds, but the pageant of + the dying day had a sort of sullen and pathetic beauty. The blazing sun + dropped behind the far-off sea-line, and a great band of saffron rimmed + the whole horizon, fading into palest green as it spread upward, and this + in turn melted into a blue which at the zenith looked unfathomable. A full + moon, which had until now been invisible, looked down from the very centre + of the sky. There was none of the lingering twilight of more temperate + climates. The change from broad daylight, in which every outline and + detail of the landscape was accented strongly, to the dim, mystic and + diffused radiance of the moon and stars was like an episode in a + transformation-scene at the theatre. A mere ten minutes had sufficed to + change the whole character and sentiment of the scene. It was like walking + out of one world into another, and a rude chorus of voices, accompanied by + the sounds of a banjo and a concertina, came from some body of merrymakers + beyond a distant island in the bay. It moved away farther and farther into + the distance until the harshness was softened to an almost spiritual + melody, and after awhile it reached the ear only at uncertain intervals. + </p> + <p> + They came to a place at which they had rested in the afternoon. Some high + tide of long ago had deposited here a great wreath of wrack, a hundred + yards inland, and piled up in places to a height of some twelve feet. + There were scores of cushiony resting-places here like great luxurious + arm-chairs, and the wrack when disturbed by a touch gave out dry and + stinging odours of sea-salt and iodine. + </p> + <p> + Paul, with a mere motion of the hand to his companion, threw himself into + one of the hollows, and she took a seat at a little distance from him. He + lay, the brim of his hat sheltering his eyes from the moonlight, and + stared at the spangled vault above him, where the stars seemed to hang + from threads of gold and silver as if they were upheld by an actual + tangible roof. He knew that his hour had come, but he obeyed the impulse + which controlled him with an infinite self-accusation. + </p> + <p> + ‘Madge,’ he said, rolling over where he lay and stretching out his hand + towards her. It fell upon her own, and she made no motion to evade him. It + was the first caress he had ever offered her, and her tacit acceptance of + it hurried him into passion. ‘Madge,’ he said again; ‘dear little Madge!’ + </p> + <p> + She glanced at him for an instant only, and in the moonlight her eyes + glinted with sudden tears. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have no right,’ he said, ‘to speak to you like this. I have had no + right to claim your companionship as I have done since we first began to + know each other.’ + </p> + <p> + She was quite silent; but under his light caress he felt her hand tremble, + and she glanced at him once more and looked away again. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have not had a happy life,’ he went on, ‘but that ought to dispose me + to do what I can to keep unhappiness out of the lives of other people. If + I tell you that I am very conscious of having deceived you, of having left + you in the dark about myself in respect to things you have a right to + know, what shall you say to me? What will you think of me?’ + </p> + <p> + Again she turned to look at him, and this time her glance rested on him, + but still she made no answer. + </p> + <p> + Paul withdrew his hand, sat upright, and began mechanically to charge his + pipe and to smoke. + </p> + <p> + ‘I met an utterly worthless woman many years ago,’ he began, after a long + pause, ‘and I threw my life away upon her. We were married, and she is + still alive. She is likely to live for many years to come; and, indeed, + there is no probability of escape from her. It is not likely that she and + I will ever see each other any more; but I am legally bound to her so long + as she shall live. I ought to have told you this months ago.’ + </p> + <p> + He rose and began to pace up and down the sands before her. He looked up + at her from time to time, and her eyes followed him as he moved. Not a + sound escaped her lips, but her fast-flowing tears glittered on her cheeks + like rain. + </p> + <p> + ‘I should have told you,’ he cried, writhing between self-accusation and + self-excuse, ‘but I had not the courage to put an end to a time which has + been so lull of sweetness, so full of a mad kind of hope which I should + never have admitted to my heart I know,’ he went on, pausing desperately + before her, ‘what must be in your mind. I know that you are asking how I + dared to draw you on to such a friendship as ours has been through an + acted lie, and how I have dared at last to tell the truth I have postponed + so long. You have a right to be wounded; you have a right to be angry. You + will do yourself the merest justice if you teach yourself to despise and + hate me; and if you tell me to go away at once and darken your life no + further, I will do it But let me say just this one thing: whatever my + cowardly silence may seem to prove, I have never had a thought of you that + has not been full of the profoundest respect and reverence. You know now + the truth about me, and you know that in spite of it I have made love to + you for months past. I can’t tell what a high-minded and pure-hearted + woman may feel in such a case. I can’t guess if such a woman could find it + in her nature to accept the lifelong worship and affection of a man who is + circumstanced as I am, if she could find the courage and self-sacrifice to + join her destinies with a broken life like mine. Oh, if it were possible!’ + he cried, ‘and oh, if it were possible that I could nourish such a hope in + fancy, and not know in my inmost heart that only a scoundrel could be + guilty of it! There, Madge, it is all said now. It had to be said, but I + shall never forgive myself for having said it.’ + </p> + <p> + The accusations he brought against himself were just as real as the + passion and despair which urged him on. + </p> + <p> + The Solitary, in his smoke-clouded mountain eyrie, surveyed all this, as + he had surveyed the varied experiences of life which had passed before it + in clear vision through his mind, and still the passion and despair and + the self-accusing, self-excusing thoughts were as real to him as they had + been at the moment he recalled. He accepted that reality as a proof, + scarcely needed, of the already established shallowness of his own nature—a + brawling stream always ready to rave round any little impediment in its + path; a mere miniature of the torrent, with no resolute strength or + purpose in it, but full of a fussy vivacity and self-importance which he + could most heartily and bitterly despise. All his life long the same + futile story repeated: the same headlong impetuosity, the same want of + steadfast force, the same absence of control. And yet, even in the depth + of self-reproach, he could not deny to himself some hint of purpose which + had an honest meaning in his mind, and, looking back, he saw that he had + found an entrance to a purer and better life than he had known before. Had + he been worthy of the trust he asked for, he would have blamed himself + less for asking. Tears were hot and harsh in his throat as the scene + unrolled itself before him. + </p> + <p> + Paul Armstrong—the Paul Armstrong of those irrevocable bygone years—was + striking up and down the sand, and the girl was still weeping without a + sound, when the Exile’s thought flew back to them. It was as if a curtain + had descended for an instant only, and had risen again to reveal the same + actors in the same scene. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had better leave you now, Madge,’ said Paul, half maddened by the sight + of the uncomplaining grief he had awakened. ‘I will watch you home as soon + as you care to go, but I won’t intrude upon you any longer.’ + </p> + <p> + The slight figure rose from its seat upon the wrack, and stood before him + with downcast and averted head, but he could still see the tears falling + like diamond-drops in the clear moonlight. He turned irresolutely away, + but he had made only a single step before he was vividly back again with + an impulsive and imploring hand upon her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘that you forgive me. Tell me that you will be able to + think of me when I am gone with something—some feeling that will not + be all contempt. You won’t always despise me, will you, Madge?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall never despise you,’ she answered, in a voice she could barely + control; ‘I shall always remember this time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you don’t hate me for having spoken?’ + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with a strange smile, which was so tender and so full + of pity that he caught his breath at the sight of it. + </p> + <p> + ‘No,’ she said, ‘I shall never hate you. I must be as truthful as you have + been. I must tell you that I had heard something of what you have told me + before we left New Zealand. I didn’t know if it were true, and I did not + even wish to ask.’ + </p> + <p> + He stood still with that unconscious hand upon her shoulder, and his heart + gave a leap as he asked: + </p> + <p> + ‘You knew I loved you, Madge—you knew I loved you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I was quite sure of that,’ she answered ‘I have believed it for a long + time.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madge,’ he said, ‘are you strong enough—are you brave enough—can + you put such faith in me? Can you believe that I will lay a life’s + unfailing devotion at your feet—that the very fact that there can be + no legal tie between us will make me always all the truer to you? I swear + to you that if you trust yourself to me, my whole life shall be one act of + gratitude for your faith and courage, and that no act or word of mine + shall ever cause you to regret the compact.’ + </p> + <p> + Her tears had ceased to fall, and when she next looked at him her face was + grave, and looked in the moonlight as pale as snow. + </p> + <p> + ‘If I were alone,’ she answered, ‘you should have my answer now, but I + have others to consider.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, who,’ he cried, ‘can come between us?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Let us go home,’ she answered simply and bravely. ‘I must have time to + think. Please say no more to me to-night.’ She moved away, and Paul, + taking his place beside her, walked in silence ‘There is no one,’ she + said, when they had traversed a hundred yards or more, ‘who has a right to + dictate what my life shall be; but I have never done anything without my + mother’s knowledge and consent, and I never shall.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul had passed from despair almost to certainty, but this chilled him + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + ‘Ah,’ he said, with a gasping breath, ‘is there any mother in the world + who would consent to such a scheme?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You must write to me,’ she answered, ‘such a letter as I can send to her. + I will write, too, and I will ask her not to answer until she has seen us + both.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That rings a death-knell,’ said Paul ‘I have no hope of consent in such a + case.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can’t tell,’ she answered simply, ‘but there is no other way.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And yet you love me, Madge?’ said Paul. She made no answer, and he drew + nearer to her, and put an arm about her shoulder. ‘You love me, little + Madge?’ he urged her. + </p> + <p> + She gave a sigh of acquiescence, a half-breathed ‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And you could deny your own heart and mine? You could let me go away + alone, and live alone yourself, with an empty heartache?’ + </p> + <p> + Her answer came, like an echo of a former tone, just the same + half-breathed token of assent. There was a quiet resolution in it, for all + it was so softly spoken, which bound him to silence for a time. + </p> + <p> + There was more strength of resolution, more power and purpose, expressed + thus simply than he had ever been conscious of himself, and he recognised + that fact quite clearly. + </p> + <p> + They walked from this time forth in silence, until at the outskirts of the + town they reached the small and retired hotel at which the girl had taken + lodgings, and there they parted formally enough. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will write?’ she asked, holding out her hand to him in token of + dismissal. + </p> + <p> + ‘I will write,’ he answered, taking her hand, and bowing over it. + </p> + <p> + There were some Sabbath loiterers in the street, and it was necessary that + the two should part undemonstratively. + </p> + <p> + Paul, as he walked to his own more pretentious hostel, recognised the fact + that for good or evil he had shot his bolt There was nothing at that hour + of which he was more certain than that his present destiny and the destiny + of Madge lay in the hands of a woman he had never seen, and he did not + even attempt to disguise from himself the overwhelming probability against + an affirmative answer to his hopes. He was very miserably certain that he + had no right to hope, and that accusing conscience of his which never + permitted him to stray without rebuke, and yet had never been worth a + farthing to him in his whole career, worried him without ceasing. But he + knew enough of himself already to have learned that the fault of character + which had wrecked him was half made up of reluctance to add pain to pain. + It is not always the wholly selfish wrongdoer who is answerable for the + greater sorrows of life. It is assuredly not he who suffers in his own + person; but, worse than that, the tender-hearted, conscience-worried man + of feeble will is always afraid of causing a slight grief by retracing a + mistaken step, and so goes on inevitably to the creation of troubles which + appal him when he comes to contemplate them in after-hours. And to have a + full theoretical knowledge of this fact enforced by years of experience is + to be gifted with no safeguard. ‘To be weak’—there is no wiser + saying among the utterances of the wise—‘to be weak is to be + miserable.’ To be a fool and to know it is the extreme of misery, and this + extreme does not fall to the lot of those who are extremest in folly. + </p> + <p> + What Paul wrote that night is barely worth chronicling, and may be fairly + constructed by anyone who has so far pursued his story. But the Exile, + sitting over the embers of the fire at which he had cooked his coarse + mid-day meal, threw himself backward on the trodden grass, and, groping + behind the flap of the tent, dragged his brown canvas bag towards him, and + having made a search among its contents, found a heap of stained, crumpled + and disordered papers, one of which he smoothed out upon his knee and + read. It had been given to him in that first unspeakably tranquil and + happy year which Madge and he had spent together in Europe. It was the + first blotted draft of the letter to her mother with which she had + accompanied his own, and it ran thus: + </p> + <p> + ‘My darling Mother, + </p> + <p> + ‘I am putting this into a separate envelope, and on the envelope I am + writing to ask you to read Mr. Armstrong’s letter to me before you read my + own. He has explained everything there, and now I must make my appeal to + you. I have promised that I will do nothing without your consent, and I am + not very hopeful that I shall secure it. You know that I am not + light-minded, or in the habit of saying what I do not mean, and I shall + only tell you this: I love him with my whole heart and mind, and if you + decide that we are to part I shall accept your decision, but I shall never + know a happy day again. Paul is not only a great man but a good one.’ + </p> + <p> + (The reader had faced this blow so often that he was ready for it, but he + had no guard against it, and it struck home so heavily that he groaned + aloud.) + </p> + <p> + ‘I know now, partly from what I have lately learned from other people, + partly from what he told me last night, but mainly from the letter you + have read, the story of his life, and I know how profoundly unhappy it has + been. I want to comfort and sustain him, and I am not afraid to face all + the difficulties which lie before me. I can hear a clear call to duty, and + I am sure that his love and mine will strengthen me to do it. You have + never known me to be frivolous or foolish in my thoughts about such things + as these, and until we can all three meet together, you must have patience + with me. It would be wrong and cruel on my side to throw everything upon + you, and I shall not ask you to make yourself responsible for what you may + think my wrong-doing. There are a hundred thousand things in my heart + which I cannot say, and amongst them all there is the dreadful fear that I + may have lost your respect. But you ought to know the truth, and the whole + truth. I have not lost my own, and I cannot believe that I shall ever have + the right to be ashamed.’ + </p> + <p> + There was much more than this. There were half-articulate expressions of + affection and fear of an agony of regret for a possible severance. And + through it all there beamed like a star, steadfast and unobscured in + tempest, the loyal heart, the uncountable soul which, in whatsoever error, + knows love and fealty as its only guides. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <p> + By far the greater part of the theoretical wisdom of the world comes to us + in the shape of legacies bequeathed by fools. A fool is not a person + without knowledge or understanding—that is an ignoramus. The true + fool—the only fool worthy of a wise man’s contemplation—is the + man who knows and understands, and habitually refrains from acting + according to knowledge and understanding. It is the record of the follies + of such people which has built up the world’s wisdom. From that record we + have learned amongst many other things that the fool of understanding has + one eternal refuge from himself which he seeks with a full knowledge of + the fact that the shelter it affords is illusory, and that the path by + which it leads him can only conduct him to greater dangers than those from + which he is striving to escape. It is too late to go back now, quoth the + fool; the business must be gone through to the end. Thus if this brief + diagnosis be of any value, the root of folly is to be found in the decay + of will. Few men had reason to hold this belief more firmly than Paul + Armstrong, and yet even now, when whatever was best in his own nature was + more seriously engaged than it had ever been before, he went on to the + consummation of a most undoubted and most cruel wrong, on the poor + pretence that every stage he passed towards it made the passage of the + next stage inevitable. + </p> + <p> + If ever it had seemed clear to him that it was too late to retire it + seemed clearer now, and indeed he had so involved himself that it became + to him alike and equally criminal to retreat or to advance. But by-and-by + a solace for his miseries brought a solution of perplexity. Since he had + taken so tremendous a responsibility upon himself, since there was now no + escape from it without an act of brutality at the mere thought of which + his heart revolted, there grew up within him such a resolve and such a + sense of protective tenderness as had been hitherto impossible for him. + Poor little Madge was to be victimized, but the <i>via dolorosa</i> which + she would tread unendingly should at least be strewn with flowers, and the + victim herself should be beautifully garlanded. His life should be one act + of worship in return for her self-sacrifice. His devotion should offer + such a challenge to the censure of the world that all reproach should + shrink away ashamed. There never had been so complete an atonement as he + would offer. + </p> + <p> + The nauseous pill of self-reproach was so thickly sugared and gilded by + this inspiration that in a while he was not only able to take it without + making wry faces, but with an actual sense of relish and self-approval. + This was naturally a good deal dashed by the coming interview with Madge’s + mother, about whose unknown personality there began to cluster some + self-contradictory ideas. That lady would be a most unnatural mother if + she rejected the proposal he had to lay before her, and a most unnatural + mother if she accepted it. In his reflections, according to his mood, he + saw either horn of this dilemma so clearly that the other vanished from + his mind, but it always assumed its proper reality again, and made its + companion altogether visionary. + </p> + <p> + When at last the fatal hour for the interview arrived, he went to the + rendezvous in a pitiable state of hope and fear. He had always his whole + life through carried all his eggs in one basket, and had been incapable of + undertaking more than one emotional enterprise at a time. To lose Madge + now would be to lose everything, and his former experiences of the healing + powers of time—which were possibly numerous and striking enough—were + of no value to him. Obeying the directions he had received, he chartered a + cab, and after a half-hour’s tumultuous journey found himself alighting + before a pretty villa in Prahran, with a well-ordered garden in front of + it full of English shrubs and flowers, amidst which were interspersed a + number of sub-tropic plants and trees. He was shown with no delay into a + shaded room, where he had some difficulty in making out the figure of a + gray-haired lady who sat in an arm-chair to receive him, and who did not + rise at his entrance. Madge was standing near her, and as the dazzling + effect of the bright sunshine of the streets passed from his eyes he saw + the sign of many tears in the two faces before him. + </p> + <p> + There was an embarrassing silence, which lasted for a full half-minute, + and Paul stood there conscious of the mother’s scrutiny, and feeling like + a criminal in the dock. The girl herself was the first who found courage + and self-control to speak. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother dear,’ she said in an uncertain voice, ‘this is Mr. Armstrong.’ + </p> + <p> + The elder lady nodded, and with a slight gesture of the hand motioned the + visitor to a chair. Paul obeyed the gesture, and waited in silence. + </p> + <p> + ‘You will understand,’ the lady of the house began, ‘how wretchedly sorry + I am to see you.’ Paul bowed an assent to this, and could but acknowledge + that the unpromising exordium was natural. ‘My daughter has never had a + secret from me in her life until within the last few months. She has + written of you in her letters from time to time, but never led me to fancy + that you were making love to her. I believe you are a married man, Mr. + Armstrong?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am married,’ Paul responded in a voice so strangled and unlike his own + that it positively startled him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I cannot help knowing,’ said Mrs. Hampton, ‘that I have made a very + serious mistake in giving way to my daughter’s desire to go upon the + stage. But I trusted her so completely that I had no fear at all of what + has happened. You must know, Mr. Armstrong, that you have misbehaved + yourself most cruelly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I have said so to myself a thousand times,’ said Paul, ‘and I have no + defence to offer now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You have done a wicked and a cruel thing,’ pursued the mother. ‘You have + brought my daughter into opposition with me for the first time in her + life, and you have filled her head with ideas which can only lead to + suffering and disgrace.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Forgive me, Mrs. Hampton,’ Paul said. ‘I have acted precipitously and + wrongly, and I am much to blame; but I have never striven for an instant + to confuse Miss Hampton’s mind. If I have won her love, I have done it + half unconsciously, and it began in friendship and esteem. I ought, I know + now, to have told her of that miserable tie which binds me; but at first I + did not think it necessary to speak a word about that. A man would have to + be a rare coxcomb,’ he went on, ‘to think it needful that he should make + public proclamation of a fact like that. My life has been ruined for years + past, and I did not care to talk about it I did not dream of harm until + harm was done.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I can only say, Mr. Armstrong,’ the mother answered, ‘that there can be no + discussion about this matter, and that I rely upon my daughter to do + justice to herself. She will learn in a little while to know that you have + done her a very serious wrong, and that will help her to live her trouble + down.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madam,’ cried Paul, rising to his feet, and speaking with an impassioned + swiftness, ‘I beseech you to listen to me for one minute only; if I try to + justify myself in some small degree, you will understand my purpose. At an + age when life is opening for most men I had tied myself to a hopeless + burden. I found myself shut out from every chance of happiness; such a + thing as home I dared not even dream of. The law can afford me no relief + from the snare into which I have fallen; I am excluded from everything + that makes life bright to other men. My experiences of woman’s friendship + have not been happy, and I had come to the belief that I was condemned to + go through life without companionship. I met your daughter; we found that + our minds came together in whatever was best in both of us. I declare that + I never spoke one word of love to her until the night on which she made me + promise to write the letter which she sent to you. I must not—dare + not—speak of scruples on your side. They are no scruples; they are + stern and cruel facts which can only be surmounted by great courage. But + they have been surmounted by others, and we believe—Madge and I both + believe—that we have the courage and the constancy to face them. + Madge tells me that without your consent our case is hopeless. I know how + unlikely it is that it should be given; but if it should be given—if + by any chance you should be brought to change your present mind—I + promise you by everything that men hold sacred that I will honour and + treasure her and cherish her as my true wife in the sight of God and men, + and that the tie on my side will be not less binding, but beyond measure + more sacred because her claim appeals only to honour and manhood, and is + not enforced by law. I plead for myself, Mrs. Hampton, and you will tell + me with perfect justice that you are not called upon in the remotest + degree to consult my wishes or to sympathize with any grief I may have + brought upon myself. But there is another side to the question, and your + daughter will tell you if I am right in thinking it a million times + stronger than my own. You have known her and have loved her tenderly all + her life. I have known her for little more than half a year; but I am sure + of this: her affections are not lightly engaged or easily cast away.’ + </p> + <p> + She had raised her hand against him more than once as if to interrupt him, + but he had not checked the impetuous torrent of his speech until he had + poured out all he had to say. Now, with a forlorn outward gesture of the + hands, and a lax dropping of them to either side, he stood awaiting + judgment. + </p> + <p> + Madge broke silence for the second time. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no need for Mr. Armstrong to stay longer now. You and I must + talk together, mother; and I will write to him to-night.’ + </p> + <p> + Her face was of a striking pallor, except where the salt of tears had + scalded it; but she spoke with an entire possession of herself, and Paul + wondered at her steadfastness and courage. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is one thing more,’ he said: ‘if you can be brought to sanction this + union, sanctify it by coming with us both to Europe. Live with us, and + help me to secure Madge’s happiness. Your presence there would silence + every wicked tongue, and if we made no secret of the truth, but dared the + world together, we should find, I know, that it would deal kindly with + us.’ + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment, and, receiving no reply, bowed and walked blindly + towards a door which communicated with another room. Madge called to him, + ‘This way,’ and went out into the hall before him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Is this to be our last parting, I wonder?’ he asked hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head with a weary lifting of the fine arched brows as if to + say she could find no answer, and then withdrew without word or sign, + leaving him to quit the house unattended. + </p> + <p> + He fumbled half blindly until he found his hat and cane, and then he had + to fumble for the door, for the whole place was heavily shadowed from the + blazing sun outside, and his eyesight and his hands were each less + serviceable to him than usual. At first the broad sunshine fell upon his + eyes like a sudden vivid heat upon a wound, and in his agitation and + half-blindness he found himself walking away from the quarter of the city + to which he had meant to direct his steps. Correcting this error in a + minute or two, he turned and made for his hotel with a mind so shaken and + vacant that he seemed to have no thoughts at all. A man who has been + passionately in love three times before he has begun to verge upon middle + age may easily be thought too inflammable a subject to be deserving of + much pity, but a man may be keenly in sympathy with himself without + enlisting the sympathy of other people, and Paul was here as always + heroically and tragically in earnest. Without seeking apologies for him + too far afield, there is a kind of nature which burns intensely within + itself, and will break out into violence of smoke and flame with the + intrusion of any new emotional material, just as there is a nature not + more intense which will burn equably and clearly whatever new supply of + fuel may be heaped upon it. + </p> + <p> + There is no need to dwell upon the time of waiting, the miserable + loiterings in bedroom, corridor and entrance-hall, the aimless perusal of + newspapers which conveyed no meaning to the mind, the taking up and laying + down of petty occupations, and all the other signs and tokens of suspense. + Time and the hour wear out the roughest day, and as Paul lingered over the + dessert of a barely tasted dinner, a note reached him in Madge’s + handwriting. It contained these words only: + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no change. I dare not hope, and I dare not despair. I may have + news for you to-morrow, but what it may be I must not guess. + </p> + <p> + ‘M.’ + </p> + <p> + This was cold comfort, but he had not expected more, and he strolled away + in sheer vacuity of heart and thought to the principal theatre of the + city, where just then a bright comic opera was running. The lights, the + gay music, the brilliantly-dressed crowd upon the stage, made no + impression on his mind, and his saturnine and gloomy face was in such + contrast to the loud hilarity of the audience that he felt himself a blot + upon the house, and at the first fall of the curtain withdrew into the + streets, where he wandered listlessly until midnight He was fatigued, and + slept heavily for some hours, but he was awake again long before the + household was astir, and suffered all the weariness and chagrin which + assailed the unoccupied mind in hours of suspense and doubt. Another brief + note reached him by the first post. + </p> + <p> + ‘Mother has spoken a great deal to-night of my brother George, who, as you + know, is already in London. I do not know what to think of this, and I can + scarcely dare to fancy what I should so much like to believe. I shall not + write again until I have something definite to tell you, but whether we + ever meet again or no, you shall see my whole heart for once. I love you, + and I know that I shall always love you. Is it unwomanly—is it too + bold to tell you this so soon? Will you think that I am too easily + persuaded about myself? I hope not. But whatever happens, even if I never + see you or hear your voice again, I shall not change or forget anything + that has happened in all this beautiful and dreadful time. + </p> + <p> + ‘All yours, and always yours, + </p> + <p> + ‘Madge.’ + </p> + <p> + This had been brought to him as he sat dressed in his bedroom, wondering + if any message would reach him, and he had locked his door to be alone + with Fate before he had broken the seal of the wax, which bore a dove with + an olive-branch, and the motto <i>Esperez</i>. He read the tender message + with its proclamation of unshakable fidelity thrice over, and then rising, + began to pace up and down the room. A cry of self-accusation rose to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + ‘My God!’ he asked himself, ‘what have I done? What <i>have</i> I done?’ + </p> + <p> + There was no room for doubt in all his mind. There are some truths which + manifest themselves so clearly to the heart that they are not to be + resisted. He had found fidelity at last after all his foolish researches. + It had seemed to him the priceless jewel of the world, and he had been + willing to barter all his life for it. It was here at last, and he was so + far beggared that he had no price to offer in payment for it which was + worth a thousandth part its value. He was bankrupt and had sought to buy + this treasure, and must now needs go through life as a swindler. Even if + his hopes were granted, what had he to pay? He knew at this moment as + clearly as if he had even then been enlightened by the events of later + years that there were scores of women who would draw their skirts away in + a real disdain of an association of which they were not worthy. And he + knew also that if his own hopes failed him he had spoiled the one life in + the whole world he would fain have done his best to gladden. + </p> + <p> + The next pause lasted long. Day after day went by and no message came. It + is not more than justice to chronicle the fact that Paul Armstrong did + grow for once in his life to feel more for another than for himself, and + if he suffered anguish, as he did, it was on Madge’s account much rather + than his own. The cry her confession had wrung from him was always in his + mind: ‘What have I done? My God, what <i>have</i> I done?’ + </p> + <p> + These days were a stern discipline, but they came to an end at last. A + note reached him at the end of a week in which Mrs. Hampton presented her + compliments to Mr. Armstrong, with a request that he would call that + afternoon at five o’clock. This, of course, conveyed no certainty to him + in either one direction or another, but it awoke an extraordinary tumult + in his mind, and he found himself in the neighbourhood of the Prahran + villa a full hour before the time appointed. He sauntered in the broiling + heat and blinding light until he lost himself repeatedly in strange places + and rang at the doors of strange houses to inquire his way back again, + quite frenzied by the fear of missing his appointment In effect, he + arrived at the instant, and was ushered into the room he had already + visited. Mrs. Hampton sat there, looking very pale and stern, he thought, + and she rose upon his entrance and offered him her hand. It seemed to him + that this cost her a considerable effort, and she resumed her seat without + a word. Madge was there also, but she exchanged no greeting with Paul, and + did not even meet his glance. The hostess touched a bell upon the table + which stood near her, and after a silent pause a trim parlourmaid brought + in a tray upon which was set out the materials for afternoon tea. Mrs. + Hampton began to busy herself about the tray, and Madge handed a cup of + tea to Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘I may tell you, Mr. Armstrong,’ said Madge’s mother, ‘that, if you think + it worth while to call it winning, you have won. You have very nearly + broken an old woman’s heart in doing it, and you may break a girl’s heart + into the bargain before you have done. But my son George is in London, and + I have made up my mind to let Madge go home and join him there. Her sister + will go with her and will be her companion on the voyage, and I shall + follow so soon as I can dispose of my interests in this country. I am + uprooting my household and leaving all my friends; and I am doing it, Mr. + Armstrong, for a man of whom I know next to nothing. I am almost certain + that I am not acting wisely, and I am not quite sure that I am not acting + wickedly. I know out of my own experience of the world that marriage can + make a woman miserable if it were blessed by all the parsons living, but + you are taking a responsibility a great deal bigger than that of any + husband, and I am taking such a responsibility as no mother ought to take. + And now, Madge,’ she said, ‘I want to speak to Mr. Armstrong in private + for one minute. Come back when I call you.’ + </p> + <p> + Madge stole obediently away, and when the door had closed behind her, Mrs. + Hampton leaned forward and spoke in a half-whisper, with her hand + stretched out before the listener like a hovering bird. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have my child’s promise,’ she said, ‘and I know that I can trust to it + But I must have your undertaking that you will place her safely in her + brother’s hands, and that you will treat her with as much respect as if + she were engaged to be married to you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Madam,’ Paul broke out, ‘I pledge myself absolutely. I could hold no + pledge so sacred.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I shall follow,’ said Mrs. Hampton, ‘within two or three months. My child + will have had another half-year in which to know you and to understand + your intentions towards her. I have no fear of her; but if you violate + your promise in the slightest, you will act like a scoundrel, and I have + Madge’s undertaking that she will be candid with me. There is no more to + be said now until we meet in England. I may tell you just this, Mr. + Armstrong: we two have spent every night since I first saw you in each + other’s arms in tears. I am giving you a proof that I think well of you on + very slender grounds. If you are in the least worthy my good opinion, you + will think sometimes of what I have just told you.’ + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her hand, and when she drew it away there was a + single tear upon it. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had rather get the wrench over,’ she said, ‘and have done with it. It + will seem quite natural that I should go home and join my family in + London, and I shall explain nothing beyond that.’ She rose and opened the + door and called her daughter by name. ‘It is all over,’ she said, when + Madge returned. ‘I have but one hope, and that is that you may never live + to blame your mother’s weakness. I should have done for your father what + you are doing if there had been any need for it, and I should have done it + in the face of all the world. And now I want to be alone a little to—to’—her + voice faltered suddenly, and her eyes brimmed with tears—‘to say my + prayers, and, if I have done wrong, to beg God’s forgiveness. Go out into + the garden, children, and leave me here.’ + </p> + <p> + So into the wide garden, cooled with the shade of English fruit-trees—peach + and pear and plum and apple—the two wandered, far too disturbed by + happiness as yet to be content But in Paul’s heart a new well of + tenderness began to open—a spring of tenderness and yearning which + seemed to overflow every cranny of his nature. To pay for this, to scrape + up from the bankrupt remnants of life something by way of thanks-offering, + to devote himself heart and soul and mind and body to that one aim, to + discipline himself to a lofty and unresting ambition for that one aim’s + sake, to win a fortune, to win a solid renown in which his love should + shine reflected and sit enshrined—all this was with him in one + confused conglomerate of gratitude and hope and love. + </p> + <p> + ‘No woman,’ he said, ‘ever showed a greater trust I shall never be worthy + of it, but it shall be the one endless study of my life to be less + unworthy.’ + </p> + <p> + He took her, unresisting, to his arms. Their lips met for the first time, + and two souls seemed to tremble into one. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <p> + Paul knew that Madge and he were to have a travelling companion on the + voyage, and that the companion was to be Madge’s sister, but he did not + meet her until he stepped aboard the steamer bound for Tilbury Docks from + Adelaide. Her name was Phyllis, but for some reason or no reason her own + small world had elected to call her Bill, and to that name only she gave + willing answer, unless she were flattered from the memory of short frocks + by being addressed as Miss Hampton. She was a child of astonishing beauty, + with eyes like stars and the face of a young angel, and people who did not + know her received an impression of sanctity and innocence when they beheld + her. A complete knowledge of her character revealed her as an incorrigible + imp, utterly without a sense of danger under any circumstances her + experience had so far led her to encounter, and, apart from that, a + compound—a furious compound on either side—of jealousy and + affection. It would, perhaps, be more just to say affection and jealousy, + for Bill’s heart was hot with love for those for whom she cared at all, + and her jealousy was but the natural product of her affection. It was not + until the boat reached Colombo that Bill condescended to accept a solitary + advance from Paul. Until then she resented every minute he spent in her + sister’s society and every word he addressed to her, but once enlisted she + became a sort of lovers’ watch-dog, and held all intruders at bay. + </p> + <p> + The steamer was lying for four-and-twenty hours in the harbour at Colombo, + and everybody who was at liberty was delighted to snatch a day ashore. + Paul and Madge and Bill made the customary globe-trotter’s round They + lunched at the hotel at Point de Galles, saw the usual conjurers and + snake-charmers, drove to the usual Buddhist temple, dined in town, and + went aboard again. Bill, who had hitherto proved an unmitigated nuisance, + behaved with a fine discretion throughout the day, and it was only half an + hour after her appointed bedtime that she pointedly made Paul aware of her + existence. He was lounging in a deck-chair and smoking a cigar when the + young lady took a place at his side. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here,’ she said, with the boyish off-handedness which belonged to + her. ‘I want you and me to be friends.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Why not?’ said Paul. ‘I’m agreeable if you are.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Have I been good to-day?’ the imp asked, laying her head upon his + shoulder, and turning up those starlike, unfathomable eyes of hers. + </p> + <p> + ‘You have behaved like an angel for temper,’ Paul responded, ‘and like an + elderly diplomatist for discretion.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You are satisfied?’ said Bill, rolling her golden curls in her + Tam-o’-Shanter cap. + </p> + <p> + ‘I am not merely satisfied, William,’ Paul responded. ‘Words fail me to + express my gratitude.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you begin to chaff me,’ said Bill. ‘If you do, I shan’t make the + bargain I was going to.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I assure you,’ said Paul, ‘that I was never more serious in my life. I + swear it by the most sacred of man’s possessions—gold. This is an + English sovereign.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘For me?’ asked Bill, her lambent eyes regarding him as if no thought of + greed or bribery could touch the angel’s soul which shone through them. + </p> + <p> + ‘For you,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Right oh!’ Bill replied, biting at the coin with her milk-white teeth, + and then bestowing it in her pocket. ‘Now, if you’ll promise never to + leave Madge alone about one thing, I’ll be as good—as good—you + can’t guess anything as good as I’ll be.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There’s no such thing as a one-sided bargain,’ said Paul, ‘and you must + let me know what you expect from me in answer to this astonishing + confession.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Don’t you chaff me,’ said Bill, still rolling her golden head upon his + shoulder, and beaming on him with those eyes of innocence. ‘I might be + having a sweetheart of my own one of these days. Don’t you think that’s + likely?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t mind betting,’ Paul answered, ‘that you’ll have fifty—’ + </p> + <p> + Bill sat up straight in her deck-chair, clasped her hands with a vivid + gesture, and looked skyward with a glance pure as the heavens themselves. + </p> + <p> + ‘What a lark!’ she breathed—’ oh, what a lark! Fifty? Do you think + they’d all come together?’ she asked with a sudden eagerness, as if her + life depended on the answer. + </p> + <p> + ‘Say, five at a time,’ said Paul—‘ten per annum; that will give you + five years to deal with them, beginning, we will say, about two years from + now.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But that’s where I want to come in,’ said Bill ‘I want to begin at once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no need to be in a hurry,’ Paul answered. ‘There is plenty of + time before you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh yes,’ said Bill thoughtfully. ‘But, then, you see, I don’t want to + waste any of it. Now, I just want to tell you what I want you to do for + me. I want you to din it into Madge’s ears, morning, noon, and night, that + it’s time that I should do my hair up and wear long frocks.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And if I undertake that mission?’ Paul asked + </p> + <p> + ‘We’re friends,’ cried Bill, rising and holding out her hand ‘You’ll see,’ + she added, ‘I can be just as nice as I have been nasty.’ + </p> + <p> + From this time forward the voyage was like a happy dream. Suez and Naples + and Gibraltar were full of interest and wonder to the untravelled Madge, + and the Mediterranean was smooth as a pond through all the lovely days and + nights of the European spring. The Bay of Biscay so far belied its stormy + reputation that there was scarcely a heave upon its surface, and at last + the shores of England came in sight, sacred and beautiful to the eyes of a + girl born and bred in the Colonies. Then came Tilbury, and at Tilbury + brother George was waiting to bid his sisters welcome. + </p> + <p> + Paul was happy and content enough to be in the mood to like anybody and + everybody, and an inward suggestion that he was not favourably impressed + with brother George presented itself only to be discounted and + ignominiously turned out of doors at once. As Tennyson has said, ‘It is + not true that second thoughts are best, but first and third, which are a + riper first.’ Brother George was undeniably good-looking after his + fashion. He was well set up and a little over the middle height. He was + very perfectly groomed, and had very fine, regular, white teeth which he + was a little too fond of showing in a rather mechanical smile. His eyes + were rather too closely set either for beauty or for character, and his + manner was a trifle over-suave. + </p> + <p> + Bill, who had been promoted after her own desires, fell upon him like an + avalanche, and being at first unrecognised in her aspect of grown-up young + lady, embarrassed brother George considerably. But there was such a laugh + at this as set all four in high spirits, and there were so many questions + and answers that the time of waiting for the train passed in a flash. + </p> + <p> + The quartette lunched together at a restaurant in town, and brother George + carried off his sisters to the apartments he had secured for them in the + house in which he lodged. But before he went a little episode, which was + afterwards renewed in various forms until it grew monotonous, occurred. + Brother George naturally played the host at the restaurant, and spread a + generous and delicate feast, but on the presentation of the bill was + struck through with chagrin at the discovery that he had lost his purse. + That he had brought it from home was beyond cavil in his mind, for had he + not paid his cab-fare and the other expenses from it? It was an awkward + beginning of an acquaintance, as he allowed with an embarrassed smile, but + if Mr. Armstrong would be his banker for a day—— Mr. Armstrong + was happy enough to be willing to be any man’s banker at that moment, and + brother George borrowed a ten-pound note with many expressions of regret + and obligation. He forgot this little transaction so completely, that it + was not so much as mentioned for a year or two; but brother George gave + clear proof later on that he was not the man to leave unworked any social + patch which at the first stroke of the hoe would yield so promising a + little harvest, and first and last quite a handsome income in a small way + accrued to brother George at the expense of brother George’s sister’s + lover. + </p> + <p> + It is not when a man is happy, and the errors of his life have not yet + yielded their inevitable crop of suffering, that conscience bestirs + itself. Things went smoothly with Paul Armstrong. His plays prospered and + yielded rich returns. A volume of verses gave him something more than the + reputation of the average minor poet There was no more popular man at his + clubs than he, and, if he had cared for it, he might have been something + of a social lion. As it was, he met many notable people on terms of + intimacy, and reckoned himself as rich in friendships as any man alive; + and, when the six months’ probation was over, he and Madge went quietly + away together to spend in Paris a honeymoon which had not been consecrated + by any rite of the Church, and entered upon a wedded life which was not + even sanctioned by the registrar. Madge became informally Mrs. Paul + Armstrong, and, under that style and title, was introduced to a dozen of + Paul’s intimates who were in no doubt as to the facts of the case, and to + hundreds of other people who accepted the pretence without a thought of + inquiry. The whole family lived together—Madge and her mother, Bill + and brother George—and things went smoothly for two or three + prosperous and happy years. In mere prosperity and happiness there is + little to record, but the heart of the Exile in the mountains yearned over + that vanished time in a bitter and unavailing regret. How sweet it had + been! With how tender a gradation the first passion of delight in + possession had softened into friendship, and the calm love of happily + wedded people, and the delicious intimate camaraderie which springs of the + unbroken companionship of board and bed, and the sharing of every little + confidence of life! + </p> + <p> + The past was obliterated; it was wiped out as cleanly as if it had been + written on a slate, and a wet sponge had been passed over it. Practically + it was forgotten, but the obliterated record sprang to light again with an + unlooked-for, dreadful swiftness. + </p> + <p> + Bill by this time had developed into Miss Hampton, and was a grown-up + young lady in real earnest, with lovers by the dozen. She and Paul were + chums, and she had no secrets from him. Her face alone was bright enough + to have made sunshine in any house; but it happened one day that Paul, + returning from rehearsal, found it blank with astonishment and pain. She + had evidently been waiting and listening for him; for at the instant at + which his latch-key clicked in the lock, she threw the hall-door open, + and, as he entered, closed it silently, almost stealthily, behind him. + Then, with her hand upon his shoulder, she led him to his study—the + plainly furnished little workshop which looked out on the trim suburban + garden. This was the room in which he had spent the richest and most + prosperous hours of the only tranquil years he had known, and it was here + that he was fated to meet the death-blow to his happiness. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is the matter?’ he asked—‘what has happened? Where is Madge?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She is in her own room,’ Phyllis answered, her eyes wide with terror, and + her pretty Australian roses all vanished from her cheeks. ‘Mother and she + have locked themselves in together, and Madge is crying her heart out Oh, + Paul, Paul,’ she cried, clasping her hands, ‘what have you done?’ + </p> + <p> + With that she broke into sudden weeping, and Paul stood amazed, with a + chill terror, as yet unrecognised, clutching at his heart. + </p> + <p> + ‘What have I done?’ he echoed—’ what <i>have</i> I done, dear?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Done!’ she flashed at him, drawing her hands away from her streaming + eyes, and throwing them passionately apart ‘Oh, Paul, we have all loved + you so, and honoured you so, and now——’ + </p> + <p> + She cast herself into an arm-chair with a reckless abandonment, and cried + bitterly. The chill hand at Paul’s heart grew icy, but even yet he did not + recognise his fear. + </p> + <p> + ‘For mercy’s sake, Bill, tell me!’ + </p> + <p> + She flashed to her feet in a second, and looked at him from head to foot + with a burning scorn. + </p> + <p> + ‘Never call me by that name again,’ she said, through her clenched white + teeth. ‘You ask me what you have done? You have ruined Madge’s life and + broken her heart, and mine,’ she cried, striking her clenched hand upon + her breast—‘and mine!’ + </p> + <p> + She went raging up and down the room like a lovely fury, her hair + disordered, her eyes flashing, and her cheeks new-crimsoned with anger. + </p> + <p> + ‘Tell me—tell me,’ he besought her, ‘what has happened.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘This has happened,’ she answered, with a sudden tense quiet: ‘your wife + has been here—your wife, an overdressed, painted French trull, so + drunk that she could barely stand.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Good God!’ said Paul. He laid his hand upon a bookshelf, and stood + swaying there as if he were about to fall. ‘What brought her here?’ he + gasped. + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t deny it?’ said the girl, speaking with the same tense quiet as + before. + </p> + <p> + ‘No, no,’ said Paul, ‘I don’t deny it What brought her here?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘She came to assert her rights,’ said Phyllis, with a biting indignation. + ‘She came to warn us that she was setting the law in motion, and that she + would drag Madge’s name—you hear? Madge’s name—through the mud + of the Divorce Court; and only this morning I loved you, and respected + you, and believed in you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I must see Madge,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘You shall not!’ she cried, flashing to the door, and setting her back + against it. + </p> + <p> + But the door was opened from without, and Madge was here. Paul opened his + arms to her, and she laid her pale face against his breast. + </p> + <p> + ‘I have feared it always,’ she said, ‘and it has come at last. My poor, + poor Paul ‘how you must have suffered!’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Your poor, poor Paul,’ said Phyllis, in a voice of bitterest disdain, ‘is + a very fitting object for your pity. My personal recommendation is that + your poor Paul should drown himself.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You don’t understand, dear,’ Madge answered her—’ you don’t + understand. Paul has done me no wrong. We did not take you into our + confidence, because you were too young; but there has been no disguise + among the rest of us. I knew of this before Paul and I resolved to spend + our lives together. Mother knew it; George knew it; you know it now, dear. + Will it part us, Bill?’ + </p> + <p> + The girl’s face changed from angry scorn to pure bewilderment, and then + again to pity. + </p> + <p> + ‘Come here, Madge,’ she cried, opening her arms wide, and speaking with a + sobbing voice; ‘come here.’ + </p> + <p> + She hugged her sister fiercely, and cried over her. + </p> + <p> + ‘I can understand,’ she said—‘I can understand.’ She repeated the + words again and again. ‘It isn’t a pretty thing to have to face; but it’s + your trouble, darling, and we must stick together. As for me,’ she added, + with a new outbreak of tears, which a laugh made half hysteric, ‘I shall + stick like wax.’ + </p> + <p> + Annette’s threat was no <i>brutum fulmen</i>, as the society newspapers + soon began to show. Paragraphs appeared here and there indicating that the + unprosperous matrimonial affairs of a popular playwright would shortly + excite the interest of the public; and one day Paul, driving along the + Strand, and finding his cab momentarily arrested by a block in the + traffic, was frozen to the marrow by the sight of a newspaper placard + which by way of sole contents bore the words, ‘Who is the real Mrs. + Armstrong? Divorce proceedings instituted against a famous playwright.’ + </p> + <p> + At first his thought was: ‘Some enemy has done this;’ but he knew the + journal and most of the influential members of its staff, and he could not + guess that he counted an enemy among them. He had dined with the editor a + week before at the same club-table, and had found him not less cordial + than he had ever been before. + </p> + <p> + ‘I suppose the man is justified,’ Paul thought when the power of + reflection returned to him. ‘The whole story is on its way to the public + ears, and neither he nor any other man can stop it It’s his business to be + first in the field with it if he can.’ + </p> + <p> + He turned his cab homeward, for he had no heart to face the people he had + meant to meet, and on his way, just to gratify the natural instinct of + self-torture, he bought a copy of the journal, and read there that Messrs. + Berry and Smythe, the well-known firm of solicitors in Lincoln’s Inn, had + that day filed a petition for divorce against Mr. Paul Armstrong, the + well-known dramatist, and that remarkable revelations were expected. + </p> + <p> + For these past few years home had seemed Paradise. He had never for any + fraction of an instant wavered in his love, and use and wont had helped to + set a seal of sanctity upon it With the passage of the months and years, + with the growth of many intimate acquaintanceships, and not a few closer + and dearer ties about him, home had grown to be as sacred to him as if the + union on which it was founded had been blessed by all the priests of all + the churches. No purer and more tranquil spirit of affectionate loyalty + had breathed in any home in England, and now the balm of his soul was + vitriol, and that which had been the bread of life to him was steeped in + gall and wormwood. The very honest purpose of his life, his constant and + sober pursuit of a worthy fame, recoiled upon him here as if it had been + in itself a crime. Not to have striven, to have been content with a dull + obscurity of fortune, to have wasted his days in idleness and his nights + in foolish revel, would have seemed a happier course to him. And as it was + the better part of life which chastised him most cruelly, so it was the + best and worthiest affection he had ever known which turned upon him with + a cup of poison in its hand and bade him drink it to the dregs. Life and + the world are so made that only the most desolate can suffer by + themselves. If by any trick of magic he could have borne his chastisement + alone, he would have accepted it with something like a scorn of fate. + </p> + <p> + He had discharged his cab within a hundred yards of home, and had read the + stinging paragraph beneath a lamp-post almost at his own doorstep. He + entered the house noiselessly, and from Madge’s music-room there floated + down to him the sound of Chopin’s great Funeral March. She played this and + some other favourites of her own as few musicians play them, for music had + been the one delight of her life, and but for the fleeting theatrical + ambition, and for Paul, she might have become famous as an executant He + stood in the hall to listen as the alternate wail and triumph filled and + thrilled the air, and thinking that she was alone, he strolled silently to + his dressing-room, and then in smoking-jacket and slippers went to join + her. Except for the glow of the fire the room was in darkness, and a voice + which came out of the darkness startled him. + </p> + <p> + ‘I had prepared myself to wait for hours,’ said the voice; and Ralston + emerged from a shadowed corner with an outstretched hand—Ralston, + with his big sagacious head, all unexpectedly silver-white, and moustache + and beard of snow, but with the same old hand-grip, and the same + half-dictatorial, half-affectionate tone. Madge struck a resolving chord, + rose, and with a kiss and a whispered ‘I know the news,’ slipped from the + room before he could make an effort to detain her. + </p> + <p> + ‘Can we have a light on things?’ said Ralston, in that hoarsely musical + growl of his. He struck a match as he spoke, and lit the gas, and then + marched sturdily to the door and closed it. ‘You know me—you, Paul + Armstrong,’ he said, turning to face the master of the house. ‘I have + spent a fighting life, but I have never known a downright murderous fit + till now. Have you seen this?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ said Paul,’ I’ve seen it.’ + </p> + <p> + The journal Ralston haled from his pocket and held towards him was a + fellow to that he had just thrown away in the street. + </p> + <p> + ‘The carrion-hunting hound!’ cried Ralston; ‘I read this, and I came + straight here. I knew there was no hiding it from your wife. I say “your + wife,” and I hold by the word until faith and friendship are as dead as + last year’s leaves. She had to see it, Armstrong, and it was better that a + friend should bring it to her. Now, mind you, we who know her rally round. + We may be only two or three, but we are a fighting colony. I am by way of + being a cleric, but I don’t always cut my linguistic coat to suit my + cloth, and my word at this hour is, Damn the bestial ecclesiastical + bigotry which seeks to tie the bodies of men and women together when their + souls are sundered! Here is a man reported within this last fortnight as + having been arrested the day after his marriage at a registrar’s office, + and as having been since then condemned to penal servitude for life. Is + that fact a relief to the woman who was his victim? Not a bit of it Let + her contract a new marriage, and the law will indict her for bigamy. She + must live in loneliness, or be classed with harlots. Here is a man I know, + an outlying parishioner of mine, whose wife is hopelessly and incurably + insane. Is there any release from the marriage-bond for him? Not a chance + of it. There are a hundred thousand people of this country, men and women, + so saturated and demoralized with drink that only an overwhelming + Christian pity could bear to touch ‘em with a barge-pole—husbands + intolerable to wives, wives intolerable to husbands, live corpses with + corruption distilling at each pore—and this filthy marriage law, + which is the last relic of Christianity’s worst barbarism, binds quick and + wholesome flesh to stinking death, and bids them fester together in the + legal pit. I set one honest man’s curse upon that shameless and abominable + creed, and I would not take my hand away from my seal though I went to the + stake for setting it there.’ + </p> + <p> + He broke into a stormy laugh, and clapped Paul boisterously upon the + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + ‘And now,’ he said, with a sudden change of voice and manner, ‘that we + have got rid of the froth of passion, let me offer you one cup of the + sound wine of reason. Fight this business through, Paul Armstrong. Don’t + give way by half a barleycorn. The story, as it tells against you, will be + made known. The truth, as your friends know it, must come out as well. If + I had time to read up for the bar, and pass my examinations, I would ask + nothing better than to be your counsel. Face the music, Armstrong, and you + may help the cause of justice. It is time that this union of quick and + dead were done with, and that the ecclesiastic fetish rag which makes its + wickedness respectable were burned.’ + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <p> + There were the usual legal delays, and public interest in the case would + have slumbered had it not been for the newspapers. But a steady-going + England, on whose John Bull qualities of reticence and solidity we have + been prone to pride ourselves, does occasionally betray a quicker and more + curious spirit than it commonly desires to be credited with, and there is + no pole to stir it from its hybernating sleep which reaches so far and + punches the fat ribs so soundly as the pole of scandal. The press was in + one of its occasional Jedburgh justice moods, and was ready to afford + impartial trial when it had hanged its victim, and not before. + </p> + <p> + Paul Armstrong was adjudged a Lothario of the wickeder sort, a purposed + betrayer of hearts and destinies. ‘If, as the complainant in this + melancholy case avers,’ or ‘If, as the depositions already filed would + appear to indicate,’ the defendant was an unlimited rascal; and if that + were so, he <i>was</i> an unlimited rascal, and there an end. A thousand + men file past the bar of official and unofficial justice without much + comment They are branded, more or less justly, in accord with their + deserts, and having been first ignored, are altogether forgotten. But + every here and there, for some scarcely notable peculiarity, a man or + woman is fairly hunted down by the moral pack, mangled and branded, as it + were, on a noble moral speculation, and left to quiver for the remnant of + his lifetime. + </p> + <p> + In these days Paul Armstrong pondered much and often over the saying of + the man who had been his master in the arts of fiction and the drama: ‘Men + reserve their bitterest repentances for their best actions.’ If only he + had played the man of the world towards Annette instead of playing the + Quixote, how different a position he would have held towards the moral + pack! To marry your mistress under no compulsion, but merely in the desire + to relieve the last sufferings of a parting soul, to sacrifice a year or + two of pulsing ambitions to this act of charity, had not in itself + appeared an act of wickedness. Nor had it seemed wholly intolerable from + his own point of view that, after a struggle prolonged beyond the needs of + decency, he should have run away from the contaminations which belonged + inevitably to a life spent in the society of an incurable dipsomaniac. Nor + could he as yet blame himself overmuch if he had at last yielded to the + claims of that domesticity which offered him involuntary shelter: the + invitations of a home of love and confidence; an atmosphere in which no + cloud hovered which could not be puffed away in a cloud of tobacco smoke, + or shattered into nothing by the clear breath of a single friendly laugh. + It was not quite an honest view of the case—no man surveying his own + circumstances is ever entirely honest—but to himself the question + was convincing, Who would not have hastened from that hell to find this + heaven? + </p> + <p> + Ralston at least stood undauntedly by him, and inveighed with anger + against what he proclaimed to be an unnatural law. + </p> + <p> + ‘Do you know Constantinople?’ he asked one evening as the two sat + together. + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes,’ Paul answered; ‘I know it tourist fashion. I stayed a week there + once.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You remember the tribes of yellow dogs who make night hideous?’ Ralston + questioned. ‘They hunt in packs, and eat any raffle of the streets which + may be thrown to ‘em. I’ve seen ‘em wolfing cardboard boxes that have been + swept out of the drapers’ shops in the early morning, the poor hungry + devils! They’d fall across any intruder from another parish and crunch him + hide and bones. But they never attack one another, and there’s no record + of one yellow dog who tried to eat another yellow dog who belonged to the + same gang. There’s a mighty difference between the canine and the human, + eh? You’re one of our breed, Armstrong—yellow dog of the yellow dog + quill-driving tribe—and your comrades haven’t the gentlemanly + instinct of the Constantinople cur. They get round you and worry you,’ he + declaimed, rising, and striding about the room, with an occasional + double-handed clutch at the lapels of his coat, his one gesture of rage—‘they + worry you for their twopenny-halfpenny mouthful of lineage, and they’d + gnaw their own mothers out of their coffins for the same reward.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘As bad as that?’ asked Paul, with a dreary little laugh. + </p> + <p> + ‘As bad as that, sir!’ Ralston declared wrathfully, though he too laughed + a moment at his own vehemence. + </p> + <p> + But the fighting Ralston was on fire with his theme, and returned to it + often. + </p> + <p> + ‘You had a namesake once,’ he said, ‘who was an Apostle. He talked with a + centurion, who told him, “With a great price I obtained this freedom.” + With a great price! I wonder if it were like the price we pay for what we + call the freedom of the press. I fought for that in my own day, fought and + suffered, and paid in coin and heart’s blood, and I have asked myself + since if I am glad or sorry that I won. Are we the better for having bred + this vulture crowd?’ + </p> + <p> + The hot heart of the advocate warmed the cold heart of the sufferer from + time to time, but neither long nor often. The coals of anger will not burn + freely on any honest hearth when the conscience of the owner compels him + to turn down the damper every other minute. + </p> + <p> + The cause in the Law Courts lingered, and the seasons changed Paul’s + friendships stopped away—not by ones or twos, but in battalions. + Poor little Madge could go nowhere, and ceased to wish to go anywhere, to + find herself brushing against offended skirts whose owners drew them away + from pollution. + </p> + <p> + ‘In all my foolish life,’ Paul told Ralston, ‘I have known one thoroughly + good woman.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Lucky bargee!’ said Ralston. ‘Not one man in a million has your chance.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘One woman,’ Paul went on, ‘as pure as a daisy, who could surrender her + whole life for the sake of love—a creature who never spoke an unkind + word or thought an unkind thought of any living sister, or dead one, for + that matter.’ + </p> + <p> + He choked. He could go no further for the time. + </p> + <p> + ‘I know her,’ said Ralston—‘I know her.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And women,’ said Paul, ‘who are not worthy to unlace her shoes + cold-shoulder her, and look at her with contempt. I dare cry the history + of two or three on the housetops.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And if you dared—what good?’ Ralston asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is no God,’ cried Paul; ‘there is no justice in the world.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘There is a God,’ said Ralston, ‘and there is very little justice. Who are + we that we should cry out for justice? We are here to learn. And look + here, Paul Armstrong: the biggest and hardest lesson set us is to learn + long views.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Long views?’ said Paul, staring at him. + </p> + <p> + ‘Long views,’ Ralston repeated steadily. ‘I know what I’m talking about We + are learners, and learners in the lowest class. That’s nonsense,’ he + corrected himself, ‘and I hate exaggeration, though I am guilty of it a + hundred times a day. But we are learners, and, whether our class is high + or low makes little difference to the fact that there is much to learn. + The man who is the stronger and the better for his trouble is the scholar + who goes to the top of the class. Look ahead, man, and ask whether Paul + Armstrong is to be a firmer or a flabbier small element in God’s great + universe for what is now befalling him. Your own action has chosen you to + be a sort of martyr in a big cause. We are on the fringe of the sex-fight, + so far; but before our children are grown men and women, the battle will + be in full swing. We have got to settle this question of the sanctity of + marriage. What a certain kind of animal calls “free love” is of the beast + and bestial; but a reasoned and loyal love between man and woman is a + beautiful and noble thing, and it is not the less beautiful and noble + because it has not been sanctified by the payment of seven-and-sixpence to + the Inland Revenue. You have a principle to fight for, and you have Madge + to fight for. By the God I worship,’ he cried, in sudden wrath, ‘I would + fight for the principle against death itself, and for a woman like Madge I + would die at a slow fire.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘But, Ralston,’ Paul besought him—‘Ralston, you don’t understand. + You find animation there; but it is there my weakness lies. Do you think I + care for myself?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Of course I do,’ said Ralston. ‘If you hadn’t cared for yourself you + would never have brought a child like Madge into such an evil as this.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That’s true enough,’ said Paul; ‘that’s truth itself.’ + </p> + <p> + He laid his elbows on the table, and leaned his head disconsolately upon + his hands. His companion shook him by the shoulder in the rough amity + which men use with one another. + </p> + <p> + ‘Look here, Armstrong: willy-nilly, you’re the champion of a great cause, + and you have the sweetest woman in the world to fight for. Don’t flaunt + the flag insolently—in the present temper of the public that will + never do—but stand by it all the same. So far as you’re concerned, + Armstrong, it’s a selfish accident that turns you Squire of Dames; but + you’re in the tourney now, and you’ve got to behave respectably.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘If you mean by behaving respectably that I’ve got to hold by Madge, and + live all this down if I can, and do my best to flutter through life on a + broken wing, I am with you.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I mean that, and more than that,’ said Ralston. ‘Turn your next play on + this theme; turn your next book on it. Never mind the odium of seeming to + fight a selfish battle; you’re past that now. Your story is that the man + mires his feet in the ordinary manner, that he makes a fool of himself in + the usual fashion; that the saving woman comes to him pure and clean, and + does her healthful, beautiful work for him at such a cost as you know of. + Whether her life is tragedy modified or tragedy unalloyed rests with the + story-teller; but you’re there to champion that innocence.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You recoiled from a little tube of manuscript once,’ said Paul, ‘as if it + had held a poisonous explosive. Do you remember? Ralston laughed and + nodded. ‘If you’re bolder now, I’ll show you something.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am bolder now,’ said Ralston; and Paul, leaving him for a moment, raced + upstairs, and, having made a brief search in his study, returned with a + big sheaf of type-written matter in his hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘There is my case,’ he said. ‘Old Darco calls it madness to challenge such + a truth in such a fashion. Weldon will take the piece and play it. He will + produce it anonymously by preference, but as I choose. I choose to have my + fling at the world, and to take it without disguise. Tell me when you have + read it.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘I am your man,’ cried Ralston, catching at the paper. + </p> + <p> + ‘I don’t know whether I have done well or ill in doing it,’ said Paul. ‘I + suppose there never was a writer who didn’t hawk the secret of his soul + about the streets—if he had a secret and a soul.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘More of this hereafter,’ Ralston said, and bore away the manuscript that + night. + </p> + <p> + There had been little need to spur Paul to courage on this matter. The + wiser thing might have been to counsel him to moderation. He had set his + back to his corner already. + </p> + <p> + But just hereabouts a small thing happened which had, as small things + will, an undue influence upon his mind. There was loose on Fleet Street at + this time an extraordinary devil of a man of genius whose appropriate real + name was Wild-blood. + </p> + <p> + He had dropped that too characteristic patronymic, and had renamed + himself, with a touch of mocking cynicism which only those who knew him + understood, Wilder. What scholarship was possible for six- or + seven-and-twenty was his. That he was more or less crazed with much + learning and more drink was generally understood of him. Men of small + originality and some memory said of Wilder that he could knock a slang + song into Greek iambics in five minutes. His most fervent admirers were, + perhaps, poor judges of Greek iambics. Fleet Street may at one time have + been familiar with that kind of thing, but is not nowadays. But Wilder’s + reputation soared on higher voices than those of the journalistic crowd, + and he was, beyond dispute, a person of genius—one of those odd + distorted bundles of broken nerve who help to establish the theory that + fine thinking, a noble vocabulary, deep scholarship, and foolish living + are neighbours and hard to separate. + </p> + <p> + With this very queer fish Paul had established a certain intimacy. The + man, as a matter of course, was periodically hard up, and he had come to + the stage when it was here five shillings and there half a crown as a + charge for the charm of his society with the most casual of acquaintances. + He made his breakfast on a salt-spoonful of cayenne and a glass of brandy, + and he passed from intellectual godhood to a hiccuping imbecility in a + breath. At from four to five in the afternoon he carried his lofty head + and a prematurely pimpled countenance into some unwatched obscurity. He + habitually emerged from this hiding-place within an hour of midnight, and + thence his flight was an owl’s. + </p> + <p> + The social chill which surrounded Paul’s household had grown arctic, and + Madge, Mrs. Hampton, and Phyllis had all been bundled away to Ostend, in a + sunken identity. The house in which the cause of disturbance had so long + been unreasonably happy was closed. The servants had been dismissed, and a + commissionaire and his wife lived in the basement. Paul had taken lodgings + at a Fleet Street hostelry, and thither in the dead of night came Wilder + and other night-birds, to the much disturbance of the porter at the + grille. It chanced one night that Wilder came with a declaration that he + had found his soul’s salvation through beer. His stream of life should + flow, so he declared, through Burton-on-Trent. He was done with noxious + liquids, and proposed to bathe his spirit clear in the vats of Bass and + Allsopp. Wilder was-not outside the sphere of reformation, and Guinness + would share with the others the credit of his uprising. He drank a tankard + or two of each and either as an evidence of good faith, and he left an + hour after midnight, more sober than Paul had ever known him at such a + time. He had talked a heap of brilliant sense and nonsense, and had + borrowed two half crowns. Paul went to bed almost regretting the loss of + even this mad companionship, and tossed, half-dozing, on a shifting sea of + troubles. Suddenly, when he had lost all consciousness of time and place, + there came a thundering summons at his door, and in answer to his startled + call there came in a huge policeman in a greatcoat and a helmet, and + behind him a quaking waiter with a candle in a glass funnel. The officer + appealed to a piece of paper he carried in his hand. + </p> + <p> + ‘Paul Armstrong,’ he read, with a brogue as wide as the ocean. ‘Is that + you?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That is my name,’ said Paul. + </p> + <p> + ‘Then ye’re wanted,’ said the official. + </p> + <p> + ‘Wanted? Where?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘At Bow Street,’ the official answered stolidly. + </p> + <p> + Paul rolled round to consult his watch. It indicated three o’clock within + a minute or so. + </p> + <p> + ‘What on earth am I wanted at Bow Street for?’ he asked in great + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + ‘Party of the name of Wilder,’ said the officer, referring once more to + his paper. ‘Says you’re his first cousin, and that you’ll bail him out.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Wilder? First cousin?’ His mind was fogged with broken sleep. ‘Oh, that + fellow! What has he been doing?’ + </p> + <p> + The man in uniform consulted his paper again, and read out: + </p> + <p> + ‘Dhrunk and dishortherly.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘And he had the cheek to send you here and to say that I’m his first + cousin?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Yes, sorr.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Well,’ said Paul, with a brief laugh, ‘I don’t know that I’ve anything + better to do. Wait downstairs whilst I dress, and have a cab ready if you + can find one. Give the officer a drink, waiter.’ + </p> + <p> + In a weary fashion he was tickled by this incident; and when he had made a + hasty toilette he descended, and was driven to Bow Street, where, after a + spell of waiting, he was introduced to his ‘first cousin’ in a corridor. + </p> + <p> + ‘What’s all this, Wilder?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + ‘It’s this, me man,’ said Wilder. ‘I took a fancy to declaim a favourite + little bit of Euripides in Endell Street, and a uniformed ass came along + and ran me in. And being penniless as I am——’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Penniless!’ said Paul ‘You had five shillings to my certain knowledge.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Oh, I had,’ said Wilder, ‘but I met some poor devil that was harder up + than I am—at least, he said so—and I bestowed it on him with + my blessing.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘We know your name, Mr. Armstrong,’ said the officer who had the man of + genius in his charge, ‘and if you’ll be surety that the gentleman will be + here at ten o’clock this morning, he can go.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You want my word for that only?’ + </p> + <p> + ‘That will be enough, sir.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘Very well; he shall be here.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘He shall be here,’ said Wilder, ‘and the idiot who brought him here shall + have a lesson.’ + </p> + <p> + ‘You take my tip, sir,’ said the officer. ‘You was pretty fairly full, and + you was very noisy, and you cracked on pretty awful. Talk of eloquence,’ + said the officer, interrupting himself to turn to Paul. ‘I’ve heard a + thing or two in my time—it comes here, you know, sir, in the way of + business—but I’ve never met anybody as could hold a candle to this + gentleman.’ + </p> + <p> + Wilder smiled, and pulled up a dirty apology for a collar with an air of + self-applause. + </p> + <p> + ‘But what I want to advise is this, sir,’ said the officer genially: ‘Say + nothing, and it’s five bob and costs, and there’s an end of it; make a + song about it, and it’s forty shillings or a month, and it gets into all + the papers. For this is a shop, sir, where the more you say the more you + pay. And that’s the truth about justice in a general way throughout the + land, and so you’ll find, sir, if you’ll take the trouble to look into it. + The more you say the more you pay. That’s the fruit of thirty years’ + experience, sir, and you’ll find it pretty sound Say nothing, and a little + thing blows over. Make a talk about it, and it lasts, as you might say, + for ever. The more you say, the more you pay.’ + </p> + <p> + Paul was not greatly inclined to idle superstition as a general thing, but + the thrice-repeated saying stuck to him. The fancy came into his mind that + he had been aroused thus oddly in the middle of the night on purpose that + he might hear it, and have it dinned into his mind by force of repetition. + There was no reason under heaven why he should have attended the insolent + call of Mr. Wilder, and he had not even been conscious of a kindly impulse + towards the man. There was a sort of providential finger laid upon his own + sense here. Of course, he denied the belief, but it was active with him + none the less. It was so active that he resigned all the preparations he + had contemplated for his own defence, and absented himself from London. + </p> + <p> + During his absence the case of Armstrong against Armstrong was heard in + the Divorce Court. A Boanerges of a Queen’s Counsel was entrusted with + Annette’s side of it. He made a speech, and that speech was reported in a + hundred journals. Had it been true, the unlucky Paul would have been a + comrade for the devil, but there was no defence, and it passed as true. + Paul read the speech, and came tearing back express to London in a tumult + of rage and resentment. He was a day behind the fair, and could do + nothing. The world seemed to ring of him, and he had abandoned all means + of redress. He was publicly shunned, and shunned for ever. + </p> + <p> + So fruitful may be the smallest accident of life that this chance episode + with the drunken Wilder and the foolish resolve to which it led seemed to + have darkened Paul’s skies for good and all. He might have beaten + Boanerges on every point save one, and have come out of the fight with but + one wound in place of a hundred, and that very far from fatal Now he felt + stabbed to death, and seemed to bleed at every pore. + </p> + <p> + The manager who was under contract with him to produce the comedy the + first manuscript of which he had placed in Ralston’s hands, called to see + him, and advised strongly against production—at all events, for the + present The suffering fool was furious, and would listen to no reason. + </p> + <p> + ‘I put three thousand pounds behind it,’ he cried. ‘I give you that as a + guarantee. The play is a good play, and the public will listen to it, + slander or no slander.’ + </p> + <p> + Playgoers remember the first nightof ‘Myra’—the yells, howls, + whistles, cat-calls which made the whole three acts a pantomime in dumb + show. The moral tiger was awake. + </p> + <p> + The play ran in spite of all and everything, and ran at the author’s cost + It came to a sudden end in the middle of a week, when the author’s last + cheque was returned with an official ‘N. S.’ marked upon it The lately + prosperous dramatist was ruined. + </p> + <p> + Thus the man and his memories are growing nearer and nearer to each other, + and very soon they must meet. There is yet but a year to traverse before + the Dreamer and the Dream stand face to lace with actual Fact and Time. It + is a year of frustrated hope and barren effort, of surrenders and shames. + It is a year of anonymity for one thing, for his name is worse than + worthless to him, and he hides it. There is a book yet extant, written in + a black gall which is made fluent to the pen by a distillation of + wormwood, and this is Paul Armstrong’s latest expression of his views of + the world, which, if the book were true, one would take as a vast and + daily injustice, in which there is no saving grace of any sort whatever. + Ralston alone knew in what fiery haste this bitter volume was gathered out + of the desert of the writer’s soul. It served one purpose, since it + provided Madge with at least a staff of silver with which to beat the wolf + from the door. The wild beast bayed and threatened, but it never actually + crossed the threshold. The discredited man kept himself alive by scraps of + anonymous journalism, until a half-chance suggestion of fortune bore him + away to the United States as a member of a theatrical company of no great + merit, which clung together through desperately failing fortunes for a + month or two, and then, dissolving, left him stranded. + </p> + <p> + He floated, a pseudonymous unit, acting, writing, lecturing. Somehow or + other the weekly two or three pounds reached Madge, and the wolf still + howled outside her door and found no entrance. + </p> + <p> + When the spiritual anatomy of a man is displaced and the gall-bladder + takes on the function of the heart, it is far from being well with him at + the moment, and in these days it was very far from being well with Paul + Armstrong. Yet the jaundiced fit served its turn, and even whilst its + anguish burned and nauseated, he began to ask one wholesome question: ‘For + whose shortcoming, for whose wrong-doing, for whose virtues turned + vicious, and whose vices tuned to airs of virtue, do I thus suffer?’ The + answer was at first confused and loud. Annette’s name was noisy in it + Claudia’s sounded there. So did Gertrude’s. And of course the poor + writhing worm must needs arraign Fate, Destiny, the Maker of the Earth, + whatever It or He might be. But these voices stilled, because, when all + was said and done, the man was not wholly a fool, and out of his heart + came the wounding answer to his question: ‘You, Paul Armstrong—you + and none other! Neither this false friend, nor that fraudulent lover, nor + any Destiny whatsoever, but just Paul Armstrong, to whom this bundle of + sensibilities was entrusted for safe-carriage, and who in bearing his + parcel here and there has spilled its contents with great recklessness, + and with devilish consequence to himself.’ And this voice grew into the + tolling of a great Despair, for there was nothing to be done with this + Paul Armstrong in the way of reparation or amendment, and there was no way + of being rid of him save by suicide, and a doubt of the efficacy of that + cure was heavy on him. To endure the unendurable, this was his burthen; to + be yoked through time with this dolt and fool. Wretchedest of miserable + fates, to loathe one’s own soul, to find the most despicable of creatures + enclosed within one’s own skin. To play Siamese twin to a pustulous + convict were a trifle beside this. To be your own black beast; to loathe + your own soul; with a full heart to despise your own understanding—this + is to start upon Despair’s Last Journey in one sense or another, to find + either the gulf or the gates of hope. For the alternative is eternal, and + it will yet be known to all men—if not here, then elsewhere—that + the way to the heights of spiritual wealth lies through the valley of + spiritual bankruptcy, and that a man’s follies are as contributory to his + soul’s salvation as his loftiest aspirations and his most ardent + struggles. Ralston spoke wisely when he said, ‘We lose to learn value.’ We + shall carry our cargo more carefully next time for having once shipwrecked + it. The gates of hope are a better goal to aim for than the gulf, because + the mariner saves time and suffering by passing through them, but the + lesson is that no shipwreck is final. + </p> + <p> + Was it, in truth, the father’s voice, the authentic voice of William + Armstrong, Paul’s physical begetter, which preached this gospel through + the lonely days and waking nights? The Exile could not tell, yet he + believed, and the faith grew within him, that God’s inexorable justice and + infinite mercy are one and the same, that the human spirit which has not + sinned knows no virtue, that the flower of the soul’s hope strikes its + root in the soil of the soul’s despair. + </p> + <p> + This learned, all is learned. The great trust and the great distrust alike + are mastered. Courage and Humbleness have kissed each other, and the man + steers between, safe in their companionship whatever seas may roar. + </p> + <p> + The faith grew, but it was not clear, nor destined to be clear, until the + divine hour of its true dawning was appointed, and that hour was not long + delayed. + </p> + <p> + Paul Armstrong had tracked memory from its earliest dawn till now. The + pictured image of himself he had so long followed in fancy drew closer, + until he and it merged into each other, and the shade and he were one. + </p> + <p> + He had listened all day for the accustomed clangour of the trains, and had + heard nothing. The brown-red smoke-fog had grown denser and more dense, + and now it stung throat and eyes with its acrid and pungent atoms. The air + was thick and hot, and objects only a score of yards away were but just + visible. The runnel at the tent-door had barely a voice of its own. Paul + guessed rightly that its course lay through a tract of forest fire, and + that the greater part of its volume had evaporated in the heat. The river + in the gorge plunged and thundered. The night came down, and a blind glare + of dull red seemed to show itself above, revealing nothing else. For the + first time since the forest fires had begun to smoulder, the dead air took + a sense of motion. It stirred with a long, sluggish heave, and brought + with it a dreadful heat, and a noise altogether disproportionate to the + pace at which it moved—the sound of a mighty tempest. It breathed + fitfully, heavily, and as if with labour; but at every breath it blew a + fervent heat along, and at every breath there rose the same threatening + roar of sound. There was something massive and ponderous in this strange + noise. It was as if a sea in unmeasured storm were billowing nearer and + nearer. And surely that red glow was brightening. The trunks of giant + trees were silhouetted on it. + </p> + <p> + Then with one slow heave, beginning like a sigh, but gathering in pace, + the wind awoke, and in one minute it blew a hurricane. And with it came a + voice—the voice of league on league of smouldering forest leaping + into a roar of flame. The air burned with a sudden crimson. The monstrous + noise of the torrent was drowned, and went unheard. The wind, with a + sudden access of its force, was sucked along the valley by the amazing + indraught of the fire, and it raged past him with such violence as to + bring him to his knees. The smoke, which had hung without form through so + many days, was ripped and twisted and dragged and beaten into a thousand + writhing and tormented shapes. They went hurling down the wind as if that + unspeakable voice of the parent fire had called them, and there were + nothing for it but this mad answer to the appeal. + </p> + <p> + It seemed impossible that the roaring noise should augment itself, and yet + it grew and grew and grew—Niagara twenty-fold, Niagara fifty-fold, + Niagara a hundred-fold. The eye discerned more and more as the wind + cleared the air, and at last the panorama stood revealed in horrid + splendour. On either side the canon the lower hills were all aflame. They + tossed aloft pyramids of brightness; they burned dull-red in sheltered + hollows; they flared fantastically on open heights; they brightened and + darkened with mile-long undulations, and swift shudderings from blind + black to blinding white, and then from that supreme of light to black + again. These changes were wrought with dazzling swiftness. A flame which + writhed over many acres flapped like the loosened end of a sail and + vanished in the twinkling of an eye, and before the watcher could have + cried out that it was gone, flaunted itself again at the sky, which + overhung it like an inverted bowl of red-hot copper. + </p> + <p> + The fire displayed a myriad inequalities in the landscape which were + unseen in open day. It scaled ridge after ridge, and each in turn stood + out against the blackness of the mountain on which an instant before it + had seemed to nestle closely. It charged each acclivity with appalling + strength, but there were times when the assaulting line wavered,-and + retired as if the walls of darkness held a living force which had at times + the power to beat it down. Then with a rush the height was carried; hell’s + victorious banner floated over one more conquered citadel, and the roar of + triumph deepened. + </p> + <p> + At times the fire seemed to carve the darkness like a knife wielded + swiftly by some invisible giant hand. At times, catching the face of some + lofty wooded cliff, it soared up like a rocket and left a trailing line + which faded wholly as if the night had been triumphant there and had won + back a portion of its invaded ground. + </p> + <p> + For hours there did not seem a moment at which the watcher’s life was + worth purchase at a pin’s fee, but the wind flawed madly here and there, + and as if by constantly recurring miracle he stood safe. Tarred on by the + wind, the fire climbed from sunset to near dawn. It climbed until it + reached the feet of the eternal snows. Then one insulted mountain loosed + an avalanche, and then another and another, until the incredible cones of + fire were ridged with black. + </p> + <p> + Paul Armstrong threw himself upon the ground and slept when the fires were + miles and miles away. He awoke after many hours with an aching sense of + light upon his eyes. The sun was high already, and the skies were clear. + The valley and the mountains lay before him bare and black, with many + spirals of dove-coloured smoke rising thinly here and there. And the man + thought within himself: + </p> + <p> + ‘After great mischief, peace. In a single year the fire-weed will have + made this waste a fairy-land. The time will come when there will be left + no token of this desolation. Nature endures no lasting loss, and is the + soul less vital?’ + </p> + <p> + And he believed the things it was ordained that he should believe, and he + bowed his head in prayer with tears of penitence and self-abasement. + </p> + <p> + ‘What is left to me?’ he asked. + </p> + <p> + His father’s voice spoke inwardly in answer, apart from his will, outside + his will, as it had spoken from the first. + </p> + <p> + ‘Duty!’ said the voice. ‘Bid the fire-flowers blossom in the wasted spaces + of your own soul.’ + </p> + <p> + His tears gripped him at the throat with art almost intolerable anguish, + and with such a passion as no man can experience twice in life he + renounced his own despair. + </p> + <p> + THE END BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Despair’s Last Journey, by David Christie Murray + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPAIR’S LAST JOURNEY *** + +***** This file should be named 22276-h.htm or 22276-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/2/7/22276/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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